Page 53 of El Malo

“I won’t let you d-down, jefe,” he vows, his teeth chattering with adrenaline.

“I know,” I tell him simply. “If you do, I’ll squeeze your nuts from your body like Velez here, but I’ll make you eat them.”

He gags and I laugh. Squatting, I inspect Velez. His arm is stretched in the air, purple and ugly looking. The rope tied around his cock is doing its job. His puny pecker is stretched beyond what looks humanly possible and is the same color as his arm. Green puss bleeds from his piss hole. Soft, raspy breathing is coming from him, but he’s out of it. Time to wake up. I stand and stalk over to where my apron hangs. I pull it over my head and find my hammer. By the time I turn around, Arturo is watching me with an expectant gleam in his eyes. Angel is shivering, but his stare is glued on me.

“Velez,” I bark as I tap the blunt end of the hammer on the top of his skull.

He groans and lifts his head. Drool hangs from his mouth and his eyes are bloodshot. “Uhnnn.”

I bend over so I can look straight into his dead eyes. “If an American was seeking safety in Guerrero, where would he go?”

His eyes roll back in his head and it lolls to the side. Not good enough. I step back and swing the hammer hard across the side of his knee. The crack is loud, but his scream is louder. I smirk, knowing I just broke his kneecap.

“If an American was seeking safety in Guerrero, where would he go?”

“I-I don’t know—”

Whack!

This time, I hit his other knee. He vomits and it sprays me. Thank fuck I’m wearing my apron. I nudge the ice pack between his thighs, hoping to inflict some pain. He groans some, but when I tap his stretched out cock with the hammer in a threatening way, he starts sobbing like a little bitch.

“I-I t-think attorney g-general Lucas Lorenzo.” He hisses in pain. “Please kill me.”

“Tell me what I want to know and I will,” I seethe.

He nods quickly. “Uh, Lorenzo lives n-north of t-the city. If t-there was an American seeking shelter, he’d w-want that f-for his p-political g-gain.”

Turning to Arturo and Angel, I point at the kid. “Get him some clothes. His task is to bring me Michael. Alive. I want him sitting in this chair.”

“I will find him,” Angel vows.

“And me?” Arturo asks. “What will I do?”

I stand and eye Velez’s stinking body. Without warning, I swing the clawed end of the hammer against the side of his skull. It lodges itself in his head, killing him on impact. “Take care of the fucking corpse.”

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