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It took 40 minutes to break him, but in the end he confessed.
He was DEA, he said. Ten years undercover. The first seven were in white supremacist militias that used drug-running to fund their activities. The last three were in the Midnight Riders.
He told me the notebooks were dates and times of when he suspected big pot shipments. Once I understood the codes, I had to admit that he’d done a pretty good job of guessing when shit took place – especially for a guy who’d never made it inside the inner circle.
“Everybody clear out for a second,” I said. “Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em.”
“Seriously, Lou?” Eyeball asked. “What if he – ”
“He’s a fuckin’ wreck,” I said. “He ain’t pullin’ shit.”
And it was true. Both of his arms and legs were broken in multiple places, and his face looked like he’d gone 12 rounds with Mike Tyson.
“But – ” Eyeball protested.
“I can take care of myself with a fuckin’ cripple. Hey – you holding?”
Eyeball liked his heroin, and could always be counted on to have at least an eightball on him.
“Why?” he asked suspiciously.
“Just gimme what you got. And leave the bat.”
Eyeball handed over a paper packet with a stamp on it of a dog and the words Mad Dog. Then he and the guys filed out, grumbling as they went, leaving Eddie lying on the ground in a broken heap.
I squatted down in front of him. “Okay, Eddie. It’s just you and me now.”
I held up the packet of heroin between my forefinger and thumb.
“Option A is you answer my questions, and you get to snort this shit. It’ll take away the pain, maybe even check you out permanently – which would be a blessing compared to what the other guys want to do to you right about now.”
I put the packet of heroin in my inner jacket pocket, then picked up the baseball bat.
“Option B is you don’t answer my questions, and… well, let’s just say it’s probably in your best interests to go with option A. We both know you ain’t gettin’ out of this alive, so it’s just a question of how you want to go out.”
He looked up at me from eyes swollen nearly shut. “F-fuck you, Lou.”
I stood up and swung the bat overhead onto one of his broken ankles.
He screamed in pain and writhed on the floor.
“That wasn’t one of the options, Eddie,” I said, “but it’s a damn good idea. Hell, that’s the one thing we haven’t done to you yet. Let’s call it option C. So unless you want me to get the guys back in here and have them shove this baseball bat up your ass, think reeeaal carefully about the next words out of your mouth. I’m gonna ask you some questions, and you’re gonna tell me the truth.”
He laid there whimpering on the floor.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I said. “First: what happened to Roach?”
He didn’t answer.
I brought the bat up over my head, like I was going to split a log with an ax –
“My guys snagged him,” Eddie said hurriedly. “He’s being held at the LA office.”
Not what I wanted to hear, but not unexpected.
I lowered the bat. “See how easy that was? Second question: what did he give you on me?”
“Nothing. At least nothing we can use.”
