Behind us, the bathroom door squeaks open. A drunk who barely registers our presence stumbles out. Benny’s shoulders stiffen. He’s debating whether to call for help.
Once again, I dig in to that pressure point in his shoulder. His unspoken plea transforms into a pained gasp. “Okay, I’ll talk.”
“Good answer.” I squeeze once more and let go. “We need privacy for our little…chat. We’re going to walk through the back door, nice and easy. Like friends.”
“I ain’t your friend.” The defiance sounds hollow, rehearsed.
My smile feels like broken glass, and given Benny’s sudden pallor, must look even worse. “No…but you were my brother’s cellmate.”
I edge back, allowing him just enough space to breathe. I can sense the wheels spinning in his mind as he glances at the exit sign at the end of the hall.
“If you try to run, it won’t end well.”
Benny flinches, then gives a single nod. “Okay.”
I gesture toward the door. “After you.”
He shuffles ahead of me, his hands trembling by his sides. I follow on his heels, angling my body to block any attempts to flee. The exit door leads to a small alcove with another door that opens into the alley behind the bar. The moment we step outside, warm summer air laced with the stench of garbage and piss assaults me.
I’ve already surveyed the area. No cameras. No witnesses.
Benny braces his back against the brick wall. “So what’s this about?”
Several seconds drag by before I answer. “I’m sure you heard about MJ’s death a few months after his release.”
He shrugs. “I didn’t keep up with him when we got sprung. MJ mostly kept to himself. We played some cards, sure, but?—”
My hand shoots out and clamps around his throat. His eyes bulge as I apply just enough pressure to restrict his breathing without completely cutting off his air supply.
“Don’t lie to me.” At my deceptively soft tone, the color that returned to his cheeks disappears again, providing me with a transient twinge of satisfaction. I’ve spent years perfecting my tactics for making people squirm, but this time it’s personal. “Cops claim his death was a suicide. Self-inflicted. But I know my brother. MJ would never end his own life. Not unless something terrible happened to him in the joint. Did it, Benny?”
His perspiration dampens my palm. “If so, that’s news to me! Look, I liked MJ. He was a good cellmate. Quiet…minded his own business. I’m sorry he’s dead, but I don’t know nothing about it.”
“You’re lying. MJ was investigating something before he died.” An educated guess. I’ve had plenty of time to consider his final actions. The things he did, where he went, who he conversed with, and maybe more importantly, the people he didn’t.
He never told any of us what he was hunting for, which was out of character. We’re family. At the very least, he should’ve shared his intentions with me.
He must’ve had a reason for keeping his investigation secret.
Benny licks his lips. “Don’t know nothing about that.”
“MJ discovered dangerous information in prison.” I release him and retreat to give him some space. Part of me hopes he runs so I can shatter his kneecap. “Information worth killing for. And you were right there with him in that cell, every day.”
“I swear to God?—”
“Don’t bring God into this. He’s not here in this alley with us.” I lunge forward once more, relishing his screech. Shaping my fingers into a V, I place them above the bridge of his nose. “I need the truth. But you don’t need to see in order to give me that.”
Palpable fear oozes from Benny like cheap cologne. I inhale, filling my lungs with the familiar desperation of a man who realizes he’s trapped.
“MJ never talked about the outside. Not to me. We weren’t close like that. I’m not in the life. The brotherhood. Whatever you call it. I don’t even speak Russian.”
“But you knew he was searching.” I tap my ring finger to the side of Benny’s left eye.
His pause carries on for far too long.
“I find these shifty eyes of yours offensive.” My fingernail slides inward, lightly scraping Benny’s eye before he shuts it. “Maybe if you lost one, you’d be more apt to talk.”
Just as he jerks his head back, a dark stain forms on the crotch of his pants. “Maybe…maybe I saw him with some Russian guy in the yard a few times. Older guy who did a stretch for fraud. They’d sit at the tables, talking all quiet.”
