O’Connell’s neck and his shoulders.
“This is a really crummy place you’ve got here, Mike-y boy. Pretty rundown. Dirty.” Murphy stared across the room and saw a laptop computer on a table, making a mental note to take a handful of O’Connell’s backup discs with him.
So far, things were going more or less as Murphy had anticipated. O’Connell was as predicted. He could sense the younger man’s discomfort, knew that the insistent rapping of the weapon against his head was creating indecision and doubt. In all moments of confrontation, Murphy thought, at some point the skilled interrogator simply takes over the subject’s identity, controlling, steering him to compliance. We’re on track, Murphy thought to himself. We’re definitely making progress.
“Not much of a life, is it, Mike-y boy? I mean, I’m not seeing much of a future here.”
“It suits me.”
“Yes. But what is it about this that makes you think for a single second that Ashley Freeman would want to be a part of it?”
O’Connell remained quiet, and Murphy whacked him from behind with his free hand. “Answer the question, asshole.”
“I love her. She loves me.”
Murphy slapped him again. “I don’t think so, you low-life, bottom-dwelling slug.”
A thin line of blood came from O’Connell’s ear.
“She’s a class act, Mike-y boy. Unlike you, she’s got possibilities. She comes from fine folks, and she’s well educated and filled with all sorts of big-time potential. You, on the other hand, come from shit.” Murphy accentuated the last few words by smacking the younger man hard. “And you’re going to end up in shit. What? Prison? Or do you think you can manage to stay out?”
“I’m okay. I haven’t broken any laws.”
The repeated blows were taking effect. O’Connell’s voice cracked slightly, and Murphy thought he could hear a little quaver behind the words.
“Really? You want me looking at you any closer?”
Murphy had come full circle, and once again he tapped the gun barrel against the bridge of O’Connell’s nose, demanding a response.
“No.”
“Didn’t think so.”
He grabbed O’Connell’s chin and twisted it painfully. He could see some tears in the corners of the younger man’s eyes. “But, Mike-y, don’t you think you ought to be asking me a little more politely to stay out of your life?”
“Please stay out of my life,” O’Connell said slowly and quietly.
“Well, I’d like to. I’d genuinely like to. So, Mike-y boy, just looking at it all, objective-like, don’t you think it would be a really, really good thing for you to absolutely make sure that I’m not in your life anymore? That this little get-together, friendly as it might be, is the absolute last time you and I ever see each other? Right?”
“Right.” O’Connell wasn’t sure which question to answer, but he was sure that he didn’t want to be hit again. And while he didn’t think that the man in front of him would shoot him, he wasn’t totally sure.
“I need to be persuaded, don’t I?”
“Yes.”
Murphy smiled. Then he patted O’Connell on the head. “Just so we truly understand each other, what we’re doing here is negotiating our own private, special, one-on-one temporary restraining order. Just as if we’d gone to court. Except ours is fucking permanent, got it? I know you know what one of them means: stay away. No contact. But ours, because it is a special one, just between you and me, Mike-y boy, well, because ours isn’t any wimpy old sort of eminently forgettable piece of paper issued by some old-fart judge that you’re not gonna pay any attention to, ours comes with a real guarantee.”
With the final word, Murphy slammed his fist into O’Connell’s cheek, sending him sprawling on the floor. Murphy was over him, automatic in hand, before the younger man had a chance even to collect his thoughts.
“Maybe I should just stop fucking around and end this right now.” With an audible click, Murphy released the safety catch on the pistol with his thumb. He held up his left hand as if to shield himself from the blowback of brains and blood.
“Give me a reason. One way or the other, Mike-y boy. But give me a reason to make a decision.”
O’Connell tried to twist away from the gun barrel, but the ex-detective’s weight pinned him to the floor. “Please,” he suddenly pleaded, “please, I’ll stay away, I promise. I’ll leave her alone.”
“Good start, asshole. Keep going.”
“I’ll never have any contact whatsoever. She’s out of my life. I’ll stay away. What do you want me to say?”
O’Connell was nearly sobbing. Each phrase seemed more pitiful than the last.
“Let me think about it, Mike-y boy.”
Murphy lowered his shielding hand and pulled his weapon back from O’Connell’s face.
“Don’t move. I just want to look around.”
He walked over to the cheap table where the computer rested. A handful of unmarked rewritable discs was spread about. Murphy grabbed them and slipped them into his coat pocket. Then he turned back toward the younger man, who remained on the floor. “This where you keep your Ashley file? This where you screw around with folks who are a whole lot better than you?”
O’Connell simply nodded and Murphy smiled. “I don’t think so,” he said briskly. “Not anymore.” Then he smashed the butt of the pistol down onto the keyboard. “Whoops,” he said as the plastic splintered. Two more blows to the screen and the mouse pad left the machine in pieces.
O’Connell simply watched, saying nothing. Using the barrel of the gun, Murphy poked at the shattered computer. “I think we’re just about finished, Mike-y boy.” He walked back across the room and stood above O’Connell. “I want you to remember something,” he said quickly.
“What?” O’Connell’s eyes were filled, as Murphy expected them to be.
“I can always find you. I can always run you to ground, no matter what nasty little rathole you crawl into.”
The younger man just nodded.
Murphy looked closely at him, staring hard, searching his face for signs of defiance, signs of anything other than compliance. When he was persuaded that there were none, he smiled.
“Good. You’ve learned a lot tonight, Mike-y boy. A real education. And it hasn’t been too bad, has it? I’ve pretty much enjoyed our little get-together. Almost fun, wouldn’t you say? No, probably you wouldn’t. But there’s just one last thing…”
He suddenly bent over and dropped to his knees, once again pinning O’Connell to the floor. In the same movement, he abruptly shoved the barrel of the automatic into O’Connell’s mouth, feeling it smash against his teeth. He could see terror in the younger man’s eyes, exactly what he was looking for.
“Bang,” he said quietly.
Then he slowly removed the weapon from O’Connell’s mouth, rose, gave him a grin, then pivoted abruptly and exited.
The cool night air hit Matthew Murphy in the face and he wanted to put his head back and laugh out loud. He replaced the.380 automatic in the shoulder holster, adjusted his coat so he would look presentable, and started off down the street, moving along rapidly, but not in any particular hurry, enjoying the darkness, the city, and the sensation of success. He was already calculating how long it would take him to drive back to Springfield and wondering whether he would get there in time to catch a late dinner. He took a few strides and started to hum to himself. He had been right. The opportunity to deal with a punk like O’Connell was worth the 10 percent discount he was going to give Sally Freeman-Richards. Now that wasn’t so damn hard, was it? he said to himself. He was delighted to remind himself that none of his old skills had dissipated, and he felt decidedly younger. First thing in the morning, he would do up a small report-leaving out the parts where the automatic had
