“I only had a gun you because you were going to try to kill the guy I’m supposed to protect.”
“Well, I was only going to kill him because he screwed a gangster out of millions of dollars.”
“Oh, well, that’s alright then!”
She wrinkles her nose and sticks her tongue out, and I find myself thinking we probably sound like a pair of bickering siblings. To be honest, we sound like Josh and me…
“Why are you protecting him anyway? What makes him so special?”
“I’m just following orders, like you.”
“I don’t follow orders. I don’t answer to anyone — a benefit of being self-employed.”
“Are you always this argumentative?”
“Are you always this much of a bitch?”
“Oh, your words cut me like a knife…”
“There’s no need for sarcasm.”
“There’s no need to tie me to a chair!”
“You had a gun on me!”
“What, that again? Get over it, you pussy.”
I sigh. What is it with this woman? I don’t particularly want to shoot her, but she’s testing the restraint of my trigger finger while pitching her tent on my last nerve.
“Enough,” I say. “You’re going to answer my questions or I’m going to shoot you in the face. Understand?”
She says nothing, but raises a quizzical eyebrow — either to show she understands, or to silently call my bluff. I assume it was the former, because I don’t bluff.
“What’s your name?” I begin.
“Does it matter?” she replies.
“Yes.”
She holds my gaze for a moment. “Fine, my name is Clara Fox.”
“Thank you. Okay, Clara, who do you work for?”
“Right now?” She motions with her head to Jackson, who’s still slumped in his chair next to her. “Him.”
“So, what, are you freelance?” I ask.
“I go where I’m told to. I don’t ask questions.”
“That’s a weird answer to a perfectly straightforward question.”
“Take it or leave it, I don’t care.”
“Do you know why you’re protecting him?”
“Yes.”
“Would you care to elaborate?”
She sighs. I don’t think she’s losing patience, as such, I think she’s just unhappy because she doesn’t strike me as being comfortable when she’s not the one asking the questions. I don’t know what it is about her, but I actually kind of like her. Not in that way. I just think she’s a… kindred spirit.
“My assignment was to protect Jackson while he closed a business deal between our respective employers for the sale of a plot of land in Heaven’s Valley. We knew that the local mafia had been involved in a previous deal to buy up the land, so we assumed there would be some comeback. I was assigned to Jackson to make sure he remained safe while he finalized the deal.”
“Would this deal be with Dark Rain, by any chance?”
She frowns for a split second, looking both surprised and confused. She clearly wasn’t expecting me to know that and I can see her trying to figure out how I do. But she quickly composes herself again and merely shrugs, as if it’s not important information.
“Yes,” she replies.
“And you don’t know why the original deal was cancelled by Jackson?”
“Don’t know, don’t care. I do what I'm ordered to do. If I need to know something, I'll be told.”
“You’re the consummate Army brat, aren’t you? Tell me, where are you from? Your accent’s very… multicultural.”
She smiles, like she’s flattered that I’d noticed. “I was born in Russia. My father was a soldier and died when I was a little girl. My mother was a Swedish nurse and we moved to America when I was seven.”
“Well, you sound great. You should work in a call center or something.”
“I’d kill my boss within minutes.”
I can’t help but smile. “I don’t doubt it,” I say.
There’s a moment’s silence, which is interrupted by the groans of a man regaining consciousness after being shot for the second time in the last hour.
Jackson looks groggy and he gazes around the room slowly like a man with a bad hangover. He looks at Clara, who’s staring at him curiously. He turns to me. I’m also staring at him, but I have a gun aimed at his head.
I turn to Clara. “Be right with you, honey,” I say.
She rolls her eyes and sighs heavily.
I smile, satisfied I’ve wound her up enough, and turn back to Jackson. “Teddy, so nice of you to join us. Clara and I are just getting acquainted. She’s lovely, don’t you think?”
He groans, clearly in pain. “What do you want from me?” he asks, sounding fatigued and beaten.
“I want you to answer a few questions, completely and honestly.”
“P-please don’t sh-shoot me again,” he begs.
“I can’t promise anything, Ted, because you’re an asshole. But, if you do as I ask, you’ll be giving yourself the best chance you can of avoiding a third bullet.”
He takes a moment and I can see him weighing up his options in his head, searching for one last Hail Mary plan that will ultimately save him. I watch, somewhat pleased with myself, as the realization of pending defeat finally dawns on him.
“Wh-what do you want to know?” he says eventually with a sigh.
“Finally…” I say. “Okay, first question… Why did you revoke your offer to Pellaggio without telling him?”
He hesitates, which isn’t a very good start.
“Ted, don’t even think of lying to me.”
“I… I can’t tell you. They’ll kill me.”
He glances at Clara as he speaks. It’s just a quick look, but I spot it and look at her.
“Are you going to kill him if he talks to me?” I ask.
She stares at me blankly, like I’m an idiot. She’s really good at looking at me like that… and I don’t care for it.
“I’ve just finished telling you I’m meant to protect him. Why would I kill him?” she says.
I sigh again. I’m going round in circles here and I’m starting to lose my patience. I’m wasting time… I maybe need to take a slightly more drastic approach. I stand and walk across the room, picking up my silenced Beretta from over by the door where Clara had thrown it earlier. I check the magazine out of habit as head back over to them and stand behind Jackson. I extend my arm over his shoulder and past his head, so my gun appears in his line of sight. I then fire four bullets at the sofa in front of us. Each one causes a small cloud of white stuffing to erupt from the pillows.
See, what most people don’t realize is, when you fire a gun the barrel gets really hot — a result of the mini explosion that initially propelsthe bullet out. So, after four shots, the barrel is so hot you could fry an egg on it.
The shots terrify Jackson, who’s opened his mouth in a silent scream. Without warning, I place my gun on the side of his neck and hold it there. His silent scream turns into a very loud, guttural one. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Clara squirming uncomfortably in her seat at the low hissing noise causes by his flesh smoldering from the heat.
I give it seven seconds before removing my gun. I walk around and crouch down in front of him.
“Teddy, I swear to God, I’m going to make you tell me everything I need to know,” I say, matter-of-factly.
I gesture to his neck with my gun. The skin has blistered and burst, leaving him with blood and puss oozing down his shoulder and chest.
“That was nothing compared to what I’m both capable of and willing to do to you.”
Jackson starts crying and I put the barrel of my gun near his neck again, to give him further incentive.