Briones tossed the rag to Cruz and approached Santiago from behind. He clamped his hands on either side of Santiago’s head, grinding his thumb into a pressure point just below the ear to force his jaw open. Cruz jammed the rag in and hurriedly pulled his hand away lest Santiago bite him. He stepped back, regarding the result with professional satisfaction.
Briones stationed himself by the rheostat and waited for a signal. Cruz nodded.
The lieutenant hunched over the box and turned the dial halfway up. The rod emitted a faint hum.
“You might want to plug your ears, Lieutenant. I have a feeling our boy here is going to be crying like a bitch kitty in a second,” Cruz said. He applied the rod tip to Santiago’s neck.
The reaction was immediate. Santiago’s entire body stiffened, his eyes bugged out, and his face turned beet red as his stifled shrieks penetrated the rag. Cruz studied Santiago impassively as he flayed and convulsed for ten seconds, then he disengaged the picana.
Cruz made a gesture with the device, and Briones pulled the rag from Santiago’s mouth, who greedily gulped air as though he’d been drowning.
“Give me something, Santiago. Or I can do this all day. In fact, you know what? I bet I could charge admission to the families of the cops you killed this morning; make money allowing them to use it on you, if I get tired. Remember, I’m authorized by the President to do whatever it takes to get information, so there’s no way out of this for you.”
“You…you are so fucked,” Santiago hissed through swollen lips. “You don’t even know it. And your president? He’s a dead man.”
Cruz shrugged, and Briones returned the rag to Santiago’s mouth and then cranked the knob again. Cruz held the wand to Santiago’s neck, this time for twenty seconds.
Briones cut the current and removed the rag.
“Oh, look, what a shame. The big brave drug lord pissed his pants like a little schoolgirl. Hey, pissy pants, are we having fun yet?” Cruz taunted.
“Your brat pissed hers before I fucked her,” Santiago growled, spitting blood at him.
“What did you say?” Cruz’s eyes narrowed to slits.
“You heard me. She was pretty good for a five year old, or whatever she was. I think she kind of liked it when I had my boys go at her, too. Shame she lost her head. I could have trained her to be really-”
Cruz dropped the picana and pummeled Santiago’s face with his fists. Briones grabbed his arms from behind and dragged him away, but not before he’d inflicted considerable damage. Santiago was now bleeding freely from cuts on his cheek and a newly broken nose; a bloodshot eye was swollen half closed. Cruz stood panting his anger out until he regained enough control for Briones to release him.
Santiago raised his head.
“Tell the President I had a hand in having him killed, will you?”
“What are you talking about? You’re nothing. An insect. You have nothing, and you’ll rot in a military prison until you die. You, kill the President? You’re a urine-soaked piece of shit, nothing more,” Cruz growled, barely containing his rage.
“You remember that when El Rey takes him and his American master out. I’ll be watching it on TV. That’s a day people will remember for a lifetime.”
“You think these puny lies will buy you bargaining power? You’re mistaken. It’s pure bullshit. And it’s not going to work.”
“Remember you said that when your ass-licking president is lying dead with the Gringo cunt. Remember how smart you were.” Santiago fixed Cruz with his good eye. “And remember when your little baby was on her hands and knees, begging for me to give it to her, like your stinking whore wife did, and I-”
Cruz cranked the control box to maximum and took two steps towards Santiago, jamming the prod into his soaking crotch.
Santiago convulsed and screamed so horrifically that Briones was momentarily frozen in place. As Santiago convulsed, smoke began to rise from where the prod was in contact with his wet pants. Briones raced to shut off the current, and Santiago slumped over, unconscious.
Cruz spat on Santiago, and then handed the picana back to Briones, who averted his gaze.
“Let’s take a break for an hour and let this fecal speck stew in his filth. Maybe he’ll get more talkative now that he sees what I’m capable of,” Cruz said, checking his watch and straightening his uniform before moving to the door. “I’ll see you back here at five. Grab something to eat. This could be a long night.”
Briones’ eyes stayed glued to the floor, and he didn’t respond.
“Hey. Lieutenant. These are the bad guys, eh? They killed a bunch of cops this morning, and this one claims he raped and killed my wife and daughter. This is an animal. Nothing but an animal…” Cruz said.
Briones slowly raised his head and met his stare. “He’s probably lying about your daughter, sir. The story is well known. He used it to bait you, to get a reaction-”
“It worked then, huh? I’ll bet he thinks twice about doing it again. Go get something to eat. We need to keep at him until he breaks. And he will break. Make no mistake about that,” Cruz assured him.
“Yes, sir.”
Cruz knocked twice on the door in a distinctive pattern; it swung open, unlocked from the exterior. Two beefy police officers stood outside, guarding the room. These were men fiercely loyal to Cruz — men he trusted with his life. One of them handed Cruz back his service pistol, which he holstered.
Cruz instructed them not to allow anyone into the cell while he was gone, then marched down the dank yellow hall, past two more armed Federal Police officers, to the scarred double doors of the industrial steel elevator. He punched the button and stood waiting as Briones joined him.
“I’m sorry if I seemed to lose it, Lieutenant. It was momentary. It’s been a long day, and I think I’m tired from the assault this morning.” Cruz stabbed at the button again, impatiently. “You were right. I gave the prick exactly what he wanted — a reaction. Learn from that. Always keep your emotions out of the job,” Cruz softly advised the younger man.
“I think I would have shot him,” Briones admitted.
“That’s why we don’t allow guns in the room.” Cruz turned his head and studied the lieutenant’s profile. “Are you sure you’re up for this? I can arrange a replacement if you’d rather sit it out. I won’t think any less of you — this is a tough assignment, and this part isn’t for everyone.”
“No, sir. I was also friends with several of the men who were killed today. I would want the same if one of these scumbags killed me. It’s the least I can do…to help you with this.”
“Good man. I’ll see you in an hour. I’m going to my office to start a report.”
“Do you…Sir, no disrespect, but do you think there’s any truth in what he was saying about the President — and the U.S. president? He sounded pretty cocky for a man in his position,” Briones ventured.
“That’s why I want to write it up. I don’t know what to think right now, but these bastards have turned the country into a killing field wherever they go, so I wouldn’t put anything past them. I want to capture exactly what he said while it’s fresh in my mind. We can investigate later. But yes, I’m taking it seriously. I agree he seemed sure of himself, and that’s troubling.”
“And he mentioned El Rey,” Briones underscored.
“I know. Then again, that’s like mentioning the boogieman. So it may mean something, or nothing. But either way, I’ll record it, and once we’re done with him, add it to the pile of things to do,” Cruz concluded.
The elevator finally arrived, and the two men stepped aboard. They rode up two floors to the ground level in stony silence, each lost in his own thoughts. Briones exited and proceeded purposefully to the security area that led to the outside world, while Cruz continued to the fifth, where his task force occupied the entire floor.