Page 90 of Absolution

As we walk back through the kitchen I don’t even bother to ask to get the answers out of this guy. Both Luci and I have good reasons for wanting Rusty to speak, but my uncle is so obviously determined that I’ll just let it play out. Watching him in action, doing his business, is almost like enjoying an art form.

Rusty hangs upside down. His arms tied behind his back, the rope around his ankles secured on a meat hook. Salvatore rips the rag out of his mouth and a stream of pleading pours out of the man. Tears and snot have dampened his hair as it streams along his forehead.

“Rusty, my boy.” Salvatore sounds unreasonably calm. “My little relative has gone missing, and it has come to my attention that a Charlie Richter is behind this.”

Rusty’s eyes widen for a second, then he shakes his head. “I don’t know— what you’re talking about,” he grunts out.

Salvatore sighs, unscrews the soda bottle he brought with him, takes a swig, then he grabs the back of Rusty’s head, gripping his hair and pours soda in his nose. Rusty gargles and his body contorts as he gulps, coughs, cries.

“I suggest you don’t inhale it,” says Salvatore, his voice stone cold.

I find a toothpick in a back pocket, stick it between my teeth and lean against the wall, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Boss!” screams Rusty between gasps. “Please!”

“Where are they keeping my little niece, Rusty?”

“I don’t know anything!”

Salvatore pours more soda up the young man’s nostrils. It may seem like mild torture, but the cold fizzing liquid tickles the surface of the brain through the thinnest layer of bone, and this is incredibly painful and panic-inducing.

Rusty resists a few more minutes then he begins to babble. “I can give you names!” he squeals.

“Where is my niece!” roars Salvatore, so viciously even I jump.

“Address,” he wails, “I have. Let me down! Please!” His voice breaks on the last word.

“Give. Me. Everything. Rusty, and I’ll consider your future while I take care of some things.”

“Yes!”

Johnny starts tapping down the info on his phone as Salvatore looks over his shoulder, making sure it matches what Rusty says. The young man talks and talks. I glance at the clock. We’ve been here thirty minutes. Cecilia has been gone two and a half hours. I’m filled with dread, my heart dark, and I clench my fists. I want to do something, hurt someone. Now!

“All right,” says Salvatore. “You, you, and you, with us. Francesco, you stay behind.”

“What about this ass?” asks Francesco.

Salvatore looks the man over, not hiding his disgust. “Let him hang. Help yourself to whatever the house offers, espresso, Grappa, there are nice meals in the fridge, leftovers from last night.”

As we leave the little room, Rusty starts screaming again, pleading, crying. Francesco picks up the rag and shoves it back into Rusty’s mouth before he follows us out into the restaurant, letting the heavy metal door to the cold storage slam closed.

We move fast through the city, split up in two large black SUVs.

“Christiano,” says Salvatore, making me twitch out of the grueling darkness that threatens to swallow me. “Call in Simon and his guys, we need five of them. Tell them to meet us one block south of this address.” He sticks a note in my hand.

“This is where they’re keeping her?” I thumb up Simon’s number in my contact list and put the phone to my ear.

“Supposedly,” says my uncle, his voice grave. “It matches one of the addresses the cops gave us. Rusty’s in for a world of pain if he’s lied, and he knows it.”

Simon answers promptly and I relay the information, telling him to drop everything he’s doing. Simon and his men are bouncers at our illegal gambling clubs. Many of them veterans, and former mercenaries. They know exactly what they’re doing. With their work hours they sleep during the day and work at night. It’s late afternoon and they should be free to mobilize within minutes.

“They’ll be there,” I tell Salvatore as I disconnect. He doesn’t answer, just nods, his expression grim. I know he has two concerns. Cecilia’s well-being, and the fact that he was betrayed. The latter led to the first, so I’m fully and completely with him.

We pull up in an alley a block from the office building where Cecilia is being held. The other car comes to a halt behind us a moment later. Ivan jumps out and opens the back door, unzipping two large bags.

“Help yourselves,” he says and gestures to the assortment of weapons. We’re ready for war. We always are. It’s part of our lives, ingrained in our genes.

We gear up. Adrian and Ivan leave to scope out the premises. Thirty agonizing minutes later the two men return at the same time as two more SUVs arrive, approaching fast and coming to an abrupt halt right behind our vehicles. Five black-clad giants pour out, already fully equipped. Simon, whom I’ve worked with on a number of occasions nods at me as he walks up to Salvatore.

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