The King

THIRTEEN

“Tell me he’s coming around again.”

As Assail spoke, he stared out the front windshield of the Rover, the hilt of a dagger locked in the grip of his right hand. They were deep into the woody fringes of Caldwell’s zip code, no lights from dwellings twinkling through the tree line, no other vehicles coming or going along the icy, two-lane country road.

Benloise had roused briefly, only to “pass out” again. Which could well be a lie.

“Not yet,” Ehric muttered. “But he’s alive.”

Not for long.

“And naked,” the fighter tacked on.

Assail wrenched around just as his cousin collapsed his hunting knife. Naked, indeed. Benloise’s bespoke suit had been beshredded, the fine navy fabric in tatters, the silk shirt underneath unfit even for a housecleaner’s use. All jewelry had been removed as well, from the Chopard diamond watch to the gold signet ring, from the link bracelet to the cross on a thick gold chain.

The booty was bundled into a cup holder, along with a cell phone that had had its battery removed so that any GPS signal would be cut off. The clothing had been left wherever it lay.

Mayhap he was indeed unconscious. Difficult to imagine the man not struggling through that.

“How much farther?” Assail demanded.

“Right about here would be sufficient,” Ehric said.

The male’s brother hit the brakes, threw the gearshift in park, and killed the engine. Immediately, Assail got out, looked around and reconfirmed their isolation. No lights from any dwelling. No sound of any traffic. No one anywhere.

“Shut off the headlights.”

With the flurries having abated and the moon making its appearance through spotty clouds, there was more than enough illumination coming through the pine trees.

Assail sheathed his dagger and then cracked his knuckles. “Get him up and out.”

Ehric manhandled the deadweight with admirable aplomb, given that Benloise was unclothed and limp, a piece of luggage that had no handles, as it were.

The drug wholesaler returned to consciousness just as he was mounted against the icy cold contours of the Rover, and the jerk that announced his wake up was carried through to all his limbs, his arms and legs jangling like those of a puppet.

The cousins pinned the man against the SUV—and the great Ricardo Benloise no longer seemed powerful at all: He’d always looked commanding in his fancy suits, but without benefit of those carefully constructed jackets and slacks, he was just a compilation of shrunken hollows, his ribs standing out in sharp relief, his soft belly protruding over bony hips, his knees wider than his thighs and his calves.

“Let us not waste time,” Assail said in a low tone. “Tell me where she is.”

No response. Benloise’s body might have been weak, but his mind, his eyes were sharp as ever: Though he was at a mortal disadvantage, his will was unbending.

That was not going to last.

Assail drew his arm across his own torso and cuffed the man with the back of his hand. “Where is she!”

Benloise’s head ripped to the side as the slapping sound rang out, blood speckling Ehric’s jacket.

“Where is she!” Assail hit the wholesaler again, his knuckles clapping hard enough to sting on the follow-through. “Where is she!”

The cousins hitched their prisoner up higher as he began to sag.

Assail snapped a hold onto the man’s throat and helped in the effort until Benloise’s feet dangled six inches off the snow. “I will kill you. Here and now. If you do not tell me where she is.”

Benloise’s eyes rolled around, but eventually met Assail’s. And yet he said absolutely nothing.

Assail tightened his grip until the airway compressed. “Marisol. You tell me where you have taken her.”

Benloise’s mouth cranked open as he fought for oxygen, his thin arms pulling against what held them, his legs kicking so his heels pinged into the quarter panel.

“Marisol. Where is she.”

Those eyes never left Assail’s—to the point where, under different circumstances, one might have respected the man’s obstinacy. Now it was a lightning rod for frustration.

“Where is she!”

With his free hand, Assail reached in between the man’s legs and twisted the balls that had tucked in tight to the torso.

The scream that rose up was caught at the throat, Assail’s hold silencing the sound. And he wanted to do so much more, but he couldn’t kill the bastard. Not yet. Ordering his hand to release the airway, it was a moment before the digits obeyed.

Benloise coughed and gasped, blood from his split lip falling upon his naked chest.

“Where is she!”

Not one word came in manner of reply.

The bastard was not going to break. Not this way, at any rate—and as Assail’s palm itched for his dagger, he didn’t trust himself with that sharp blade.

Gutting the motherfucker was not what he ultimately wanted.

Assail moved in close. “I want you to pay careful attention now. Are you with me?”

Benloise’s head lolled, but his eyes did stay open—so Assail went around to the back of the SUV. Popping the hatch, he lifted out the bound and gagged man they had kidnapped before going to the gallery.

Benloise’s brother put up no fight at all. Then again, Ehric had snuck behind Eduardo in his home and punched a syringe full of heroin into a thick vein in his neck. The man was now also naked, and the far fitter condition of his body suggested that he was both younger and more vain—he had a spray tan over some measure of muscular development.

Assail threw him at Benloise’s feet.

He didn’t expect the surprise to sway things. But what was coming next would.

While the elder Benloise watched, Assail rolled the unconscious man onto his back, removed the gag, and took out a second syringe. In its fragile belly, Naloxone, the antidote used commonly in emergency rooms to combat opiate overdoses, was a clear liquid—and as he jabbed the needle into Eduardo’s arm vein, it wasn’t long before the pilot light came on again.

Eduardo woke up in a rush, torso jerking off the snow.

Assail took the man’s jaw in a hard grip. Wrenching the head around, he growled, “Say hello to your brother—let us be polite.”

Eyes popping wide, Eduardo immediately started speaking in Spanish, and Assail cured him of the impulse by taking out his dagger and pointing it in his face.

“Your brother has a place where he takes people to kill them. Where is it?”

“I do not know what you are—”

Assail straddled the man and grabbed the hair on the top of his head—as Eduardo used a great deal of product, it was a greasy mess, but he managed to get a passable hold. Putting the blade under the man’s chin, he made sure to speak nice and slow.

“Where does he take people. I know there is a place, private and secure. Not at his house. Not downtown.”

The elder Benloise brother finally spoke in a rush, the words to his brother guttural and punctuated with ragged breaths. In response, Eduardo’s eyes became even larger, and one didn’t need to know Spanish to catch the drift: You say anything and I will kill you myself.

Assail put his body between the two and got down eye-to-eye with Eduardo. “I’m going to hurt you now.”

Pick a place, anyplace.

Assail decided to start with the shoulders. With a quick stab, he thrust the blade deep into the flesh below the collarbone—painful, but not fatal by a long stretch.

As his ears rang from the screaming, he kept the dagger in place. And his grip on the hilt.

“Where is it?” When he didn’t get an immediate reply, he twisted the knife. “Where does he take them?”

More twisting. More screaming.

Which was when Ricardo spoke up again, his voice cutting through the drama to reinforce his message. Agony was going to win, however—Assail would make sure of that.

Backing off and giving dear boy Eddie a moment to rest and recover, he watched the hilt of the dagger move up and down in time to tortured respiration.

Oh, how the mighty had fallen. Eduardo was always the nattily dressed financial controller. But here he was, hair a mess, eyes bloodshot, snow smudged all over his naked skin.

Assail regarded him with all the compassion one would bring to still-thrashing roadkill. “Don’t listen to him. If you do, I will kill you slowly. The only way to save yourself is to tell me what I need to know.”

Ricardo barked something sharply.

“Do not listen to him.” Assail kept his eyes locked with Eduardo’s. “Talk to me. Save yourself.”

Eduardo kept trying to see his brother, but Assail shifted positions with that panicked stare until Eduardo moaned, his eyes getting hidden amidst his crinkled face.

Assail gave him some more time, until patience was lost. Reaching out for the dagger, he announced, “I’m going to hurt you again—”

“It’s north!” Eduardo yelled. “On the Northway! North! Southern side of Iroquois Mountain! Only road up to the property breaks off from the base! Go a half a mile and you’ll see the drive!”

Up against the SUV, Ricardo exploded, fury evident in every syllable even if the sentence particulars were lost for lack of translation.

Assail breathed in deep through his nose. There was no scent of subterfuge coming from Eduardo. Fresh blood, of course, and the acrid sting of terror. Also, a rather touching shame that reminded Assail of root vegetables fresh out of a cellar.

The man had spoken the truth as he knew it.

“Put Ricardo back in the car,” Assail said gruffly—

“Wait,” he called out as the cousins complied. “Turn him back around.”

Assail shifted so that he was behind Eduardo and propping the man’s floppy torso up. Staring across the distance between Ricardo and himself, he said darkly, “You take from me, I take from you.”

Jerking the dagger free of the shoulder meat, he streaked the blade directly across Eduardo’s throat.

Ricardo tried to look away, his torso twisting between the cousins.

“This is only the beginning, Ricardo.” Assail shoved the choking, bleeding man out of the way like the garbage he was. “We are just starting the now.”

He closed in on Benloise. “I did, however, believe it was important for you to have one last memory of your brother’s weakness. Just think, if he had been as strong as you, he could have died honorably. Alas, not his destiny.”

Assail got into the passenger seat in the front. Retrieved his vial of coke.

As he snorted two spoonfuls into each nostril, the cousins put Ricardo into the rear compartment, and the squeal of duct tape being ripped free attested to how secure his relations were making things.

Reaching up and clicking on an overhead light, Assail unfolded a New York state map marked with three red As on it—and had no idea where to look.

Ehric got behind the wheel and put his iPhone in Assail’s face. “It’s a five-hour trip.”

Assail’s head started to buzz. Even with Benloise in their custody, he was terrified about what was being done to Marisol. Five hours was so long. Too fucking long in light of the previous twenty-four she’d already been gone.

Damn it, why did Benloise have to be so strategic.

“Then we must needs get driving,” Assail gritted out.