an impending religious rebirth and feeble claims of innocence, Toussant rolled over on his cousin for dealing Ecstasy and coke out of his club.
“Just shut up and listen,” Healy barked.
Serpe took over, kneeling close to the big man, whispering in his right ear. “I wanna know exactly what happened that Saturday morning, minute by minute. I wanna know what you did to Cain, when you last saw him. The first time I think you’re lying to us, I’m gonna nod to my partner over there and he’s gonna press that gun right up to the back of your head. Its muzzle will be so close that when he pulls the trigger, it’ll light your fuckin’ hair on fire. Luckily, you’ll be too dead to give a shit.”
Toussant didn’t hesitate. As he had admitted back in Brooklyn, he said he had hit Cain, but claimed that the kid had taken the first swing. Pressed for a reason why, Toussant confessed to goading Cain into it.
“I call ‘im names. I tease de monkey boy about ‘is big cop friend and ‘is boss. I say it stink in ‘is room.”
Joe Serpe had no trouble believing Cain would have had a go at Toussant after that. But even with the kid’s surprising strength, he’d be no match for a man like Toussant.
“Firs’ ‘e punch me across the face, then the eye. I ‘ave to defend myself. You would defend yourself, no?”
Healy and Serpe let that question hang in the air like the smell of rotting undergrowth. That made Mr. French nervous. He started talking. Whining. Complaining about how hard his life was.
“These retards, you think it is a joy to work with them? They are terrible, dirty and stupid.”
If he was trying to win his captors over with his charm, he was doing a poor job of it.
“So why do you work at these homes if you hate the residents so much?” Healy was curious.
“Women.” Toussant blurted out before he could stop himself.
“You fuckin’ piece of shit!” Serpe backhanded Toussant with his good hand, sending him sprawling. Joe wanted to grab the gun out of Healy’s hand and do the world a favor. There was evil in the universe, enough of it so that removing Toussant would go unnoticed. Joe wasn’t interested in whether Mr. French was born a violent pig or if he developed into one.
“Take it easy, Serpe,” Healy warned, seeing the brewing storm in Joe’s eyes. “Let’s get this over with.”
Joe took a deep breath. “Okay, Toussant, what happened after you hit the kid?”
“‘e was difficult to control at first, but I learn ‘ow to ‘andle such people. The monkey boy is crying, threatening me you will kill me.”
A broad smile crossed Serpe’s face. “Yeah, and then …”
“I keep ‘im restrained until ‘e calm down a little. I say for ‘im to forget it if ‘e knows what is good. Then I leave the room and I never see ‘im after that.”
“And what time was that?” Healy asked.
“Please, I beg that you don’t kill me. I ‘ave many children. I—”
“What time, shithead?” Serpe screamed.
“I don’t remember, early. Seven-thirty maybe. I don’t know.”
Silence again dominated the night.
Healy and Serpe propped Toussant up once more. The big man was now beyond begging. He body trembled in their hands. Reluctantly, Healy handed the 9mm to Serpe. If ever there was a test of trust between two men, this was it. The sight of the gun changing hands was too much for Toussant. Vomit spewed from mouth in a steady stream and, his hands still cuffed behind him, he fell forward right into his own puke.
Healy straddled Toussant to remove the cuffs, but the Haitian’s panic got the better of both of them. He squirmed and bucked, knocking Healy off him. Serpe pressed his boot down on Toussant’s neck. That seemed to take all the fight out of him. Healy took off the cuffs. They both stepped away from Toussant.
“Okay, shithead, start running,” Joe said.
“You are going to kill me?”
“Ten, nine, eight, seven.”
Jean Michel Toussant didn’t need to be told twice.
“Just shut up and listen,” Healy barked.
Serpe took over, kneeling close to the big man, whispering in his right ear. “I wanna know exactly what happened that Saturday morning, minute by minute. I wanna know what you did to Cain, when you last saw him. The first time I think you’re lying to us, I’m gonna nod to my partner over there and he’s gonna press that gun right up to the back of your head. Its muzzle will be so close that when he pulls the trigger, it’ll light your fuckin’ hair on fire. Luckily, you’ll be too dead to give a shit.”
Toussant didn’t hesitate. As he had admitted back in Brooklyn, he said he had hit Cain, but claimed that the kid had taken the first swing. Pressed for a reason why, Toussant confessed to goading Cain into it.
“I call ‘im names. I tease de monkey boy about ‘is big cop friend and ‘is boss. I say it stink in ‘is room.”
Joe Serpe had no trouble believing Cain would have had a go at Toussant after that. But even with the kid’s surprising strength, he’d be no match for a man like Toussant.
“Firs’ ‘e punch me across the face, then the eye. I ‘ave to defend myself. You would defend yourself, no?”
Healy and Serpe let that question hang in the air like the smell of rotting undergrowth. That made Mr. French nervous. He started talking. Whining. Complaining about how hard his life was.
“These retards, you think it is a joy to work with them? They are terrible, dirty and stupid.”
If he was trying to win his captors over with his charm, he was doing a poor job of it.
“So why do you work at these homes if you hate the residents so much?” Healy was curious.
“Women.” Toussant blurted out before he could stop himself.
“You fuckin’ piece of shit!” Serpe backhanded Toussant with his good hand, sending him sprawling. Joe wanted to grab the gun out of Healy’s hand and do the world a favor. There was evil in the universe, enough of it so that removing Toussant would go unnoticed. Joe wasn’t interested in whether Mr. French was born a violent pig or if he developed into one.
“Take it easy, Serpe,” Healy warned, seeing the brewing storm in Joe’s eyes. “Let’s get this over with.”
Joe took a deep breath. “Okay, Toussant, what happened after you hit the kid?”
“‘e was difficult to control at first, but I learn ‘ow to ‘andle such people. The monkey boy is crying, threatening me you will kill me.”
A broad smile crossed Serpe’s face. “Yeah, and then …”
“I keep ‘im restrained until ‘e calm down a little. I say for ‘im to forget it if ‘e knows what is good. Then I leave the room and I never see ‘im after that.”
“And what time was that?” Healy asked.
“Please, I beg that you don’t kill me. I ‘ave many children. I—”
“What time, shithead?” Serpe screamed.
“I don’t remember, early. Seven-thirty maybe. I don’t know.”
Silence again dominated the night.
Healy and Serpe propped Toussant up once more. The big man was now beyond begging. He body trembled in their hands. Reluctantly, Healy handed the 9mm to Serpe. If ever there was a test of trust between two men, this was it. The sight of the gun changing hands was too much for Toussant. Vomit spewed from mouth in a steady stream and, his hands still cuffed behind him, he fell forward right into his own puke.
Healy straddled Toussant to remove the cuffs, but the Haitian’s panic got the better of both of them. He squirmed and bucked, knocking Healy off him. Serpe pressed his boot down on Toussant’s neck. That seemed to take all the fight out of him. Healy took off the cuffs. They both stepped away from Toussant.
“Okay, shithead, start running,” Joe said.
“You are going to kill me?”
“Ten, nine, eight, seven.”
Jean Michel Toussant didn’t need to be told twice.
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