“Let’s just say, I may agree to help you but before I decide, I want to know how far you are willing to take this.”
“To the end.”
Typical. Always focused on the end result and forgetting the steps in between. “And what of the beginning. How are you going to prove to me I can trust you?”
“I told you about the informant, didn’t I?” A blank gaze met his.
Did Mr. DeGruis think him too stupid to figure out he needed the mole dead? The rat would report that he saw the agent there. “You did, but the truth is I already suspected the weasel. So here is how we are going to play this. You’re going to take him out, here, in front of me and Devin.” Rowley rose, hand on the holster of his nine millimeter. “If you do that, we have a deal. Don’t, and we never had this conversation. You go on your way.”
Barton stood level with him, six-two in a dark suit.
“I’m not much for talk. I’m a man who respects persons of action and of their word. We need to know everything he’s told them, so don’t get too trigger-happy. We start with the fun stuff, torture.”
Rowley led Mr. DeGruis down the hall to the rear room, where Devin sat smoking with Neil. Meat hooks hung on rows of tracks. The converted meat-packing warehouse made for a great locale. Decades later and the building still reeked, which masked scents.
The young man darted his gaze to him. “What’s this about?”
Rowley pulled out his gun and slammed the butt against Neil’s cheekbone. Blood ran from an open gash on the side of his face. “You’re worse than they could ever be. Betraying your own kind. You think you could get the goods on me?”
“What are you talking about? I would never.” He backed away, stumbling.
“Is this the snitch?” Snot-nosed, arrogant little prick thought he could take him and his men down.
Mr. DeGruis stood next to him. “He is the one.”
Devin grabbed the struggling man, shoved him to the ground and tackled him.
“Mr. DeGruis, help the man string him up.” The little bastard didn’t have a chance.
Devin held Neil down with a knee to his shoulder and neck. Neil thrashed beneath him, spit flying from his mouth as he screamed, “McKie, I would never betray you!”
Devin picked up a hook and skewered Neil’s back with the metal tip. A screech rose from the man on the floor. Barton impaled him on the spike point, scraping against the bone. The yell was one of agony. The two men lifted Neil, latching him to a track, feet dangling. Blood ran, pooling on the floor.
“Please begin, Mr. DeGruis.” Rowley sat back in a chair pushed up next to the wall by the door. A chill wafted through the dim room.
Devin rolled in a table adorned with crude instruments next to him. Mr. DeGruis’s dark gaze traveled over the assortment of bloody tools. Was he losing the courage of his convictions? If he waited too long, Neil would bleed out. Maybe that was exactly what he intended. He reached with his long fingers for wire cutters. Good choice. For his betrayal, his death should be painful.
Gunari, an undead, stepped into the room and extended its teacup beneath the stream of blood. “I thought I smelled fresh eats.” It inhaled.
Mr. DeGruis clamped the wire cutters over a finger. “I’m going to go one at a time until you tell me everything.” Bone crunched beneath metal. Red fluid trailed in a stream off the dangling flesh. He tugged off the bit.
“Don’t waste.” Gunari tsked, saucer extended. Mr. DeGruis placed the removed pinky finger on the dish. “Make sure to put the leftovers on the table.” It picked up the removed finger and popped the morsel into its mouth. “The sweet yet disappointing taste of naivete.” Drops of red stained the pale white flesh with a hint of blue.
In the purest form of their depravity, Gunari wore but one face, that of a predator. It lifted the rim of the cup to its lips, tipped up the bottom. Lust pooled in its eyes. This was the true face of their kind. It didn’t want a place in society. No, it wanted dark alleys and live flesh. Exactly the reason Rowley elicited its help.
“It helps to ask questions.” Rowley enjoyed the horror. It always conjured the only memory he had of his mother. A pool of blood. Her contorted face. Vacant eyes. The creature had launched at her. It had white eyes with tiny dots, and had latched onto her neck. A gasp had escaped her lips and her body had slumped to the floor. Other than that day, he had no recollection of the woman who’d been raped and devoured before him. Left on a soiled floor with a partially consumed corpse, he had cried himself to sleep lying against her.
“Your coffee, sir.” Ming, his assistant, set a white cup and saucer on the side table next to him. The smell of the light roast beckoned him. Bittersweet heat washed over his tongue as he sipped. Leera. Another visit was in order, but first, a shower. He wouldn’t bring this filth into her home.
* * * *
Rowley knocked on the bright red door of the brick bungalow. Through the sheer curtains of the bay window, light bathed the lawn. A figure sauntered over. His heartbeat accelerated. Her effect on him was as strong as ever.
The door opened and Leera stood there in a thin satin peach gown, which accented her warm rum skin tone. Was she headed out on a date? He exhaled deeply.
“Rowley.” She smiled and gestured. “Come in.”
His name rolled off her tongue like an invitation. “I was just in the neighborhood. Hope I’m not interrupting you?” Between work and staying locked up at home, she didn’t have much contact with others since her husband’s death.
“No, why?” She closed the door.
Peach and Ivory soap tangled in the air. “Unless you always wear an evening gown around the house, I’d think you were heading out.” With whom, was the question.
She nodded. “Peter and Meg are taking me to the orchestra. It’s the only way I can get the two of them off my case for staying in all the time.”
Good. Better he go then, before her big brother showed. “Classic pop. I’m not a fan.” Disposing of another partner of hers might arouse suspicions. Her husband had snooped too much. “You look very beautiful.”
Her gaze darted away. Still too soon for his open compliments.
A lone plate at the table held food with crisscrossed utensils. At least she made the effort. He ate at his desk.
“Thank you.” Her heeled footsteps tapped the hardwood as she walked toward the kitchen. “Would you like something to drink?”
Coming home to her would be pleasant, especially after a shitty day like today. “I don’t want you to go to any trouble for me.”
“Oh, do you need to go?” she asked, stopping to turn to him. “Meg and Peter won’t be here for a while.” Was that a hint of loneliness in her voice?
The tardiness of his weekly visit along with brushing off the offer of a drink had given her the wrong impression. “Not yet. A glass of water would be great.” He followed her into the kitchen and leaned back on the counter. Bottles of prescription medication next to the sink contained big, colored pills. Over the past few months the amount of bottles grew weekly. What were this week’s additions?
She filled a glass with water and held it toward him.
A hand over hers, he leaned in. Leera stepped back, rested her elbows on the counter behind her, breasts pressed forward. Through the thin material, the peaks of her breasts were visible. Was she aroused or cold? The outline of her hip bones showed. He reached for the prescriptions. Effexor XR, Valium and Prozac.
“Are you sick?” Heat from her drew his body closer, her hip bones pressed into him.
With