“I’ve got a few easy questions. You answer ‘em, we’re good. You don’t, you get punished. I could take a finger. I might sink my switchblade into your stomach.” Stryker knew he had the advantage. Barca had just pissed himself from the taser.
“An undercover named Easton worked you for information. Who was he looking for?”
“My boss. Douche thought he could take him down. What a fuckin’ idiot.” Barca snickered.
“Now, see how easy this is,” Stryker said, his voice low and relaxed. “Who killed him?”
“Farraday,” Barca replied.
Stryker pressed his knife against Barca’s throat. “He told me that you offed him.”
“Whatever. Farraday set up the meeting and I took care of business.”
“How?”
“Shot him full of heroin and fentanyl. He didn’t see it comin’. I kinda felt sorry for the guy. He was doin’ his job, like the rest of us. Tryin’ to make a livin’.”
“Who told you to kill him?”
“My boss, The Father.”
“Why?”
“Like I just told ya, Easton got too close to the source.”
“I need The Father’s name.”
Barca shook his head. “No can do.”
Stryker pressed the tip of the blade into Barca’s skin and blood trickled down his neck. “You don’t know it, do you?”
“Sure, I do. I been to his mansion. Even driven with him in his fancy limo.”
“Last chance to tell me.”
“You’ll have to kill me. I’m no snitch.”
Stryker drove the knife into Barca’s shoulder and he cried out. “Fuuuuck. You son of a bitch.”
Though Stryker wanted to beat the living hell out of him, he lowered his voice. “C’mon, Jimmy, tell me his name.”
“I can’t,” Barca said. “He’ll kill me.”
“So will I, my friend. You got a better chance with me. What’s his name?”
“Go to hell, you motherfucker.”
Stryker drove the knife into Barca’s guts and he lunged for Stryker. Stryker shoved him back and he stumbled over the chair and crumpled to the floor.
Emerson shone the light on Barca’s face. “Answer his question or he’ll rip your heart out and shove it down your throat. Who ordered Easton’s death?”
Barca spit blood. “I don’t answer to no bitch.”
Emerson walked around him, then kicked him in the kidney. “You and I are gonna see each other again, in hell.” Then, she kicked him in the head. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with. Tell him the name of The Father or I will beat it out of you.” She kicked him again.
“Stop!” Barca groaned out. “My God, bitch, you’re insane. The Father is Spinetti. Carlo Spinetti.”
22
