Page 45 of Savage Justice

“I can’t walk. My foot…”

“I suggest you fucking do. If you think I’m hauling your fat arse about, you’re wrong.”

He scrambles out of the boot, then drops to his knees. “Please, let me go. I swear I don’t know anything about anything. You’ve got the wrong man.”

“I don’t think so. Stop snivelling, get up, and come with me.”

He manages to drag himself upright again, then forgets about his injured toe and decides to make a run for it. Fucking moron.

Tony takes him to the ground before he’s got more than a few paces. If it had been me I might have stuck a boot in his ribs by way of a lesson, but Tony has more forbearance than I do. He simply drags him back onto his feet and shoves him in the direction of the warehouse.

“Get your arse in there,” he snarls. “You’re really starting to piss us off now.”

Borys limps along in front of us, protesting all the way.

“This is that brother-in-law of mine, isn’t it? He’s the one paying you. Arrogant bastard, thinks he’s a cut above. That bitch is always complaining, snivelling to him…”

He pauses to take in the cavernous space beyond the huge roller shutter door which has been raised to a height of about five feet, just enough to allow us to bend and step inside.

Jack is already there. He glances up from his phone and nods to Tony and me, totally ignoring Borys.

Borys returns the compliment and continues to complain. “Do you know who I am? I’ve got connections, people who will—”

“Shut the fuck up,” I snarl. “No one’s interested in who you know. You’re on your own, arsehole.”

The space is more or less empty. A few crates of something or other are stacked at one end, but otherwise it’s just us and the dust motes which dance in the chilly morning sunlight.

Borys glares at me. I get the impression the reality of his dilemma is beginning to dawn on him, but still his belligerence persists.

“So, what’s this about? I’m a busy man, I have stuff to do.”

He cuts an almost comical figure in his garish psychedelic shorts and Bermuda shirt, his toe still seeping blood. He slaps his arms across his chest to ward off the cold.

It is bit nippy. I’m glad of my quilted Barbour jacket and boots as I stroll over to where Jack lounges against a reinforced steel column. “Is everything ready?”

“Reckon so. In there.” He gestures with his thumb towards a metal door at the far end of the warehouse. “Ethan’s on his way, but he says to get on with shit without him. Don’t do this one too much damage, though. Apparently, the boss wants a word, too.”

I hadn’t expected Ethan Savage to be personally interested in today’s proceedings, but perhaps he’s on the mainland on other business. Whatever, this is turning into a long day, and I’m keen to get started.

“You, come with me,” I bark.

Borys remains rooted to the spot.

“Are you deaf?”

“What are you…? Why…?” he stammers.

Tony grabs him by the elbow and propels him across the floor. “You need to do as you’re fucking told.”

Borys puts up a fight. I don’t blame him, but his efforts are futile. Tony is twice his size and not missing half his big toe.

I open the door, and Tony bundles our guest through.

We’re in a smaller room, and one equipped for the sort of purpose we have in mind. A metal table stands in the middle of the floor. The legs at one end are propped on rough-cut planks of wood from a pallet, raising that end up by about six inches. A pile of grubby towels is strewn about the floor, along with an empty bucket.

A water butt stands a few feet from the table. I lift the lid to check. It’s half full, should be plenty for our needs.

Jack has followed us in, bringing with him a length of rope. “Do you need a hand?” he offers.

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