Robert Ferrigno - Sins of the Assassin

“You’re a weakling.” The Black Robe reveled in the pain the blade brought him. “Suckling at a woman’s teat for comfort-”

“What about you?” Rakkim said idly, his face just inches above the Black Robe’s. “What do you care about?”

“Allah,” sneered the Black Robe. “Allah is all I care about, all that I love. The rest is dust. Go ahead, flay me, you kafir filth, skin me alive and set me ablaze. I fear only God.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” said Rakkim, genuinely pleased.

The Black Robe gasped as Rakkim lightly cut a five-inch line down his chest.

Rakkim looked into his eyes. “Does al-Faisal have my family?”

The Black Robe stayed silent, knowing any answer might reveal the truth.

Rakkim cut another line into the Black Robe’s chest, this one forming a V with the other one. “Does he?”

The Black Robe’s eyes fluttered in ecstasy. “Yes…no…yes…no.” The Black Robe giggled, turned his head from side to side with every answer. “Yes, no, yes, no.”

Rakkim turned, hearing sounds from beyond the bedroom.

“Troop? Where are you?”

“Anthony! This way. Walk through the closet.” Rakkim could see the Black Robe’s heart pounding in his bare chest, blood filling the cuts.

“Troop, we’ve got to leave. There’s all kinds of…Jesus, Rakkim! What are you doing?”

Colarusso looked around at the dead men scattered around the living room, blood pooling on the hardwood. “Where’s Sarah and-?”

“That’s what I’ve been asking my friend here,” said Rakkim.

“Rakkim?” Colarusso was beside him now, his voice soft. “You want me to arrest this prick, fine. Heck, you want him to have an accident coming down the stairs, bust a few bones, I can live with that too, but the whole country’s coming apart. We need the law more than ever now. I’ll take him in for questioning. I won’t go easy-”

“I don’t have time for the law, Anthony.” Rakkim watched the Black Robe. “Not the time, or the inclination. You go on now, I’ll be fine.”

“You can’t torture a man. I don’t care what he’s done.”

“He doesn’t mind pain, Anthony.” Rakkim tapped the flat of his blade under the Black Robe’s silky beard. “Isn’t that right?”

The Black Robe jerked at the knives pinning his hands, tearing his own flesh. “For every minute of pain I suffer, I shall be rewarded with a thousand years of pleasure.”

“I have to get to the financial district,” said Colarusso. “Christians are breaking windows and burning cars, shit-scared of who’s going to replace the president-”

“Al-Faisal’s alive,” said Rakkim. “He murdered Katherine. The Black Robes may be behind the assassination of the president.”

“We don’t know there’s been any assassination…Al-Faisal’s alive?” Colarusso scratched his belly. “That is important. All the more reason to bring this one in for questioning.”

“You can come back for him when I’m done.” Rakkim slit a straight line across the V carved on the Black Robe’s chest, connecting the two arms of the triangle.

“Rakkim…this is wrong,” said Colarusso, as the Black Robe gasped. “This isn’t you.”

“Don’t tell me who I am, Anthony.”

“Look…I’ll help you find Sarah,” said Colarusso. “Fuck the financial district. I can call in some cops I know to join us, hard-ass Catholics-”

“Hard-ass Catholics?” cackled the Black Robe. “Al-Faisal will nail their blackened tongues to the nearest church.”

“You should go,” said Rakkim. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll take care of this myself.”

“Rikki…?”

“Go serve the law, Anthony. This man has something to tell me, and I can’t wait to hear it.” Rakkim waited until Colarusso had left, then walked over and picked up a piece of broken mirror. He sat back on the Black Robe, held the mirror over the cleric’s chest, and showed him the triangle cut into his flesh. “Do you see where I’m headed?”

The Black Robe squinted at the mirror.

Rakkim cut another line into him, this one bisecting the top angle of the triangle. Held up the mirror. “Do you see it yet?”

The Black Robe craned his neck.

Rakkim cut another slanted line that bisected one of the two lower angles of the triangle.

The Black Robe stared at the mirror. Eyes wide now…wider.

“You see it now, don’t you?”

The Black Robe thrashed against Rakkim, straining to pull his hands free.

“Allah is all you care about. All you fear.” Rakkim’s knife hovered over the Black Robe’s chest. “One more stroke of the blade, and you’ll have a Jewish star carved into your flesh. No chance for Paradise then. You might as well show up before God wearing a pig’s head.”

“I beg you, no.”

Rakkim’s knife popped the skin on the Black Robe’s pale chest. “Burning forever without being consumed. And when you beg for a drop of cool water for your scorched tongue…you shall be given boiling oil to quench your thirst. That’s what you teach, isn’t it?”

“Please…?”

“One lie from you and I’ll complete the star. One lie…and I’ll know.” The knife edged slowly across the Black Robe’s skin. “Does al-Faisal have my family?”

“No! We…we heard the old woman’s voice…thought they were all hiding in the bathroom.” The Black Robe grimaced. “Al-Faisal…he was furious. He kept demanding that she tell him where your wife had gone, but the old bitch just laughed at him.”

“Does al-Faisal have any idea where my family has gone?”

The Black Robe shook his head, his eyes on the tip of the knife resting on his bleeding chest.

“Al-Faisal and the others…they’re out there, aren’t they? They’re waiting for me to lead them to Sarah and Michael, aren’t they?”

The Black Robe looked up at him. “How…?”

“It’s what I would have done.” Rakkim stropped the knife against the Black Robe’s hairless chest. “Did the grand mullah have the president assassinated? Al-Faisal wouldn’t have done that on his own.”

The Black Robe tried to flatten himself away from the knife. “Al-Faisal is obedient…as am I.”

There was something in the man’s tone, some hidden knowledge. “Who sent you for Sarah and Michael?” The blade started toward the last arm of the star. “Why them, why today of all days?”

“Michael…?” The Black Robe looked confused, dry balls of spit popping from his mouth. “I…I was told the Jew’s name was Leo.”

“Leo?” Rakkim grabbed his hair. “Is that who you were after?”

“You think you’re so clever…” The Black Robe thrashed, jerked against the kitchen knives that held him down. “But the truth…the truth won’t help you at all.”

Rakkim leaned into him, their faces inches apart. “I asked you a question.”

The Black Robe tried to look away, but couldn’t.

“Who sent you?”

“Your f-face…,” said the Black Robe, teeth chattering as though he were freezing. “Your face…it’s different, b-but I recognize those eyes. I know you.”

Rakkim had never met the Black Robe before, he was sure of it.

“What…what is this game?” said the Black Robe, still trembling. “Do you test my loyalty?”

“Who sent you?” demanded Rakkim, the knife skating across the Black Robe’s chest.

“I serve the Old One.” The Black Robe tore one hand free, grabbed Rakkim’s wrist, and plunged the blade into his own throat, blood spurting from his neck like a fountain as he wriggled in pain. “As…do…you, Darwin.”

Rakkim watched Redbeard’s ruined villa from the nearby woods. Spotted Sarah’s car half-hidden under a collapsed section of roofing and allowed himself to breathe. No other cars, no helicopter hovering in the distance-just her unregistered getaway ride, a beat-up German import with a high-performance engine and rugged frame. He skirted the property just inside the trees, approaching the villa from the blind side, away from any roads.