The Payback Assignment (17 page)

           
While Morgan gave Felicity the pistol, Pearson slowly squirmed around into an upright position.
 
Morgan held out his hand, and his captive handed over his jacket, his tie and finally his shirt.
 
Morgan tossed them all past Felicity, out the door.
 
The gunman hunched over, hatred glaring from his eyes.
 
Felicity held the pistol in two hands at arms’ length, staring down the sights.
 
It pleased Morgan to see a deep blush on the killer’s face as he tried to hide his nakedness.
 
Embarrassment was a good start for questioning.
 
He did not enjoy torture, but he definitely would get certain information from this man.

           
“Now pull up your feet, please.”
 
When Pearson did not respond to the request, Morgan opened the hot water tap.
 
First cold, then warm and finally hot water gushed out.
 
By hugging his knees the nude man could just keep his feet from being scalded.
 
Felicity smiled in spite of herself.
 
Morgan sat on the edge of the tub at the faucet end, facing his prisoner.
 
He took a deep breath.
 
It was time to demoralize his subject.
 

           
“Now I need to know who sent you to kill the lady.”

           
“You go to hell, nig...” The thug interrupted himself with a scream louder than Morgan’s earlier gunshot had been.
 
Felicity gasped in surprise.
 
Morgan had flipped the knob that shifted the water flow to the shower spout.
 
The steaming water was only on the hired killer’s body for a single
 
second, but his dripping body was glowing red.
 
His breath was a series of rapid gasps.

           
“First rule, no profanity,” Morgan said casually.
 
“It upsets the lady.
 
And you call me by my name.
 
Mister Stark.
 
Now again.
 
Who sent you here?”

           
The silence lasted for three long seconds before Morgan gave his captive another second of heat.
 
Now the red body quivered with each short, panting breath.

           
“Look, I don’t like doing this.”
 
Morgan maintained his relaxed smile.
 
“However, I need these three bits of data, see?
 
And after trying to shoot us, I figure you owe me.
 
So tell me, who sent you?”

           
The thug gritted his teeth.
 
Felicity clamped her eyes shut.
 
Morgan, relaxed, waited four seconds this time, before giving the killer two seconds of steaming pain.
 
After that he imagined he could smell broiled meat.
 
He saw Felicity’s stomach heave.
 
He knew she wanted to run from the room, but this strange ritual held her mesmerized.

           
After all, a grown man, stripped naked, was flopping around in her bathtub like a beached whale.
 
He was moaning and whimpering, probably knowing he would eventually talk.
 
Yet he went on.
 
Morgan understood.
 
This was part of his business, and he feared he would be seen as a coward if he spoke too soon.
 
Morgan carried on with his distasteful duty in a businesslike manner, because he knew this was the way the game was played.

           
“Look, pal...” Morgan paused for a second, then asked, “What’s your name?”
 
A tense five seconds passed.
 
Sweat mixed with the water on the prisoner’s face.
 
His eyes were locked onto Morgan’s hand.
 
As the muscles on the corded brown forearm tensed to turn the knob he blurted out “Pearson” louder than necessary.

           
“Much better,” Morgan said.
 
He noticed Felicity had been holding her breath since the last question, and she released it as he watched.
 
She was still holding the big pistol with her arms fully extended toward the tub and, even with a two-handed grip, her arms were starting to shake.
 
Morgan reached back to push down on the top of his gun with two fingers.

“Relax a bit, Red.
 
He’s not going anywhere.”
 
She lowered the pistol, but kept her eyes on Pearson’s.
 
“Look, Pearson,” Morgan continued, “You can’t take too much more of this pain.
 
Besides, if this keeps up there’s going to be permanent skin damage soon.
 
When I see your boss I’ll tell him you held out to the last like a good troop.
 
Now give me a name.”
 
Four long seconds passed before Pearson replied in a voice just loud enough Morgan to hear.

           
“Stone.”

           
“Now we’re moving along,” Morgan said, smiling.
 
“Now for step two.
 
Naturally I’d like to discuss this situation with Stone face to face.
 
To do that, I need an address.”
 
He waited three seconds this time.
 
His fingers curled around the knob.

           
“He’ll kill me!” Pearson shouted.

           
“Are you so sure I won’t?” Morgan asked.
 
“Have you forgotten your friend in the living room?”

           
“Look, I don’t really remember,” Pearson said.
 
“I only been there once.
 
I’m just a stringer, man.
 
I do all my work on the West Coast.
 
The man’s in midtown Manhattan.
 
A big skyscraper, you know?
 
You can see ground zero from the window.
 
You know, where the World Trade Center used to be.
 
That’s all I remember, honest.
 
Jesus, I only been once.”

           
Pearson’s eyes were pleading.
 
Morgan glanced quickly at Felicity.
 
Her eyes were pleading too.
 
As much as he hated this, she was liking it much less.
 
And he doubted this hireling knew much more.
 
Still he had to press on.

           
“I guess we’ll accept that,” he said.
 
“Now for the biggie.
 
Who’s Stone working for now?”

           
“You know I don’t know that,” Pearson screeched, then added, “Mister Stark” when Morgan reached for the shower knob.

           
“You know something.”
 
Morgan’s voice became much sterner now.
 
Pearson stared into Morgan’s hard eyes.
 
When he couldn’t stand it any longer he looked around the room nervously and huffed out a blast of air.

           
“Okay, look.
 
I’ve done work for Stone before, but things are different these days.
 
He’s a captive agent now.”

           
“A what?”
 
Felicity asked, confused.

           
“No longer freelance,” Morgan explained.
 
“Stone’s always been an independent contractor.
 
He still does the same thing, I guess, only now he’s working for somebody on salary.
 
Probably means you and me got suckered by the same guy.”

           
“Some businessman,” Pearson added, eager to please his captives.
 
“That place in New York is his office, and he lives in the same building too.
 
He’s richer than shi...I mean, he’s real rich and he’s got this huge bodyguard.
 
One thing for sure.
 
You find Stone, you’ll find this guy.
 
Stone’s like his right hand man now.”

           
Morgan and Felicity exchanged glances.
 
They seemed to silently agree that they had gotten all they could expect from this one.
 
She tugged at his sleeve, getting him to lean toward her.

           
“Will you be killing him now?” she whispered.
 
“I mean, do you have to?”
 
His only answer was a sly smile.

           
“Throw Pearson a towel, Red,” Morgan said.
 
When she did, Pearson snatched it out of the air and spread it over his groin.

           
“Thank you, eh...” Pearson looked at Morgan nervously.

           
“Miss O’Brian.”
 
Then Morgan turned to Felicity.
 
“Give me my pistol, will you?
 
And I need you to go pack for the two of us.
 
We’ve got to move, and soon.
 
Pearson and I are going to be busy for a while.
 
And you might want to stay out of the living room for a few minutes, okay?”

           
Felicity headed for her bedroom, happy to be freed of the weight of the gun.
 
In a lifetime of crime she had rarely been involved with firearms and wanted to keep it that way.
 
She had also rarely taken direction from anyone, and this was a new feeling for her.
 
She had decided she was boss of this team long ago.
 
After all, she was paying him for his services.
 
Still, she realized it made sense for him to lead while they played the game in which he was the expert.

           
Her room, in the corner of the building, had huge windows on both outer walls.
 
The sunset melded with her décor, which was layers of blue: carpet, drapes, bedding, walls and ceiling in progressively lighter shades.
 
Her furniture was all hand worked oak.
 
Her big, four-poster bed stood to the side of the door, turned so she would face the beach when lying down.
 
She quickly tossed a few things into an overnight bag.
 
She wouldn’t need to carry much for a trip to New York.
 
Next, she figured she would go to the guestroom and gather everything Morgan had there.
 
It should all fit nicely into a single suitcase.

           
But when she left her bedroom, Felicity stopped.
 
She could hear the sound of fabric being cut.
 
When it ended, she stepped lightly to the guestroom door.
 
Morgan stood on one side of the floor with all the room’s furniture.
 
Pearson, once again dressed, was rolling up the other half of the carpet at gunpoint.
 

           
“What the hell are you doing?” Felicity asked, her hands on her hips.

           
“Cleaning up the mess we made,” Morgan said.
 
“Believe me, you don’t want to watch this.”

           
“No, I believe I do.”

           
Morgan shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “suit yourself,” and by waving his pistol directed Pearson to carry the piece of carpet into the living room.
 
There he laid it out flat in front of the corpse-laden chair.
 
She felt Morgan’s eyes on her as he bent and grasped the dead man’s ankles.
 
She gagged, but kept it down and never turned her eyes away.
 
Morgan’s facial expression told her he was impressed and for some reason that made her inordinately proud of herself.
 

           
Pearson lifted his dead partner under the armpits.
 
The two men stretched the body out on the cut carpet.
 
Morgan removed the dead man’s wallet, tossing it to Pearson.
 
They rolled the carpet up, around the body.
 
Morgan cut the cord Felicity had brought out earlier into two even pieces.
 
With them, Pearson tied the ends of the rug roll with practiced skill.