Nobody notices me hauling him buck-ass nude in a fireman’s carry back to the car, where I lower him into the trunk, zip tie his arms and ankles together behind his back” is clearer, and jog around to the front seat.
Halfway through the drive he starts thumping on the inside of the trunk. You know how they have those emergency releases in trunks, so kids can’t get stuck inside, and so you can get out if you’re kidnapped?
Sixty-eight Impalas don’t have those.
I can’t take him back to the house, of course. I had to do this quick and dirty. I rented a mini storage garage on the other side of town. There are cameras, yes, but I rented a huge 20-by-20 unit, more than enough room for the car.
I pull inside and step out, pull the metal door down, and click on some battery-powered work lamps for illumination, then open my trunk.
Burt sits up. “Who the fuck are you? Do you have any idea who I am?”
I backhand him across the face and he flops down on the floor of the trunk.
“What are you going to do, give me a root canal?”
“I’ll fucking ruin you. I know people. I can have you taken care of, mister.”
I can’t help it, I bust out laughing.
He just stares at me.
“Seriously. Okay, up.”
“But—”
I haul him out of the trunk by his arms, stand him on his bound feet, and make him hop over to a wicker chair. He stares at it.
“There’s no seat.”
“I know,” I say. “Sit down.”
Gingerly he rests on the rim. He starts to stand when I step away, so I produce the silenced .22 pistol I’ve been carrying behind my back and put the end of the suppressor to his forehead.
“Sit down.”
He sits down.
I coil some nylon rope around him (doesn’t stretch, lighter than a chain) and tie it up nicely. Then I unfold a metal chair in front of him and sit face-to-face.
“Okay, let’s get started,” I sigh. “First, I just abducted you from a hotel room in which you were fucking a woman not your wife. Poorly, I might add. She only wants your money, Burt.”
“That’s not true,” he says.
“Which part, you were fucking the woman not your wife? Because I saw you ejaculate inside her. That’s definitely fucking, and that was not your wife.”
“I mean the other part.”
I laugh at him. “She looked like she was waiting for an oil change, Burt. Sorry to ruin the fantasy.”
“Did you hurt her?”
“Like you give a shit. No, Burt. I’m helping her, actually. Right now, by dealing with you.”
“Dealing with me?”
“Your wife hired me to get rid of you. She’s tired of you fucking around on her.”
His jaw drops.
“No, I’m kidding. She has no idea, but she’s going to find out.”
“You can’t!”
“Sure I can. I have pictures.”
“Pictures?”
“Yes. Also GPS records, and I’m working on cloning your phone right now.”
His eyes widen.
“I have all the texts.”
His eyes widen farther.
“The pictures,” I sigh.
I lean my chin on my hand. “She’s not the only one, is she?”
He shakes his head.
“She’s the oldest, isn’t she?”
The blood drains from his face and he starts to shiver.
“I’ve been watching and recording your computer activity for a while, Burt. Not your office, though I figure I’d find some interesting shit there, too. At home. Unless you think I’ll believe your wife or your two daughters are searching for things like ‘jailbait’ and ‘teen creepshots’ and visiting some of those websites I found. You like ’em young, but just young enough to be ripe. Isn’t that right, Burt?”
He swallows and stares at me.
“Matter of fact, plowing your receptionist isn’t enough anymore, is it? You want a really tight cunt, don’t you? What’s good for you, Burt? Sixteen? Fifteen? Or is it old enough to bleed, old enough to breed?”
I shift closer to him. “Tell me, what’s the appeal? Is it the youth? The innocence? Do you think if you fuck a thirteen-year-old she won’t know any better and think you’re a stud, or do you think it’ll make your shriveled little pecker look huge?”
I lean closer still.
“Or do you just get off on hurting little girls?”
“I don’t… You’re lying…”
I stand up and walk behind him. I wheel around a tray of dentist’s tools. Picks, pincers, pliers, a tiny mirror. He stares at them.
“Top or bottom, left or right. Pick.”
“Pick what?”
“Which tooth I’m going to rip out first.”
“Jesus Christ!” He screams, “Help, somebody help me—”
“Keep going,” I sigh. “It doesn’t work. Never does.”
“Why are you doing this?”
I step in front of him.
“I saw how you were looking at a little girl the other day, Burt. You see a lot of kids at your practice? Is that why there are cartoon characters on the walls? Ever feel one up, Burt? Ever give them a little laughing gas, stick your hand down their panties? Does it turn you on if they have Minnie Mouse on their underwear, you sick fuck?”
“I didn’t—”
I pick up a pair of pliers and step toward him.
“Don’t, oh God, please don’t—”