End Game Ch 04

Oily Hair was tough and not easy to break. Worse, I did not have much time to work with. I had to find out what he knew quickly so I could warn Don.

It was dangerous to interrogate him in the basement. His goons might show up anytime. But I had no choice. I locked the door and hoped that luck was on my side.

I kicked his ribs to force him to come around. When he opened an eye, I pulled the free end of the rope around his neck until he was forced to stand up. It did not take much effort because the rope ran straight up, through a pulley at the ceiling of the basement.

I kept tugging on the rope until he was forced to stand on his toes. He swayed unsteadily, straining and twisting his head sideways to take the pressure off his neck. His hair was no longer pony-tailed, but hung sideways, partially concealing his mutilated ear.

I pushed a stool neared him, careful not to be within reach of his legs. I pulled the rope again, forcing him to stand on the stool. I pulled the stool away from him until he could stand only with one leg on the smooth top of the stool.

"Tell me who you work for and you will live to tell the tale." I secured the free end of the rope around the legs of the refrigerator.

"How do I know you will not leave me to hang even after I spill the beans?"

"You have no choice but to trust me." I pulled one leg of the stool slightly away. He stood precariously on his left toes, head twisted at ninety degrees, his eyeballs sticking out, a vein on his neck pulsating.

"Okay, lady. Let me sit down so I can think and give you the whole story." His voice was rasping like a chain-saw.

"No deal."

I tipped the stool at an angle. His big toe struggled to stay on it. His breathing was so loud and so rapid it sounded like he was having a seizure and heart attack at the same time. Still, the tough SOB motherfucker would not say a thing.

I increased the tipping angle until he completely slipped off. I had tied the rope around his neck so he would not immediately strangle, and there was no drop, so he would suffer for a while. His face turned reddish-blue, then purple. The pulsating vein on his thick muscled neck glared at me, still defiant.

I had to push the stool back under him again until both his legs stepped on it. He would soon be dead if I did not do that. I was frustrated that this was not working. I needed him alive and he knew it.

I pulled down his jeans to his ankle. He lifted up one leg, then the other so I could pull away his jeans. I left him standing butt naked on the stool, his neck still attached to the pulley.

I picked up a knife and used it to slice through the pair of jeans into two halves. I wrapped one half under my armpits and around my body, tying a knot between my breasts. I tied the other half just below my hips, the knot barely covering my pubic area.

Next, I released the rope so he could step off the chair. Before he got any ideas, I swept his ankles from under him so he fell headlong to the cement floor. His hands, taped behind, made a frantic and unsuccessful effort to break the fall.

"Are you going to suck my cock now? You are sexier now that when you were naked." His nose was bleeding when he said that. This man was thinking with his dick.

I picked up the knife under the sink and held it against his neck.

"Talk, or you will suffer the death of a thousand slices."

He laughed so loudly the building seemed to shake. He was clearly not afraid to die. Neither death by hanging nor death by knife worked on him.

It was time to try another thing. I kicked his hip until he rolled over with his face up.

I pointed the knife at his manhood and noticed he was not circumcised. I rolled back the foreskin, and then pressed the flat part of the knife against his purplish penis head.

"Let's see who will have the last laugh." This time, he was trembling. I had found his weak point.

I rolled forward his foreskin until it was partially restored, then slid the tip of the knife between the foreskin and the glans penis. He was shaking so badly there seemed to be an earthquake.

"Stop shaking or I might accidentally cut you." I ordered.

He was no longer defiant. His eyes were flooded with fear.

"Who?"

His mouth moved as if he was trying to say something, but no words came out.

"Give me a name." I said slowly. There was no need to spell out the threat.

"Please move the knife away."

I complied with his request. The knife glinted as I put in down carefully on the floor. I dragged him to one corner, sitting him against the wall.

"Promise me not to get mad when I tell you the truth."

"I'm listening." I sat down on the floor facing him, making sure my ears were at a safe distance away.

"It's Don." He whispered.

"Don who?"

"Don, your partner."

I connected my elbow with his nose. Fresh blood flowed, pooling on the cement between his legs.

"You're lying." I said in as even a tone as I could.

"Don said he was sick and tired of taking orders from a woman."

"Now I know you are lying. We were equal partners. Nobody took orders from nobody."

"Don did not feel equal because you took 80% of the money and paid him only 20% commission for arranging the hits."

His words struck me like a category five hurricane. I looked into his eyes to figure out if he was lying. It was hard to read. But nobody except Don and I knew about our 80/20 split. It could only have come from Don.

"What else did Don tell you?"

"He was happy working for your dad even though it was the same percentage because your dad taught him everything. But Don taught you everything."

"It seemed you and Don are close. Did you guys fucked?"

"No, no. Don loves ladies."

"Did he tell you how often we fucked? And how much he enjoyed it?"

"Don told me his biggest failure in life is that you rejected him. His biggest wet dream is to get inside your panties."

Everybody in the criminal world taught we were lovers. Oily Hair was telling the truth. I have one last hit to carry out.

>>>>>

To be continued in the next chapter...