deal!” His voice grated on the stones of his throat. “The fucking deal. It’s been in the works for weeks now. They only let me in on it a week ago, and that was ‘cause they needed my cousin to make the connection. Who told you mooks about it?”
Beretta could see that she was tempted to tell him that Damage just did. But she held back.
“What do you know about it?” she asked. “Tell us everything.”
“Rattler’s getting anxious. All his money in too many places. Anxious about you guys. Anxious about the Furnace moving in. He doesn’t want you cocksuckers—ahh, sorry, sorry.” Helen lowered the hammer. “Doesn’t want you people , any people, just popping in on some understaffed stash house. So he’s pulling it all in. And then, in a week, he’s moving it off, up North somewhere.”
“North?”
“Yeah. He’s got somebody he knows up there in Wyoming. Gonna launder it all for him, put it in a bank account. Take care of him, the whole deal.”
“Where’s he holding it all now?”
“I don’t know.”
She raised the hammer again.
“J-J-J-Jesus Christ, I don’t know! I-I-I don’t know! I swear to God, I don’t know where. All I know is that it’s somewhere he feels safe. Probably the steelworks. Place is like a fortress. He never leaves there himself. I figure he'd want it close at hand.”
Helen stepped back out from the light and looked over at Ace. He nodded.
“I think we have everything we need, Mr. Damage,” she said. She turned up the morphine drip. He’d be out in seconds. “Thank you for cooperating. We’ll put you back together now.”
Chapter 15
––––––––
M inutes passed, and Damage’s delirium faded into unconsciousness. Helen's mood was rather buoyed by the satisfaction of a job well done and no one hurt.
“All right,” said Locke. “You want me to do him, boss?”
He had a knife in his hand.
Why does he have a knife in his hand?
“Wait, what?” Helen’s voice was pained. “Don’t kill him.”
She began to move around the bed, placing herself between Locke and Damage.
“You think there’s something else he knows?” asked Ace.
“No. No, he told us everything. So that means...”
“That means he’s got no more use to us anymore,” said Ace. “So we get rid of him.”
“But he cooperated ,” said Helen. “I mean he told us what we wanted to know. We can’t just kill him when he’s doing what we want him to do.”
“You tortured him, Helen,” said Beretta. “That’s the only reason he told us what we wanted to know.”
“I didn’t harm a hair on his head.”
Beretta thumbed at Damage. “He don’t know that, does he?”
“He’s helpless,” said Helen. “He can’t fight back.”
They all looked at each other and shrugged. “Good,” said Locke. “We already fought him.”
“You don’t like it, honey, step outside.” There was actual sympathy in Ace's eyes. “But this is the way it’s gotta be.”
Beretta took her by the shoulder.
“Come on,” he said, pulling her outside.
It surprised her that Beretta and Ace actually agreed on something. They were always butting heads over the smallest of things—who left the room first, who rode their bike in what position. Their quibbling was beneath them, she felt. The problem was they were too much alike—stubborn, smart, and tough—and both of them thrived on action.
Beretta especially. His ease of taking control made her heart race and she ached, even when she didn't want to ache at all, to know what it would be like to feel his control working on her again.
The night air was cool—much cooler than it was inside. She pushed her body into Beretta’s. There was, through the window, the sound of a series of soft rustlings. A chill went through her, and she knew the job had been done inside. It was silent and quick. There was that, at least.
More mercy than Damage had shown his children; more mercy than he had shown the women he had cut up. He was an
Beretta could see that she was tempted to tell him that Damage just did. But she held back.
“What do you know about it?” she asked. “Tell us everything.”
“Rattler’s getting anxious. All his money in too many places. Anxious about you guys. Anxious about the Furnace moving in. He doesn’t want you cocksuckers—ahh, sorry, sorry.” Helen lowered the hammer. “Doesn’t want you people , any people, just popping in on some understaffed stash house. So he’s pulling it all in. And then, in a week, he’s moving it off, up North somewhere.”
“North?”
“Yeah. He’s got somebody he knows up there in Wyoming. Gonna launder it all for him, put it in a bank account. Take care of him, the whole deal.”
“Where’s he holding it all now?”
“I don’t know.”
She raised the hammer again.
“J-J-J-Jesus Christ, I don’t know! I-I-I don’t know! I swear to God, I don’t know where. All I know is that it’s somewhere he feels safe. Probably the steelworks. Place is like a fortress. He never leaves there himself. I figure he'd want it close at hand.”
Helen stepped back out from the light and looked over at Ace. He nodded.
“I think we have everything we need, Mr. Damage,” she said. She turned up the morphine drip. He’d be out in seconds. “Thank you for cooperating. We’ll put you back together now.”
Chapter 15
––––––––
M inutes passed, and Damage’s delirium faded into unconsciousness. Helen's mood was rather buoyed by the satisfaction of a job well done and no one hurt.
“All right,” said Locke. “You want me to do him, boss?”
He had a knife in his hand.
Why does he have a knife in his hand?
“Wait, what?” Helen’s voice was pained. “Don’t kill him.”
She began to move around the bed, placing herself between Locke and Damage.
“You think there’s something else he knows?” asked Ace.
“No. No, he told us everything. So that means...”
“That means he’s got no more use to us anymore,” said Ace. “So we get rid of him.”
“But he cooperated ,” said Helen. “I mean he told us what we wanted to know. We can’t just kill him when he’s doing what we want him to do.”
“You tortured him, Helen,” said Beretta. “That’s the only reason he told us what we wanted to know.”
“I didn’t harm a hair on his head.”
Beretta thumbed at Damage. “He don’t know that, does he?”
“He’s helpless,” said Helen. “He can’t fight back.”
They all looked at each other and shrugged. “Good,” said Locke. “We already fought him.”
“You don’t like it, honey, step outside.” There was actual sympathy in Ace's eyes. “But this is the way it’s gotta be.”
Beretta took her by the shoulder.
“Come on,” he said, pulling her outside.
It surprised her that Beretta and Ace actually agreed on something. They were always butting heads over the smallest of things—who left the room first, who rode their bike in what position. Their quibbling was beneath them, she felt. The problem was they were too much alike—stubborn, smart, and tough—and both of them thrived on action.
Beretta especially. His ease of taking control made her heart race and she ached, even when she didn't want to ache at all, to know what it would be like to feel his control working on her again.
The night air was cool—much cooler than it was inside. She pushed her body into Beretta’s. There was, through the window, the sound of a series of soft rustlings. A chill went through her, and she knew the job had been done inside. It was silent and quick. There was that, at least.
More mercy than Damage had shown his children; more mercy than he had shown the women he had cut up. He was an
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