Carter gave him a concerned look.
Mr. X looked at one of his comrades and snapped his finger.
The man handed him a propane blowtorch. Even a dimwit like Carter Wallace could see where this was going.
Mr. X pulled the trigger, sparking the torch. The narrow blue flame hissed. He waved it in front of the scumbag, taunting him for a moment. “Do you know what happens to an eyeball when you put a blowtorch to it for any length of time?”
Carter swallowed hard.
“Of course, the eyeball burns, and you lose your vision. The surrounding tissue burns and blisters. The vitreous humor inside the eyeball, that's the liquid, boils. After a while, theeyeball bursts. The pain... The pain is intense. Of course, I wouldn't know firsthand, but I'm sure you'll be able to tell me very soon.”
That was all the motivation that Carter needed.
"All I know is we were paid to make the hit. We were supposed to make it look like a robbery gone wrong.”
My jaw tightened. “Who paid you?”
Carter hesitated for a moment.
All Mr. X had to do was bring the blowtorch a little closer.
Re-incentivized, Carter said, “Ray Ray.”
“Who’s Ray Ray?”
“Raymond.”
I hunched on my knees and looked him in the eye. “What’s Raymond’s last name?”
“I don’t know. I just know him by Ray Ray or Stingray.”
“Where do I find him?”
“He owns the Cool Cat Lounge on Crenshaw. He’s always there.”
“Who was the target?”
“Ray Ray gave us an address and said to kill everyone there. That’s all I know.”
“Anything else I need to know?”
“I don’t know. Is there?”
I glared at him. “Why?”
“Why what?”
Through gritted teeth, I said, “Why did Ray Ray hire you?”
Carter shook his head. “I don’t know why? I never ask.”
“I swear to God if you’re lying to me…”
“I ain’t lying. I want to keep my fucking eyeballs, thank you very much.”
“Who does Raymond work for?”
“Raymond works for Raymond.”