Donovan puts his hands together. Billy binds his wrists and then calls Alice to tell her two down and one to go. He doesn’t put Donovan on the phone because Donovan doesn’t seem like he’s ready to apologize. At least not yet.
10
Tripp Donovan, sitting on the love-seat, keeps trying to engage Billy in conversation. He says he knows why Billy is here, but whatever that girl Alice told him is total self-protecting bullshit. She was horny, she wanted it, she got it, everyone parted friends, end of story.
Billy nods agreeably. ‘You took her home.’
‘That’s right, we took her home.’
‘In Hank’s van.’
Donovan’s eyes shift at that. He’s got that magic mixture of charm and bullshit, it’s worked for him his whole life and he even expects it to work on the home invader in the Melania Trump mask, but he doesn’t like that question. It’s a knowing question.
‘No, the Love Machine’s broken down in the back parking lot.’
Billy says nothing. Martinez says nothing, and Donovan doesn’t see his roomie’s you fucked up look. Donovan is concentrating on Billy.
‘That a Pro?’ Nodding at the computer bag on the floor. ‘Sweet cruncher, man.’
Billy says nothing. He’s sweating inside the plastic shell of the mask and he can’t wait to get it off. He can’t wait to finish his business and get out of this swinging bachelor pad.
At quarter to five another key rattles in the lock and in comes the third little pig, a small and dapper porker in a black three-piece suit set off by a tie as red as the blood on Alice Maxwell’s thighs. Hank makes no trouble. He sees the blood on Donovan’s face and Martinez’s swollen eyes and when Billy tells him to hold out his hands he does so with only token protest and allows Billy to zip-tie his wrists. Billy leads him to the round table.
‘Here we are,’ Billy says. ‘All in our places with bright shiny faces.’
‘There’s money in my desk,’ Donovan says. ‘In my room. Also some dope. World-class coke, man. An eightball.’
‘I’ve got some cash, too,’ Hank says. ‘Only fifty, but …’ He gives a what-can-you-do shrug. Billy can almost like this one. Stupid considering what he did but true. The flesh under his eyes and around his mouth is white with terror, but he’s behaving and putting up a good front.
‘Oh, you know this isn’t about money.’
‘I told you—’ Donovan begins.
‘He knows the whole thing, Tripp,’ Martinez says.
Billy turns to Hank. ‘What’s your last name?’
‘Flanagan.’
‘And the van out back, the Love Machine … that’s yours, right?’
‘Yes. But it’s broken down. The head gasket—’
‘Blew, I know. But it was running last week, yeah? You guys took Alice home in it after you were done with her?’
‘Don’t say anything!’ Donovan barks.
Hank ignores him. ‘What are you? Her boyfriend? Her brother? Oh boy.’
Billy says nothing.
Hank lets out a sigh. It sounds wet. ‘You know we didn’t take her home.’
‘What did you do with her?’
Donovan: ‘Don’t say anything!’ This seems to be his scripture.
‘Bad advice, Hank. Just say it and spare yourself a lot of grief.’
‘We dropped her off.’
‘Dropped her off? Is that what you want to call it?’
‘Okay, we dumped her,’ he says. ‘But man … she was talking, okay? And we knew she had her phone and money for an Uber. She was talking!’
‘And making perfect sense?’ Billy asks. ‘Holding a conversation? Tell me that if you fucking dare.’
Hank doesn’t tell him that. He starts to cry, which tells Billy something else.
Billy calls Alice. He doesn’t make Hank tell her he’s a worthless piece of shit, because the man’s tears make it clear he already knows that. He only asks Hank to say he’s sorry. Which he does and sounds like he means it. For whatever that’s worth.
Billy turns to Donovan. ‘That leaves you.’
11
The swinging roommates are cowed. No one’s going to run for the door because they know the intruder in the mask would clothesline them if they tried. Billy goes to his computer bag and takes out the Magic Wand hand mixer. It’s a slim stainless steel cylinder about eight inches long. Its electrical cord has been bound into a neat bow by two twist ties.
‘Here’s what I’ve been thinking about,’ Billy says. ‘That men don’t know what it’s like to be raped unless they’ve been raped themselves. You, Mr Donovan, are about to have a reasonable facsimile of that experience.’
Donovan tries to lunge up from the love-seat and Billy pushes him back. When he lands the cushion makes a farting sound. Martinez and Flanagan don’t move, only stare at the mixer with big eyes.
‘What I need you to do is stand up, push down your pants and undershorts, then lie on your stomach.’
‘No!’
Donovan has gone white. His eyes are even bigger than those of his roommates. Billy hardly expected instant compliance. He takes the Ruger from his belt. He remembers Pablo Lopez, one of the squad’s Funhouse casualties. Bigfoot Lopez had that Dirty Harry speech down pat, the one that ends with Harry saying You’ve got to ask yourself one question: Do I feel lucky? Well do you, punk? Billy can’t remember it all, but he has the gist.
‘This isn’t my gun,’ he says. ‘I borrowed it. I know it’s loaded, but I don’t know what the loads are. I didn’t check them. If you don’t drop trou and lie on your stomach, I’m going to shoot you in the ankle. Point blank. So you’ve got to ask yourself one question – ball or hollow point? If they’re hard point, you’ll probably walk again, but only after a lot of pain and therapy and you’ll limp for the rest of your life. If they’re softnose, most of your foot is going to say adios. So here’s the deal. Roll the dice on the bullet or get cornholed. Your choice.’
Donovan begins to blubber. His tears don’t make Billy feel pity; they make him want to hit the man in the mouth with the butt of the Ruger and see how many of those toothpaste-ad teeth he can knock out.
‘Let me put it to you another way. Either you can endure short-lived pain and humiliation or you can drag your left foot around for the rest of your life. Assuming the doctors don’t amputate. You have five seconds to decide. Five … four …’
On three, Tripp Donovan stands up and drops trou. His cock has shriveled to a noodle and his balls are barely visible at all.
‘Mister, do you have to—’ Martinez begins.
‘Shut up,’ Hank says. ‘He deserves it. Probably we all do.’ To Billy he says, ‘Just so you know, I didn’t put it in, just on her belly.’
‘Did you come?’ Billy knows the answer to that question.
Hank lowers his head.
Donovan is lying down on the carpet. His ass is white, the buttocks clenched.
Billy takes a knee beside the prone man’s hip. ‘You want to stay still, Mr Donovan. Still as you can, anyway. You can be grateful I’m not going to plug this thing in. I considered it, believe me.’
‘I’ll fuck you up,’ Donovan sobs.
‘No one is getting fucked up today but you.’
Billy sets the base of the hand mixer on Donovan’s right asscheek. Donovan jerks and gasps.
‘I thought about picking up some goo while I was shopping – you know, body lotion, massage oil, even Vaseline – but I decided against it. Alice didn’t get any lube, did she? Unless maybe you spit on your hand before you went in.’
‘Please don’t,’ Donovan sobs.
‘Did Alice say that? Probably not, she was probably too roofied out to say much of anything. One thing she did say was “Don’t choke me.” She probably would have said more if she could. Here we go, Mr Donovan. Hold still. I won’t tell you to relax and enjoy it.’
12
Billy doesn’t draw it out as he thought he might. He doesn’t have the heart for it. Or the stomach. When he’s finished he takes pictures of Tripp and the other two with his phone. Then he pulls the mixer out of Tripp, wipes his prints, and tosses it away. The cylinder rolls under the round table with Martinez’s laptop on it.