Threatened

Chapter 21: Tied Down

Fuck. I am in an enormous pile of shit right now. Anna hasn't called in nearly four hours and I'm on the brink of calling in a lost nickel and hoping that everyone in the police department is trustworthy. God I hope she's ok.

~~~~~

"How about you stay away from my witness, and I'll make a deal with you," I offer as confidently as I can with a death threat looming over my head.

"What could I possibly want from you?" Vasquez shakes his head, pulling a curved knife from his belt. He's slowly strutting towards me, knife curved away from his torso. He's close enough now that I can see the double point on the tip of the blade. Designed to leave brutal scars. There are a few such scars along his palm and upper wrist. There's a new scab peeking out from under his long sleeve.

"What if I helped you make your way to the top?" I blurt out quickly. He stops and smirks.

"What makes you think I'm not already the top of the food chain?"

"Those cuts on your arm. Your boss does not appreciate failure, does he? Where else did he cut you?" I ask. His knuckles turn white on the knife.

"What these little marks?" He rolls up his sleeve to reveal crossed marks, almost like a tally count. "They're for all the people I've killed. Left for men... right for women," he says slowly, rolling up the other sleeve. He's got more cuts that I would have expected on the right side.

"Alright, so you're a masochist. Wouldn't have pegged you for a sub, but hey, you do you," I chuckle. His face contorts into wicked fury.

"I think I'll start with that smart mouth of yours," he grins, lifting the blade to my face. The metal is cold, biting even, against my skin, as if he had just pulled it from a freezer. The blade drags gently across my skin, but it's been sharpened to such a point that just the touch of it draws blood from my cheek.

"Not so smart anymore?" Vasquez chuckles, clearly enjoying himself in the time spent carving. He drew the blade across my other cheek, mirroring the first cut. With the adrenaline pulsing through my veins, I barely feel the pain from the knife.

"I'll give you this last chance to sell out, Detective. You have gained a reputation for being quite the bulldog for the police. I could use gall like that by my side."

"You mean all the killing you do doesn't actually keep your workers happy? What has the employment market come to?" I sigh in mocking exasperation. Vasquez barks a laugh.

"Indeed, it has become harder and harder to find the old-fashioned workhorses who do as they are told and don't sell out at the first opportunity for a raise. That's why I like you so much, Ms. Davis. You're stubborn and obviously very loyal. So be loyal to the Vipers and live, or be loyal to your witness and die."

"You keep saying witness, but if Cordero and his cronies are dead, what use is there in killing him? You've already proven yourself capable of paying off a judge. It's not like he knows you or anyone else in the Viper gang. Killing him only gives you another chance to get caught. Let me take him away. You won't hear from either of us again," I try.

"I thought about threatening him again. Sending someone to kill him didn't work. What threat would elicit a desired response?" Vasquez mused. "A note nailed to your body might do the trick, but since I have you alive right now, I can force you to tell me where he is and send literally anyone to finish him. I mean, we're not talking about Tom Cruise or Bruce Willis are we? Mr. Pace is not an action hero with decades of fight scenes under his belt. Give him a sword and maybe he stands a chance, if I didn't arm the Vipers with fully automatic weapons." He let out a vicious laugh at the thought.

"Sure, but if you knew where he was, he'd already be dead. And I have no reason to tell you since I'm going to die."

"Fair enough, Detective. How about I... incentivize you?" he grins again. All the power in the room belongs to him. Vasquez snaps his fingers, and two six-foot, muscle-bound men walk into the room, carrying a slumped figure between them. They set the figure down on the chair opposite me. The black bag over his head conceals his face, but I know the owner of those groans.

"Welcome to the party Chief Nichols," Vasquez proclaims while ripping off the head bag.