‘Please,’ Tyrone sobbed, ‘I swear I haven’t been ripping Marvin off. I would never do that, I promise.’
Presumably, Marvin was the drug supplying associate Goliath was currently working for, Livingstone reasoned.
‘I didn’t even know the merchandise was being cut,’ Tyrone sobbed.
Goliath’s eyes hardened. ‘I never said anything about it being cut,’ he said.
‘Isn’t that what’s been happening?’ Tyrone asked, confusion now competing with fear.
Goliath sighed. ‘No, it’s not what was happening, you idiot. Cash is being stolen. The takings are way down on what they should be.’
‘It’s not me,’ Tyrone blurted out.
Goliath eyed him with cynicism. ‘Yes, well, you would say that, wouldn’t you, Fam, but how do I know I can trust you?’
‘You can trust me, bruv,’ Tyrone’s quivering voice implored. ‘You can trust me with anything.’
Goliath sighed, evidently bored, and turned to look at Livingstone. ‘I grow tired of this game. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter to me which of these men is responsible, because I know that one of them definitely is. That makes the solution rather easy, don’t you think?’
Conrad shrugged. If this were his problem, he wouldn’t have wasted time interrogating them. He would have ordered both men killed and be done with it. ‘How much longer is this going to take?’ he demanded, looking at his Rolex impatiently.
The gesture was duly noted. ‘Not long at all,’ Goliath promised, walking over to a baseball bat that leaned against a wall behind the two dealers, just beyond their peripheral vision. It was a wicked looking implement, with a large number of six-inch nails embedded at various angles in the head and along the first foot of the neck. Picking it up with one massive hand, he tested the weight and then, apparently satisfied, went and stood behind the two prisoners.
‘For what it’s worth,’ he said, running the fingers of his free hand through Tyrone’s bushy hair to work out how far down his skull started, ‘I think I believe you when you say you are innocent.’
On hearing this Tyrone nearly fainted with relief. He scrunched his eyes shut and let out a long, pitiful moan of gratitude.
‘Open your eyes, Tyrone,’ Goliath ordered. ‘I want you to watch what I do to people who steal from my associates.’
As Tyrone tearfully complied, Goliath raised the baseball bat high above his gleaming dome and brought it down with tremendous force into the unconscious head of the fat man. The sound of the impact was sickeningly loud, reverberating around the basement like a thunderclap. The unconscious man’s head jerked forward violently as the back of his skull was caved in. With a grunt of satisfaction, Goliath released his grip on the bat, which remained exactly where it was, having been nailed to his cranium.
‘Jesus…’ Livingstone breathed, stunned by the sudden display of violence. He was immediately conscious of the giant’s eyes turning on him to gauge his reaction and knew any show of emotion on his part would be perceived as a sign of weakness. That wasn’t going to be a problem; Livingstone did what he always did in situations like this and put on his dead face, making it appear devoid of any feeling or humanity.
With the body still twitching, Goliath took a leisurely walk around to the front and knelt down to study Drake’s face. Death had always fascinated him, and he liked to watch the life drain from the eyes of his victims.
The left side of Tyrone’s face was now covered with blood spatter, and he was shrieking hysterically as he tried to shake it off. ‘Oh God, oh God,’ he whimpered repeatedly.’ You killed Drake, man. You fucking killed Drake.’
‘Be quiet,’ Goliath snapped, raising a warning finger. ‘I won’t be happy if you spoil this demonstration for our visitor.’
Overcome by shock and revulsion, Tyrone was now crying uncontrollably. ‘I - I’m sorry,’ he stuttered, praying that God would forgive him for being so grateful Drake had died here tonight instead of him.
Goliath stood up and grasped the bat’s handle in his right hand. Using it as a lever, he tilted Drake’s head backwards, manipulating him like a gruesome puppeteer. The small-time drug dealer’s eyes were half-open, but there was no longer any life in them.
Goliath tentatively tugged at the bat’s handle to see how tightly the nails had become wedged into his victim’s skull. All that achieved was to make Drake’s head twist from side to side like he was violently disagreeing with somebody.
This made the giant smile. ‘You stole Marvin’s money, didn’t you?’ he accused the corpse, and then twisted the bat a couple of time to make Drake shake his head.
Goliath looked at Tyrone and laughed. ‘Drake says no,’ he said.
‘Please…’ Tyrone begged, knowing he must sound utterly pathetic to the psychotic giant.’ Please stop…’
Goliath took hold of the bat with both hands this time, and, placing his right foot against the back of Drake’s chair, began violently twisting the handle: left, right, up, down. The muscles in his arms corded, and his breathing became faster. Finally, the bat came flying away, spraying blood, bone, and bits of grey dura matter everywhere.
‘That’s better,’ Goliath said, a little breathlessly. ‘Now that I’ve worked out how best to extract it, it’ll be much easier next time.’
Tyrone looked at him, his face suddenly filled with horror. ‘You’re not going to hit him again, are you?’
Goliath shook his head, solemnly. ‘No, Tyrone, I have finished with him.’
Tyrone paled. ‘So, w-what did y-you mean when you s-said “next time”?’
‘Well,’ Goliath said, walking behind him. ‘Do you remember I said that I didn’t like you?’
‘Y-yes,’ Tyrone sobbed, ‘but surely –’
Goliath swung the bat, sideways this time, like an American baseball star hitting a home run. The nails were driven into the terrified man’s temple with incredible power. The bone was much
