Page 28 of Damron
I let him go, straightened, and dropped the hammer back into the bag. “See? Wasn’t so hard.”
The room was dead silent. I wiped my hands on a bar rag, then pointed at Augustine. “Call in the doc. Fix him up, but not too much.”
The kid slumped, sobbing, as they dragged him off. Nitro followed, eyes never leaving the blood trail on the floor.
Carly stepped closer, her face pale but steady. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said.
I looked at her, hard. “No, Senator, I did. You still don’t get it, do you?”
She glared, but her hands were shaking.
I stepped into her space, voice low. “They don’t play by your rules, Carly. They only understand pain. You want to survive this? You get mean. You get ugly. Or you don’t come back at all.”
She didn’t look away. That’s why I married her, once.
I left her standing there, alone in the carnage, and went to see if the prospect had anything else left to say.
###
Nitro had dragged the prospect into the back room by the time I got there. The space was a windowless box with a workbench, afew busted lockers, and a dirty linoleum floor that had seen more blood than a slaughterhouse. Twisted—the name was stitched above his heart in crisp white—was slumped in a plastic chair, zip-tied to the arms, one hand a ruined claw of pulped fingers. He whimpered when Nitro propped him upright, but there was fight left in his eyes. Good. Broken men were useless. I needed him scared but thinking.
I closed the door behind me, leaving the noise of the club on the other side. Nitro stayed just inside, arms crossed, boots spread, eyes flat as winter sky. He didn’t move, didn’t even blink, just watched like he was seeing whether I’d finish the job or hand it off for extra credit.
Twisted spat a mouthful of blood at my feet. “You think this’ll matter? You’re fucked. You don’t even see it yet.”
I grinned, crouching to eye level. “Kid, I’ve seen more fucked than you can count. But you? You’re not even close to bottom yet.”
He jerked at the ties. “You gonna kill me, then do it.”
I snorted. “Not yet. First, you’re gonna tell me everything you know about the job. Then I’ll see if you’re worth killing.”
He hesitated, eyes flicking to Nitro, then back to me. I could see the wheels grinding: was this a test, or just more pain? Most kids cracked after the first bone. This one might actually hold out. I reached for the hammer, still slick from the last round. He went white, then green.
“Let’s talk,” I said, “about the part you’re not telling me.” I bounced the hammer in my palm. “Because you had inside info. The windows you hit, the timing—someone gave you a playbook.”
He shook his head, teeth gritted. “No. Just… just orders.”
I grabbed his bad hand and pressed the ruined fingers against the chair arm. “You ever play piano?” I asked.
He screamed as I pressed down on the snapped bones. “FUCK—shit—stop, stop, stop—”
I let up, wiped my hand on my jeans. “We’re gonna keep going until I get a name, Prospect. Start with the club. Which one sent you?”
He sobbed, head hanging. “Dire Straits. Out of Santa Fe. I’m—was—just a prospect. They said it was a test.”
I cocked my head. “That’s not enough. You don’t get this kind of job unless someone pulls the trigger from above.”
He flinched when I reached for the next finger. Nitro broke the silence, voice like gravel in a blender. “He’s stalling, boss. You want the pliers?”
I nodded. Nitro fished a pair from the tool roll, wiped them on his shirt, and handed them over with a flourish. I admired the clean, cold bite of the jaws.
“Last chance, kid,” I said. “Otherwise I start deconstructing you, one piece at a time. I’ll leave the dick for last, since you probably don’t use it much anyway.”
He was shaking hard, lips grey. “You’re insane.”
“Sometimes,” I agreed, clamping the pliers on his thumbnail. “But I get results.” I started twisting, slow and even. The sound was wet, the nail coming away from the bed like a strip of old paint. He shrieked, feet kicking, and the chair nearly toppled.
“Jesus Christ,” Carly said, somewhere behind me. I didn’t turn. She must have slipped in during the commotion. “Damron, stop! This is torture. He’s just a kid!”
