Page 26 of Bristol

Clyde does as he’s instructed and answers.

“Hello?”

“Hey, look about our talk earlier, I just wanted to say?—”

“It’s fine!” Clyde shouts, cutting him off.

Lying bastard.

“I really feel like we left things on a bad note, and I know you’re trying?—”

“Shut. Up!” Clyde shouts.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

Mo picks the phone up. “You’re our fucking problem,” he grits out.

“Who the fuck is this?”

“Mo. Remember me, motherfucker?”

“Clyde don’t tell them shit!” he shouts and the call ends.

Mo tries to dial him again but straight to voicemail.

“Send that number to Slider and see if we can get a trace on it. I’m gonna have a little chat with our friend here,” Mo says, tossing me the phone.

Clyde doesn’t realize how bad he’s fucked up because Mo is not one to fuck with. He’s big and burly and mostly soft-hearted but he will fuck you up if you fuck with him or his. And Clyde did just that.

I step outside, forgetting how bad it smelled until I’m standing out in it again. I pull my phone out my pocket and shoot a text to Slider with the number and a short message with what we need. He responds instantly saying he’s on it.

Screams come from inside and I almost feel bad for Clyde, but he’s helping this useless, piece of fucking shit. I want him to scream. I want him to be haunted by so much agony that he can’t stand it and decides that he needs to tell us everything.

I walk back inside and there’s blood running out of Clyde’s nose, a few splatters on the papers on his desk, and some dripping off of Mo’s left hand. He’s got Clyde’s hair gripped in his right hand and his left fist is pulled back, ready to deliver another blow.

“Where is he!?” he shouts, his voice hoarse.

Clyde grins a bloody smile at him, not saying a word.

“You don’t want to cooperate? That’s fine. Let’s see how you feel about cooperating in a few days.”

Clyde’s grin fades quickly at Mo’s words. I don’t know what he’s got in store for him, but I hope it gets him talking. I’m taking mental notes as I watch Mo’s technique. I’ve been in my fair share of fights over the last few years, but torture is a little out of my league. I’m not against learning, though.

“Bash, go out to the truck for me and grab the rope from the bed.”

I grab the rope and bring it back in. Clyde hasn’t moved but there’s a fear settling in his eyes as Mo binds his hands.

“This is kidnapping!”

“Do I look like I give a fuck?” Mo asks, not bothering to stop what he’s doing.

Mo leaves a long strand of rope and it almost looks leash-like. I realize why when he pulls Clyde to stand and directs him out the door and Clyde protests. Mo looks like a Viking, with his unruly brown hair and long, kinky brown beard as he yanks the rope, forcing Clyde forward. Clyde lunges forward and stumbles, barely catching his balance.

“I’m not fucking with you, computer boy.”

Clyde spits blood onto his unfinished plywood floors but doesn’t fight anymore. He walks outside and Mo shoves him into the passenger seat.

“No funny business, or I put a bullet into your head, understand?” he asks, pointing to the pistol on his side.

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