Page 161 of Antihero

B-Roll eased back.

He bumped into something, gave a little yelp.

The pillory.

Nowhere left to go.

The man stopped.

They were about three feet apart.

The man did not seem to blink. He did not seem to breathe. He did not seem real.

“Brandon Burke,” he said. “Are you ready for your close-up?”

One wrist had snapped in the process, but that happened. Wrists could be fragile.

The jaw had broken, too, because, let’s face it, it was hard to get the locking bar down when the subject was still trying to fight. It had taken a few whacks to hammer everything into place.

Now B-Roll was ensconced in the pillory, wrists and neck secured.

The camera was to the side so it could capture his face.

Evan stood behind him, texting Templeton the address and sharing Taswell’s last location as well.

B-Roll struggled violently but there wasn’t anger in it, not anymore. Now it was just desperation. He’d been fuming and screaming himself hoarse but no one really cared about screaming in a place like this. Cottony saliva had gummed in the corners of his mouth. Panic tended to dehydrate. He hung there, wilted.

The apartment wasn’t so much an apartment as a den. Mattress on the floor, sloughed-off socks scattered like snake skins, a funk of pot and cigarette smoke and unwashed sheets. Parchment-colored blinds thickened the light.

The endless overpass outside rumbled, headlights and horns blaring through the battered blinds. Three stories up, they were still sunken, vehicles swooping overhead. The city sounds were abrasive, set the teeth on edge. It was hard to think in here.

B-Roll lurched and bellowed, but there was very little give in the stock. It was well designed. He could see nothing behind him. “Where are you?” he scream-cried, his words blurred through his unhinged jaw. “What’re you doing?”

His manicured beard, his manscaped chest hair, his gym-toned eight-pack, they all seemed so silly. A puddle of blood-laced drool on the floor beneath his face dilated, shimmery like mercury.

“You may have heard,” Evan said, “that RedLite experienced an unfortunate disruption. But that’s okay. They are going up again tonight. Right now, in fact. Live streams only.”

“You can’t, man. You can’t do this.”

“But I am,” Evan said.

“Wait! Wait, okay? You can’t leave me here like this. How’s anyone gonna find me? I’ll be here forever!”

“Don’t worry,” Evan said. “The cops will get here. Eventually.”

“Hang on. Just—”

“Live in three … two … one.” Evan clicked to start the live feed.

Brandon bellowed and squirmed in the pillory. Staying out of the field of view, Evan walked around the makeshift stage, moving toward the door.

“Wait! Just— Wait! I’m sorry, okay? Don’t leave me! Please! Please, don’t leave me like this!”

Evan stepped out.

The closing door muffled B-Roll’s complaints. A few steps down the stairs and Evan couldn’t even hear him over the roar of traffic.

Despite a decent afternoon sun, Blanca shuddered as Evan walked with her along the sidewalk. She’d refused his jacket.