Page 220 of Don’t Say Mafia

The captain came in then, pale and sweating, escorted by two of my men. He was older and thick through the middle. Salt was still crusted into his beard and on his collar, and his eyes were darting everywhere except at me. That told me most of what I needed. Innocent men tended to bluster . . . they got loud and offended.

This one was thinking.

Lawson didn’t bother looking up when the chair scraped against the concrete and the captain was encouraged into it. “Oh good,” he said pleasantly, still typing. “I was hoping we’d have a human element. Data is informative. People are . . . illustrative.”

The captain swallowed hard. “I already gave my statement.”

Maddox leaned against a crate, his arms folded and his suit somehow still flawless. I really needed to learn his secrets.

“You gave a statement,” Maddox agreed. “We’re just here for the honest one.”

I took my time walking toward the captain, letting the silence do some of the work for me. “Let’s not make this dramatic,” I said. “It’s been a long night, and I dislike repeating myself. Tell me why you slowed your engines⁠—”

The captain’s jaw worked. “I don’t know what you think⁠—”

I nodded once to my men, and the captain flinched as hands settled on his shoulders. Another set of hands yanked his arms behind the chair, plastic biting into his wrists as zip ties cinched tight.

Lawson finally glanced up, pursing his lips like he was appraising a piece of art. “Before we start,” he said thoughtfully, “I just want to point out that your ship slowed twenty miles off the coast for exactly eleven minutes. Which is impressive, because it means either your engine coughed at a very inconvenient moment . . . or someone asked you to do it.”

“I—I don’t⁠—”

Maddox sighed. “You’re doing that thing where you pretend confusion is going to save you.”

I crouched slightly so we were eye level. “Who boarded the ship?”

The captain shook his head, breathing fast. “No one boarded.”

That earned him looks from all three of us.

“Buddy,” Lawson said, wincing sympathetically, “the data says otherwise. And the data has never lied to me. People, on the other hand, lie constantly.”

I straightened and nodded again. The chair tipped just enough to make the captain yelp, panic breaking through his composure.

Maddox chuckled under his breath. “See? You’re already being much more honest.”

The captain was sweating through his collar now, and his teeth were clenched so tightly I could see the muscle jumping beneath his beard. He stared straight ahead with glassy, stubborn eyes, like if he didn’t look at us long enough, we might decide he wasn’t worth the effort.

That didn’t work for a squirrel crossing the street . . . and it wasn’t going to work for him.

Lawson kept typing, unbothered, the steady rhythm of keys cutting through the silence. Maddox glanced at his watch and exhaled faintly, as if the only real inconvenience here were that we were running behind schedule.

He pushed off the crate and circled the captain slowly, his shoes echoing against the concrete. “I’ve always admired this part,” he said conversationally. “The optimism. The belief that if you just hold out, something miraculous will happen.”

Still nothing.

One of my men stepped forward and placed a compact black case on the crate beside the chair. He opened it slowly, like he was unveiling priceless jewels instead of torture devices. Inside, everything was arranged with clinical precision.

I admired the slender pliers, the wire cutters, the narrow blade honed to a surgical gleam. Syringes rested in sterile packaging beside a small vial of clear liquid, and a pair of heavy clamps sat nestled in foam—industrial grade, weighty, the kind designed to grip bone and not let go.

The tools finally got a reaction out of the captain.

“Oh,” Lawson said, peering inside. “You brought the good ones. Nice.”

The captain’s pupils were blown wide, and his chest rose and fell in shallow, panicked bursts, like a trapped animal that finally understood the cage had teeth.

“Who boarded the ship?” I said again. “How many? Who sent them?”

He swallowed so hard I heard the click in his throat as I picked up the pliers. “Wait⁠—”