Cold Blooded III: Sins and Sanctions (Nick McCarty Assassin Series Book 3)

by Bernard Lee DeLeo

  “You will soon, little one.”

  Gus met Nick and Brenda only a few steps from their vehicle. “Hi Brenda. I’m El Muerto’s long suffering sidekick, Payaso. Don’t be afraid. I have someone coming to pick you up in no time at all. We have to allow El Muerto to find out a few things from the people who took you.”

  Gus opened his arms, and Brenda transferred into them without hesitation, looking back at Nick. “I hope I see you again, Muerto. Thank you! Be careful.”

  “I’ll be careful, Brenda.” Nick could not remember a time he wanted to interrogate anyone more than Berringer.

  “I love you El Muerto,” Brenda called out in Gus’s arms.

  Nick raised a hand in acknowledgement. “I love you too, little one.”

  Nick returned to the house, shutting the door behind him, knowing Brenda would soon be in her parents’ more protective hands. He smiled with grim intent while listening to the muffled pleas. Nick stepped carefully from one to the other. Pointing at the one in the middle, Nick nodded at his instincts. “You’re my bitch, partner. I can tell in your eyes you want to help me with my info gathering. If you cooperate like I think you will, I won’t have to do this.”

  Nick used his stun gun on Berringer’s groin area. Big Texas Son screamed a high pitched whine emitted through the duct tape, thrashing violently in his restraints until he passed out. Nick shook his head sorrowfully. “Gee whiz, I guess Big Tex didn’t like my demonstration. Anyway… are there any questions? If anyone has any doubts whether I will do this until I get answers, speak up.”

  Energetic head shakes indicating no questions were all Nick received in answer to his question. He removed the duct tape from over the man’s mouth he had picked out to interrogate. “Don’t disappoint me with stalling crap and denials. I heard your conversation coming in the house. You bunch have already picked a target. I want to know all the details, and if I think I’m not getting all the details, I will fry the balls right out of your nut-sacks. You three death-lovers can get a quick bullet right between the horns when I get my info, or you can resist. Then you’ll find out El Muerto is a very bad man, and that he enjoys his work. I confess I take particular pleasure when asked to interrogate you woman mutilating and baby killing pieces of shit.”

  Nick put his hands out while standing in front of his captive audience. “Please don’t help me willingly. I need to work out some issues. I promise to make your passing into hell a journey you will scream for with pleasure when it arrives.”

  The man with short trimmed black beard Nick picked for his informant wanted nothing to do with Berringer’s experience. “I will talk! Do not torture me! Are…are you allowed to do these things? Are you not supposed to supply us with a lawyer if asked?”

  Nick patted his face. “I’m not getting into discussions about my tools. I’m the last man on earth you see in this country, Pookie. When they call me in, they’re real worried, and they don’t give a shit how I find out what blasphemy you plan to do. They wish only for me to make sure whatever you have planned doesn’t happen. Here I am, my little third world troglodytes. I am the last stop on your America tour. Enough about me. Make me happy right now, kids, or I’m going to get busy with Mr. Sparky here.”

  When Nick fired an arc from the stun-gun in his hands, he noticed all eyes watched with horror, especially the one with questions. Nick’s bleak side considered all the possibilities associated with torturing them no matter what they said. It registered in his eyes and mouth despite the El Muerto mask.

  “No… do not do this! I will give you the information you seek!”

  “Oh… believe me, you will give me all the details in this latest excursion into trying to murder my fellow citizens. What you don’t know is if you don’t make me very happy, I’m going to show you the dark side of America. It’s the side where we more realistic citizens exist for only one reason: the annihilation of our enemies. See… I don’t care about your brain washing techniques, your mutilation and subjugation of your women and children. I just don’t give a shit what your reasoning is. After 911, I would have wiped your putrid race off the face of the earth… but hey… I’m a psychopath. We psychos see facts clearly in black and white. Every act of terror on earth is being perpetrated by your cult of murderers. Therefore the solution is remove you assholes from existence.”

  The man on the left began a dark, eyebrows drawn whining hum of obvious disagreement with what Nick had vocalized. Nick smiled and made calming gestures to him. He removed the duct tape from the resistant one. “Ah… look here… we have a dissenter. What’s the matter, Pookie? Did I disturb you with my bad words?”

  The one Nick had pulled the duct tape off began immediately to thrash from side to side, his head rocking to the tune of, “Allahu Akbar! Allah will protect us! You will not survive his rage, you infidel dog!”

  “Oh… I like you already. I bet I survive your ass.” Nick patted his first choice again. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back at you in a few moments, Pookie. I have to entertain your cohort. He seems to think he’s better than you, and he’s proffering a short sided denigration of your helpful offer. I’m going to show him the error of his ways. You may want to look away, Pookie.”

  Nick pulled down his new target’s pants, smiling at him and meeting his horrified gaze with speculative awareness of what his deliberate actions were doing to his other captives. “I don’t believe for a second you murderous morons have the ear of God, but if you do, Allah will surely hear you now.

  Nick applied the juice to his second subject with cold expertise. He did it in short excruciating applications, gauged to inject a horrifying promise of what he would do without pause or cause. Only when his alternate choice passed out did Nick glance over at his other guests. Big Tex had regained consciousness, and curled in complete terror, wincing at each scream of agony.

  “Well, boys? Want to play my info game with all the details of your plans, or would you like me to tickle your delicate areas until you pray to Allah for me to stop just so you can tell me?”

  “Do not touch me with that! I will tell you everything I know,” the already nicknamed Pookie stated with fervent plea. “We are planning to blow up the USS Constitution. Our diver already has the C4 in place on the hull!”

  Nick’s eyes darkened in recognition of an obvious but effective tactic. “I believe you. Here’s what we’re going to do to prevent that, Pookie. Give me the diver’s name and location, what events would trigger it, and most importantly of all, who has the trigger. Are you getting this, Payaso?”

  “I’ve already networked Paul in with us, Muerto,” Gus replied. “He has someone on the way to pick up Brenda only minutes away now. Your collar cam is loud and clear, picture clear. I’m recording everything.”

  “I have a guy I trust in Homeland Security,” Gilbrech’s voice came on. “I’ve already put him on alert without any indication of what or who my source on this is. Find out what you can, and I’ll send a cleanup crew in to cleanse Berringer’s house. You can leave him for the cops later, but his cohorts will go bye-bye without a trace. This is a hell of a lot more than we bargained for.”

  “Acknowledged.” Nick turned his attention to the men still conscious staring at him. “Okay, boys… let’s begin. Make this exciting for Muerto or Muerto will make this exciting for you, only in a very bad way.”

  To accent his point, Nick fired off an arc. After nearly forty minutes, with few follow up questions needing asked, Nick could tell his guests were beginning to repeat themselves. He noticed Big Tex remained quiet while the other three men, including the one regaining consciousness, competed with each other to be helpful. “That’s enough. I’ve heard a lot of good stuff, boys, especially about the old school signal detonator for doing the job. What I haven’t heard is who holds the trigger blowing up the Constitution if your Hamas bosses want a statement made.”

  Nick saw the three look at Berringer. “Well, that’s interesting. Hamas puts the trigger to blowing up a United States monumen
t like the USS Constitution in the hands of a white child molester, serial killer. Who better to take the rap for it if things go wrong, and Hamas decides they don’t want to take credit for it. What did Hamas promise you, Big Tex, that Hamas agents would scuttle you out of the country if they had to use you as the fall guy? You would be their Timothy McVeigh, huh? I have to admit, that is clever. I believe we’re done here, except of course for the trigger man.”

  Nick went into Berringer’s kitchen. It took him only moments to find a plastic wrap dispenser for covering foods. He rejoined his captive group, and sealed their mouths again with duct tape. “Sorry, boys, I don’t have any hotshots for you. Your passing will have some discomfort, because I need to make cleanup in Big Tex’s house as easy as possible, and you guys have already been bleeding all over.”

  Methodically wrapping each man’s face tightly in plastic wrap, except for Berringer, Nick waited for the death throes to end. He then dragged Berringer to the kitchen, before cinching his hands and feet together, and taking the duct tape off his mouth. “I have to tell you, Mr. Big, this is not going to be a fun passing for you. I’m a psycho a lot like you, but in a different vein. Brenda told me you hurt her real bad. That means I’m going to hurt you real bad. There are some people who don’t believe that torture works. Unfortunately for you, I know it does. First order of business is the triggering mechanism. Where are you keeping it?”

  “Think about it, man! If you’re going to torture me to death anyway, why should I tell you anything?” Berringer avoided looking at Nick while making his plea.

  “Where are you from originally, Mr. Big? I know it wasn’t Texas.”

  “Berkeley.” Berringer risked a glance at Nick’s face. “Why?”

  Nick kicked him in the groin so hard it took Berringer’s breath away, his scream sounding like a tea kettle past the first boiling indication. “No reason. When you can speak, tell me where the detonator is or I kick you in the nuts again.”

  When Berringer could make coherent sounds again, he began sobbing. That earned him a second kick as Nick promised. This time when he could breathe enough to speak, he stayed on subject. “Behind the…the seascape picture! In…in the living room! There’s a safe!”

  Nick again duct taped Berringer’s mouth. Armed with the combination, he emptied the safe. It contained the detonator in a foam encased shielded box, along with nearly fifty thousand dollars, passports, and a set of memory chips in a plastic case. “I have the detonator along with passports, and eleven sixteen gig memory chips. We already have the diver’s address. I’ll find out if the memory chips carry the location of the girls’ bodies. If not, I will find that information out before posing Big Tex.”

  “Understood,” Gus said. “Are you still on with us, Paul?”

  “Yes. That is very good news. I already have a team of divers ready to sweep over the hull of the Constitution put together by my HS contact. I’ll let them know you have the detonator. It will be tricky work without the diver’s firsthand knowledge of his installation. If HS takes him into custody, he won’t be cooperative. I know you two have been-”

  “We know what’s at stake,” Nick interrupted. “We’ll take it.”

  “Thank you,” Gilbrech said. “Will you be leaving Berringer with El Muerto’s calling card?”

  “Yes, but I’ll find out where his past victims are, one way or another.” Nick retrieved a quart container along with his full featured tablet out of the equipment bag after jamming the money in it from Berringer’s safe. He inserted the memory chips one after another. They contained the horrific endings of the eleven missing girls with detailed map locations.

  “It’s all here on the memory chips he kept of everything, including locations. I’ll leave them next to Berringer’s body for the cops. I’ll leave the other contents of the safe for the cleaners in an obvious spot by the Hamas dupes.”

  “Understood,” Gilbrech replied.

  “You can stop recording, Payaso. I’ll call when I’m done.”

  Nick returned to the kitchen, where Berringer writhed in agony from his shoulder wounds, and Nick’s interrogation method. He ripped the clothing apart covering Berringer’s chest, and opened his pants. “I found what you have done. I can’t spend the time I’d like with you, but I’ll make due with quality over quantity. El Muerto leaves a distinctive feature behind with predators like you, much like you left on those memory chips. I missed out on my last one because the victim was there. Such is not the case this time.”

  Nick took a sheathed scalpel from the inside of his jacket. He watched the terror emanating from Berringer’s eyes, as they remained transfixed on the scalpel, while Berringer shook his head violently from side to side. “El Muerto has examined you, Big Tex, and found you rotting inside. I have something to make you sparkling clean again. El Muerto is something of a surgeon, and the doctor… is in.”

  Without hesitation, Nick eviscerated Berringer. He poured bleach over the piling intestines. During the fourth application, a blood vessel popped inside Berringer’s head. Nick left the plastic case with the memory chips on the side of Berringer’s head. After making sure he had his equipment in the bag, including his bleach container, Nick went to the door. He knew Brenda and the other little victims wouldn’t feel any better, but Nick did.

  “All finished, Payaso,” Nick said. “Dr. Muerto has another appointment yet. We have miles to go before we sleep, my treasured sidekick.”

  “That’s creepy, quoting Robert Frost, Muerto. I’ll be there in five seconds.”

  “Goodbye, my friends,” Nick waved with grandiose style toward the dead. “El Muerto… away!”

  “That’s even creepier.”

  * * *

  John Mazdaki awoke with sluggish certainty he was in trouble. Before opening his eyes, John tried moving his arms, legs, and twist at the waist – all to no avail. He could flex his fingers, and move his head, but was otherwise immobile. John opened his eyes, squinting slightly in the low light illuminating what he recognized to be his kitchen. He cursed under his breath, realizing he was duct taped to a kitchen chair. In four hours’ time, John would have flown out of Boston to first New York, and then France. A masked man with what he thought looked like a homemade Zorro mask crouched slightly nearer to peer into his face.

  “Hi honey, I’m home. It’s El Muerto, your host for this early morning’s procedure. Dr. El Muerto hurried over to your little bungalow from his last surgical case to discover a few things from you.”

  “This must be a misunderstanding. I have done nothing wrong. Who are you? If you’re here to rob me… do so and leave. Take anything you want.” John saw nothing in the masked man’s face resembling interest in anything he had to say. John shut up.

  “What I need from you John is the exact location and number of explosives you attached to the USS Constitution hull. Before you insult my intelligence with meaningless lies, let me show you something. Pay close attention. I filmed Mel Berringer’s demise a short time ago. He mutilated and murdered little girls along with selling out his own country. El Muerto made him pay for his sins. Watch.”

  John watched the evisceration and bleaching on the tablet screen for only the first two minutes. He looked away, vomiting violently.

  “Sorry… El Muerto should have brought a barf bag with him.” John felt himself pulled away from his spew. The masked man peered at him once again. “I don’t think you wish to die like that, John. Since you don’t murder little girls, help me out so I won’t have to end you in the same way.”

  John spat the bile sideways, his mind grasping for something he could sell to keep on living. The masked man gave him a drink, holding the cup to his mouth. “Can…can I live after I give you what you want?”

  The man patted his shoulder. “I’m a psychopath, but not a liar. I brought something along to make your passing painless, since you’re just a traitor. If you delay any longer in helping me, I’ll start considering the innocent men, women, and children who would have died when
the Constitution blew into pieces from your planted explosives. That will bring out Dr. El Muerto. The good Doctor will find out everything, and you will die like your pal, Berringer.”

  John hung his head for a moment, before looking up again. “The plans and locations are on my laptop computer in the bedroom. They are in a file labeled Caspian Sea. My password to get into the computer is Avesta.”

  “Let me go make sure you have been helpful, John. I’ll be right back.”

  “There is a pint bottle of Stoli in my freezer. Can I have some before you kill me?”

  The masked man went to the freezer, opened the pint bottle he retrieved, and gave John a long pull off the vodka bottle. John coughed a little, his eyes watering. “Thank you.”

  “De nada.”

  * * *

  Nick opened the laptop, entered the password, and within minutes accessed the ‘Caspian Sea’ file. “It looks good, Payaso. I have internet here so I’ll send the file to our drop immediately. If it looks as good to Paul as it does to me, I’ll send Johnny boy on his way, and we can go home. I see no indication in the diagrams of secondary triggers or traps. I’ll keep him alive until Paul can get a second opinion. On the way to you now.”

  “I have it, and so does Paul. He’s on with us again now.”

  “Give us half an hour to go over this, Nick,” Paul said. “Great work!”

  “Thanks. I’m keeping my Berringer movie. I believe it will help in negotiations with scum-bags, and cut down on the time factor for info gathering.”

  “Small doubt about that,” Paul agreed.

  “El Muerto awaits.”

  Nick returned to Mazdaki. He gave him another swallow of Stoli while they waited. Mazdaki, already a little buzzed, thought Nick needed conversation. “Would you like to know why I turned on my country? When I grew up in Chicago, I-”

  “Tut tut, Johnny boy,” Nick cut him off. “I believe you have me confused with someone that gives a shit. I’m a killer not a priest. I’ll give you another gulp of Stoli if you entertain yourself internally.”