I’m going to take a hammer to your nose.”
Jimmy was crying now, in agony from the blow to his groin, and clearly terrified. “I’ll do anything,” he whined. “Honest to God, I’m on your side, okay?”
“Don’t be so sure, kid,” Boxers called from the front.
“W-what are you going to do?”
Jonathan punched him in the balls again, harder this time. “What part of ‘shut up’ confuses you?” he growled.
The kid retched more, and when he vomited, Jonathan felt comfortable that he’d finally made his point. Jimmy wouldn’t risk another punch, so Jonathan wouldn’t have to fire another one. As sensitive as testicles are to pain, they’re actually fairly indestructible. Pound a guy in his nuts and you not only get his attention but you gain a huge psychological advantage. The younger the target, the more profound the advantage. It’s as if God had interrogators in mind when he designed the human body.
As for the vomiting, it was an unfortunate but predictable side effect—and the reason why Jonathan hadn’t taped his prisoner’s mouth. He didn’t need the kid choking to death before he gave them what they wanted.
They drove eight miles into the flat vastness of Virginia’s Northern Neck, past thousands of acres of farmland that was devoid of all but the occasional shade tree, the entire tableau dyed blue-black in the late-night darkness. Without the GPS preset on their navigation device, Jonathan doubted that Boxers would have seen the narrow driveway that marked their first turn.
They drove confidently in the darkened vehicle thanks to the night-vision goggles that Boxers and Jonathan had come to see as an extension to normal vision. As the van bounced along the rutted path, so did Jimmy on the metal floor. But beyond the occasional instinctive reaction to pain and fear, he kept his mouth shut.
Ahead, at the end of the long driveway, an open gate in a clapboard fence marked the way to a massive barn. The door had been propped open just as they’d arranged. The owner of this spread was a man named Horne, an old acquaintance of Jonathan’s, who knew better than to ask detailed questions but had made the appropriate assumptions about the nature of Jonathan’s business and didn’t mind cooperating one bit.
They drove into the barn and stopped. Jonathan waited quietly as he heard Boxers get out of the van, close the barn door, and then return to the van to open the double back doors.
“Listen to me, Jimmy,” Jonathan said. His tone was soft, almost soothing. “We’re going to move you now, and I want you to cooperate. Do you understand?”
Jimmy’s breathing rate doubled as panic set in. Blinded by the tape over his eyes and aching from his beating, the kid was terrified. That was the whole point.
Jonathan jerked his chin at Boxers, and the big man grabbed the cuffs of the kid’s pants and dragged him along the flatbed to the edge above the back bumper. When he let Jimmy’s legs drop, the kid naturally sat up, and Boxers dipped to get his shoulder low enough to lift him into a fireman’s carry. Another panic response made the kid squirm, but he caught himself right away and settled down.
“You’re doing good,” Jonathan encouraged. “The next part’s going to seem worse than it is, so don’t panic. Once my friend puts you down, just stand still. This will all make sense in a minute.”
In the dim light cast by a half dozen bare lightbulbs suspended from the twenty-foot ceiling, Boxers carried his charge to one of the twelve-by-twelve-inch hardwood columns that held the roof up. He rotated the kid off his shoulder into a standing position, and then held him tightly against the post by a massive hand pressed to the center of his chest.
“This is the scary part,” Jonathan soothed. “Just relax, and nothing will hurt.”
“Please don’t hurt me,” Jimmy begged. He couldn’t help himself.
Mr. Horne had driven an enormous nail into the center of the post, per
Jimmy was crying now, in agony from the blow to his groin, and clearly terrified. “I’ll do anything,” he whined. “Honest to God, I’m on your side, okay?”
“Don’t be so sure, kid,” Boxers called from the front.
“W-what are you going to do?”
Jonathan punched him in the balls again, harder this time. “What part of ‘shut up’ confuses you?” he growled.
The kid retched more, and when he vomited, Jonathan felt comfortable that he’d finally made his point. Jimmy wouldn’t risk another punch, so Jonathan wouldn’t have to fire another one. As sensitive as testicles are to pain, they’re actually fairly indestructible. Pound a guy in his nuts and you not only get his attention but you gain a huge psychological advantage. The younger the target, the more profound the advantage. It’s as if God had interrogators in mind when he designed the human body.
As for the vomiting, it was an unfortunate but predictable side effect—and the reason why Jonathan hadn’t taped his prisoner’s mouth. He didn’t need the kid choking to death before he gave them what they wanted.
They drove eight miles into the flat vastness of Virginia’s Northern Neck, past thousands of acres of farmland that was devoid of all but the occasional shade tree, the entire tableau dyed blue-black in the late-night darkness. Without the GPS preset on their navigation device, Jonathan doubted that Boxers would have seen the narrow driveway that marked their first turn.
They drove confidently in the darkened vehicle thanks to the night-vision goggles that Boxers and Jonathan had come to see as an extension to normal vision. As the van bounced along the rutted path, so did Jimmy on the metal floor. But beyond the occasional instinctive reaction to pain and fear, he kept his mouth shut.
Ahead, at the end of the long driveway, an open gate in a clapboard fence marked the way to a massive barn. The door had been propped open just as they’d arranged. The owner of this spread was a man named Horne, an old acquaintance of Jonathan’s, who knew better than to ask detailed questions but had made the appropriate assumptions about the nature of Jonathan’s business and didn’t mind cooperating one bit.
They drove into the barn and stopped. Jonathan waited quietly as he heard Boxers get out of the van, close the barn door, and then return to the van to open the double back doors.
“Listen to me, Jimmy,” Jonathan said. His tone was soft, almost soothing. “We’re going to move you now, and I want you to cooperate. Do you understand?”
Jimmy’s breathing rate doubled as panic set in. Blinded by the tape over his eyes and aching from his beating, the kid was terrified. That was the whole point.
Jonathan jerked his chin at Boxers, and the big man grabbed the cuffs of the kid’s pants and dragged him along the flatbed to the edge above the back bumper. When he let Jimmy’s legs drop, the kid naturally sat up, and Boxers dipped to get his shoulder low enough to lift him into a fireman’s carry. Another panic response made the kid squirm, but he caught himself right away and settled down.
“You’re doing good,” Jonathan encouraged. “The next part’s going to seem worse than it is, so don’t panic. Once my friend puts you down, just stand still. This will all make sense in a minute.”
In the dim light cast by a half dozen bare lightbulbs suspended from the twenty-foot ceiling, Boxers carried his charge to one of the twelve-by-twelve-inch hardwood columns that held the roof up. He rotated the kid off his shoulder into a standing position, and then held him tightly against the post by a massive hand pressed to the center of his chest.
“This is the scary part,” Jonathan soothed. “Just relax, and nothing will hurt.”
“Please don’t hurt me,” Jimmy begged. He couldn’t help himself.
Mr. Horne had driven an enormous nail into the center of the post, per
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