Page 64 of Edge of Ruin
“Your friend Siebling ratted you out,” John taunted. “He went to Wilder’s gallery. To needle him, I think. Told him all about this big, randy stud who’s been servicing you. That you were all pink and juicy, getting it left, right, and sideways ten times a day, huh? Filthy slut. Dirty little cocksucking whore?—”
“Enough!” Haupt’s voice was shrill. “You exhaust me, John. Do not get distracted. Excuse him, my dear. John is very single-minded when he gets worked up. I must constantly remind him, work before play, no? Vivien, your cell phone is in your purse, I presume. Take it out and give it to John.”
I picked up my purse from where it had fallen and passed it over. I had turned the thing off the previous day, not wanting to deal with any calls from my sisters. I was too raw to face even them. Another crazy, childish mistake, on top of all my others.
John cracked open the shell and ripped the various components apart. He dropped the pieces and crushed them beneath his boot heel.
“Rafael?” I repeated. “You hurt Rafael?”
“Not quite yet, but we have someone on it,” John told her. “We’ve hired an army for the endgame. Men are waiting for him in his condo. I can arrange for them to film the event. Popcorn, beer, arterial gouts, detached body parts. Big party.”
Sick faintness came over me. Oh God. Rafael.
“That asswipe Wilder’s dead, too,” he went on. “You should’ve seen him when I was through. A work of art, quite literally. I took a few pictures. Want to see?”
John held out the cell. I flinched away in revulsion.
“Focus, John,” Haupt reminded him sternly as he stumped heavily over to me, his watery, pink-rimmed eyes shiny with mad cheerfulness. “I think this one might be my favorite of all the sisters,” he said. “So pretty. So vivid.”
“Her tits are too small, but other than that, yeah.” John licked his lips, his eyes hot. “I like the feisty ones who spit and squirm.”
“I am seldom tempted at my age,” the shambling old horror whispered. He lifted the silenced barrel of his pistol, petted my cheek with it. “But you inspire me. Perhaps I will indulge, in my own special way.” He used the silencer to tug down the neckline of my shirt, revealing the tattoo. “How pretty,” he commented. “A buttercup.”
“No, actually.” I cleared my throat. “It’s Eranthis hyemalis.”
The gun jabbed my breastbone. “Are you contradicting me?”
Fear was starting to poke through my fatalistic numbness, big-time. “Um, no.”
He petted the flower tattoo with the gun barrel. “I heard that you have tattoos. My father kept a collection of tattoos, you know. He gathered them during the war. I inherited his secret album when he died. There must be fifteen or twenty of them. Papa did love his trophies, but he had so few people to share them with. People are squeamish, you see. Not me. I treasure it.” He chuckled. “Perhaps I’ll follow my father’s example and take your tattoos for mementos. I can start my own album. Never too late, hmm?”
I’d started shuddering violently. “What do you want from me?”
Haupt sighed. “The usual, my dear. For you to tell me something useful that I don’t already know about the Conte de Luca’s hidden treasure.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “Oh, shit,” I whispered.
“Yes, yes. I understand the drill. You’re as ignorant and useless as your two sisters. But the Contessa’s letter suggested that the three of you together had a chance. And if Lucia de Luca was convinced of this, then I continue to be optimistic.”
“You’ll never get my sisters,” I said, with conviction.
“No? I’m already planning hits on your inconvenient future brothers-in-law. As soon as they’re out of the way, we’ll have no problem with your sisters. Particularly after we send them the recording of John having his naughty fun with you. That should flush them out.” He leaned so close, I could not avoid his sour smell, and pushed my chin up with the gun. He twisted his hand around my emerald pendant until the chain snapped, and stared at it intently, then let out a snort of disgust. “Just like the other two. A cheap reproduction. A worthless gaud.”
He opened a briefcase and flung it carelessly inside. I saw the gleam of gold, a snarl of chains. Nell’s and Nancy’s necklaces were in there too.
Haupt jerked my chin back up. “This is you last chance, Vivien. Do you wish to spare yourself pain and disfigurement? We can be reasonable, if you are.”
“Of course,” I said.
“Very well. Then tell me something interesting.” His tone was coaxing, as if I were the one being tiresome and difficult, refusing to cooperate out of spite and pique.
Tears of frustration leaked from my eyes. “I don’t know anything,” I said bleakly. “Not a damn thing. Believe me. I would tell you if I did.”
Haupt let out a sharp sigh of annoyance. “Well, John, your dream has come true. It appears that we have to play out this whole bloody, noisy drama right here and now. Set up the video and aim it at the bed. You brought in the tripod? And your mask?”
John set up the scene as Haupt held the gun and barked orders. The barrel was pressed painfully hard against my jugular. I could feel the quick throb of my heart against the pressure of the metal. Beating stubbornly on. For a little longer, at least.
“How will you get all of us together if you kill me?” I asked.
