Matt Hilton - Slash and burn

'Take us out of town,' I ordered.

'Where?'

'I'll know it when we get there.'

'What happens then?'

'That depends on whether you've harmed Kate or not.'

'I haven't. I swear to you she's fine.'

'So maybe I'll let you live, Aitken,' I said, 'if you tell me where she is.'

'I'll tell you! She's with Huffman.'

'Where?'

'I don't know.'

I drew back the hammer on the Magnum. The double click was ominous.

Aitken cringed. 'I swear to you… Jesus… I don't know where he took her.'

'Think.' Tapping the Magnum on the wire mesh, I warned him, 'You've got until I tell you to stop. You don't come up with where she's at, well, Aitken, that'll mean you've outlived your usefulness.'

'You will tell me who he is, bitch, or I swear I'm going to hurt you in more ways than you can imagine!'

Stripped to the waist, an impromptu bandage wound round his gun-shot shoulder, Larry Bolan menaced Kate Piers like an ogre out of a dark fairy tale.

Kate was sitting in a semi-dark room, propped on a folding metal chair with her arms cuffed to the back legs. Her linen jacket had been pulled off, her cream blouse torn open at the front exposing her bra and even her boots had been taken away so that she sat with her bare toes curling with each of Larry's words.

'Who is he?' Larry demanded again.

Kate just stared at him in defiance.

Larry slashed his hand across her face, his callused palm almost tearing the skin from her right cheek. Her head rocked from the blow, and her eyes momentarily lost lucidity.

'Who killed my brother?'

He raised his hand.

'Lay off, Larry,' said Robert Huffman as he walked from behind his desk. 'You're going to kill her, damn it.'

'Yeah, I'll kill the bitch… if she doesn't start fucking talking!'

Larry hit Kate again, and this time he saw a smudge of blood from the corner of her mouth when her head stopped shaking. She was a tough woman, a good cop, but she couldn't halt a moan of agony.

'Enough!'

But Larry wasn't finished. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head to one side. He curled his other fist.

Huffman grabbed Larry's bicep.

'Enough, Larry,' he said. Softer this time. 'I mean it.'

Any other man laying a hand on Larry would have his fingers torn off one by one. But Huffman was another story. Larry nodded.

'Killing her isn't going to help,' Huffman said. 'It won't bring Trent back.'

'No… but it will make me feel better, boss.'

Larry had fantasised about killing his little brother more times than he could keep count. Since they were small children and he'd first considered smashing his brother's skull with a rock, the thought had plagued him. As they'd grown older, his thoughts had persisted, only now his choice of weapons had grown to include guns and knives and axes. He had dreamed up all manner of ways to end Trent's life, each more inventive than its predecessor. He had never thought that he'd see his brother die before he actually served the coup de grace.

Watching the Englishman blow away Trent's knees, gouge out his freak eye, then put two holes in his body large enough for Larry to push his fists through, had never been the way he'd imagined his brother's demise. The bastard had robbed him of his lifelong wish. But that wasn't why Larry was in a cold rage.

He'd never have done anything to harm Trent, despite his daydreams to the contrary. As much as someone like Larry Bolan could love, he loved Trent. They were brothers. More than that, they were twins and shared a special bond. Sure, Trent had that twisted eye and an equally twisted mind, but he was still Larry's little bro. Being the older – and, in Larry's opinion, the much wiser – it was down to him to take care of his sibling.

Their useless mother had been no good. All she cared about was where her next drink was coming from. She ended up on some street corner up in Louisville, then God knows where after that. Their daddy – for all his anger at the world – loved his sons, but little good that had done the boys when he was carted off to the electric chair after he raped and beat two women to death when he was high on 'shine from his backwoods still. The boys were taken into the system. Wayward and violent, they'd been unadoptable, going from one orphanage to another. Juvenile detention came next, then the Big House. Throughout all those years it had been Larry's responsibility to keep Trent safe.

And he hadn't failed.

Until now.

'Alive she's of use to us,' Robert Huffman reminded him. 'She can help us find her sister.'

'She isn't going to tell us anything, boss.' Larry finally released Kate's hair and her head lolled on her chest, semi-conscious.

'Maybe not. But we'll use her to bring her sister to us.' Huffman clapped the big man on his uninjured shoulder. 'She'll also bring this man to us. Why go to all this trouble when he'll walk right into our hands?'

' 'Cause it feels good.' To emphasise his point, Larry shoved Kate's head backwards, his fingers twisting her jaw.

Huffman stepped between them and Larry turned his face away in disgust.

'I said leave it be, Larry,' Huffman said, and this time the tone of his voice made it clear he wasn't going to repeat himself.

Larry stared at his boss. Huffman returned his gaze, and the hint of a smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. Larry Bolan was good at hurting people, but so too was his boss. Huffman hadn't always been a property developer.

Larry's eyes flickered away. He pushed a hand through his hair, felt a clot of something and wondered if it was some of Trent's blood from when the man shot him. He studied his fingers, but couldn't tell if it was Trent's or his own from when the same bastard pistol-whipped him in the woods. He was a mess. A good excuse to make his retreat without losing face. 'I need a shower.'

'Good idea.'

Larry was unsure whether he was referring to the shower, or that he'd backed down. But he wasn't about to ask. All the stories about Huffman were true: his viciousness was legendary. He wouldn't get to kill the Englishman if he gave Huffman cause to cut his heart out.

Behind him, Huffman watched the big man leave the room. Then he turned and gazed down on Kate. The woman rolled her eyes up at him. Reflected in their wetness was the glint of the cut-throat razor Huffman held cupped in his palm. Huffman slowly slid it back into its holder on his wrist, pulled down the sleeve of his Versace suit jacket.

Huffman smiled.

He could tell by the look on her face that she wished Larry would come back.

'Do not – I repeat – do not try to follow us,' Sheriff Aitken shouted over the police radio channel. 'No outside interference. We must keep this situation self -contained.'

Aitken's commands to his men wouldn't mean an awful lot. Despite warnings not to follow, the officers would be frantic to find their leader. They would call in back-up. State troopers, or maybe even big city cops from Frankfort. There could even be a call put through to the nearest FBI field office. That would complicate matters and shorten the window of opportunity for getting Kate back.

Aitken seemed more afraid of outside interference than he was of the gun I pointed at him. He exhorted his troops to back off, then changed tactics, shouting and making threats if he even got a sniff of any form of pursuit. It saved me the problem of forcing the same commands from him.

Some police vehicles were fitted with transponders or GPS tracking devices, but Little Fork's law enforcement budget probably didn't stretch to such things. The falling snow gave cover from aerial pursuit, effectively grounding helicopters and light aircraft. The only way we'd be found was if a local spotted Aitken's car and called it in. But that wasn't very likely. The snow was now coming down in blizzard quantities and we were five miles out of town at an old mining camp abandoned ten years earlier.