Soft Targets

by John Gilstrap

  His panic was setting in deeper, manifesting itself in childish whining and whimpering noises. All traces of anger and righteous indignation were gone. Irene couldn’t tell for sure, but it sounded like he kept repeating, “Please, please, please . . .”

  And it got to her a little. Suffering was suffering, after all, and just because Jennings was a monster didn’t mean that he wasn’t still human.

  “Don’t let it in,” Jonathan said, barely above a whisper. “This is a head game. He’s got to be terrified for any of this to work. The more terrified he is, the less we actually have to hurt him.”

  Out of nowhere, Irene felt a rush of remorse. What they were doing was wrong. It was inexcusable, and no grand efforts at justification could make it anything but inexcusable. Systems existed for a reason. Rules existed for a reason, as did the Constitution and the protections it bestowed. Now that they were coming closer to the moment when what was left of her soul would become mortgaged beyond redemption, she wasn’t sure that she could go through with it.

  “This is always hard,” Jonathan said. His ability to read her was startling. His accuracy was frightening. “And I mean always. It never gets easier.”

  “So you’ve tortured a lot of people before?”

  “I’ve extracted my share of information, yes. Never gratuitously, and always for a good cause. And through that, I’ve saved a lot of lives. That’s what you need to stay focused on—the lives that will be saved. Two lives that have every right to be lived to their fullest. Stay focused on that, and this will all suck less. Not a lot less, but some.”

  Irene didn’t know what to say. She had abandoned the moral high ground, and she’d done it willingly. Was there really all that much real estate separating kidnapping from torture, especially when both were employed in pursuit of the same goal? She’d already walked away from due process as a viable option, so once that was done, the rest was just details, wasn’t it? She ignored the nausea that churned her stomach. The time for second-guessing had passed. The train had left the station. The die had been cast. How many clichés could there possibly be for the same thought?

  She’d go through with this because it was the only decision that made sense. Once the mortal sins were stacked three feet high, one more couldn’t possibly make a difference.

  They arrived at the barn. Boxers threw the transmission into park, and they all pushed their doors open. “I’d like you to come out on my side,” Scorpion said.

  She gave him an odd look.

  “Humor me, okay?” he said.

  Seeing no harm in the request—and seeing no play for advantage—she did as he asked. She scooted across the Explorer’s backseat as Big Guy walked around to the back and opened the tailgate.

  When she was on the ground, Jonathan pulled her to the side. “I don’t want you to actively participate in the interrogation,” he said, barely above a whisper.

  Irene bristled. “We’re talking about my daughters.”

  “Exactly. And to get them back, we need to project a single, consistent message.”

  “I can do that,” she said.

  “You’re taking this personally,” Jonathan said in a modulated tone that she knew he’d engineered to be soothing. “You have to take it personally. I, on the other hand, have the freedom to take it tactically. I don’t know what peculiar brand of sick fuck Assface is, but if he sees you and recognizes you, it might encourage him to play. The fact that you are there might just make his day. We don’t need that.”

  Irene cocked her head as a random character analysis resolved in her head. This Assface moniker was important to Jonathan. It was the exclusive way that he referred to Jennings. She realized that it was a strategy to dehumanize the man he was intending to hurt. In a twisted way, that made Irene think better of the man. If he had to play head games with himself to carry out his duties, that meant there was a conscience under that granite exterior.

  “I defer to your expertise,” Irene said. “But I want to be in the room.”

  Jonathan’s posture shifted to something that looked combative. No fists, but a deep, settling inhalation. She read it as the beginning of an objection that he then swallowed. “Okay,” he said. “But your mask stays on. That’s not negotiable. And if he gets disgusting in his views toward his victims, you need to keep your mouth shut. I need your word on that.”

  With each passing moment, Irene felt as if she were getting demoted farther and farther down the grown-up ladder.

  “You have my word,” she said.

  A burst of noise snapped their attention around to the rear of the Explorer, where Big Guy was wrestling with Jennings. The prisoner seemed to sense that the bad part of his night had finally arrived, and he was yelling incoherently and bucking on Boxers’ shoulders like a grounded fish.

  “No, I got this,” Big Guy said. “Don’t hurt yourselves.”

  Irene heard the accusation of laziness in the subtext, but the fact was that he did seem to have it, with energy to spare. She took her lead from Jonathan and just stayed out of the way as Boxers carried his load to the barn’s massive front doors. With the human package slung over his shoulder, Big Guy pulled the big door open and disappeared into the darkness.

  The scale of the under-lit interior was hard to comprehend. This was a barn that could have been converted into a community center. The dimensions were huge-by-huge-by-huge. Boxers carried his load to the center of the massive space, where he set him on the ground with surprising gentleness. As far as Irene could tell, the floor was made of compacted dirt, though it was surprisingly solid. She sensed that this place had existed for a very, very long time. A hundred years or more. If that were the case, then it was entirely possible that the dirt merely covered an ancient wooden floor.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” Jennings whined. “What are you going to do to me?”

  Boxers said nothing as he picked up a length of rope that had been left on the floor adjacent to one of the massive supporting pillars. He slid it under Jennings’s armpits and tugged for him to stand. Irene was surprised that he complied so easily. Under similar circumstances, she imagined that she would be fighting to the death rather than complying with a torturer’s wishes. On the other hand, she had never been one to prey on those who were weaker than she. Well, not until now.

  A massive five-inch iron ring had been mounted through the center pillar, and it was through that that Boxers threaded the rope. When he was done, his prisoner stood at full attention, his arms pinioned behind his back and his ankles still bound. They kept his hood on, making Irene wonder why she had to keep her mask on. She didn’t question it, though.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” Jennings whined, over and over again.

  When Assface was thoroughly trussed and immobilized, Boxers stepped aside, and Jonathan approached. “Be a man,” Jonathan said. “Quit crying. It doesn’t change anything, and it just robs you of dignity.”

  “Who are you?” Jennings asked. “Why are you doing this?”

  Jonathan nodded to Big Guy, who punched Jennings in the gut. To Irene’s eye, it wasn’t an especially hard punch, but from the way Jennings yelled, you’d have thought that he’d been hit with a sledge hammer.

  “Here’s the deal,” Jonathan said. “And listen up.” He paused. “Are you listening?”

  “Yes, sir,” Jennings said.

  “I’m not your master,” Jonathan snapped. “No need to call me sir. Just pay attention and answer questions. The key word there was answer. You’re not here to ask anything. You’re not here to learn anything. I’m not even sure if you’re here to survive. That will be determined by your answers, and the spirit in which they are delivered. Are you following me so far?”

  The bag on Jennings’s head bobbed. “I think so,” he said.

  “Good,” Jonathan said. He took a deep breath. “By now, you’ve figured out that we are not police. We don’t give a flying shit about your rights or about how to game the justice system. We’re here to get information,
pure and simple. Is this making sense to you?”

  Another nod. “Yes.”

  “Tell me why you think we might be doing this,” Jonathan said. “What information do you think we might be seeking?”

  Jennings’s answer came too quickly. “I don’t know.”

  Jonathan again looked to Boxers, who delivered another punch to the gut. Jennings yelled louder.

  “Your shouting means nothing,” Jonathan said. “That’s why we did the whole helicopter thing. You’re in the middle of nowhere, and the only thing that stands between you and a yard-waste shredder is the truth. Can you wrap your head around that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it,” Jonathan warned. “We’re going to verify what you tell us. That means that you’re going to have a few very long days. If you tell us something and it turns out not to be true, you’re going to be punished. We start with punches, but as we progress, we get to cutting off body parts. You don’t want us cutting off any of your body parts, do you?”

  Jennings squirmed in his bonds, as if he could make a difference. “Oh, God, no. Please, no.”

  “There you go,” Jonathan said. “That’s the spirit. Now, back to my original question. Why do you think we’re here? What information do you think we might be looking for?”

  Jennings took his time answering. His breathing rate doubled. Irene could only imagine the conflict he was suffering. Where did truth and survivability bifurcate?

  “Is it about the kids?” Jennings asked. His voice was barely audible.

  “Excuse me?” Jonathan said. “I couldn’t hear you.”

  “Is it about the kids!” Jennings shouted it this time. Irene felt a shot of adrenaline. This asshole knew. He had them.

  “Tell me,” Jonathan said. His voice stayed perfectly modulated, as if this was a conversation, not an interrogation. “Is there a reason why we should be talking to you about kids?”

  “They didn’t have enough evidence to prosecute me,” Jennings said. “I don’t have to—”

  This time, Boxers acted without a prompt from his boss. He delivered a powerful slap to the hood. Jennings yelled.

  Jonathan looked annoyed. “There you go letting the law get in the way between you and the truth,” he said. “That’s going to hurt every time it happens. I promise you.”

  “This is coerced testimony. You can’t use any of it.”

  “That’s your last chance before we switch to the baseball bat.”

  Jennings’s breath chugged behind the hood, a steam engine sound that caused the fabric to move in and out with each inhalation and exhalation.

  “Where are the children, Barney?” Jonathan pressed again. When using the prisoner’s given name, his tone was softer.

  More puffing.

  “It’s so much easier if you just answer,” Jonathan coaxed. “It’s what you’re going to do anyway. Why not make it less painful?”

  Jennings’s chest heaved and he blurted. “They’re dead.”

  No, no, no, not my babies. Irene brought her hands to her mouth as she felt the blood drain from her head. Her knees buckled and she nearly fell. The only reason she didn’t was because she was able to flex her gut muscles enough to raise her own blood pressure. Her vision blurred; she heard a sob escape from her own throat. This wasn’t possible.

  She saw Jonathan shoot a glance her way, and Boxers take two steps to catch her, but when they saw she was going to remain conscious, they went back to business.

  “Did you kill them?” Jonathan asked.

  “I didn’t mean to. I really didn’t. I wanted them alive because, well, you know what I wanted to do. But the older one fought, and that encouraged the younger one. They started to make too much noise. I told them to be quiet, but they refused. Honest to God, they left me no choice.”

  Irene realized that she’d drawn her SIG, but didn’t remember doing it.

  “I’m sorry,” Jennings said. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  “You’re sorry?” Irene shouted. She pulled off her mask, leveled her weapon at his head and took five giant steps closer.

  “Agent Rivers?” Jennings said. “Jesus, is that you?”

  “Take his hood off,” Irene commanded.

  If Jonathan had not responded as instantly as he did, she might have pointed the muzzle at him. As it was, he pulled the knot in the string at Jennings’s throat and lifted the hood away.

  Jennings looked confused and a little blind when the hood first came off, but then his eyes grew huge when he saw the maw that was Irene’s pistol pointed at his eye. “No!” he cried. “Oh, God, no! Please! You were right, okay? You were right all along. I lied. They’re dead, and I’m sorry.”

  Something clicked in her head. Something in that phrasing wasn’t right. She kept the pistol aimed at his eye, but she took a pound of pressure off of the trigger. “Who?” she asked.

  “Huh?”

  Who are you talking about? Who did you kill?”

  “The kids! Jesus, how many times do I have to say it?”

  “What kids?”

  “The kids. The Harrelson boys. Who else?”

  Irene felt the dizziness return, this time combined with unspeakable anger. “You know who else,” she said, but even as the words left her lips, she realized that he didn’t.

  “I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” he whined.

  “My daughters,” Irene said. “What have you done with my daughters?”

  His expression said everything. “Your daughters! Christ, I haven’t done anything. I haven’t touched anyone else. I swear to God. What happened to your daughters?”

  Jonathan’s eyes were sad as he looked to her. He’d seen it, too. For once in his life, Jennings wasn’t lying. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  Sorry. What a simple word that was. Hardly adequate to account for the collapse of her world, for the dissolution of everything that was good and kind in the world.

  Irene wanted to kill Jennings, to mangle his body. She wanted to inflict unspeakable harm on him, if only to duplicate the unspeakable harm he had inflicted on the boys. Instead, she said, “Tell me where the bodies are.”

  “You can’t prosecute me,” Jennings said. “Remember that.”

  “I just want to give the Harrelson boys the dignity of a decent burial.”

  Jennings came clean. He described the shallow graves that could be found along the wood line, just outside of Emmitsburg, near the Pennsylvania line. “You have to understand that it was an accident,” he said. “I never intended—”

  They all jumped at the boom as Boxers fired a nine-millimeter bullet into Jennings’s brain. A pink cloud erupted from a spot just above his ear as he collapsed against his bonds.

  Jonathan yelled, “Holy fuck, Big Guy!”

  Boxers holstered his weapon. “You were done with him, right?”

  “You just murdered him!” Irene shouted. Holy shit, how could this night go any more wrong?

  “No, I didn’t,” Boxers said. His face showed pure disgust, a look you’d expect from someone who’d found mold on his bread. “You can’t murder a kid-toucher. Worst you can do is make the world better by taking him out of it.” He glared at Irene. “Go ahead and arrest me if you want.”

  Irene opened her mouth to object, but she realized that she had nothing to say. On the scale of right versus wrong, he was on the side of the angels. On the scale of justice, how could she argue that accounts had not been settled?

  “Don’t worry about the body,” Jonathan said. “The guy who owns this place is a friend. This is what he does. No one will ever find it.”

  “This is what he does?” Irene gasped. “Good God, Digger, how can you know these people?”

  Boxers chuckled. “Wow, she really is a rookie, isn’t she?”

  Irene bristled.

  “The proprietor’s paychecks come from Uncle Sam,” Jonathan said. “I call him Arc Flash, and he works on the darkest of the darkest sides.”

 
; “That’s how he affords to live in such nice digs,” Boxers said. “Please tell me that none of this surprises you.”

  “It shocks me,” she said. “I had no idea.”

  “Does it bother you?” Big Guy asked. “That Uncle lives by different rules than he insists that you live by?”

  Jonathan changed the subject. “Who else, Irene?” he asked. “The clock is ticking. Who else would have a reason to hurt you this way?”

  Was it even possible to have such an enemy? In Irene’s experience, Jennings’s brand of monsterhood was unique. Was it possible for two such people to roam the Earth at the same time?

  “I’ve arrested hundreds of people over the years,” she said. “I guess it’s possible that any one of them would want to hurt me through my children.” But that wasn’t true, was it? It took a particularly heartless brand of bad guy to target innocence. That was a unique brand of sociopathy.

  With nothing left to do inside the barn, Jonathan led the way back outside. “Think harder,” he said as they crossed the threshold back into the darkness. “This isn’t random. The perpetrator is a copycat. He knew about the ransom demands from the Jennings case, and about the mechanisms for demanding the ransom.”

  “That could be anybody,” Boxers said. “I don’t read the newspapers, but I knew some of that. It wasn’t exactly a case that flew under the radar.”

  Irene wracked her brain. Thinking back to the ransom note, she tried to remember everything. She saw the note in her mind, every detail, from the spacing between the words to the font size. Was it too late to involve the police? Sure, she had sold her soul, and would go to jail when the world found out what she had done, but that was many times better than something bad happening to the girls.

  Ashley and Kelly.

  I will know and I will kill them.