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“Is that so?” I let go of the chin between my fingers and straightened, studying the older man briefly before turning back to Santiago’s sweaty, pale face. “Hmm. New plan.”
I turned and strode back towards the table, carefully placing the scalpel down before lifting the pliers up with a little twirl.
“For every ten minutes that passes without you answering my questions, I will remove one of your friend’s fingernails with this useful little tool.” I turned back and smiled once more. “That gives you time to comply, before I begin twisting off knuckles.”
Santiago’s breathing visibly quickened.
“Boris,” I barked suddenly, satisfied to see Santiago flinch.Good, this should be quick and easy.“I need your timekeeping.”
A few seconds later, Boris reappeared with an old digital stopwatch.
“Should I start, Boss?” he asked as he came to a pause just behind me.
“Please,” I answered, and the older man visibly strained against the restraints tying him to the armrests of his chair when Boris clicked the start button.
“Wait,” Santiago cried. “You haven’t even asked anything yet!”
“Oh, how silly of me.” Then I walked towards the older one and gently tapped his nose. “Question one, should I start with your left hand, or your right?”
“You crazy fuck, what kind of question is that?” The boy was visibly panicking now, enough so that it was beginning to crack through his partner’s silence.
“Santiago, relax,”he growled in Spanish, presumably thinking that I couldn’t understand. “Don’t let the sick bastard get to you.”
“What the hell do you mean, relax? How the fuck can I relax?” Santiago muttered, again in Spanish.
“Nine minutes left,” Boris interrupted them, and I lowered the pliers to his pinky.
“I think he said the left hand, correct, Boris?”
“Sure, Boss.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Santiago cried. “Don’t hurt him. Just hold on a minute.”
“What for,” I said darkly, dropping my polite act as I pinched the pliers firmly against the man’s nail. “You tried to have me killed, today. What reason do I have to spare you anything?”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck—Jose, what do we do? He’s going to bleed you out, he’s crazy!” Santiago spat.
I kept my expression neutral, let them think I couldn’t understand a word they were saying.‘Know your enemy’, Uncle Mischka always said.
“If we talk,” Jose growled, continuing the Spanish, “and El Luchador doesn’t fucking kill us, Miguel sure will. You know he was in charge of today, and he won’t want us making him look bad. So shut it!”
“But Miguel’s wrong about shit all the time! It’s probably his fault today went down like it did! He’s the one that told us this guy was a skinny little white bitch! He never warned us that we’d be dealing with fucking Ivan the Terrible!” Santiago replied.
I almost burst out laughing, straining against it so hard that my ribs hurt. Which would have been a bad idea, as I absolutely didn’t want them to catch on that I understood every single word. This exchange could be an information goldmine. So I ripped off Jose’s nail with a hard, quick yank, which very effectively dissipated my laughter.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” Santiago cried desperately, although Jose took it with nothing more than one sharp shout, and a clench of his jaw. “It hasn’t—It hasn’t been ten minutes! You didn’t even ask anything! Jesus fucking Christ!”
“Boris, restart the clock, will you?” I said as I turned and walked casually back to the table to drop the bloodied nail.
“Yes, Boss.”
“Chacho, look, if we want to survive this, we’ve got to be smart,” I heard Jose say behind me in a quiet, strained voice. “Don’t give him any names. Don’t talk about the boss or Miguel. Just play dumb, okay?”
“I don’t think it’s gonna work on him. And if he finds out we’re holding back…I mean, what’s he gonna do next? This white guy is crazy, man.”
“If I may interrupt,” I said with exaggerated patience as I turned back. “I’d like to know why in the hell your leaders are so eager for a war with us.”
Santiago continued to visibly panic, and Jose kept his lips stubbornly pressed together, so I sighed, strode back across the room, and grabbed onto his next nail.
