that fleeting expression vanished, the psychotic stare back in place. Suddenly Perry looked away, his eyes losing focus. He seemed to be staring at the wall, or perhaps some point beyond the wall. His head cocked to the right ever so slightly.
He looks like a dog listening to one of those ultrasonic whistles.
“Look, I’m telling you he’ll talk,” Perry said. “We don’t need to kill him!”
Oh Christ oh Jesus oh my Lord he’s completely insane and I’m going to die here, I’m going to die just like that.
Perry spoke angrily to his unseen companion. “Fuck off! This is my show now. You just shut up and let me think.”
Bill felt his spirit sag down, weighted with doom. There was no hope.
Apparently the voice stopped. Perry’s stare returned, a piercing fixation that drilled into Bill’s eyes, which were wide, white and wet. Bill felt weakness slip over him, slowly pulling him into unconsciousness.
This time he didn’t fight it.
57.
Dew pinched the uncomfortable, thick cellular between his shoulder and ear, steered with one hand, and with the other punched an address into the Buick’s dashboard GPS computer.
“How long since the client sent the form, Murray?”
“About twenty minutes.”
“Have we contacted him yet?”
“There’s no answer at the number he gave us,” Murray said. “We’ve sent a return email, but no response there yet, either.”
“Send Margaret and her rapid-response teams for me. I have to find this apartment complex. Tell the squads to get to Dawsey’s apartment complex, but do not enter. Tell them to wait for my call. Leave my three teams at Nguyen’s place to make sure the media doesn’t get in until they finish scrubbing the place of any triangle references.”
Dew broke the connection and put the cellular away. He almost rear-ended an old woman driving a Civic. He leaned on the horn, trying to get her out of the way. It was Sunday, college on semester break, but there were still college kids crossing the street, slow and calm like they owned the world, like they were immortal. Right about now Dew would be more than happy to put that immortality up against the front bumper of the Buick.
He swung into the wrong lane and passed the Civic. The GPS said he was fifteen minutes away, but with traffic it would probably take just over twenty to reach Dawsey’s.
58.
Perry knew he didn’t have much time-either the Soldiers were on their way, or Bill the Betrayer would soon bleed to death. The wet puddle on the couch grew steadily, as if Bill were pissing blood. Perry knew that if he timed it right, he could get the information and the Soldiers could save his friend. Correction. His so-called friend.
Bill’s eyes glazed over again, and his head sagged forward.
“Oh no you don’t, you little informant,” Perry said. He slapped hard with his left hand. Bill’s head shot back so fast his temple bounced off the wall. The slap sounded red, warm and satisfying.
You don’t know what suffering is, Billy Boy. But I’m going to do my best to give you a little taste of what I’ve gone through.
Bill’s scared-rabbit look returned to his blood-smeared face. How could the Soldiers use some weak-ass like this? It was probably a trick-yes, a trick. Bill was trying to lure him into overconfidence.
“That shit isn’t going to trick me, Billy Boy, no bout-a-doubt-it .” He was smarter than these fuckers. They didn’t know what they’d started by fucking with a Dawsey, because a Dawsey doesn’t take shit, no sir, no how.
Perry reached out and pulled the sock from Bill’s mouth. Bill breathed deeply, but other than that didn’t make a sound.
Perry licked his lips. He tasted blood. He didn’t know if it was his or Bill’s. Eager for the final answer, he leaned in close and asked his vital question.
“Who the fuck do you work for, and what are the Triangles going to turn into?”
Perry’s face was only inches from Bill’s. The dark circles around Perry’s eyes made it look as if he hadn’t slept in days. The whites were so bloodshot that they took on a pinkish hue. Bright red stubble stuck out offensively. There were open sores on his lips; it looked like he’d bitten through them not very long ago.
But that question-triangle?
“Perry, wha…what are you talking about?” Bill knew it was the wrong thing to say, but he couldn’t think of another answer. Perry’s eyes swelled with anger, adding to the already psychotic stare.
“Don’t screw with me, Bill.” His quiet voice carried the threat of death. “You and your little Jedi mind tricks can just fuck off. I’m not buying what you’re selling, junior. Now, I’ll ask you again, what are the Triangles becoming?”
Bill’s breath came in short, ragged gasps. What was this madness? What did Perry want to hear?
Bill tried to fight back tears of frustration and panic. Pain ripped through his body in a nonstop cacophony of raw nerves and cutting metal edges. It was so hard to think!
He struggled for words, struggled to make sense of it all. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Perry. It’s me! It’s Bill, for God’s sake! Why do you want to do this to me?”
A smile crept across Perry’s face. He reached out for one of the knives that had Bill’s hands impaled on the wall. Bill’s body went rigid with white-hot tension.
“Getting a little loud in here, don’t you think, Billy Boy?”
“I’m sorry,” Bill said quickly, his hushed whisper filled with fear and pleading. “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”
“Goddamned right it won’t, Billy old sport. If it does happen again, you’ll be dead before you can apologize. Your warnings are gone. You’re in Double Jeopardy now, where the points can really add up, so I’ll ask you just one more time: what are the Triangles becoming?”
Bill’s mind spun wildly for an answer, anything that would keep him alive even a little bit longer. He had to come up with some bullshit and fast, but it was so hard to think, impossible to concentrate. Perry was going to kill him.
“I…I don’t know, they didn’t tell me that.”
“Like hell they didn’t,” Perry said, never losing his predatory stare. “You’ve got one more chance, Billy, and then I’m going to carve you up.”
Bill scrambled for an answer, but he couldn’t make his mind focus past the pain, past the psychotic situation, past death that stared him in the face. What had Perry called him? The “informant?” Informant for what? For whom? What raving paranoid vision did Perry see through those bloodshot eyes?
“Perry, I swear, they didn’t tell me!” He watched the rage flare up in Perry’s eyes. Bill kept talking, his voice a nasal, pleading, pitiful cry. “It’s not my fault they don’t tell me anything! They just told me to keep an eye on you, let them know what you were doing.”
That reply seemed to strike a chord. Perry’s look changed, as if Bill’s words answered some important question, but he still looked far from placated.
