“I see. Well, aside from the fact that she—and your ‘others’—have no idea where you are, I imagine she’s too busy dealing with the police to rescue you.” A petty thief always morphs into a bolder thief. It’s so easy to dig up that she’s been embezzling from her company and dealing fentanyl and black tar heroin on the side. I gave all the evidence to the police in Philadelphia—anonymously, of course—and they should’ve busted her by now. My tips were too good for them to ignore.
“Lying asshole!”
This is unoriginal. I have no time to waste with this idiot. I pull out the box labeled HAZARDOUS MATERIAL. I angle it so that he can read the bright red warning.
“What’s that?” he says, licking cracked lips. Probably dehydrated by now. Not that it matters.
“The gift you sent. Don’t you remember?” I open the box and take out the jar. The decapitated roaches inside are no longer moving.
“You sent me that rubber dick!” he protests.
“That was for harassing Angelika. This is me rejecting the package.” I put on my gloves, the ones I wear when I excise a cancer from the world. And then I pull out the hook.
“What the hell is that?” His eyes dart around wildly as I dangle it in front of him.
Why does he bother? There is no way out. I didn’t bring him here just to let him go. “It’s a modified fishing hook. They’re called treble hooks because of the three prongs, but as you can see, I’ve cut one of them off. So now it’s just a double hook.”
I lean down and slip the two barbs into his nostrils. The metal has been filed down a bit so that they’re duller than they were originally, but they’re still pointed enough to hurt. And the nylon thread that I’ve tied to the hook, despite being thin, is quite strong.
I slowly pull his head backward. He resists, but the pain inside his nose eventually forces him to give way. Once his head is all the way back, staring at the ceiling, mouth gaping open, I put one boot on the line to hold him there. Then I grab the jar, open it and start dumping the dead roaches into his mouth.
He tries to spit them out, but there are too many. He makes a choking sound, then begins moaning and crying like a little pussy. I shove more roaches into his mouth and place a large strip of duct tape over his lips. I take my weight off the line and, as his head comes back up, wrap the tape around it a couple of times.
Now the only sound out of him is pathetic moaning and crying. I look at him. He reacts like he’s being fried alive in boiling oil, but what’s happening to him is mild considering everything he’s done. He’s hurt too many people, and he’s crossed me personally twice—once with Katya and then with Angelika.
I put a black hood ove
r his head, then clean up the scene and get out of the hut. The sky’s clear, stars bright. The moon’s gorgeous and full, too.
I inhale the clean night air, then head home.
Now I’ve fulfilled my son’s tenth birthday wish, and kept my promise to Angelika that Roy will never bother her again.
I just need to act like a properly injured innocent for a while.
Chapter Forty
–Me: Happy belated birthday.
–Lyosha: Thanks, Dad. I knew you’d come through.
–Me: My pleasure.
Chapter Forty-One
Angelika
Over the weekend, I play nurse to Tolyan. He says the wound is nothing, but I don’t believe him. The man could get an arm cut off and still say something asinine like “What’s the problem? I have another one.”
I also spread antibacterial cream over the wound to make sure it doesn’t get infected. Thankfully, he doesn’t complain. He just keeps his mouth shut and lets me do what needs to be done. But the stitches look nasty. And no matter what kind of stoic act he pulls, the wound looks painful.
I’m not letting Tolyan do anything until the stitches are out and the doctor declares him fully healed. Actually, even then I might still hover a bit if the bruises haven’t faded.
But on Monday, he insists on going to work.
“Are you insane? You should call in sick!”
“Over this?” He gestures at his side. “That would be like calling in sick over a paper cut.”