I walk over and pick up his gun, tucking it into my vest. As I walk to the window, I step on his wounded shoulder, which makes him sob out in pain. Reaching out, I tug at the rope. There’s no return resistance which means it’s passively secured. The rope comes tumbling down with a few flicks of my wrist, and I haul it inside. No sense in advertising a break-in.

“Senhor Gomes really likes this girl, huh?” I say, winding the rope into a loop and then tucking it into a bag. “Regan,” I call, “need an ID, please.” Maybe she’ll recognize him. I sure as hell don’t.

Regan comes tiptoeing out.

“Just as far as the doorway.” This asshole isn’t in any shape to attack a kitten, but I want to be extra sure that Regan’s out of harm’s way. Kneeling behind the intruder, I lift up his head by the hair and jerk him into a sitting position. “You know this guy?”

A cry of anger flies out of her and she rushes toward the both of us. His hands are outstretched as if to repel her attack, but rage powers her straight through and she kicks him in the gut, causing him to crumple over. Another kick hits his knee, and he starts babbling in Portuguese for me to make the devil woman stop. I guess she does know this guy.

Reluctantly I put a stop to the action, although it was kind of amusing in a dark way.

“Okay, Regan, I need to ask this asshole some questions, so you need to dial it back.”

She restrains herself, huffing and puffing. There’s blood on her leg, probably from her inadvertent kick to the gun wound on the intruder’s knee.

“Better go wash that off. No telling what he’s got in his body.”

She looks down at her body and then shudders. With a short nod, she spins and heads into the bathroom. When I hear the water running, I pull the guy into the remaining chair, forcing his legs into a bent position, and zip tie his hands to each side.

“Ai meu Deus do Céu!,” he pleads. I can’t work up any sympathy for this rapist.

“Nope. No god is helping you today.” I tap his knee again, and he starts blubbering. While he cries, I examine his gun.

“What is it?” Regan is back. In the moonlight, her legs are exposed and shiny from the water, and if I’m staring at them no doubt our intruder is.

“It’s an African Vektor SP-1. A nice piece not usually carried by someone from the slums. Most of those guys either have their AR47s or armas hechizas, makeshift weapons with pipe and a firing pin.” I heft the gun. “This one, though, shows he’s part of a well-funded, well-armed gang.” I turn to her. “Go put some pants on.”

She flushes but hurries over to the bag and pulls out a pair of linen pants. I realize as she’s tugging them on, right in front of both of us, that she’s scared shitless. She’s not letting me out of her sight. Running to the bathroom was an extreme act of bravery and trust on her part. She needs a reward and a security blanket.

I flip the Vektor around and offer her the grip. “Here, have a souvenir of your time in Rio. It’s a .9mm with a short recoil. Not a bad gun for you. Chambers thirteen, but I think he’s wasted about seven of those.”

Turning back to our captive, I spin the chair around. “Here’s how it’s going to go. You’re going to tell us what your objective was, and then I’m going to make all the pain go away. Okay?”

He nods.

“I know that Gomes wants my girl back, but that’s not happening, so start talking. Oh, and in English for the lady, por favor.”

“Gomes sends me to retrieve girl. Kill you.”

“Then what?”

He shrugs a little and then winces when it pains his shoulder. “Nothing.”

“You on staff or for hire?”

“For hire,” he says, and a glint appears in his eyes. Maybe he thinks he’s going to be able to bargain his way out of here.

“Got any questions for him, Regan?”

“Does he like eating his own dick? Because that’s what should happen to him.”

“Do you?” I ask him.

“She’s a whore. I can get you dozens more, better than her,” the man says to me in Portuguese.

“He’s trying to sell me on the idea that there are other girls I can get if I give you up,” I translate for Regan. Then I say, “In English, dickwad.” I kick him in the shin, and he cries out and shakes the chair trying to escape the pain. “Want to kick him?” I ask Regan.

“Yes,” she says emphatically. She wants to do more than kick him.

“Hold on.” I pull out the chair that I’d used to secure the front door and break off the leg. “Use this. Don’t want you to have to shower again.”

She holds the chair leg like a bat and hits him, not across the knee like I thought she would, but across the face. Once, twice. I catch her on the next downswing and she fights me for a minute, panting like a wild dog until, I guess, reason finally dawns on her. “Yeah, we want to keep him conscious enough to answer a few more questions,” I say.

Turning back to our intruder, I see he’s nearly passed out. “Sugar, run to the kitchen and get me a pan full of water and toss it in his face. He needs to wake up.” I figure these tasks will help her stay focused. When she returns from the kitchen, her breathing is under control and she doesn’t even hit him with the pan. He sputters awake.

“She doesn’t like you much, and I don’t want anyone else but her. I mean, come on, where am I gonna find someone who swings a chair leg like Babe Ruth?”

He doesn’t get the reference or he’s out of it because he stares at me blankly. “The fact that you’re a hired guy kind of bothers me because Gomes isn’t the type to hire out. He’s stingy. And even if he wasn’t, he doesn’t have the kind of coin to maintain a little army full of mercenaries like you. Who hired you?”

The intruder doesn’t respond, simply looks away. He’s obviously had some training, and it’s kicking in now because he decides that’s all the information I’m getting.

“Should I hit him again?” Regan asks eagerly.

“Nah. I think he’s too scared of your Mr. Freeze to give any more information, and we gotta get going.”

She looks disappointed.

“You got anything in the bedroom? Why don’t you do a sweep and make sure we’re not leaving anything behind?”

She sets down the pan and the wooden stick with some reluctance but heads into the bedroom.

Once I see she’s out of eyesight, I turn and shoot the motherfucker in the head. Twice. The sound of the gunshots brings Regan racing into the living room. “What did you do?”

“Put him out of his misery.”

The dismay showing on her face makes my insides shrivel a bit. Of course having sex with her is only fantasyland for me because there’s no way this diamond wants my black hands on her. I strip the guy down and take everything out of his pockets, including a bag full of bullets, a knife strapped to his leg, and a thick white vellum card with my address on it. I run my hands along the hems of his pants and shirt, searching for any hidden pockets or secrets but find none. Dropping the clothes in the tub, I soak the entire pile with alcohol and then light it up.

“Why are you burning his clothes? Haven’t you left clues all over this place? You aren’t even wearing gloves.” She raises her hands. “Neither am I. Oh my god, am I going to jail for this?”

“No, you aren’t because no one knows you’re here, sweetheart. And I don’t care if anyone knows I’m here. I just want our late night friend to be a little harder to identify.”

In the living room, I toss a sheet over the dead man, as if the white cloth can somehow hide my sins. But all the bad deeds I’ve done have marked me with permanent ink. My soul is tattooed over with the faces of everyone I’ve killed. I like to tell myself that they’re all righteous kills. But the truth is that from the first life you take, you become a different person. And guys like me don’t deserve a woman like Regan, no matter how much I might want her. On that depressing thought, I grab both our bags. “Let’s go. We need to find a new base, and then we’ve got an appointment in Morro Dos Macacos.”

Eleven

Regan

“THE WAY I SEE IT, BABY DOLL, we have three big issues,” Daniel tells me as he hands a wad of cash to the taxi driver that drops us in the middle of a disgusting slum and speeds away.

I’m sure the nickname is to distract me from the fact that we’ve been dumped in the middle of hell. I still fall for the bait. “Baby doll? Are you for real?”

“Oh, I’m real.” He gives me a roguish grin and winks at me. “One hundred percent prime specimen.”

I roll my eyes and shoulder my backpack. Daniel’s been needling me ever since we left the apartment. I know he’s doing it on purpose. It’s obvious. Normally he’s understanding and gives me space, but right now he nudges me with his elbow and calls me names like “sugar pie” and “baby doll.” I guess he figures if I’m riled up and want to choke him, I won’t flip out and go into another crying jag.

He’s right, too. I have to admit that I’m still freaked out. I’m trying to hold it together, but tonight Daniel executed a man in the middle of his living room. I turned my back for two minutes, and boom! Boom! The man was shot twice in the head. Daniel didn’t even blink.

I hated the man, but I’m still shocked to my core. This is the third man that has died in the last two days, each effortlessly dispatched by Daniel, who makes it look as if he hasn’t broken a sweat. He’s a dangerous man behind all of his laughing grins and teasing names.

Weirdly enough, though, I trust him. If someone had to die, I believe it. I don’t think Daniel would kill anyone frivolously. He’s had lots of opportunities, especially when he saved me, but he tried talking his way in first. The gun is the last course of action.