The Second Girl(84)

“Stop f*cking mumbling. I don’t understand a word you’re saying. All you gotta do is listen up, and then I’ll give you a chance. All right?”

He gives several quick nods.

“Okay, then. Here’s the bottom line. I ain’t the police anymore, so I don’t have to follow those rules. That’s why you need to be afraid. I’m prepared to do whatever I gotta do to you to get the answers I need. We clear on that part?”

Several more nods.

“I’m going to show you a photograph and then I’ll take part of the tape off so you can answer my questions.”

I squat down, but before I peel part of the tape off I say, “You f*cking scream out or some shit like that, it goes back on and I’ll f*ck you sideways.”

I peel it halfway off. I show him the photograph of Miriam.

“Where is she?”

“Aw, f*ck, f*ck, I…”

“Tell me.”

“I don’t know who that is. Please, man…”

“You f*cking know who it is. I had her in my hand at Seventeenth and Euclid when you and Little Monster called up your cop friend. Remember, the one you shot?”

“I didn’t do that shit, man. Shit. C’mon, now…”

“One more time and then I’m gonna cut your dick off.”

“Aww, c’mon, now.”

“Where is she?”

He pulls in his lips over his teeth like he needs to bite down to prevent himself from talking.

“I don’t have time for this shit. Don’t think I won’t follow through, little man. She’s my niece. I love her.”

One thing I’ve always been good at is knowing people. And I know if you have a man hogtied in an alley in nothin’ but his drawers, he’ll be feeling so vulnerable he’ll more than likely do just about anything to get out of that position.

I press the tape back over his mouth and flick the knife open with my thumb.

He’s shaking his head back and forth on the ground, whimpering, so the tape puffs out and then sucks in.

I pull the front of his shorts down. He flails like a fish on dry land.

His knees are pressed together, so I press my left knee over them and give him all my weight.

I look at his crotch.

“I can see why they call you Playboy. This might take more than one cut.”

I grab his dick with my left hand and stretch it out, then I hold the knife up so he can see it.

“You’re gonna make this worse if you keep jumping around like that.”

I pull the knife back. Look in his eyes hard.

“You want one more chance?”

Frantic nods.

“This is your last chance,” I tell him, and pull the tape back.

“Fuck! Fuck!” he yells.

“I’m not playing. I will cut your dick off, then dump your ass in the river, so you talk.”

“Apartment on Fuller, man! Sixteenth and Fuller.”

“Is she alive?”

“Last I saw she was alive, but I got nothing to do with what they do. You gotta believe.”

“Give me the address and the unit number.”





Seventy-seven



Damn, the things I gotta f*cking do.

I put Playboy’s shorts back on, put fresh duct tape on his mouth, and dropped him in the trunk.

Now I’m heading to 16th and Fuller. It’s the complex I was looking at yesterday. She’s probably been there all this time. I don’t know how long after the shooting she got there. I’m sure Little Monster didn’t stop to drop her off. They had to get her back there somehow, but I don’t know how, with all the cops that were rolling through that day.

I park right at the corner and run to the front door. It’s still too early for most of the boys to be hanging, but then it’s also still hot ’cause of all the recent action.

The glass front door is locked. I try to jimmy the lock with the tip of my knife, but it’s got a solid bolt.

Not again, I think, after remembering having to smash the glass door out at the Ritz.

I’m surprised by someone approaching me from behind. I turn to see an old Latina lady carrying two grocery bags. She obviously wants to enter, but seems hesitant to approach.

“Policía,” I advise her calmly.

I pull out my wallet and show her my badge. She smiles kindly and hands me one of her grocery bags, then unlocks the door for me.

I hold it open for her to enter and once inside I hand her grocery bag back.

“Gracias,” I say.

She smiles kindly and walks toward the elevators.

I decide on the stairs, taking two steps at a time to the second floor.

When I get to the apartment door, I unholster my .38 and pound on it with a closed fist. When no one answers, I pound harder.

I’m about to kick the door in when I hear, “?Espera un momento! ?Un momento!” from a lady on the other side of it.

The door opens. She’s old and wearing an apron. I smell something good from the kitchen. It’s a small unit—open door to the kitchen, a living room area that opens up to a little dining area, and a small hall with two doors that I can see.

She’s startled at the sight of the gun and backs up, murmuring something that sounds like a prayer. I start to think that Playboy either gave me the wrong unit number or just made up some shit. A young Latina girl wearing men’s boxer shorts and a white T-shirt enters from another room. It takes a second, but then I recognize her as the girl who was walking with Miriam and had her hand in her purse like she was threatening me with something.