Luke Murphy - Dead Man's Hand

Scott watched a rat scamper across the concrete floor, stop at Pierce’s foot and then continue across, disappearing into a wall crevasse. Pierce’s nostrils flared and his eyes leaked.

“Ignore the smell, James. Our friend has been living here for a while. No functioning toilet and no change of clothes.”

Scott rose from his seat and approached Pierce. He circled the victim’s limp body. “Do you know much about the Chinese culture, James? I do. I studied it.” Scott returned to the table he’d been sitting at, slipped on a pair of rubber surgical gloves and opened a briefcase. “Did you know that at one time in China, they used castration for religious and social reasons? After battles, the winners castrated their captives to symbolize victory.”

Urine pooled under Pierce’s chair.

Scott picked up a tool from the briefcase. “This is called an emasculator. It’s used on livestock, to simultaneously crush and cut the spermatic cord, but I thought, ‘what the hell, if it’s good enough for a horse, it’s good enough for James.’”

He set the tool down. “From my estimation, you have twenty-one minutes before you’re expected back at work.” He smiled. “A lot can happen in that time. I’m going to ask you a series of questions. If I like your answers, you’ll make your deadline. If I don’t, then I’ll show you how much I learned from the Chinese. All you have to do is blink once for yes and twice for no. Understand?”

Pierce not only blinked once, but also nodded.

“Good. Do you trust I’m a man of my word?”

With wide eyes, Pierce blinked once.

“Now, Calvin Watters. Do you know him?”

One blink.

“Do you know where he is?”

Pierce paused and Scott knew his hesitation meant he was about to conceal something or lie. Scott shook his head. What kind of hold did Watters have on his victims? It was as if Pierce thought that ratting out Watters was worse than losing his manhood. Scott had to put no doubt in Pierce’s mind that what he could do was far worse than any punishment Watters could inflict.

“Don’t worry about Watters. Worry about me.”

Scott shook his head and went back to the briefcase. He slowly removed the emasculator. He fastened the ends of the clamp over Pierce’s testicles and locked it into place.

“Well.” Scott smiled. “That fits nice and cozy.”

Pierce flinched, probably more from discomfort than pain, but maybe also from the anticipation of the perceived future. Trickles of blood ran down the inside of Pierce’s leg and beads of sweat dotted his forehead.

Scott gripped the handle of the tool and squeezed a little. Pierce squirmed but couldn’t move.

“Again, do you know where Watters is?”

Low muffled sounds got past the duct tape and Pierce began to sob. He swallowed a large lump in his throat before blinking once.

Dale was still feeling the effects of his meeting with Flannery when he pulled into his empty driveway. He wasn’t sure why he was home. It was as if the old cruiser had steered itself.

Actually, he did know why. There was something he wanted to do, something he needed to do. He’d been putting it off, hoping that if he didn’t do it, if he didn’t see the actual words, then it wouldn’t be real—like it was just a horrible dream that he would soon wake up from.

But it was time.

Since his family had left, Dale tried to spend as much time at the office as possible, especially during the day when he’d notice the things he missed the most. It just wasn’t right. No noise, no smell of home-cooked food and no toys scattered throughout.

For the first time since Betty’s departure, Dale went into their bedroom. He lay on the bed and buried his face in her pillow, where her scent still lingered—lavender vanilla shampoo and coconut lime body wash.

He turned onto his back, propped his head up on two pillows and shoved his hand inside his jacket pocket, where Betty’s letter had been for four days. He’d kept it there, close to his heart, refusing to read it, refusing to admit it was over. Now he was facing that fear head-on.

His name was written in black marker on the outside of the white envelope in Betty’s handwriting.

Dale,

I hate impersonal letters like this, but for the last little while you haven’t been around long enough for us to talk. I think we need some time apart. Sammy and I will be staying at Catherine’s place until we figure things out.

We both know this isn’t working. I knew who I was marrying. You’re a cop and a great one, but you’ve changed over the years. Now that we have a son you need to adjust your priorities with work and family.

I want to say that your job is the only problem, but it’s not…and we both know where I’m going. I know I said I’d gotten over your infidelity—that I had put it behind me and moved on. But the truth is that the thought still lingers. Every time you come home late, I wonder if you were with HER. I just can’t live like this anymore.

I still love you and hope we can work this out. I want the Dale I fell in love with and married.

Love,

Betty and Sammie

Dale felt numb.

As he reread the note, he felt a sudden, crushing exhaustion and was brought to a complete halt. How tired he was from too many years on the job, the stress of work and his marital problems.

His throat tightened and he was having trouble breathing. Then Dale did something that he hadn’t done in a long time. He cried.

He removed the snuff in his mouth and put it on the bedside table. He lay down and fell asleep, his head on Betty’s pillow.

Chapter 33

From his conversation with Whitney, Calvin had at least a rough description of his follower, unless he’d already changed his appearance, and he began to watch the video monitors around his fortress all the time.

Did this guy have his own reasons for wanting to kill Calvin or had he been hired to take Calvin out?

Calvin knew the more networks he reached out to, the greater possibility of finding his opponent. So, with Rachel surfing the net, he decided to try Gene Lockhart, a forty-one-year-old bachelor with a gambling problem. Lockhart was also a pit boss at the Golden Horseshoe Casino and someone Calvin had grown to trust. He had collected from him years ago and could get him fired at any time. But Lockhart somehow had convinced him that he would get over his addiction and he had kept the secret. True to his word, Lockhart had been clean since. Lockhart had introduced Calvin and Rachel, so each man was indebted to one another, even though Calvin held all the real cards.

Lockhart knew the streets and had major contacts.

“What?” a sleepy voice barked into the phone.

“Geno, it’s me.”

“Cal? What do you need?”

Calvin knew the sound of his voice had roused his friend. “I need some answers.”

“Sure. Is this about your situation ?”

“Afraid so.”

Both were silent a moment.

“I’ll tell you anything you need to know, if I can.”

“Great. I need some information on your boss.”

“He’s a popular guy lately.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, just the other day the police came by asking about Ace.”

“About the Grant murder?” Calvin hadn’t seen Sanders’ name in any “suspect” report.

“Of course.”

“What did you tell them?”

“Most of this crew is scared to death of Sanders and I know the execs and employees at the Midas are too.”

Calvin sat back in his chair. Why had he thought he’d get information?

“But for you , I’ll talk. I know you had nothin’ to do with this and I owe ya.”

He was back in business. “Thanks, Geno. I appreciate that. Now, talk to me. Tell me anything you’ve seen out of the ordinary or anything you might have overheard.”