Page 47 of The Enforcer

Hector readied his own piece. “We go in, find Zoe, beat the shit out of Ivan. Then we take her home.”

“Sounds good to me.”

They entered the building from the back. It took a while—and some cash into the hands of the right junkies littering the floor—before he found his mark.

Ivan lay on a dirty mattress in a room that smelled like a toilet had overflowed. Beer bottles and needles scattered the floor.

Hector gave Ivan a nudge with his boot. “Wake up.” When that didn’t work, he kneeled next to him and smacked him in the face.

The fucker hardly seemed to feel it. Ivan was wasted, either on drugs or alcohol; probably both.

It hadn’t escaped his notice that Zoe was nowhere in the room. They navigated down the corridor, opening and closing doors, calling out her name.

She wasn’t there.

Shit.

He stomped back to Ivan, who still lay in his own filth.

Achilles pulled a face. “Damn, he smells.”

“Stop complaining. You’ve smelled worse.”

“Give me a warzone any time a day over this shitty room.”

“We need to sober him up.” He looked around, but Achilles beat him to the punch when he emerged from an adjoining room, a bucket in his hand.

“Ask and you shall receive.”

“You found water here?”

“Toilet water,” Achilles explained. “Should be an upgrade for him.”

“That was very nice of you,” Hector complimented him.

“Well, thank you. I’m a nice guy.” He emptied the bucket over Ivan.

Ivan’s eyes shot open. “What the—”

“Ivan. We meet again.” Hector grabbed him by his throat and punched him in the nose.

A scream, and then blood splattered on the dirty linoleum floor.

“Fuck! You broke my nose again!”

“That’s only the beginning, you sack of horseshit. The girl, where is she?”

“I don’t know what—”

Hector squeezed off his breath. “Don’t. Nowhere in the history of mankind has anyone believed anyone when they said, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’”

The fucker licked his dry lips. “I can’t tell you. You don’t know who you’re dealing with. He’ll kill me.”

“And what exactly did you think I was going to do to you? Braid your fucking hair?”

Hector took out his knife, pushed Ivan’s left hand onto the ground, and cut off his pinkie.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Ivan’s eyes went crazy. “Stop it! Shit, shit, shit.”

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