us.”
“Bullshit,” Marco said. “I didn’t…”
The lie had barely begun when a wash of pain, scalding and acidic, spread out along his pectoral. It climbed his shoulder and cascaded down his belly. The agony appeared so quickly it caught the scream in Marco’s throat. He grit his teeth and managed to squeeze out a high-pitched whine. Then the pain receded, leaving a patina of misery in its wake.
“What the fuck?” he bellowed.
“You were given ample warning about the value of the truth,” Hayes said. “So you’ve lied to us and in fact did give Mr. Musante the funds he needed to buy our item. We know the transaction occurred. We know Mr. Musante returned to Chicago soon after the acquisition with the intent of passing the item on to you. Did he do so?”
“What?”
“Did you take possession of our property?”
“No,” Impelliteri said. “He was supposed to bring it to me the night that fuck of a wrestler gunned him down.”
“Do you know where our item is?”
“The wrestler’s got it,” he said. “I mean, I think he’s got it. I don’t know. I had a man on the scene and it wasn’t in the house, wasn’t on Lonnie.”
“And you’re certain Mr. Musante is deceased?”
“He’d better be,” Impelliteri said. “They put him in a coffin and burned the whole thing to char.”
“But he could have tricked you,” Hayes said.
“Would have been a really good trick,” Impelliteri said. “I saw him in the box, and twenty minutes later I saw them put the box in the fire, and that’s after he spent two days in the county morgue. You telling me you guys are immortal or something?”
Mr. Hayes’ face pinched at the question. He walked around to the front of the chair his shoulder hovering over that of his buddy, Brand. “Do you know the name of the item Mr. Musante stole?”
“The Rose,” Impelliteri said. “He called it ‘The Rose.’”
“Do you know what it is capable of?”
“No,” he said. Again the pain. He fought it. Struggled to keep from screaming.
“You certainly wouldn’t spend so much on an item if you didn’t know its purpose. What did Mr. Musante tell you about the Rose, Mr. Impelliteri?”
“He told me it could help me.”
“Help you how?”
“He said it could help me keep faggots like you from trying to ass fuck me.” The pain blinded him this time. He lost consciousness for a moment, and he wished it had been more thorough in knocking him out, because even in the second of oblivion the pain was as sharp and loud as shattering glass.
“How was the Rose supposed to help you, Mr. Impelliteri? It didn’t help, Mr. Musante, did it?”
“He never said it would make me bulletproof. He said it would help me. Help me fix my head.”
Lonnie swore it would take care of the fucking disease in my brain, so I can stop… I don’t want to do it… My poor baby… I don’t. Some kind of curse. Some kind of devil possessing me, making me… Fuck, I have to find it. It’s real. The things I could do…
“So you believe the Rose is an instrument of healing?”
“Yeah, why? You saying it’s something else?”
“We’re done here,” Hayes said. He backed away and held the iron rod out at his side, a pose that showed Marco he was more than ready to throw the uncommon weapon if he did so much as flinch.
Brand tapped Marco’s cheek with the knife one last time and then yanked the pin out of his chest. He dropped it into the pocket of his apron and skipped back several steps, looking pleased as fucking punch, looking like he had a mouthful of canary. Marco hated the stubby little prick, hated his withered arm and his smug expression.
Hayes and Brand, he thought. Hayes and Brand. If he was still breathing when those shit stains walked out of his house, he was going to make a hobby of causing them pain.
Brand continued to the door of the office, but Hayes remained in the center of the room.
“I understand you won’t take my advice, but I’ll offer it
“Bullshit,” Marco said. “I didn’t…”
The lie had barely begun when a wash of pain, scalding and acidic, spread out along his pectoral. It climbed his shoulder and cascaded down his belly. The agony appeared so quickly it caught the scream in Marco’s throat. He grit his teeth and managed to squeeze out a high-pitched whine. Then the pain receded, leaving a patina of misery in its wake.
“What the fuck?” he bellowed.
“You were given ample warning about the value of the truth,” Hayes said. “So you’ve lied to us and in fact did give Mr. Musante the funds he needed to buy our item. We know the transaction occurred. We know Mr. Musante returned to Chicago soon after the acquisition with the intent of passing the item on to you. Did he do so?”
“What?”
“Did you take possession of our property?”
“No,” Impelliteri said. “He was supposed to bring it to me the night that fuck of a wrestler gunned him down.”
“Do you know where our item is?”
“The wrestler’s got it,” he said. “I mean, I think he’s got it. I don’t know. I had a man on the scene and it wasn’t in the house, wasn’t on Lonnie.”
“And you’re certain Mr. Musante is deceased?”
“He’d better be,” Impelliteri said. “They put him in a coffin and burned the whole thing to char.”
“But he could have tricked you,” Hayes said.
“Would have been a really good trick,” Impelliteri said. “I saw him in the box, and twenty minutes later I saw them put the box in the fire, and that’s after he spent two days in the county morgue. You telling me you guys are immortal or something?”
Mr. Hayes’ face pinched at the question. He walked around to the front of the chair his shoulder hovering over that of his buddy, Brand. “Do you know the name of the item Mr. Musante stole?”
“The Rose,” Impelliteri said. “He called it ‘The Rose.’”
“Do you know what it is capable of?”
“No,” he said. Again the pain. He fought it. Struggled to keep from screaming.
“You certainly wouldn’t spend so much on an item if you didn’t know its purpose. What did Mr. Musante tell you about the Rose, Mr. Impelliteri?”
“He told me it could help me.”
“Help you how?”
“He said it could help me keep faggots like you from trying to ass fuck me.” The pain blinded him this time. He lost consciousness for a moment, and he wished it had been more thorough in knocking him out, because even in the second of oblivion the pain was as sharp and loud as shattering glass.
“How was the Rose supposed to help you, Mr. Impelliteri? It didn’t help, Mr. Musante, did it?”
“He never said it would make me bulletproof. He said it would help me. Help me fix my head.”
Lonnie swore it would take care of the fucking disease in my brain, so I can stop… I don’t want to do it… My poor baby… I don’t. Some kind of curse. Some kind of devil possessing me, making me… Fuck, I have to find it. It’s real. The things I could do…
“So you believe the Rose is an instrument of healing?”
“Yeah, why? You saying it’s something else?”
“We’re done here,” Hayes said. He backed away and held the iron rod out at his side, a pose that showed Marco he was more than ready to throw the uncommon weapon if he did so much as flinch.
Brand tapped Marco’s cheek with the knife one last time and then yanked the pin out of his chest. He dropped it into the pocket of his apron and skipped back several steps, looking pleased as fucking punch, looking like he had a mouthful of canary. Marco hated the stubby little prick, hated his withered arm and his smug expression.
Hayes and Brand, he thought. Hayes and Brand. If he was still breathing when those shit stains walked out of his house, he was going to make a hobby of causing them pain.
Brand continued to the door of the office, but Hayes remained in the center of the room.
“I understand you won’t take my advice, but I’ll offer it
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