'Mr Ismael?' the big black man asked him in a tone that sounded official, that sounded like how a cop would speak.
'Yes?' He looked up from the sink, in time to see the other man coming up behind him.
He felt a heavy blow on the back of his neck.
I They drove Sam Ismael to the MTF condo in Coral Springs, two hours out of Miami.
They dragged him inside and cuffed his right arm to a metal chair welded to the floor of a windowless room with whitewashed walls, a single lightbulb and a table, also bolted down.
Ismael was still groggy from the blow Max had dealt to his neck with a lead-shot-filled beavertail sap. Joe threw a bucket of cold water over him and he came to with a gasp and a start, blinking rapidly, panicked yellowy-brown eyes darting from Joe to the ceiling, to the table, to the door and then to Max, where they stopped and settled.
'Where am I?' he asked Max.
Well, it ain't the Fontainebleau.'
Where am I?' Ismael banged the table with his free hand.
'I don't believe I correctly identified myself, the last time we met in your store, remember?' Max looked at him and saw that he did. 'I am Detective Sergeant Mingus of the Miami Task Force. That over there' motioning his head to Joe, stood against the wall with his hands in his pockets and a plastic carrier bag at his feet - 'is Detective Liston.
And you, Sam Ismael, are officially fucked.
'Now, let me clarify just what 'officially fucked' means. It means fuck your lawyer, fuck your civil rights, fuck your human rights, fuck the rights we didn't read you and, most of all, fuck you. And it also means that your life, as you knew it, is officially fucken' over. Do you understand?'
'What do you want?
4'7 Max held up a Polaroid photograph of the severed bead and placed it in the middle of the table.
'Who is she?'
'How should I know?'
'You should know.' Max lined up half a dozen pictures of the girl's body, laid out in loose order on the floor, with inch-wide gaps between the amputated parts. 'That's the basement of your store. And that's what we found in your freezers.'
Ismael looked at the photographs. He went pale.
'I don't know anything about this,' he said.
'No?' Max dropped three clear bags of surgical instruments one by one on the table, where they each landed with a bang. 'These have your prints all over them. And forensics will also find blood, tissue and hair samples that match the victim's. Do the math. Prints, plus tissue, plus hair, plus blood equals you.'
'But I didn't do it!' Sam shouted. 'And you haven't even got my prints on those.' Ismael pointed at the instruments.
'We sterilize them after use.'
'Your prints are on there, trust me.' Max smiled. 'Every digit.'
'Then you put them there when I was out cold!' Sam yelled. 'This is an outraged Max ignored him.
'OK, let's just say, for the sake of argument, you are innocent. You're still gonna be charged, and you're still gonna have to stand trial. Now, the press will have themselves a field day. Think about it. All that shit you've got in your store, all those body parts, religious icons, candles, masks '
'Don't forget the chickens,' Joe prompted.
'And the chickens too. Can you imagine the headlines?
Prominent Miami Businessman in Human Sacrifice Deep Freeze Voodoo Death Riddle. This'll be our very own Black Dahlia.
'So it doesn't matter if you're innocent, you'll look guilty.
And that's all that counts. Appearance is everything in this country: if you look the part, you get the part.'
'I didn't do it,' Ismael repeated, but quietly, looking at the photographs, horrified.
'Who's this we?' Max asked. 'As in we sterilize our tools after use? You got an accomplice? Or are you thinkin' of pleading temporary insanity?'
Ismael shook his head.
'Charge me or release me. But if you charge me I'll beat it. And then I'll sue. False arrest. Loss of earnings. Loss of reputation. Psychological damage.'
Max looked him in the eye.
ŚYou forgot police brutality.'
Ismael couldn't stare Max down.
ŚWhat's Florida famous for apart from gators, sunshine, Disney, girls in bikinis and a skyhigh body count?' Max asked.
'I don't know.' Ismael looked puzzled.
'It's not a trick question,' Max said. 'Think.'
Ismael did. Sweat had massed on his forehead and was trickling down his temples and large parrot-beak nose.
'Oranges?' he offered.
'Exactly,' Max said. 'Oranges. They're very good for you.
Great source of vitamin C. Which I'm sure you know. You eat oranges?'
'Sometimes.' Ismael shrugged.
'I love oranges,' Max said. 'In fact we've got some right here.' Joe handed him the carrier bag. Max took out the contents, one by one eight large, ripe Florida oranges. He placed one over each photograph and held on to the last.
'What the doctors don't tell you about oranges is that they can also be very fucken' bad for you. There's eight of them there. If I put them back in the bag' he replaced the fruit in the bag one by one and did it very slowly 'I have
myself a lethal weapon. You've heard about the phone-book trick cops use in interrogation? Hit you in the torso, maximum pain, no external bruising? Real convenient. Same principle with oranges, except there's a twist.' Max knotted the bag. 'A phone book just hurts you inside. If I hit you hard - with a bag of Florida's finest, your insides will be a medically irreparable mess. Kidneys, liver, spleen, stomach, bladder all haemorrhaging. It'll take you days to die. Long, drawn out, painful days. You'll piss, shit and puke blood.
Very nasty. Wouldn't wish it on anyone - except the twisted fuck who sawed that girl apart.'
Max got off the table and motioned Joe over.
Joe undid Ismael's cuffs, grabbed him by the shoulders and lifted him to his feet like he was made of string. He held him steady.
Max walked up to him.
'Please!' Ismael screamed.
Max swung the bag and deliberately narrowly missed IsmaePs torso's.
'Shit!' Max said. 'Old age.'
He measured Ismael. Stared hard at his stomach like he was taking aim, took a step back, arm extended, all set to swing 'Let me see the photo again!'
'Sit him back down,' Max told Joe, who shoved Ismael towards the table.
Ismael picked up the head shot and studied it closely. His eyes widened and shock spread over his face.
'You know her?' Max asked.
'That's - that's Risquee. I - I - I didn't recognize her . . .