He was such an enigma, this great black bear of a man. Only seconds ago, she had seen him show total ferocity, killing with ice cold efficiency. Yet now he was able to exhibit unexpected tenderness. It seemed perversely symbolic that his shoulder felt so soft and warm and comforting to her face, even as her right breast was crushed against the hard outline of his shoulder holster.
“It isn’t the death, not really,” she murmured. “It’s just, he wanted to, he was going to, to kill me.” She put a shaky emphasis on the last word.
“Yes,” Morgan said slowly, “Let’s go find out about that.”
With a gentle tug, Morgan eased Felicity toward the bathroom. When they opened the door, their tough guy prisoner was sitting on the floor trying to look belligerent. He was built like a linebacker, but now Morgan could see a bit of softness around his waist. His nose had been broken and a scar was visible just below the line of his short brown hair.
Morgan thought he recognized that kind of scar. It was probably a legacy from the less glamorous days of professional wrestling. In those days guys used to go flying out of the ring and they’d always come up bloody. Morgan knew they often cut themselves with razor blades in their hairline for the effect. If this guy was a veteran of the small-time professional wrestling circuit, he was probably pretty tough. Morgan considered what little he knew of this man for a moment before deciding how he should proceed. He decided to use a reasonable, uncaring approach.
“You know, we were kind of lucky out there,” Morgan said, drawing his big knife out of its sheath again. He pulled his prisoner to his feet and sat him back in the bathtub. “If anyone heard that gunshot, they must have assumed it was something else, like a car backfiring. As usual in any big city, nobody wants to hear a gunshot so they just don’t. Now, turn over.” The thug glared at Felicity for a moment, then squirmed over onto his stomach. Morgan put his pistol to his prisoner’s head while he cut the cord, freeing the killer’s hands.
“You won’t be able to get out of that slippery tub too quickly,” he said. “I’ll ask the lady here to keep the gun on you all the same. Now turn back over.”
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.”