“Told me you were going to fuck my girl with the blade of your knife,” I reminded him, pressing the heel of my boot between his shoulder blades forcing him down again on all fours. “Mistake number one,” I whispered.
“Changed my mind about that,” he stammered.
“Smart move,” I replied, shoving the bat between his cheeks again. “Move or I’ll fuck you with the bat, stretch your hole so fucking wide, you’ll beg me to fucking kill you,” I ground out.
“Is this why they call you the Bulldog?” He asked, crawling along the floor.
“Shut up,” I growled. “The only words you get to utter are the ones that tell me where you’re keeping Reina and Blackie,” I declared, wrapping the leash around a pipe and knotting it.
“Why would I do that?”
“I have no intention of killing you, Gold,” I revealed, as I walked over to the bar and grabbed my duffel bag. I walked back to Jimmy and dropped the bag at his feet, kneeling down to sift through it and pull out the object I was looking for. “I just want to settle the score, take back everything you’ve taken from me and mine,” I stated while unraveling the electrical plug and fitting it into the socket.
“You expect me to believe you?” He seethed.
I paused for a moment. “No, I don’t but it’s the truth,” I said, pulling out a pair of goggles from the bag and fitting them over my eyes.
“What the hell are you doing?” He asked incredulously. I got high off of the fear reflected in his eyes but ignored his question and relished in the control I was gifted at that moment.
For the first time in years my maker and I were one.
“Not too long ago I paid Vic a visit,” I began, hitting the power button on the electric saw. I gripped the machine in both hands and stared into Jimmy’s shocked eyes. “Told me some facts I needed to know. You have any idea what those might be?” I shouted over the buzz of the saw. “Anyone ever tell you how strange a man you are, Jimmy? We all have our fetishes—but yours. Fingers man? Really?” I shook my head, holding the saw with one hand and grabbed his hand.
“I’m the head of the Pastore family, a goddamn boss, you do this and…”
“And what motherfucker?”
“When you kill a made man there are consequences. When you kill a mob boss there’s death, there’s revenge and not just on you but your whole fucking family,” he seethed.
“I don’t live by your rules, Gold. I don’t give a fuck about your mob code. This isn’t a beef between crime families, this is me, a motherfucking Knight crucifying a no-good thug. There’s a difference between you and I. People, brothers, they voted me my title, they chose me to be their leader. You cheated, killed and manipulated your way to the throne and motherfucker I’m the one who is going to knock you off of it,” I ground out, lifting the saw over his hand.
His whimper was music to my ears, the missing instrument from the symphony the vibrations of the saw created. I pressed his hand against the concrete, snapping his wrist back. He screamed in agony, a song to match the melody of the music.
He put up a fight, trying to wiggle his fingers making it difficult for me but I was determined and nothing could stop me. I brought the blade of the saw down, catching his index finger. It wasn’t a pinky but it would do. His screams vibrated off the wall as the blade worked its way through flesh and bone. His blood splattered my goggles. Retribution—it was a beautiful thing.
That’s for Danny.
I turned off the saw, dropping it to the ground and lifted the blood painted goggles from my face, chucking them to the side. Jimmy squirmed, rolling around the dirty floor clutching his hand and crying like a bitch.
Cry motherfucker, give me your tears.
“You maimed my brother of his finger. It was just a finger, right? He had nine others so no big deal. It shouldn’t be a big deal for you either,” I argued, reaching into my duffel bag and pulling out a box of Morton’s salt. “But that wasn’t enough for you. You wanted more because you’re a greedy bastard.”
“Don’t,” he cried.
“Guess what?” I whispered. “It’s not enough for me either.” I said, grabbing his shattered hand with my gloved hand and pouring salt over the wound where his finger was missing.
That’s for me because I’m a greedy motherfucker too.
I emptied the box of salt onto his hand, throwing the box on the floor and grabbed the leash again.
Time for you to howl.
And boy did he howl. He begged for death and screamed in agony.
I snapped the leash. “C’mon boy, let’s go for a walk, I promise to give you a treat if you do as I say,” I said, as if I was talking to a dog. And I was a man of my word. I’d throw the dog a bone if he obeyed his master.
I led Jimmy toward the bar and as he crawled obediently beside me he left a trail of blood along the floor. Another stain to add to the bloodshed caused by this mutt.
“Good boy,” I said, treating him to a pat on the head. “Ready for your treat?”
He remained silent and stared at me with puppy dog eyes.