"I don't like where you're going..." Marcel comments, but I can see he has the same idea as I do.
"Martinez was Ortega's, right-hand man. He wouldn't act on his own. And the meeting... It was simply to draw me out in the open. Why would Martinez want that?"
"He wouldn't," Marcel adds. "But Jimenez would. Before this, he only knew you were after him as Chief Commissioner. Now, he knows you are after him off the books too."
"It gets worse. If Martinez wouldn't act without consent, then Ortega must answer to Jimenez too. Fuck!" I curse out loud. "It means he controls another cartel. Maybe not even just one."
"It makes sense, though, if you look at the big picture." Marcel suddenly starts spreading sheets of paper all over my desk. "Look, we've had reports of activities that relate to Jimenez from five different states. But we've never been able to connect it to his people."
"So, he has other cartels under his control. How do we even begin to get someone with that power, and that reach?"
"We don't." Marcel suddenly smirks. "At least we need to change tactics, stop the offensive. If we put the attempt on your life into perspective, it sure looks more like an attempt to scare you rather than to actually kill you."
"You're right. They want us to stop digging. What are you thinking of?"
"You told me about what happened at dinner with Agosti and Gallagher. What if we used them to force Jimenez into the open?"
"Competition?" I ask, finally seeing where Marcel is going.
"I can assure you Agosti's family business is nothing remotely related to restaurants and hotels." He chuckles. "I'm sure you too know of a few clubs owned by them. Not to mention the many underground bordellos they operate, right in the heart of Manhattan. Now that they plan to expand the business, they will need more suppliers."
"But that's the thing, we don't know Jimenez's suppliers."
"Yes, we don't. But I'm sure Agosti can find out. Just drop a few hints here and there about Jimenez, and how there might be a conflict of interests where they are concerned."
"That's a great idea. But are you sure they will bite? What if they actually develop a partnership?"
"One thing you need to understand about the Famiglia is that they don't deal well with outsiders or with people encroaching their territory. The Gallaghers are an exception because they deal in different vices. There is no competition."
"I see. Then it might just work."
CHAPTER XIX
Delivery received
I send the text to Bianca and then put my phone away. I take in my new charge and grimace a little at the effort I'd have to expend.
As soon as we'd got back to my house, we'd deposited the guy in the basement, tying him up to a chair. I am now waiting for the drug's effects to wear off and for him to wake up.
The basement only has one natural light source, a small window with bars that is usually kept closed. There’s only one lightbulb in the middle of the room, but considering its size, it only covers a small area. I walk around until I reach the table that houses the tools that Igor left behind. There is an almost infinite number of knives in all shapes and sizes—the corner of my mouth lifts.
Knives I could do with.
Moving on are several pliers, some already sporting rusted blood on them (I'd have to have a talk with him about the lack of sanitization . We wouldn't want people to die of sepsis too soon.) Then there are some hooks, drills, and a lot of kitchen utensils that Igor had gotten quite inventive with, and a flamethrower. My eyebrows rise in curiosity at that one. It’s a new addition. Not exactly my cup of tea, though.
In the back of the room, the more significant devices take most of the space. My personal favorite is the Cross of St Peter, which takes up half of the wall. Not everyone gets a spot on it. This man wouldn't, in any event. There are other options for him, like the chair full of nails or the scripts hanging from the ceiling. I'll reserve judgment for those, depending on how he wants to behave.
A moan alerts me that the prisoner is regaining his conscience. Considering the weapons I'd found on his person; we would be skipping the ascertaining intentions part.
"Wh... What?" I hear him sputter, probably seeing his new surroundings. Lazily, I make my way in front of his chair, taking a seat on the floor. It's story time or… horror time.
"Howdy there." I snap my fingers at him to get him to focus on me.
"Who are you?" He gets the words out with difficulty, and I sigh. Patience has never been my strong suit.
"You know Newton's third law?"
"What? Man..." He whimpers.
A dumb one, just my luck.
"It means that who I am depends very much on how you behave. If you are forthcoming, I will be friendly. If you are not... better not find out." He frowns at me.
"Now..." I continue. "Are you going to be difficult?" He's just staring at me.
This is why I hate this torture business. You have to go through so much trouble to tell them the situation they are in and what will happen if they don't cooperate and yada yada. It's trite and overused.
I like to cut like any other guy out there but cutting at the height of adrenaline when endorphins rush through your blood... that is my jam.
This takes too much time... Again, I don't like waiting.
"What's your name?" I wait again. Is it still the drug? Why is he so slow?
"Fuck you, man." He eventually replies, his face doing its best to portray his bravado.
"Difficult it is." Alas, of course it wasn't going to go smoothly. I so need a holiday. And Bianca owes me. Big time.
I go over to the table and pick up a tiny knife. I try to wave it in front of the guy to get a reaction but no luck... again. I make a small incision on his thigh before putting some distance between us, so I don't become too focused on the blood.
It does look so red!
Focus!
I take out my phone again and dial Maxim.
"Bring in the appetizer!" I say and smile at my prisoner. A few moments later, Maxim comes through the door with two trays.
Giddy like a child, I sit down once more in front of my charge, and Maxim puts one of the trays in front of me and another in front of the guy.
"Seeing that you are reluctant to talk, why don't we eat first?"
Maxim uncovers my tray, and inside is a medium-rare steak with a side of potatoes. I motion towards the other tray, and he lifts it too, unveiling five jars.
"Of course, I will be eating my meal, while you will become the meal for those little guys." He eyes the jars suspiciously, but from that angle, he probably can't see much.
"You see, torture is not my thing. It's boring. But you know what isn't? Ants!" I start cutting into my steak, taking the first bite, and savoring the meat's succulent juices.
"Did you know there are over twelve thousand species of ants in the world? Trivia." I say and smirk, going for another bite. "Some of them friendly, some not so much."
"W-W-What d-d-do you mean? He stutters, and I decide to enlighten him on how this session is going to proceed.
"I'm not into the whole, pulling teeth or fingernails or cutting you up. Although," I pause with my fork mid-air, remembering something. "there was this one time when I chopped a man alive from the bottom up because I was curious how long he would last. Alas, he bled out before I reached halfway. Maybe next time I should administer more coagulants? That would be an idea." I'm almost lost in thought at that prospect. All for science, of course. "Now, where was I? Oh, yes, I don't like traditional torture. It takes too long. So I'm going to introduce this show's headliners to you, in no particular order, of course. Jar number 1," I say and take a closer look. "is none other than the famous bullet ant. Starting strong, I see... I am sure you are familiar with its notoriety. If it bites..." I shake my head at the thought. "There are few worse things in life, let's leave it at that. Now next is a tamer version of the bullet ant, the harvester ant. Same shabang if you ask me, but hey, maybe you get both at once? Now here comes t
he interesting ant. This one is a dorylus, and unlike the others, it doesn't just bite, but munches too.”
I pause for a dramatic effect. “Jar number 4 is not an ant, but dorylus inspired me, so I thought, why not include a flesh-eating maggot too? That's why I cut you on the thigh if you didn't figure it out. Jar number 5? That is a surprise! I promise it will be a surprise for me, too, should I pick that one."
By the time I finish with my soliloquy, the guy is straight-up terrified.
"Any other words before we begin?" I ask.
"You can't do that!" He yells. I give him a bored glance while Maxim makes his hasty exit.
"I think we've already established that I can. So do yourself a favor and start talking. Name?"
His eyes dart from jar to jar, but he needs to understand this delay will cost him.
I put aside my half-eaten meal, a little reluctantly if I'm completely honest, and go towards jar number 4. I take a pair of tweezers and, unscrewing the lid, I grab one maggot.
I hold it up in front of him so that he sees I'm not bluffing, and then I insert it into the gaping wound of his thigh. I quickly avert my gaze so I don't become too mesmerized by the blood, knowing that this would be over far too quickly and with no results if I do.
"A-A---Alan D-avis." I lift my eyebrow at his squeaking, mostly because he has an extremely basic name.
"Good."
"I'll tell you, I promise, please just take it out... Pleaseeeee," He starts squirming, and I can tell that the maggot is already worming its way into his body. Somehow that elicits a grin from me.
"Go on. Who hired you, and why? In fact, tell me the whole story."
"I... I don't know who hired me. I was always supposed to do the same thing. Advertise a new weapon and see who comes, if it's male, ignore; if it's female capture."
"Who was the target?"
"Some redhead, Artemis, they called her."
"Interesting... Now, why?"
"Look, I really don't know much. I was contacted via proxy. I never saw their faces, never even heard their voices. All I was told was how Artemis operates and her obsession with every new weapon on the market. They hired me to put the red herring on the Dark Web and then capture her at the exchange location."
"These people... you say they gave you a profile on Artemis?" Alan nods his head vigorously. "And they never mentioned why they wanted her?"
"No, although from what they said, they were looking for her for information. Something about Bers something and another name."
"Berserker?"
"Yes, yes, that one."
"What about the other name?"
"I don't know, man, it sounded weird, like foreign." It couldn't be...
"Hmm... it wouldn't happen to be Chimera, now, would it?"
"Yes! That's the one. Artemis was supposed to lead them to Berserker and Chimera."
"Hmm... anything else?"
"I don't think so... I was just supposed to get her."
"And what would you have done with her after?"
"I was supposed to drop her off in K-Town. A red car would be waiting at 4."
"Interesting..." I say once more, and just to reiterate. "Anything else?"
"No... that's all. Now, please get this thing out of me. Please!"
"Sure thing." I smile and head towards the door. When I exit, I am hit by the intense outside light, making me squint. Maxim is, of course, waiting by the door.
"Get rid of him!" I order him.
I then head to my study for another much-needed pendulum session.
Tik Tok... Tik Tok...
Chimera... I have not heard that name in a long time...
Tik Tok... Tik Tok...
Images start assailing me, me going on a rampage kill and Chimera standing in the shadows watching; of him draining bodies of blood.
Tik Tok... Tik Tok...
Chimera is supposed to be dead. Yet someone is looking for him.
Tik Tok... Tik Tok...
I think I'm losing it.
CHAPTER XX
Here it was—the moment of truth.
What are you hiding, Bianca?
I'd been messaging back and forth with Rico all day to ensure I came here when she was at work. As Marcel's mentioned, the apartment is password operated. I'd made a list earlier of possible combinations, and with a sigh, I start plugging them in. I try her birthday, her mother's birthday, our anniversary, our wedding day, and none work. I'm almost scared this will get stuck if I keep trying the wrong combinations. I finally plug in my date of birth, and surprisingly, it opens.
I make my way inside almost hesitantly. It's like now that I'm here, I don't want to find out. But I have to, so I push through.
There is a hallway and what seems to be three bedrooms. Ok, nothing ominous so far. I start with the first door, and when I open it, I am blown away.
Actually, blown away doesn't even cover it.
Inside is the biggest weapons collection I've ever seen outside military facilities. I take in the rifles and guns on display, and cases upon cases of what I can only presume is ammunition and more weapons. There are knives, traps, swords, weapons I don't think I've seen before, and other devices that I'm sure are just as deadly as the others. What the fuck is this?
Not really understanding what I'm seeing, I video-call Marcel.
"You there yet?" He asks, and then frowns, possibly because my face exudes the shock I'm feeling.
"You're not going to believe what I'm seeing."
"What?" He almost laughs, but as I switch to the rear camera, I can see his face drop.
"Holy shit!" He exclaims. "Theo, do you realize what those are?" He says in awe.
"Which ones?" I ask, considering there are too many.
"Those rifles on the wall. Man, that is military-grade equipment. You can't get those on the regular market. And those...wait, go to the right." I move the phone around to capture the entire room, and Marcel is almost fangirling at the sight of the knives.
"Those are Japanese daggers. I'm willing to believe they are extremely rare too." I grunt, mostly because I've never been interested in guns, and I don't really know much about them.
"This is easily a couple million just in weapons." Marcel drops the bomb, and I feel my mouth gape open.
"What? a few million? Are you crazy?"
"No, I'm telling you, that's not cheap shit."
"It's like an entire arsenal..."
"An entire arsenal for an entire army. For one person?" He shakes his head, and I follow his logic. This is too much in the realm of superlatives for just one person.
"What could she possibly do with this?"
After filming the entire room, some portions in detail, I tell Marcel I'm going to the next bedroom.
"This looks ordinary." He says, almost disappointed as I open the second door.
"Yeah, it's just a bedroom." I start going through the drawers, the closet, but really, it's just a regular sleeping space. I'm about to leave when something catches my eye from under the bed.
"Wait." It's like the corner of a box. I put the phone on the bed, and I get on my knees to slide it towards me. It looks like a shoebox. I open it just to say I checked it.
Inside I find a bunch of tiny packets filled with white powder. No... I shake my head, feeling some wetness in my eyes. Surely no...
"Theo, are you there?" Marcel's voice startles me. I grab the phone, and I immediately click to show him what I found.
"Is that...?" His eyes are the size of saucers. I don't say anything. Instead, I open a small packet and put a little of the powder on my tongue, thus confirming my worst fears.
"Positive. It's coke."
"That much? What is she, a dealer?" Looking at the amount she has stashed here, that would be the conclusion. But somehow, the truth is even direr.
"No, I think it's hers."
"You're shitting me. Bianca, a drug addict? Have you ever suspected?"
"No... never." But as I say this, past episodes are coming
back to mind, of her sleepless nights, of her hands sometimes shaking, of her irritability. It makes sense now, though. It all ties in.
"Theo..."
"She's a high functioning drug addict, Marcel. My wife of three years is a freaking drug addict. Who knows how long she's been on these things, with her having a double life and all?” My voice is bitter and full of disappointment. Who is she even?
"I'm so sorry, Theo." He says, and I can tell he means it. But this changes everything.
"Let's see the last room. I don't think there's anything worse to find out now."
I think I spoke too soon because the moment I open the last door, I almost drop the phone.
"Double Holy Shit. Your wife is like a master spy." Marcel says because the room is an entire closet of different looks. Or yet, better said, disguises.
"I gotta go. I'll talk to you later." My words are strained as I pocket my phone and take a step inside the room, heading straight for the mannequin in its center. Pink Hair. Purple mini dress. Fishnets. Doc Martens.
It's...
Pink.
My knees give out, and I drop on the floor.
Pink... The prostitute I'd fucked more than seven years ago. And I'd met Bianca less than five years ago. I frown, not being able to take this in.
Bianca is Pink.
Did she...
My head keeps shaking at the notion, but I can't even deny it, with the evidence in front of me. Why? Why would she do that?
I stand there for what seems like an eternity before my phone rings.
"She's on the move," Rico tells me, and I mechanically reply with something.
I'm still dazed, but I remember to take a picture of the outfits before getting out of there. Evidence, I tell myself.
I feel sick to my stomach, to my head. And most of all, to my soul.
I thought my heart had been irrevocably broken when my parents had been murdered right under my nose.
But this?
It feels like my soul is being snatched out of my body.
It feels like I'm drowning in a sea of misery. And as I sit in my car a few minutes later, my head resting on the wheel, I keep repeating.
Morally Corrupt: A Dark Romance (Morally Questionable Book 1) Page 12