37. GABRIEL skinny tort and interr #2
We drive the rest of the way in silence. Ten minutes later, the Escalade rolls to a stop just short of the café. I double park and keep the engine running while I get out, and Mauro takes my seat. I'm already dialing the number Kale gave me.
The place is dingy. Run down, with a flickering neon sign and bars on the windows.
Only a couple of people linger inside when I open the door.
A/C air hits my face. The bell above it chimes.
Every head turns. I let the door fall shut behind me and look around.
I don't pretend to belong here, to be just another customer.
I'm not, and every eye in the place knows it.
My gaze sweeps the room once. One skinny, nervous-looking guy catches my attention immediately. Too still. Too aware.
As for the rest, there is a woman with a kid in the corner, sharing a muffin, a barista—or whatever the fuck they call themselves here—behind the counter, looking bored.
A guy is ordering. Another woman sits glued to her laptop by the window.
And one more man scrolling through his phone, completely checked out.
None of them matters. Not right now. Inside my jacket pocket, my thumb presses the call connect button.
I keep them all in my vision, but my eyes never leave him. Skinny. Three seconds. Four.
He frowns, pulls out his phone, and looks down. Hesitates. Then picks it up. A grin spreads over my face. There you are.
I move, unrushed. No wasted motion. Just a straight line across the room. He doesn't realize until I'm already there, hovering right over him. My hand slides under my jacket, just enough so I can surreptitiously push the barrel of the gun against Skinny's side.
"Don't make a scene," I keep my voice quiet as I lean down next to him. "Follow me."
His whole body locks. Sweat beads instantly along his hairline. "Hey man?—"
I push the gun in harder. He sucks in a sharp breath.
"Now."
That does it. He stands. Too fast. The chair scrapes loudly against the floor. A couple of heads turn in our direction. I shift slightly, blocking him from view. My grip tightens at his side.
"Easy," I advise under my breath. "Or it's the last thing you ever do."
His nod is jerky from panic creeping up on him.
Step by step, we move toward the door. My body angles just enough to keep the weapon hidden.
To everyone else? It looks like I'm guiding a friend out.
To him? It must feel like a death sentence.
Which is exactly what this is. We reach the door.
I push it open. The bell chimes again. Hot outside air hits us.
I shove him forward towards the Escalade. "Keep moving."
Mauro is behind the wheel, and the engine is running. The back door is open, waiting. Perfect. I steer Skinny toward the car, grip tightening once again when he hesitates.
"Don't even think about it."
"I'm not—I'm not—" he stammers.
"Good."
I shove him into the back seat. Hard. He stumbles, nearly face-planting before catching himself. Mauro glances back once. Assessing. Skinny takes one look, and the smell of piss hits the inside of the car. Goddammit.
I slide in next to him, slam the door. "Go."
"The Oven?"
"Perfect." I agree.
The Escalade pulls out immediately. No hesitation. No second look. Behind us, the café shrinks into nothing. Inside the car is filled with silent sniffles and the stench of piss. Skinny is breathing too fast, too shallow, panicked. I turn my attention to him. "Who did you talk to?"
He shakes his head immediately. "I—I don't know what you're talking about—talked to who?"
"Whom." Mauro corrects.
"Wrong answer," I add.
His breath leaves him in a choke.
"You got a call," I continue, voice low, lethal. "From an account that sent me something I didn't like."
"Man, I get many calls," he evades.
"Phone," I hold out my hand. He hands it to me.
I don't need to look at mine to confirm the timestamp on the email. It's ingrained in my head. Quickly, I scroll through Skinny's call log. There.
"Who is Manuel?"
He pales, shakes his head. "Man, I can't tell you that. They'll kill me."
In the front seat, Mauro breaks out into loud laughter. "Being killed should be the least of your worries, kid."
Skinny freezes. His eyes dart wildly between us. Then to the window. Then back to me.
"What… What is that supposed to mean? Who are you?" His voice cracks halfway through.
I don't answer. I don't need to. The silence does the work for me. The car turns. Slows. Then pulls into a narrow, unmarked lot. From the outside, it looks like nothing. Just another forgotten building in a city full of them. That's the point.
Mauro kills the engine. "We have arrived."
I open the door. "Out."
Skinny doesn't move. Staying as far as I can from his wet pants, I grab him by the back of his neck and drag him with me. He stumbles out, legs barely holding him up.
"Please—man—I told you?—"
"You haven't told me anything yet."
We move toward the heavy steel door. The back entrance. No sign. No welcome. Just cold, dead metal. I push it open and pull Skinny inside. My anger simmers on a barely contained level.
"What is this place?" he asks, voice rising now as more panic creeps in.
Mauro nudges him wordlessly forward. The floor is all concrete, no tile or carpet here. The walls are industrial, efficient. Everything is built for one purpose.
At the far end, a reinforced chamber waits for us. Beside it sits Clark, the manager. He looks up as we enter, knowing that coming in through the back means only one thing.
He nods toward the chamber. "First burn doesn't start until noon."
I don't give a shit about what is scheduled. I don't work with schedules; they work for me. My gaze lands on him. For a moment, I allow the barely contained anger to show. That's enough for him to pale instantly and break into a sweat.
"Right. Right—my bad," he stammers, already moving. "I'll get it ready."
Behind me, Skinny's breathing turns frantic.
"What is this place?" he demands again, louder now. "What am I doing here?"
Mauro pokes Skinny once in the ribs. Points toward the steel door where Alessio had a sign bolted above it. It's simple. No engravements or adornments. Just words. Enough to make anybody freeze. They're in Latin first: Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate.
Translated into English below, still large enough to read: Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.
Skinny reads it. He most likely has no idea where those words come from, but the meaning is crystal clear even to a douchebag like him. His knees almost give out.
"Please," he whispers. "Please, man—I don't?—"
I step in close. Grip his jaw. Force his head up.
"You said they'd kill you," I murmur.
His eyes lock on mine. Terrified. I lean in just a fraction closer. "Let's find out which is worse."
A broken sound leaves his throat. Behind us, metal clanks. The chamber door, unlocking. Clark hurries back in. "It's ready."
I release Skinny. He sways. Doesn't run, not because he knows better, but probably because his legs are betraying him.
I nod toward the door. "Inside."
He shakes his head immediately. "No—no—please?—"
Mauro grabs him and drags him the last few steps. Skinny starts fighting then. Too late. Way too late.