“Harley, get the bucket.”
Hillabrand’s eyes widened just a little, and he glanced at me. “You going to waterboard me again with sparkling water now?”
I smirked. “Not exactly.”
Harley pulled the plastic bucket from under the table and set it in front of the agent. Then he left, clomping up the stairs, andreturned with two bags— a bag of dry ice, and a bag of regular ice.
I dumped the ice into the bucket and filled it halfway with water from a jug. The cubes clattered, some splashing out.
“You ever have frostbite, Hillabrand?” I asked, rolling up my own sleeves as Harley moved dry ice into both buckets. “Hurts like hell. Nerve endings just go haywire. I think you’re going to like this one.”
He shook his head, but Harley forced his left hand into the freezing bucket and held it there.
I watched the clock.
Hillabrand gritted his teeth, tried to hold it in, but after two minutes, his whole body was shaking. He tried to pull free, but Harley was a rock.
Three minutes, and his lips went blue.
Four minutes, and his eyes rolled up in his head for a second like he was going to pass out.
I pulled his hand out and held it up for him to see. The skin was red, fingers curled in, trembling. I pressed my thumb into his palm, slow and steady, until he winced and tried to jerk away.
“You want to talk, or you want to go again?” I asked.
He gasped for air, a little spit running down his chin. “Go fuck yourself, Azzaro.”
I grabbed his right hand and shoved it into the ice water. This time, I poured more cubes in on top, then held his head down so his cheek was right above the bucket, close enough he could see his own pain.
Harley counted off. “One minute.”
Hillabrand’s jaw was clenched so tight I thought he’d crack a tooth.
“Two.”
He was breathing hard, sweat mixing with the chill.
“Three minutes.”
His whole arm was shaking now, and the skin had gone blotchy and there were parts that were starting to turn white.
I pulled him out and dumped the bucket out on the floor, ice skittering everywhere. Then immediately brought his hands down onto the dry ice. Within seconds, his fingers turned black, as he screamed, his fingers twitching before they stopped moving at all.
“You know what’s next?” I asked.
He didn’t answer, just glared at me with pure hatred in his eyes.
I took out the next bottle of carbonated water, shook it, and sprayed it into his ruined hands. The bubbles hissed and popped, fizzing against the raw, frozen skin.
For a second, I thought he was going to puke. He howled, tried to jerk away, but Harley held him solid.
It was a beautiful fucking sound and a chuckle of happiness bubble up my throat. I crouched in front of him, eye to eye. “You ready to talk yet, Agent?”
He coughed, shook his head. “I told you. No one’s feeding me anything anymore. You’re chasing a ghost.”
I believed him. But I needed the name.
I gestured to Harley. “Go get the toolbox. We’ll try the nails.”
