Page 63 of Kyle

“Okay,” he says, slowing his actions when he sees my cut. “What can I do for you? You got a car that needs repair?”

I yank the chain, slamming the second set of doors down, and now. Jerry backs up a step.

“No, Jerry. I don’t have a car.”

He frowns. “Do I know you?”

“Nope. I’m here about Sutton.”

“Sutton? What about her?” His eyes follow my movements as I pick up a nearby tire iron and walk toward him. He lifts his hands. “I don’t want any trouble, mister.”

“Too bad. ‘Cause trouble just found you.” I swing and break his femur, hearing it crunch as he goes down. I’m over him in a second with my arm raised.

Jerry’s hands go up in a defensive position. “No, please. Don’t kill me.”

“I hear you’ve got pictures of Sutton. Pictures you’ve been threatening to make public if she doesn’t come up with money to buy you off. True? And you better give me the right answer.”

“Okay. Yeah, I did.” He moans, tears streaming down his face. “Motherfucker, that hurts. I need an ambulance.”

“You don’t tell me what I want to hear, you’re gonna need a coroner and a trip to the morgue.”

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. Please. T-there’s money in the drawer.” His shaking hand points toward a small office.

“I don’t want your fucking money. Where are the pictures?”

“On my phone. They’re all on my phone.”

“What about your computer? A jump drive? The cloud?”

“No, I swear. Just my phone.”

“I find out you’re lying to me, they’ll never find your body. Do you understand?”

He nods, his teeth gritted against the pain.

“So, one more time, Jerry. Where are they?”

“My phone. Just my phone. I swear it.”

I hold out my hand. “Give it to me.”

He digs into his pocket and hands it over.

“What’s the code?” I ask.

“6969.”

I shake my head. What a sophomoric asshole. It unlocks, and I go to his photos. Scrolling, I see he’s got naked photos of a lot of different women. I whistle. “You’re a regular Romeo, aren’t you? Or maybe you’re a rapist and serial killer.”

“What?”

I punch him in the face again and again until it's pouring blood onto his shirt. “Take your fucking shirt off.”

He can’t talk at this point. I probably broke his jaw, but he shrugs out of it, ripping the buttons down the front and tossing it to me.

I grab it, squat, and hold it in front of his face. “You see this blood? That’s your DNA. You ever do another thing to harm Sutton in any fucking way, the cops are gonna find your shirt and DNA at a horrific murder scene. We clear?”

He nods, barely able to hold his head up.

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