“Three years of high school Spanish,” I interpreted, before turning back to the man in the chair.“¿Como te llamas?”
Nada.
“Here’s what silence is gonna get you,” I said and delivered a short, sharp, blow to his left eye, causing his head to snap back. I held his head by the hair and loaded up for another shot.
“¿Dónde está el niño?” I demanded in Spanish, the repeated in English, “Where’s the boy?”
“Chinga tu madre,”he said, and spat at me.
“I think I understood that,” Moses said.
A huge lump had already formed over our guest’s left eye, so I made it my next target, hitting him twice as hard this time. A massive gash formed where the bump had been, and blood poured from the cut as he struggled in vain to free himself from his constraints.
“Tell me where Felix is right now or I’ll fucking beat you to a pulp.”
“Hold up. You’re gonna break your hand,” Moses said, stepping forward holding a Louisville Slugger.
“You look a little young,” Sundance said addressing the man in the chair. “So, this is probably before your time, but the Howlers had a run-in with Los Psychos some years back. One of your guys decided to throw one of our new patches what you called a ‘piñata party,’ after he accidentally hit on his woman at a bar.”
“Greenie was a good kid,” Moses said, unable to hide the anger and sadness in his voice.
“About a dozen Los Psychos members beat Greenie to death with pool cues in a parking lot... over nothing. He was in a coma for five days before finally dying in front of his mother and baby sister.” Sundance leaned in within an inch of his face. “So, if you think we’re gonna show you an ounce of mercy, you’re dead wrong.”
Moses handed me the bat and stepped back.
“Tell me where the boy is right now,” I said, raising the bat.
Once again, he said nothing. He just sneered.
The sound of the bat breaking his right tibia wasn’t unlike the crack of a home run. However, the wail of agony that followed was nothing like the roar of an afternoon crowd.
After a few moments, I asked again. “Where is the boy?”
This time I got an answer.
“I...I don’t know,” he said in between gasps and sobs.
“Not the answer I’m looking for,” I said, raising the bat.
“I swear—” was all he got out before my next blow. This time to his right fibula. His lower leg was now completely shattered.
I leveled the bat to his knee. “I’m gonna turn the bones in your right leg to powder if you don’t tell me where Felix is, right now.”
“Bullwinkle,” was all he could manage to say.
“Who the fuck is Bullwinkle and what’s his real name?” I demanded.
“I don’t know, man...Bull...fuckin’ Bullwinkle or some shit like that.”
I frowned. “Is he one of your crew?”
“No, man. We s...sold him...to B...Bullwinkle.”
“You sold him?” I shouted as an anger I’d never felt before reached the boiling point. My bat came down on his knee over and over. I’m not even sure how many times I hit him before Sundance and Moses pulled me away.
“Jesus, Stoney. You’re gonna kill him,” Sundance yelled, taking the bat from me.
Our guest was now in and out of consciousness, vomiting and delirious from the pain of my beating.
