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“Nah see,” he bends down close to Johnny’s ear. “You would. What I think is that Dante gave the money to you.” He cocks his head to the side and flashes Johnny a sadistic grin.
“Why me? That makes no sense man. I’m not a traitor,” Johnny’s face twists and contorts as he struggles against the chains. He’s quickly expelling all of his energy trying to fight a losing battle. If he talks, he’s fucked. If he doesn’t talk, he’s fucked. Meanwhile, I’m just over here hoping Blaize doesn’t have an affinity for melting flesh like Travis does, because I don’t think I can stomach the smell right now.
“Because you were his right hand. Your group worked the west side of the tunnels for us before Dante went in and did his bid. Now he’s out. He’s got Reaper product even though we cast his ass out. He’s hiding in this city, and he’s stashing cash? No fucking way he managed all that without help. So fucking talk Johnny. Otherwise I’ll slice your goddamn tongue out so you have a reason not to talk.”
“I swear, I don’t know!” Johnny shouts, and Blaize’s immediate response is to laugh. It’s loud and maniacal. Unhinged. Not the sounds of a sane man, and it’s enough to make even me uncomfortable. And we’re on the same team.
“You know what Johnny? I don’t think I need this knife tonight,” the overhead lights reflect off of the metal blade as Blaize holds it up, turning it around before sticking it back in the drawer.
“Y-you don’t?”
“Nah. I got something special in mind for you,” Blaize whispers in a tone so low and gravely it sends chills down my spine.
Dude is sick.
Spinning around on one foot, Blaize walks over to the large metal cart that rests against the far wall. Squatting down, he opens the doors of the cart and rummages around until an “A-ha!” echoes through the room, and he’s clearly found whatever the hell he’s looking for.
Pushing up to his feet, Blaize stalks back over to Johnny, and I almost chuckle when I see what he’s holding. A large, bright red, cordless nail gun.
“Make me ask you again Johnny. Where’s the money?”
“I don’t know.”
“Wrong answer,” Blaize grins and holds the tip of the nail gun to Johnny’s hand. A loud pop fills the room, followed by an excruciating scream, and I flinch watching as another nail pierces through the back of his hand, exiting through his palm.
“I don’t know!” he wails.
Pop! Knee.
Pop! Thigh.
Pop! Hip.
“I can keep going like this all fucking day Johnny. Pop goes the weasel!”
Johnny’s sobs are louder than his screams, and he’s muttering words that I can barely decipher. Nothing more than a string of grunts and sounds pouring from his lips between sobs. Glancing over at Arsenal, I mouth the words what the hell and he merely shrugs and smirks.
“What’s that? I can’t hear you.”
“I-I d-don’t know-w. H-he’s been staying with Vin though. That’s gotta be where the m-money is, j-just please stop!”
“Vin, huh?” Blaize glances over his shoulder at Arsenal, “Little bro, know where Vin is staying?”
“Yup,” the brother nods his head.
“Good,” Blaize responds. “Send someone to go trash his place and find the stash. If they find the cash, send ‘em to Riot with it. If you’ll excuse me, I have work to finish now.”
Arsenal nods, pushing off the wall as he waves me toward the door. As I stand up and move to follow him out, I catch Blaize out of my peripheral.
“Alright Johnny, now the real fun begins,” he cackles as he holds the nail gun directly above Johnny’s crotch.
Pop!
Pop!
Pop!
Cringing, I feel my own nuts shrivel up into my stomach as the sound of Blaize shooting nails into Johnny’s sac plagues my ears.
