"Don't move," Rico says.
I walk over and crouch down beside the man.
He looks up at me with wide eyes.
His face is pale and slick with sweat.
He knows who I am.
Everyone at the port knows who I am.
If I weren't here to collect information, I'd just end this asshole too, but I need some answers first.
So I press my boot to the injury on his knee, making him scream out in pain just to prove a point.
I'm not a merciful man.
"You're going to answer my questions," I say. "If you lie, you die slowly. If you tell the truth, you die fast. Understand?"
He nods.
His breathing comes in short gasps as he clutches his leg just above where my boot presses.
"Where's my shipment?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," he grunts.
I pull my knife from my belt and press the blade against his knee.
He screams before I even apply pressure.
"Try again," I say.
"Okay, okay. We moved it.” He's being hasty now, giving up secrets easily. Whoever his boss is won't be happy with him. "We were paid to intercept it before it reached your people in Bari."
"Who paid you?"
"I don't know his name. I swear. Fuck!" He's writhing, face twisted into a grimace. "We just got a call with instructions and half the money up front."
I press the blade harder, probably taking too much pleasure in this.
He screams again and tries to twist away, but Rico holds him in place.
"You're lying," I say.
"I'm not. I swear on my mother's life. We never met him. It was all done through a contact. Some guy who works for a bigger operation in the city."
"What operation?"
"I don't know. I swear I don't know."
I study his face carefully, but I'm not getting any tells that he's not being genuine.
He's telling the truth now.
Fear has stripped away any ability to lie convincingly.
I stand and look at Rico.
