Iron House

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The second time Jimmy came for Elena, he was breathing heavily. She heard the front door slam, then fast, hard steps. When her door opened, it struck the wall and framed him perfectly: shoulders square and locked, jaw so tight muscles showed under the skin. The calm was gone, and in its place Elena saw anger so clear and bright it was unmistakable.

“Stubborn son of a bitch…”

Muttering.

“Goddamn selfish…”

Then he seemed to remember that he was not alone. His gaze settled on Elena, and he forced a smile. “Ah, still with me. Good.”

Elena tensed, and the chain drew tight.

“I’d like you to call Michael,” Jimmy said. “I’ll give you directions. He can come collect you.”

She dragged herself up from the floor. “No.”

“No?” Jimmy was too surprised to be angry. He laughed, a small, conflicted sound. Then he got angry. “Is that what you said? No?”

“I’m not going to help you.”

“I’m not required to ask, you know.” A dangerous glint came into his eyes. “I can put the phone to your bland, female face and I can make you scream. But as I’m tired…” He offered a wholly unconvincing smile. “I’d rather not do that.”

Elena understood, then, and in spite of her fear, she stood taller. “You want Michael to come, unsuspecting. You want me to set him up.”

“That’s not-”

“You’re frightened.”

Her chin came up, and Jimmy grew very still. “Do you believe in free choice?” he asked. “I do. It’s an important concept, a right that far too many people take for granted. They follow the herd; do the expected thing. Even Michael is guilty. He plays the good son, the good lover, the good man. It’s disgusting because it’s not who he is. He’s like me. Same thing.”

“Michael’s nothing like you.”

“If he told you different, he’s a liar.”

“I won’t help you.”

“Ah, ah. You don’t know what the choice is, yet.” Jimmy took a small key from his coat pocket. He stepped closer and Elena moved back until her cuffs snapped tight. The bed slid a few inches before Jimmy put a hand on the rail and halted it. “See…” He leaned close. “Words are easy.” He unlocked the cuff from the bed rail. “Choice is hard.”

“What are you doing?”

He yanked on the cuff and pulled her toward the door. “Making you a gift.”

Elena stumbled through the house, tripped and went down in a room of dead men. Jimmy jerked her hard, dragged her through bodies that were cold and stiff. She wanted to vomit but never had the chance, for as lean as Jimmy was, he was strong, too, and dragged her fast enough for rocks and dirt to tear skin off her back. Her arm twisted as if it might break, but that hurt was nothing compared to the thoughts that squirmed in her mind. He was taking her to Stevan, to the barn that rose hard-edged and dark against the pale, pink sky. From inside, she heard a sound that touched her in a terrible, intimate way. It was the sound of a shattered man weeping, wet and shameless and utterly broken. That’s where Jimmy took her, off the hard dirt and through a two-foot gap in the big doors. She saw high, dusty beams, shadows and weak, yellow light. She saw tools on nails, smelled oil and old straw.

And she saw Stevan.

“This is your choice.” Jimmy hauled her up, one hand in her hair, the other on the cuffs. He bent the arm behind her back, forced her up onto her toes and drove her forward. Stevan was naked and spread on his back across the hood of a rusted tractor. Rope led from his wrists to the rear axles of the tractor, where they were twisted tight. Baling hooks had been driven through the meat of his calves and tied down, one to an engine block, the other to a hundred-pound sack of fertilizer. He was stretched tight, his back bent, calves weeping blood. His body was a patchwork of open wounds.

But that was not the worst of it.

Not even close.

Elena turned away, but Jimmy jerked her straight. “No, no, no. Choice must be informed, and you haven’t really looked-”

“I have. Oh, God.”

“Looked but not seen.”

Jimmy moved her closer, and one of Stevan’s eyes rolled to follow her. The other eye didn’t move, couldn’t. The socket was a bloody hole, the eye just gone. A mirror hung above Stevan’s face, angled so he could witness the damage with his remaining eye.

“See?” Jimmy flicked a fingernail against the smooth, polished surface. “He can watch himself.”

“You’re insane.”

“No. There’s method here.”

His hand tightened in her hair and he moved her head, forced her to look the full length of the tortured man. “The eye should have done the trick. But like I told you earlier, he’s tougher than I thought.”

“Why are you doing this?” Elena was weak, choking.

“Money.”

“I don’t have it…”

The words croaked from Stevan’s throat, and Jimmy slapped one of the open wounds hard enough to make Stevan scream.

“I’m not talking to you,” Jimmy said.

The screaming went on, but Jimmy ignored it and spoke louder as he forced her to look at Stevan’s face. “I decided to take one side at a time. Left eye, left hand. You see?”

Elena nodded. Where the eye had been carved out, so, too, had the ear been removed. Strips of skin had been cut from his face, and four of his fingers had been snipped off, leaving only the thumb. Jimmy saw her looking, and said, “Thumb’s up.” He put a hand on Stevan’s bloody leg, leaned close so the one eye settled on him. “Thumb’s up, right?”

He laughed, and Stevan sobbed.

“I’ll probably do the eyebrow next,” Jimmy said. “Then maybe the scalp. Still on the left side. Do you see the method? The reason?”

“No.”

“He’s always been a two-faced, spoiled little shit. Now, everyone can see it.”

Elena tore her eyes away; she looked down at straw on the floor, then at the collection of sharpened tools. She saw chisels and wire brushes and shears and pliers. Sharp blades, serrated blades. Terrible tools, and bloody. They rested on a small, rickety table. Neatly ordered, largest to smallest. “Why are you doing this?”

“Otto Kaitlin died with sixty-seven million dollars in offshore accounts. I thought pretty-boy here could help me get it. I’m starting to think I was wrong.” Jimmy let go of Elena’s hair and lifted a chisel. Its edge gleamed silver, and he studied it. “See, Stevan claims he could never find the account numbers and passwords. We all assumed Otto gave them up before he died, but Stevan says that’s not true.”

Moving calmly and without apparent thought, Jimmy pinched an area of skin on Stevan’s left side and slipped the sharpened chisel between skin and rib. It went in smooth and matter-of-fact, and Jimmy left it there, handle-out, even as the screaming ramped up. Jimmy gave him a second, then said, “Stevan thinks Michael has the numbers.”

“Michael doesn’t have sixty-seven million dollars.”

“I don’t know.” Jimmy wiggled the handle until a sucking noise escaped. “The old man loved him. I can see it happening that way. Which brings us back to the matter of choice.”

Elena understood. “You need Michael alive.”

“I knew there was a reason he liked you.” Jimmy lifted another chisel, this one smaller. He bent over Stevan, pinching one area of skin then another as Stevan begged and his one eye rolled. “Killing Michael would be easy. Taking him alive…” He slipped the chisel in. “That’s another story.”

Stevan began to convulse.

Jimmy looked at Elena, who stood unmoving. “I want you to bring Michael here. A simple phone call, and then I let you go.”

She shook her head, so grimly fascinated by Stevan on the tractor she could not look away. Her gaze settled on the largest chisel. Blood welled from the pale mouth it made. The handle was molded rubber, blue like the sky.

“You can help me. You can make this easy. Or we can make room here in the barn. You’re a woman, and weak.” He waved a hand at Stevan. “Most of this will be unnecessary, but still…”

He reached for another tool on the table. His eyes dropped for one second, and Elena yanked the chisel from Stevan’s chest.

Jimmy turned back.

And she stabbed him with it.