“Do it, cabrón. I’ll cut you all into tiny little pieces. Feed you to my—”
Mauk squeezed his shoulder tightly, cutting off his reply. “Easy now, tiger. Don’t let your Bulldog mouth get your Pekingese ass in trouble.”
“Fuck you!” he screamed as he tried to squirm away from Mauk’s grip. “I’ll bring you a world of pain.”
Lisa scoffed as she strode by. “Your breath already is. Did you have to eat a shit sandwich before you decided to get your men killed?”
“Fucking puta! Somebody tipped you off!”
Bridger sighed and shook his head. “Hey.” He snapped his fingers in front of the man’s face. “This way. I need your attention.” Jaime glared at the man, his face twisting into a snarl. “That’s better. Now tell me, where do we find Mario?”
For a brief moment, the gangbanger’s face registered confusion. “I have no idea who you’re talking about.”
Bridger sighed and glanced away. “El Fantasma. The ghost.”
Jaime’s face twisted into an evil smile. “I’m not talking. I want my lawyer.”
Mauk burst into laughter and slapped the punk on the back of the head. “This goofy turd thinks we’re the cops?”
“What a loser,” Laughlin groaned as he bit into a ham sandwich. He sat back and propped his feet on the coffee table, earning a harsh look from Bridger.
“He doesn’t know. Too many movies,” Lisa quickly chimed in. “I say we snuff him and haul balls.”
Gregg stood up abruptly. “About time. Let me get my blades.”
“Sit down!” Bridger barked. He turned and gave an exhausted look to Jaime. “I don’t really know how much time we have, so I’m afraid I’m going to have to let my people do what they do.” He slowly stood and shook his head at the little tattoo covered drug dealer. “It would really save you a lot of pain if you’d just tell us.”
“I don’t know,” Jaime stated defiantly. “And if I did, I still wouldn’t tell you.”
“Fuck him, Top,” DJ replied softly. “Let’s kill him and take off. You know that Mario will follow. He’s too stupid not to.”
“Murillo’s ghost is anything but stupid, cabrón. Si, he will track you, but he will do it properly. And he will make you hurt so badly that your ancestors will scream in their graves.”
“Yeah, yeah, pain and anguish, we get it,” DJ mocked him. “But unless you want your ancestors screaming in their graves, you might tell the man what he wants to know.”
Gregg dropped the leather roll-up bundle and untied it. Brightly polished stainless steel instruments reflected the low light as he unrolled it. He smiled to himself then locked eyes with Jaime. “I know how much you treasure your tats. I’ll do my best to make clean cuts so you can keep them when we’re through.” He gave him a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Without teeth or fingerprints, they’ll need some way to identify the body.”
“Fuck you, gringo! Do your worst!”
“Sounds like an invitation, Slippy.” Mauk patted the smaller man’s shoulder. “Happy carving.”
Bridger stood and stretched his back. “Try not to nick any arteries, will ya? I don’t want to have to paint in here again.”
Jaime glanced down and noticed the painter’s tarps under his feet. He swallowed hard as he looked back at the gringo selecting his torture devices.
Gregg gave Bobby a hurt look. “Dude, I AM a professional.”
“That’s why you read the bottle wrong and overdosed the last guy we gave you,” Bridger grumbled.
“That was an honest mistake!” Gregg argued. He watched Bridger step out of the room then glanced at the others. “Jesus! ONE lousy mistake.”
DJ smirked at him. “I know, right? Just suck a dick ONE time and they’ll call you a cocksucker for the rest of your life.”
Gregg stared at him open mouthed then shook his head. “There is something fundamentally wrong with you.”
Mauk stretched and laughed, holding a fist up and twisting it. He reached for the door. “I need a beer. Want me to bring you back a gag so his screams don’t bother you?”
Gregg shook his head. “Music to my ears.” He pulled a rather sharp and wicked looking device from the roll and turned to Jaime. “I would say that this will hurt me a lot more than it does you, but I’d be lying.” The glimmer left his eye as he approached the man. “This is going to hurt. A lot.”
Langley Virginia
“Tactical team’s ETA is thirty minutes, sir.”
Jameson sighed as he stared at the dark screen. “I’m tempted to call them off.”
“Sir?” the tech asked, unsure that he heard him correctly.
“It would appear that our target asset has already defused the situation.” He sighed heavily and rubbed at his neck. “I should be home in bed.”
“Sir?” the tech repeated.
“Call them off. Have them stand down, but remain at the ready. Maintain the track on the phones, and if you get even an inkling of activity towards the assets, activate the team. There’s no sense in having them staged in the woods forever waiting on something that may never come.”
“Copy that, sir.” The tech turned to leave and Jameson groaned as he came up from his chair. He stared at the darkened video feed and sighed heavily. “Dammit, Bridger. You are testing my patience.”
He reached for his coat as the door opened and Ingram stuck his head in. “I hear you’re canceling the strike team?”
Jameson raised a brow. “So much for security at an intelligence agency.”
Ingram held his phone up. “The strike team commander just informed me that it came across the cipher.”
Jameson groaned and hung his coat back on the hook. “Yes, Robert, I did cancel them.” He sat back behind his desk and keyed the remote for the screen. He played back the thermal images and let Ingram watch from beginning to end. “Are you satisfied, Robert?”
Ingram stared at the screen with narrowed eyes. “They left one alive?”
“Most likely for interrogation.”
“To learn what? They already know who is after them. They know that
