Page 107 of The Savage

Even if she hates me for it for a lifetime.

I take a breath, force my body to recalibrate, and head towards the basement.

The room down here is cool and spare. A place built for weathering storms. Thick stone walls, a single overhead bulb, a drain in the floor I never pray over.

The lapdog is slumped in a chair, wrists zip-tied behind him, his lip split and one eye already swelling shut. He tries to straighten when I enter.

Fails.

Good.

My men stand to either side, silent as gravestones.

I pull my phone out first.

Nightowl’s earlier message still crawls across my screen like a smug riddle.

Weasels make chessboards out of the wood when Rats desert sinking ships.

‘Cryptic worst,’ I mutter, thumb stabbing the keys.

Renzo

Your riddles nearly made her collapse, you fucker. Stop playing prophet and speak like a human.

Three dots appear. Pause. Then:

Nightowl

If I spoke like a human, capo, you’d forget I’m not one of your men. Comfort makes you sloppy.

I feel my temper crackle. ‘Motherfucker,’ I tell the screen.

Renzo

I’m not sloppy. I’m pissed. Give me facts or get out of my way.

Nightowl

Facts are expensive. You already paid by winning in an alley. Keep winning if you want the rest.

The arrogance in it is almost admirable.

Almost.

Because they’re still a puppet pulling strings and every one will be extracted in the juiciest pound of flesh, ally or not. I type harder than necessary.

Renzo

Next time you send clues in riddles, I’m coming for you.

Nightowl

Always were dramatic. Enjoy your guest. He has a name you’ll want to taste slowly. Carnage comes.

I stare at that last line, jaw grinding.

Then I put the phone away before I crush it and step towards the chair.