Pritchard was in too much pain to answer. Cardoni added to his pain by breaking his left kneecap.
Rule number one: Remove your opponent's legs.
Cardoni walked around Pritchard slowly. He was sprawled on his back, gritting his teeth and fighting to stay conscious.
A blow to the kneecap ranks as one of life's most painful experiences. It rivals a thrust to the genital area. Shall we make a comparison test?
Cardoni's foot flashed. Boxers are used to pain, but this was pain on a new level. Pritchard made no effort to stifle his scream.
I bet that smarts. In fact, I know it does. Doctors know every place on the human body that can cause suffering.
Pritchard wanted to say something brave in response to Cardoni's taunts, but he was weak with fear. If Cardoni wanted to inflict more pain, he knew he would be helpless to stop him.
Do you know where you are, little man?
When Pritchard did not answer, Cardoni gave his right kneecap a casual tap. Pritchard arched his back as if electricity had shot through him.
You're in the House of Pain, and I run the establishment. There's one rule in the House of Pain: Anything I say goes. Disobedience is punished swiftly. Now, here's my first question. It's an easy one. What's your name?
Fuck you Pritchard started, but the sentence was cut short by a scream when Cardoni gripped his left wrist and extended his arm out at an awkward angle, forcing Pritchard to roll onto his injured knees.
The hand is a marvelous creation designed by God to do the most wonderful things, Cardoni said. I use my hand to wield instruments that save lives. I bet you use yours to pick your nose and beat off.
Pritchard tried to struggle, but Cardoni brought him to heel with a small amount of pressure on his wrist. Then the surgeon gripped the man's index finger tightly. He tried to resist, but Cardoni had no trouble prying it out straight.
There are twenty-seven bones in the hand. That gives me twenty-seven opportunities to inflict excruciating pain on you.
Cardoni tightened his grip on Pritchard's index finger.
The bones of the fingers and thumb are called phalanges. A single phalange is the length of bone from one knuckle to the next. There are three phalanges in your index finger. Cardoni bent the index finger backward. All of them are going to be broken if you don't become more cooperative.
Pritchard screamed.
Now, what is your name? Even a moron like you should be able to answer that question.
Cardoni applied pressure.
Gene, Gene Pritchard, he gasped.
Good boy.
Pritchard lunged suddenly. Cardoni backed away and jerked hard on his wrist. Pritchard's feet splayed out and he howled like a dog. Cardoni snapped Pritchard's index finger. As the bone cracked, the man sagged, almost passing out.
The next time you decide to pick on someone, make sure you're man enough for the job, Cardoni said as he pried Pritchard's pinkie away from his fist.
Now, Gene, who sent you to follow me?
Pritchard hesitated for a second and paid for it. The last time he remembered crying was when he was eight. Tears trickled down his cheeks.
Martin Breach, Pritchard gasped without having to be asked again.
That's a very good boy. And what does Martin want you to do besides tail me?
We're ... supposed to ... bring you ... to him.
Dead or alive?
Alive, in good condition.
Why?
The money he paid for the heart. He wants it back.
Cardoni studied Pritchard for what seemed like an eternity to the crippled enforcer. Then he released Pritchard's hand, backed into the shadows and disappeared without another word.
Chapter 27
Bobby Vasquez knocked an empty bottle of whiskey into two empty beer bottles as he rolled onto his side. The three bottles crashed to the floor, and the sound of breaking glass brought Vasquez partway out of his drunken stupor. He opened his eyes and blinked. His first thought was, What time is it? Then, What day? Then he wondered why he cared. Since his suspension every day had been shit.
Vasquez struggled into a sitting position, squeezed his eyes shut against the light and waited for the throbbing to subside. After his humiliation and destruction at the motion to suppress, action had been swift. Vasquez had been placed on suspension, and Internal Affairs was conducting an investigation. Milton County would probably indict him for perjury, obstruction of justice and any other crime they could stick him with. The union lawyer represented him in front of Internal Affairs, but he had to foot the bill for his criminal lawyer, and that would probably wipe out his savings. If he was convicted or thrown off the force, he could kiss his pension goodbye.
Vasquez looked for something to drink. All the bottles he could see were empty. He lurched to his feet and stumbled into the kitchen. He smelled. He had not shaved in days. He didn't care. He wasn't going to see anyone, and no one was going to see him. Yvette had called, but he had been drunk and insulted her. She did not call again. So much for true love. There had been calls from some of his cop friends, but he let the machine take them. What could he say? He had no excuses. He' d just gotten caught up in the thing. First there' d been his desire to avenge Mickey Parks. Then he' d found the heads, and he' d wanted Cardoni so badly that he had broken the law. To make matters worse, it was Breach's man who had brought him down. Now he was probably going to go to jail, and a man who had butchered nine human beings was walking free.
Vasquez went through the kitchen cabinets until he located the only liquor bottle left with something in it. He tilted it up and sucked down all of the remaining whiskey as his last thought echoed in his head. He would be in jail soon, and Cardoni would be free. His life was over, and Cardoni's would continue. The psycho fuck would kill again, and Vasquez would be responsible for each new death. Why go on? Why face disgrace and jail? He was starting to believe that the answer to his problems was a single shot through his brain when an alternative suddenly occurred to him. The brain in question did not have to be his own. If he was really willing to end his life, he could do anything he wanted to do. It was like having a terminal disease. No one could punish you worse than you were going to be punished. There was no threat that could deter you. The rules no longer applied. If he killed himself, Cardoni would still be free to cause untold suffering. If he killed Cardoni, he would be a hero to some and his conscience would be clear.
Chapter 28
Art Prochaska entered Martin Breach's office in the Jungle Club and yelled, Ed and Eugene are in the hospital, so that Breach could hear him over the blaring heavy metal music to which a buxom ecdysiast named Miss Honey Bush was disrobing.
What happened?
Cardoni surprised them.
Both of them? Martin Breach asked in disbelief.
Prochaska nodded. They're in pretty bad shape.
Motherfucker! Breach screamed as he leaped up from behind his desk and started pacing. When he stopped, he leaned forward on his knuckles and glared across the desk at his enforcer. Breach's fists were clamped so tightly that his knuckles were white.
You take care of this personally. When I' m through with Cardoni he's going to beg to tell me where he's hiding my money.
Chapter 29
The phone was ringing. Amanda sat up in bed and groped for it in the dark.
Frank, I' m in trouble.
It was Vincent Cardoni, and he sounded desperate.
This is Amanda Jaffe, Dr. Cardoni.
