“Naw, man.”
“It’s how they punish offenders in some parts of the world. Your two homeys received ten strokes each. But since you enjoy raping little girls, you’re getting twenty.”
Malik uttered a sigh of relief as the man moved to his side and raised the bamboo cane overhead. In comparison to getting ass fucked, an ass whipping wasn’t nothin’.
Or so he thought.
As the cane struck down across his buttocks, his entire body convulsed with an explosion of pain so great that, for an instant, his mind was almost unable to recognize it as pain. Sizzling and enormous, it caused his lungs to seize in mid breath.
Before he’d recovered from the first stroke, the white-hot fire of a second exploded. His high-pitched screams echoed in the low, open-raftered ceiling. Shockwaves of pain reverberated through him as a third stroke, a fourth, and then a fifth connected.
He lost consciousness upon the ninth.
Malik drifted in a fog of pain while dozens of rats swarmed across his ass, feasting upon his flesh with red-hot teeth. In his delirium, he writhed and thrashed, striving to throw them off. As he slowly came to, the muffled voices of several men worked their way into his consciousness. He pried open his eyes and immediately regretted it as memory came flooding back.
The three men stood in the open doorway, talking and joking amongst themselves. The searing agony in his buttocks brought bile to the back of his throat. Acrid sweat drenched his body. He tasted blood and realized he’d bitten his tongue.
He’d also pissed himself.
The three men glanced around, and then Mr. Black started toward him, cane in hand. “I was starting to think you’d died on me.”
Malik shivered spasmodically and screamed, “Oh, please, god. No more!”
“Is that how your victims plead with you, Malik? Stop being a little bitch. You’ve got another eleven to go.”
Malik uttered a low, animal moan as he regained consciousness the second time. A river of pain dimmed and wavered his vision. He cried and sobbed for some time, not caring who saw.
When his tears finally subsided into a low, inarticulate weeping, Mr. Black came back over to him, cane still in hand. “Okay! I’ll say whatever you wants me to!”
I’m pleased to hear that, but you’ve still got another five to go.”
A fresh sob escaped his lips. “Please, god. No more!”
“I promised you twenty, and I always keep my promises.”
As he raised the cane high overhead, Mr. White approached to say, “Mr. Black, if you’re getting tired, I could take over.”
“Thank you, Mr. White, but I’m having so much fun I could do this all night.”
When Malik regained consciousness for the third time, he cried and sobbed without restraint, until utterly limp with exhaustion. At some point, his grill had come loose from his teeth. It now lay glittering on the concrete floor.
Leaving the other two men standing in the open doorway, Mr. Black strode toward him and deliberately put one booted foot on the grill, crushing the gold nearly flat. “Oops,” he said with a grin. “Sorry about that. So, let’s get down to business. Did you, or did you not, break into my friend’s vehicle?”
“Naw.” The man raised the cane high into the air, and Malik screamed “Yeah! I means yeah! Me and my homeys, we broke in his vehicle.” He shuddered convulsively as a tremor ran the length of his body.
“Did you find a woman tied up in the back?”
“No. There weren’t no woman in there. Weren’t nobody in there.”
“And did our friend then return to whip your punk asses?”
Malik opened his mouth to answer, and then hesitated. Fuck! What was the right answer? He looked up at Mr. Black, who helpfully nodded. “Yeah,” he gasped. “He jacked us up good.”
“Why’d you lie to the FBI about a woman being tied up in the back?”
He had to give the matter some thought before coming up with an acceptable response. “’Cause we was fired up ‘bout the beat-down he give us.”
“And when are you going to inform the agents that you lied?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Yeah — yes, sir. Tomorrow morning.”
“Malik, I’ve gone easy on you, this time—”
You call this easy?
“—but if you and your homeys don’t do as agreed, we’re going to make you very sorry. If even one of you doesn’t do or say exactly as we’ve instructed, we’re going to bring all three of you back here. By the time we’re finished with you, you’ll all be begging for death. Then we’ll happily oblige you, and bury your punk asses out here in the desert where nobody’ll ever find you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir! I understands! Everybody gonna do what you says. I’s gonna make sure of that.”
Mr. White and Mr. Red freed him from the table and unceremoniously dropped him into the wheelchair. His piss-soaked clothes chafed his groin and thighs, the acrid stench clogging his nostrils. These things were nothing, though, compared to the pain in his ass. It felt as if he were sitting on white-hot knife blades.
They rehearsed their new story and, two hours before dawn, the three men herded them from the building. Under their own power, Travell and Andre climbed into the trunk of one of the sedans. With three broken limbs and an ass that still hurt like a motherfucker, it took Malik a little longer, but he finally managed to climb into the trunk of the Crown Vic. As the lid thumped shut, he was grateful for the dark privacy as, once again, the tears flowed.
After what seemed like days, the vehicle rocked to a stop. When the men raised the trunk lid, Malik found they were in a secluded alley mere blocks from his mom’s apartment. Once again, the men roughly hauled him from the trunk and dropped him into his wheelchair, making him cry out as his ass hit the seat.
Mr. Black leaned down until their faces were only inches apart. “Go home, shower, change into clean clothes, and get your asses to the FBI office.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are we going to have to do this again?”
“No, sir. We knows what to say. Don’t worry ‘bout nuttin. We gonna do like you says.”
“Make sure you do. Your lives depend upon it.”
CHAPTER 35
Special Agent Edison Jarvis crossed his arms over his chest. “And so all three just suddenly decided to recant their stories? Bullshit. O’Malley got to them.”
Emily Sengupta looked as if she wanted to punch someone — anyone. “I was told that all three are much the worse for wear, so that was my assumption as well.”
“I’d bet both my testicles it was the same three men who alibied O’Malley. All three are ex-Special Forces.”
“That would certainly explain why our witnesses look so scared.”
“Where are they now?”
“I had them segregated in separate interrogation rooms.”
“Let’s talk to Waddell first.”
Equal measures of anger and fear seemed to emanate from Waddell. That ridiculous gold grill was missing from his mouth, his hair was escaping its cornrows, and his eyes were red and swollen as if he’d been crying. Although he’d recently showered, he still reeked of acrid fear-sweat.
When Jarvis clapped him on one shoulder, Waddell jumped and cried out. “Malik, my man, you clearly have had a rough night.” Waddell remained silent, jaw clenched, and refused to meet either his or Sengupta’s eyes. “The agents who took your statement tell me you’re now admitting that you broke into Mr. O’Malley’s vehicle, and are claiming there was no woman tied up in the back.”
Waddell was sullen. “Yeah.”
“Surely you realize giving a false statement to government agents is a crime.”
“I knows.” He gave an elaborate shrug. “But we ain’t gonna let that man do time fo’ sumpin he ain’t done.”
“I see. So, if Ms. Santos wasn’t tied up in the back of his vehicle, how’d you know what she looked like?”
Waddell’
s wild-eyed gaze ping-ponged around the room. “We heard her ‘scription on TV.”
“That’s impossible since, at that time, there’d been nothing on the news about her abduction.” Waddell shifted in his seat and it was clear from the tightening of his jaw that the movement caused him considerable pain. Jarvis forced a note of sympathy into his voice. “Malik, what did they do to you?”
Waddell’s jaw clenched. “Who?”
“O’Malley’s friends. It’s clear they got to you and your buddies. What did they do?”
A flash of anger crossed Waddell’s features. “Yo, I don’t know what the fuck you talkin’ ‘bout.”
“We can offer you protection.”
“Yeah, ‘til the trial be over. Then we be fucked.”
Unfortunately, it was a concise assessment of the situation. The bureau would gladly take the three men into protective custody. But, whether or not they managed to convict O’Malley, once the trial was over the men would be on their own. Jarvis said nothing for a moment, thinking. “You realize that if you persist in sticking with this new story, we’ll have no choice but to charge you with breaking into O’Malley’s vehicle, in addition to the charge of giving a false statement.”
Waddell glared at him, jaw working. “Go on then, arrest my black ass!”
“It’ll be a violation of the terms of your parole. You’ll go back to prison.”
“Yo, I don’ give a fuck!”
Jarvis kept his expression carefully neutral. A thug like Malik Waddell deserved to be in prison and he’d like nothing more than to see him return. But he also wanted O’Malley incarcerated. With Larissa Santos refusing to identify him, and without the testimonies of Malik and his two friends, O’Malley was going to walk.
* * * * *
Upon arrival at home that evening, Edison Jarvis let himself into the house and strode into the kitchen where Encarnita was setting the table, her waist-length black hair pulled back into a low ponytail. She stretched up on tiptoe to give him a welcoming kiss, then peered up at him curiously. “Ché ha pasado?”
“We had to cut O’Malley loose. The three men who put Larissa Santos tied up and gagged in the back of his vehicle have recanted their stories.”
“I see. Would it improve your mood if I told you we were having tamales pisque for dinner?”
Jarvis smiled and leaned down to bestow an additional kiss upon his wife. “It would indeed.”
Well, mi amor, why don’t you go and change while I finish setting the table?”
Jarvis considered himself blessed to have found Encarnita. Not only did she make him deliriously happy, at forty-four, she had the body of a woman twenty years her junior. He attributed this to the fact that they’d never had children.
In the bedroom, he shrugged out of his suit jacket and hung it in the closet. He’d always expected that he’d have children someday, even though he’d never felt any pressing need to reproduce. Maybe that came from being in law enforcement and seeing firsthand the horrible things people did to one another.
He stuffed his shirt in the hamper, then paused as he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. Thick, dark, keloid scars marked the two long-healed gunshot wounds, one on his shoulder, one on the deltoid. He tugged a polo shirt on over his head, smiling at the memory of how he’d received the scars.
He and Encarnita had never bothered with birth control, and yet she’d never gotten pregnant. He’d asked her, once, “Do you mind that we don’t have children?”
She’d shrugged. “I’m happy with our life the way it is. Who knows, bambinos might change things for the worse.”
Jarvis had seen that happen to the men he worked with. They complained that once their wives had given birth they were too tired for sex and no longer seemed to care as much about their appearance. But the men didn’t seem to understand that raising a child was a full-time job. Not to mention that the wives usually had to take on a second — paying — job to help make ends meet.
Due to the culture in which she’d been raised, Encarnita believed that a woman should take care of her man, which she did with an abundance of loving enthusiasm. Unencumbered by children, she had a surplus of free time, much of which she spent at the gym working out. He deeply appreciated her efforts and, in turn, was motivated to keep up his own appearance. After twenty-four years of marriage, not only was their love life still exciting, the lack of children allowed them to pick up and go at a moment’s notice.
Life was definitely good.
His foul mood now somewhat improved, he zipped his jeans, and headed back downstairs.
Encarnita placed a large platter on the table. As he dished several of the large tamales onto his plate, she remarked, “You said the men who identified O’Malley were criminals. Maybe they’ve been lying all along.”
“No. They’re lying now.” Anger gave his voice an edge. “Some of O’Malley’s buddies got to them. O’Malley’s guilty as all hell but, with no concrete evidence, we have absolutely no case against him.”
She reached across the table and laid a small, brown, importuning hand on his arm. “If the woman has forgiven him, then maybe it’s for the best. I’d think that you of all people would be empathetic.”
“I’m an FBI agent. I don’t have the luxury of empathy.” It came out more brusquely than he intended, and he gave her a contrite smile. “Sorry, I don’t mean to take my frustrations out on you.”
“It’s all right, mi amor.”
After dinner, he helped her clear the table. Once the dishwasher was running, he went upstairs and dialed Larissa Santos’ number. As usual, it rang twice and then the answering machine came on. He waited while the preprogrammed message played. “Ms. Santos, it’s Agent Jarvis. I know you’re there, so please pick up.” He waited a moment before adding, “If you don’t pick up, I’ll be forced to fly back out to Charleston.”
An instant later, her sullen, “What do you want?” came over the line.
“Hello to you too, Ms. Santos. I just wanted to tell you that O’Malley’s managed to exculpate himself. We’ve released him.”
“Are you serious? You really let him go?”
“We had no choice. The men who saw you tied up in O’Malley’s vehicle have recanted their stories.”
“I’ve never been in Mr. O’Malley’s vehicle, tied up or otherwise. I know you don’t believe it, Agent Jarvis, but you’ve done the right thing. It would’ve been a tragedy if an innocent man had gone to prison.”
“We both know O’Malley’s guilty, but we also know it would be pointless for me to continue arguing the point with you. I’m only telling you this so you can be on your guard.”
“On guard against what?”
“You’re the one person who can send O’Malley to prison. He may start to worry that you’ll decide to implicate him after all.”
For several moments, there was only silence on the line. “Mr. O’Malley has no reason to do me harm and, if the real kidnapper wanted to silence me, he’d have done so long before now. But thank you for calling.”
“Desperate people commit desperate acts. Please be careful, Ms. Santos. I’d hate for you to end up dead.” He hit END, and looked up to find his wife watching him from the doorway.
“That was a little harsh, don’t you think?”
He shrugged. “Now we’ll see what O’Malley does. Care to place a wager on whether or not he contacts Ms. Santos?”
Encarnita regarded him sadly. “You’re not going to let it go, are you?”
“The man abducted a woman and drove her across country. I can’t let it go.”
CHAPTER 36
Head pillowed on the sofa’s armrest, Chase tried, with little success, to concentrate on the novel he was reading. While he was overwhelmingly relieved to be out of jail, a dreadful heaviness weighed his body down.
He couldn’t stop thinking about Larissa. Grief and regret for what he’d done to her manifested itself as a constant ache in his chest. His longing for her would not end. He couldn
’t help but wonder how she was holding up, and if she ever thought of him.
Or if she thought of him with anything other than anger and hate.
When he’d left the jail yesterday, Travis had been there to pick him up. They’d embraced, clapping each other on the back, and then Chase had filled his lungs with what passed for fresh air in LA. “Man, I can’t wait to get home.”
“Sixteen days in jail will do that to a man.”
“If not for you guys, I’d still be there. I can’t thank you enough.”
“Hey, it was our pleasure.”
On the drive to the impound lot to retrieve the van, Travis recounted the abduction and ‘persuasion’ of the three punks. “I took care of Waddell myself,” he finished. “Not only did the bitch faint twice, he pissed himself.”
“I just wish I could’ve had another go at him myself. Jesus, by the time I got back to the vehicle, Larissa’s pants were around her ankles and his were around his knees. What if I’d gotten back just a few minutes later?”
“But you didn’t. And apparently she’s forgiven you.”
Whiskers rasped against his palm as he ran a weary hand across his face. “I seriously doubt that.”
They both fell silent. A song played softly on the radio, and the lyrics suddenly grabbed Chase’s attention as the male singer apologized to his love for the pain he’d caused her, promised to change who he was, and pleaded for a chance to start anew. It hit way too close to home and he barked, “Will you turn that the fuck off.”
Travis quickly did as requested. “Man, you’ve really got it bad for her.”
Not bothering to deny the obvious, Chase steeled himself for the requisite good-natured ribbing. When none was forthcoming, he turned to find sympathetic hazel eyes focused on him, which was somehow worse than any ribbing would have been. “I always thought you’d be the last of us to take a header,” Travis remarked. “What you need is a distraction. I’ve been seeing someone, and she’s got this friend who’s incredibly hot—”
The Heart Has Reasons Page 35