Fatal Justice (Jack Lamburt #1)(33)
“They follow her to make sure she’s safe, you moron. Hey…wait a minute…how’d you know about that?”
I laughed. “Yeah, sure they do. Well, she walks in the front door and runs right out the back door and into my van. She’s naked in under thirty seconds. We drive around to the front, park next to your dumbass hammerheads in their Chevy SUV, and while you think your wife’s in yoga, stretching and sweating, she’s riding me like a coked-up whore.”
He smirked a dismissal. “What’s wrong with you? You’re sick. You think I believe that horseshit?”
“And that mole under her left breast that you always made fun of? Well, I happen to love it.”
I kept looking straight out the windshield, and I could see him staring at me through my peripheral vision. I paused for a minute before continuing to give his walnut-sized brain time to think. Then I delivered the dagger; “You know that thing that she does with her tongue under your balls, where she strokes your cock and buries her face in your nuts while she plays with herself until she comes? Well, she does that with me too. Except she really comes, none of this pretend stuff like she does with you.” I stuck out my chest like a proud father after his kid hit a walk-off home run in the T-ball World Series.
“Ain’t that freakin’ awesome?” I looked over at him and raised an open hand. “High five, bro!” Then I looked down at the handcuffs. “Oh—that’s right, you can’t.”
The I delivered the second dagger; “Anyway, two weeks ago, she rode me with my cock up her ass.” I glanced down at my crotch with a raised eyebrow, then smirked at him. “No easy feat, if you get my drift.”
He looked straight ahead and shook his head side to side. “No way.”
“Swear to God, no shit. Don’t believe me? Come on, you remember that night. She came home and you asked her why she was limping? She told you she stretched too hard during class and must have pulled a muscle. You were like, “No more of that yogi bullshit for you.” Remember that? I laughed for like ten minutes when she told me that. Yogi. Sheesh.”
I let that sink on for awhile, then continued; “Anyway, I know you don’t go that way with her, but she loved it, man. You should have seen her face, you would have been so proud.” I paused again for theatrical effect. Minutes went by before he broke our silence with a series of head shakes.
“No. No. You lie.” His voice was low and lacked feeling, like he was in a drug-induced daze. “Not my Sally. She would never do that to me.”
“Yeah, your Sally. Who do you think hired me?”
“No. No! You lie. Shut up, you bastard!” He pulled against his chains and kicked out with his feet. “Fuck you, you lying bastard.” He stared at me, eyes glaring daggers, and spat on my face.
I whacked him with my blackjack. Damn my impulse control issues. Just when I thought I had it under control, I went and did something risky.
Like most things in life, we tended to overanalyze and think too much about even the simplest of details. I nailed him in the same exact spot on his forehead. So much for worrying about fatigue throwing off my aim.
A few minutes later he came around, and I continued my made-up mental assault. “You know that four million dollars in cash in your safe deposit box at Wells Fargo on Livermore Street? Her and I are splitting it. Fifty-fifty, pal.”
Sammy looked straight ahead and his body started to quiver. My words were taking its toll on the tough guy mobster. The shit I was spewing was all gathered from HFS surveillance, so that part of it was true. With that part being accurate, it only made sense that he’d believe everything that I said. After all, how would I know all of those things unless Sally had told me?
He slouched in his seat and cried like a little girl who’d witnessed her new kitten flattened by an eighteen-wheeler. I continued.
“Oh, and by the way, your daughter’s next, Sammy. Did I mention that I’m one of Barbara’s mentors at Penn State? Yeah, baby, nothing like a little freshman meat to make an old guy feel young again.” Now I really stuck my chest out. “I can’t wait to hit that. Yummy! I’m just glad she looks like her mom, and not you.” I laughed.
“Why?” he asked. His voice so low that I had trouble hearing him.
I leaned towards him and cupped my ear. “Eh? Come again?”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Why? Shit, Sam, I’ve been spying on your fat ass for over two years now. I’ve seen all the shit that you’ve done, the drugs that you sold, the young girls you pimped, the guys you killed. I’ve seen it all. But I’m HFS, and HFS doesn’t care about anything but terrorism. And since you’re not a terrorist, they just turn all that shit that I accumulated on you over to the FBI, and forget about you. But since HFS’s domestic spying is illegal, the FBI’s hands where tied.
But I couldn’t forget about you, and my hands aren’t tied. Once your cell phone signal got within one hundred miles of me, the fun started. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was. You visiting my little out-of-the-way town. I usually have to hunt down the shitheads that I kill. But not you. You fell right into my lap. Thanks for making it easy for me.”
“That’s it? No. Wait, please, I’m really not like that. You have to understand, I can’t run a business without being tough as nails.” He sniffled, then stifled a cough as he explained what he meant. “We live in a brutal world. If those thugs, those street criminals, if they see that you’re soft, they’ll be all over you.” He wiped his runny nose on his shoulder. “A man’s got to earn respect in this business, and sometimes you have to earn that respect the tough way.” He looked at me to see if he’d scored any points.