Chet groans, swinging his head to the side and righting himself so he can return my stare. “The tooth fairy.”
Digging into my pocket, I pull out a small plastic bag filled with little blood-red pills. “Where did you get these?” I question, giving the bag a shake.
“Easter Bunny gave them to me.”
Knox stands to his full height of six feet four inches and shakes his head. Then, without warning, he draws his fist back and lands the punch in Chet’s gut. Coughing, Chet hunches forward as far as he can with his wrists and ankles tied to the arms and legs of the chair.
Stepping forward from my spot, I bend down to get Chet to look at me again. “We can do this all day, but I’d prefer if we didn’t.”
“Fuck you,” Chet spits out.
In perfect synchrony, I stand up as Knox strikes Chet across the face with an open hand. Chet’s head whips to the side, and he spits out bits of blood over the side of the chair.
Knox rests his hands on his hips. “Should we?—”
“It’s probably about that time,” I interrupt.
“Knees or?—”
A malicious smile lights up my face. “Let’s start with his fingers.”
Knox mirrors my expression, probably giddier than I am. He reaches into the maroon toolbox resting against the wall and pulls out a hammer. Chet’s eyes widen, and he starts rocking back and forth with a hop, trying to scoot the chair away from Knox.
“No, no, no, no, no,” Chet begins to beg.
I grab the small rickety table that also needs replacing and set it in front of Chet’s spastic form. Knox stops Chet’s movement of the chair and gives me a nod. Having done this before, we go through our next movements easily. Knox pulls out a pocketknife and cuts the tape wrapped around one of Chet’s wrists. I grip Chet’s freed arm and slam it down on the table, holding him steady.
My voice gets deeper and darker. “Hand flat, Chet, unless you want my brother here to start by breaking your radius.”
Chet whimpers but complies.
Knox skims the cold metal of the hammer down each of Chet’s fingers. Each time Knox lifts the hammer and starts again, Chet twitches.
“Man, this hammer is getting heavy,” Knox fibs as he acts like he’s going to drop the tool on Chet’s pinky. Chet cringes, tensing his body. “You might want to start answering our questions before it just slips out of my hand.”
Chet flattens his lips into a thin line and shakes his head in denial.
Knox’s face darkens. “Wrong choice.” He lifts the hammer in the air and brings it down on Chet’s little finger with a disturbing crunch. Chet wails, his cries bouncing around the room, but no one will hear him. And anyone who can, won’t come to his rescue.
The barn is located on the same land as our childhood home. Acres and acres of land. We’ve since torn down the house we called home, and live elsewhere now, but the land is still good for some things. Like questioning people undisturbed. We usually only use it when someone owes us money, but putting the beatdown on a rival deal is a good excuse too. Plus, it’s just a short drive to the other end of our property to our place of business.
“Does your boss pay you to keep your mouth shut?” Knox taunts.
Chet’s rapid breathing shakes his body. “I’m not a fuckin’ rat!”
Knox frowns. “Are you sure? I could swear I saw a little tail earlier. Shit, you even have whiskers.” Knox mockingly pats Chet’s scruff-covered cheek. “What do you think, Griff? Rat?”
“Definitely a rat,” I agree, continuing to hold Chet’s arm in place.
Chet’s face flushes. “I’m not a rat!”
“Agree to disagree,” Knox replies sarcastically and slams the flat hammer on the table right in front of Chet’s ring finger. But Knox doesn’t show the aggression he’s feeling. “Does your boss give you hazard pay? How much do you think he’ll pay for each finger? A thousand?”
“Doubt it,” I comment.
Again, Knox raises the hammer and smashes it on Chet’s hand, but this time, breaking Chet’s fourth finger. Chet screams again, reaching a pitch I didn’t know was possible for a grown man.
Knox repeats his process with each of Chet’s fingers. Ask questions, threaten and tease a bit, then break bones when answers aren’t received.
