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29
Alessandro
Caruso’s screams fill the air, echoing off the walls of the warehouse in Manhattan. The concrete walls are thick enough that no one will hear, but, damn, it’s annoying.
Hector shakes his head and Brooks laughs.
Hector hands Brooks a wad of cash and says, “How in the fuck did you know he was going to piss his pants in three minutes?”
Brooks gestures toward Caruso, who’s tied to a metal chair. His pants are wet from where he just urinated himself and the scent fills the air.
“Because I know his type. All talk, but the moment they see a hacksaw, they lose their shit.” He waves his hand in front of his nose. “Fuck, man. Don’t you drink any water? Your piss smells rancid.”
He’s not wrong…
I say to Hector, “Don’t fret, friend. You’ll still get your beer when this is over.”
Caruso moans, and I turn my attention to him.
“Something you want to say,amico?”
He nods, or tries to. We’ve roughed him up pretty good, so I’m sure he’s in all kinds of pain right now. A few broken bones are the least of his worries. I hope he realizes that.
“Let’s hear it, then.”
Hector pulls the gag from his mouth and the first thing Caruso does is whimper like a fucking baby.
“Well?”
Caruso says, “I don’t know what you think I’ve done, but there’s been some kind of mistake.”
“Oh, you haven’t done anything. We just wanted to chat a bit.”
“Ch-chat?”
“Yes. Chat.”
“What about?”
I grab a metal chair and sit across from him.
“I want to know who you’re working with.”
“Working with?”
Brooks huffs. “Jesus. Is he a parrot?”
Hector laughs, but I don’t.
“Yes, Caruso. I want to know who you’re working with in the Brotherhood.”
“Zhang.”
“Who else?”
“No one.”
I make a sound. “Once upon a time I told you what the Brotherhood would require of you if you joined. Do you remember?”
