Bullseye jerks his head toward Freak, who steps up and gets to work using his fists. When he’s finished, Doc’s nose is broken, pouring with blood, and a couple of teeth are on the floor.
I think Doc’s just realised we mean business. His tone is nasally as he moans, “What the hell are you doing this for, Bullseye? We’ve always gotten along. You pay me a decent retainer, why should I kill the golden goose? I’ve not told the Mojave Devils anything.”
Prez grabs a chair from the corner of the barn, brings it over, plants it a few feet in front of Doc, then settles himself down. “This is how it’s going to go, Doc. I’m going to ask the questions, and you’re going to respond. If I don’t like your answers, then Freak here will cut off one of your body parts. You need fingers to do your doctoring, don’t you?”
“If Prez really doesn’t like your answers, then I won’t mess around. I’ll cut off your motherfuckin’ hand.” Freak pauses and adds, “And that’s just the start.”
“Shouldn’t that be daughterfuckin’?” Tempest asks in a reasonable tone.
No one laughs, though Doc reels back, his eyes flaring. Ah, seems he never guessed Bron would reveal his secrets.
Leaning back, Prez stretches out his legs and folds his arms. For a moment, it’s just his piercing glare that Doc has to face, which is apparently enough, as our restrained man starts to squirm.
Suddenly, Prez barks, “How did you get involved with the Mojave Devils? Who initiated the contact, you or them?”
Doc’s mouth opens and closes, looking like a fish just pulled out of the water.
Tempest walks to his rear and slugs him in the back of his head. “Freak gets you when you don’t answer. I’m here for encouragement if you don’t speak at all.”
“I won’t be able to say anything if you give me a concussion.”
“Tut tut, Doc. I’ve been doing this for a long time. You better bet I can make you hurt while still leaving your vocal cords intact,” the sergeant-at-arms informs him. Then he adds menacingly, “For the moment.”
A cunning look slides over Doc’s face. “Bullseye, I’ll forgo the retainer. I’ll treat your club members for free.”
Prez just side-eyes Freak, who steps into position and nudges Tempest out of the way. He bends down, taking hold of one of the fingers, kindly in my view, on his non-dominant hand. His sharp shears slide easily through tendons and bone, to the accompaniment of a blood-curdling scream from our prisoner. When the ear-piercing sound dies down, it’s replaced by Doc’s rasping sobs. The enforcer helpfully holds the lonely looking digit right in front of Doc’s streaming eyes.
“You going to answer my questions, or should Freak take another finger? Warning you, Doc, keeping your mouth shut will rile him up, and he might not just take one at a time.”
“You can’t do this!” Doc has turned green as if he’s going to vomit.
“Think we just have,” Prez drawls. “And there’ll be more to come if you don’t fuckin’ start talking.” He waits for a beat, shrugs, then motions to Freak.
Doc yells out, his voice unsteady, “Wait, stop. I’ll tell you everything.” Then he tries to bargain. “Can you put the finger on ice first, then it might be able to be reattached?”
I snort a laugh at his audacity. Freak steps closer and hovers the shears, this time over his dominant hand.
“They approached me,” Doc screams.
“When?”
“A few years back.”
“Why?” Prez continues the interrogation, then adds, “And you better start giving me more information, I feel like I’m pulling teeth here.”
“I got pliers,” Freak says cheerily. “If you want teeth pulled for real.”
Doc shakes his head rapidly. “For fuck’s sake, no! Look, I’ll tell you everything. Just for the love of God, don’t hurt me anymore.” He pauses, shudders, then begins. “They’d heard on the grapevine I was looking for young girls. They had a supply, and I became their customer.”
For the life of me, I don’t know how I hold myself back from showing him that Freak’s fists are nothing compared to mine. My body vibrating with rage, I clench my fists, digging my fingernails into the skin of my palm.
Prez’s voice is gruff. “And when did this start?”
Giving information more freely now, Doc answers without hesitation. “Eight, nine years back.” Even as hurt as he is, he manages to roll his eyes, adding sarcastically, “I didn’t actually think to write the date down.”
Tempest sends a right hook to his jaw, and another tooth falls out.
“I’m talking.” Doc’s voice sounds odd as he gurgles through a mouthful of blood. “What more do you fuckin’ want?”
