Once Anderson is corralled, the van gets thick with silence. The officers stay near the front cab, while Rhett and I are left to the shadows of the back. Each bump on the road is felt through the cold steel of the vehicle, but I don’t complain. And neither does Rhett. I guess he’s given up on trying to persuade them to turn themselves in. Probably for the best. I doubt he can hear anything with his messed-up ear.
It doesn’t take long before the van comes to a halt. Three of the officers hop out and open the back doors. With uncaring force they pull me and Rhett out by our arms and drag us across a small dirt lot.
The smell of the river is unmistakable. I glance around and spot the Grand Noimore Waterfront Hotel in the distance, across the water—the bright lights cutting through the gloom of the dwindling storm. The drizzle of rain isn’t so much a bother, but it hinders my already poor eyesight. Besides the hotel, I don’t recognize much.
A group of gangbangers stands nearby, ready to greet us. They saunter over, guns on display, and nod to the police officers with cordial but hesitant mannerisms.
Castor, the enforcer, steps forward and takes the lead. He’s so thin and tall, when he smiles he looks like a skeleton.
“Charleston got me up to speed,” he says. “We’ll handle it from here.”
Anderson pushes me forward. “You gotta get whatever information they have. And call us afterward with the drop-off details. We’ll be the team that picks everything up.”
“I said, Charleston got me up to speed. You pigs don’t need to tell me twice.” Castor motions to his six buddies to take me and Rhett. Again, I don’t struggle, but Rhett doesn’t take my lead. The hired guns wrestle with him a bit before planting the barrel of a firearm in his spine and pushing him along.
Castor speaks with the officers a bit longer. I don’t hear a word, not through the dying storm, and I instead focus on our destination. A boathouse—a large one, by the looks of things—with covered docks for personal vessels. I don’t like that we’re getting close to the river, but then again, I wouldn’t mind getting out of the rain.
“They might as well rename this the River Styx,” I say to the thug holding my arm with a vise grip. “What with all the dead bodies they throw in.”
Four out of the six men chuckle, and the guy manhandling me replies with a grin, “You’re the funny one, then?”
“I’m just more relaxed now that I’m not in the company of cops.”
“Yeah, you don’t look like one of ’em, that’s for sure.”
We enter the boathouse. It’s dry, for the most part, but water laps up onto the docks with the occasional wave. The boat doors are closed, keeping the place mostly shut off from the outside, if you don’t count the water. The men shove me and Rhett to the back end of the dock and force us to kneel up against the wall.
I know why—it’ll be harder to run out the front door if we have to pass each motherfucker from here to the door—and my quick glance around the room tells me there isn’t much hope. There are some boxes, human-sized boxes, and a few metal crates, but not many tools, and no extra guns.
“This Vice family owned?” I ask as the thugs take a step back.
“That’s right,” the one says. “You know them?”
“Once. Yeah.”
“Then you should know we’re not gonna be the ones beating the information out of you. Jeremy Vice hired himself a real professional surgeon.” The guy chortles. “You sure you don’t want to tell us what you know right now? I’ll make sure you get out of here if you do.”
I let out a single laugh and smile. Maybe if that were an actual offer, I would take it. But Castor is in charge, not this random asshole. The enforcers aren’t obligated to keep the word of their lackeys.
“I’ll wait for the surgeon,” I drawl. “I already have an appointment, after all.”
“Gonna be a smartass, huh? Suit yourself.”
The guys don’t wander far. They stop halfway down the dock and shove a few boxes around until they have a makeshift sitting area. One man withdraws a deck of cards, but I don’t see any drinks.
They’re professionals. Hired help rather than kids off the street. I know from the rail yard that they’re also ruthless, if need be. They aren’t going to get high or fuck around while on the job. They’re going to sit and watch me and Rhett get tortured before dumping our bodies in a plausible location. They’ll probably even make it look like we killed each other. And it’s not like the deputy chief will want to investigate too hard.
Rhett relaxes back against the wall and exhales. “They’re calling in a surgeon?” he asks under his breath.
“A man who specializes in torturing fools,” I reply. “He’s gonna get us to talk.”
“By cutting into us?”
“Maybe. Most guys break after having their fingernails ripped off, but you’re fairly stubborn. They might get to the part where they start slicing things up that aren’t too important.”
Rhett is quiet for a moment before continuing, “You’re rather calm.”
“Heh. I should be more like you—that way we can both get our asses kicked.”
“This isn’t a game,” Rhett growls between clenched teeth. “Have you given up on life? Is that what this is? You reek like a man dead inside.”
I glance over at him and stare. “You’re real good at makin’ enemies.”
“You’re not worried about Miles?” Rhett turns away, glaring at the wood between us. “I knew you were just using him, but this is cold.”
“You think they’ll go after Miles? Why?”
“You live together, don’t you? Where
