I exit, open the rear door, pull sobbing Playboy out of the car, and drop him on his bare back on the dirty, broken pavement. His feet are bound together tightly with the zips, maybe a bit too tightly, ’cause there are thin areas of dried-up blood around the edges of the zip ties.
Empty dime-size ziplocks, used needles, and condoms are scattered around. Playboy didn’t cry out through the duct tape when I dropped him, so I’m sure he didn’t get a needle through his back.
It’s then that he starts rolling back and forth on his back, trying to break free. I slap his face.
“Stay.”
I lean into the back of the car and grab the stun gun, but then decide to put it back because I want him conscious. I grab my tactical folding knife instead. I take my gloves off, toss them on the front seat, pull out two latex surgical gloves from the pack, and put them on.
I step out, pull Miriam’s photo out of my jacket, and then take the jacket off so he can see my holstered .38 and the throwaway semiauto wedged in the back of my pants, where I keep the cuffs. I reach in the back of the car, drop the jacket onto the passenger seat, and then return to him.
“Stop fucking mumbling. I don’t understand a word you’re saying. All you gotta do is listen up, and then I’ll give you a chance. All right?”
He gives several quick nods.
“Okay, then. Here’s the bottom line. I ain’t the police anymore, so I don’t have to follow those rules. That’s why you need to be afraid. I’m prepared to do whatever I gotta do to you to get the answers I need. We clear on that part?”
Several more nods.
“I’m going to show you a photograph and then I’ll take part of the tape off so you can answer my questions.”
I squat down, but before I peel part of the tape off I say, “You fucking scream out or some shit like that, it goes back on and I’ll fuck you sideways.”
I peel it halfway off. I show him the photograph of Miriam.
“Where is she?”
“Aw, fuck, fuck, I…”
“Tell me.”
“I don’t know who that is. Please, man…”
“You fucking know who it is. I had her in my hand at Seventeenth and Euclid when you and Little Monster called up your cop friend. Remember, the one you shot?”
“I didn’t do that shit, man. Shit. C’mon, now…”
“One more time and then I’m gonna cut your dick off.”
“Aww, c’mon, now.”
“Where is she?”
He pulls in his lips over his teeth like he needs to bite down to prevent himself from talking.
“I don’t have time for this shit. Don’t think I won’t follow through, little man. She’s my niece. I love her.”
One thing I’ve always been good at is knowing people. And I know if you have a man hogtied in an alley in nothin’ but his drawers, he’ll be feeling so vulnerable he’ll more than likely do just about anything to get out of that position.
I press the tape back over his mouth and flick the knife open with my thumb.
He’s shaking his head back and forth on the ground, whimpering, so the tape puffs out and then sucks in.
I pull the front of his shorts down. He flails like a fish on dry land.
His knees are pressed together, so I press my left knee over them and give him all my weight.
I look at his crotch.
“I can see why they call you Playboy. This might take more than one cut.”
I grab his dick with my left hand and stretch it out, then I hold the knife up so he can see it.
“You’re gonna make this worse if you keep jumping around like that.”
I pull the knife back. Look in his eyes hard.
“You want one more chance?”
Frantic nods.
“This is your last chance,” I tell him, and pull the tape back.
“Fuck! Fuck!” he yells.
“I’m not playing. I will cut your dick off, then dump your ass in the river, so you talk.”
“Apartment on Fuller, man! Sixteenth and Fuller.”
“Is she alive?”
“Last I saw she was alive, but I got nothing to do with what they do. You gotta believe.”
“Give me the address and the unit number.”
Seventy-seven
Damn, the things I gotta fucking do.
I put Playboy’s shorts back on, put fresh duct tape on his mouth, and dropped him in the trunk.
Now I’m heading to 16th and Fuller. It’s the complex I was looking at yesterday. She’s probably been there all this time. I don’t know how long after the shooting she got there. I’m sure Little Monster didn’t stop to drop her off. They had to get her back there somehow, but I don’t know how, with all the cops that were rolling through that day.
I park right at the corner and run to the front door. It’s still too early for most of the boys to be hanging, but then it’s also still hot ’cause of all the recent action.
The glass front door is locked. I try to jimmy the lock with the tip of my knife, but it’s got a solid bolt.
Not again, I think, after remembering having to smash the glass door out at the Ritz.
I’m surprised by someone approaching me from behind. I turn to see an old Latina lady carrying two grocery bags. She obviously wants to enter, but seems hesitant to approach.
“Policía,” I advise her calmly.