Page 27 of Handsome Devil
Luca turned to his brother. “Christ, Achilles, would you kill him already? Mama taught you not to play with your food.”
“He’s not even a snack,” Achilles murmured around a lit cigarette, squinting. “He vomited out all the information before we even brought him to the basement. What kind of world do we live in that you don’t have to extort secrets from the enemy?”
“A dull one.” I drummed my gloved fingers over the table. “Is my father’s second killer local?”
Luca uncrossed his arms, readjusting his holster. “Lives upstate. This guy’s been providing him with a steady stream of underaged, undocumented sex workers.”
Another shriek of agony punctuated the damp, cold air, coming from the handcuffed victim.
Luca sighed. Pulling his gun out of his shoulder holster, he pointed it at the man and shot him square between the eyes through the sack. The screaming ceased at once.
Achilles’s sulky expression was comically boyish on his scarred, grotesque face. “Hey, I was having fun with that one.”
Luca spun and tucked his gun back into his holster. “We’ll get you another toy soon. I want to unburden myself of this fucker first.”
Achilles prowled our way and sank onto a seat in front of me, placing his gun on the table.
“Enzo,” he clipped out. “Upstairs.”
The youngest brother glanced between his siblings.
“Why?” He scowled. “I’m the enforcer now. I’m good for i—”
“I’m the underboss you report to, and I’m telling you to get the fuck out.” Luca snapped his ledger shut. “You can do it voluntarily or with a second asshole the shape of a bullet. Your call.”
“Dude, you pulling rank on me right now?” Enzo frothed. “This is bullshit. How am I supposed to learn the craft—”
“Do I look like fucking Georgetown?” Achilles turned to Luca, motioning toward his scarred face.
“No,” Luca said flatly.
Achilles turned to Enzo. “Bye, little shit.”
“Vai a farti fottere!” Enzo stomped his way out in a cloud of juvenile fury. He was surprisingly golden retriever-ish for a mobster. Luca reminded me of a stray. Achilles of a rabies-infected coyote.
Finally, I had both Luca’s and Achilles’s attention. Somewhere in the back of my head, I realized conducting business with a dead body in the room wasn’t normal, but I concluded long ago I was anything but sane.
“Tell me where you’re at with our project.” I rapped my knuckles on the table.
“Which one?” Achilles asked. “Dementia lady or your father’s killers?”
“Hospital.”
My father’s murderers could wait. After Boyle, they knew I was coming for them. Living in fear was far worse than being dead. I learned that from experience.
“There’s no space at the trial.” Luca cracked his knuckles. “Not only is the program at full capacity, but the waiting list is a mile long. Since we can’t go around killing dozens of innocent people, we have to get creative. Paint a picture.”
“Elaborate, Dick-asso,” I ground out.
“We’ll hack the database software harboring the waiting list and put your candidate at the top of it,” Achilles explained.“Luca has studied the criteria they’re looking for. We found a neurologist to forge the desired test results—they’ll call him before offering your candidate a spot. Then, we’ll relieve one actively treated patient of their life. Your mysterious dementia patient will be their first call.” The mobster loosened his shoulder holster, dumping it on the table between us. Tattoos snaked up and down his forearms, his chest and neck, up to his jawline.
“So what’s the holdup?” I demanded.
“Research. We needed to look into each participating patient to see which one we should off.” He grabbed a bottle of Cutty Sark, pouring himself a glass. “We have an IT guy on retainer, but we’ll see if accessing a government’s healthcare website and tampering with its records is above his pay grade. I’m sure there’ll be more fees to come, so get your Bitcoin ready.”
A knock sounded from the door.
“Come in,” Luca instructed.
