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His chest heaved, and his nostrils flared as his mind was obviously reeling with uncertainty. I cocked the pistol deeper into his forehead, causing his head to jerk back. He swallowed hard, clearing his throat and holding his head up higher. We were used to the theatrics that came along with my interrogations. We didn't pay him any mind as he visibly struggled, trying to get loose. He wasn’t going anywhere unless I wanted him to.
I waited until he tired himself out.
Until there was no fight left inside him.
Until all he could do was roll over and play dead with blood gushing out of him.
I crouched down again, leaning forward close to his face. Cocking my head to the side, I ordered, “Give me a name.” I smiled wide, my eyes wild and crazed. “Does the name Mauricio Felipe ring any bells?”
His eyes widened.
“I’m gonna count to three, and if I don’t get a name, you’re dead.” I abruptly raised my arm, aiming my gun at his boy tied to the chair on his right. “One.” Putting a bullet between his eyes, I blew his fucking head off, blood and brains splattering behind him. “Where can I find him?” I questioned, aiming my gun over at him.
He thrashed around, already knowing his fate.
“Please, enough. Don’t?—”
“Two.”
I was done playing games.
I walked over to him, placing the barrel of my gun under his chin. “Last chance, motherfucker.”
Cowering away from me, he closed his eyes tight.
“Thr—”
“Dominican Republic!” he yelled out.
“Who’s his ally?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never met him.”
“What do you know?”
“Not much.”
“Then what?”
“That he answers to someone, too.”
“Who’s that?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know, or you don’t remember?”
I didn’t waver. I aimed the gun at his right inner thigh and pulled the trigger. He screamed out in pain, gasping for air and convulsing right in front of me.
“Next bullet will go three inches to the left,” I warned, gesturing to his cock.
With quivering lips, he trembled, “He had on a cut.”
I grinned. “Thought that would jog your memory. Funny how that fuckin’ works, yeah?”
He nodded, grinding his teeth.
“A cut like a biker vest?”
