But he would break. I could see it in his eyes. He was tired. Weary. And I was starting to make the other side look good.
I eyed Diego who was leaning against the dirt wall. Borrero and Morales were elsewhere, perhaps partaking in the women in the house. I had no interest in that anymore. All my rage and violence was getting a daily outlet now.
“Let’s see, what might give our young friend here some … motivation?” I said to Diego. “Do you have a lighter?”
He nodded and tossed one to me which I caught in one hand. Diego brought a small can of gasoline out from beside the toolbox and found the t-shirt Evaristo must have been wearing when he was brought in. He dumped the gas on the shirt, soaking it through.
“Why are you spending so much time with me?” Evaristo asked, his voice hoarse yet somehow strong.
I cocked my head at him. “Because you’re being a pain in the ass. Do you really think you’re going to win any favors with your peers because you held out long enough? Does it matter when you’re going to give in, in the end?”
He shrugged even though the movement made him wince. I walked over to him, flicking the lighter as I went.
“I don’t care what my peers think,” he said.
“Oh, is that so? I totally would have pegged you for a brownnoser from the way you’re holding out on me. I figured back at work you’re nothing better than a dog with its nose up someone else’s shithole, taking whatever comes your way.”
“Then you don’t know me at all.”
“I think I know enough of you,” I told him. “You want to be looked at as a hero. A self-righteous little prick and example for all the damned federales.”
“Maybe,” he said, eyeing me. “Maybe I don’t give a flying fuck about them. Maybe I’m trying to see what you are made of.”
I exchanged a look with Diego. He lifted up the soaked shirt, ready to follow through. We both knew it got dangerous when the captor got too personal. I couldn’t help but be fascinated though. I subtly shook my head at Diego to keep him on standby.
“You should know what I’m made of,” I told Evaristo as I crouched down beside him. I flicked the lighter on and pressed it into his thigh. “Sugar and spice and everything nice.” He began to sweat and his skin started to burn beneath the flame. “Or is it worms and snails and puppy dog tails? Yes, I suppose the last one suits me better.”
He clamped his eyes shut, face contorted in pain until I took the lighter away.
“So tell me, why do you want to know what I’m made of?” I asked him.
He didn’t open his eyes. He breathed in and out harshly before he said, “You said you’re going to let me go. I’m going to make sure that I know who I’m dealing with in the future.”
I laughed. “I gave you my word and this is the thanks I get. Well, go ahead and tell your boss all about me, I’m sure he’ll be impressed. More by me than the fact you got this information.”
“Maybe it wouldn’t be for my boss,” Evaristo said. “And just for my own knowledge.”
I really didn’t know what this kid was getting at now, but I had a feeling he was just trying to waste my time. I nodded at Diego who came over and manhandled Evaristo, undoing the ties around his chest and pushing him down so that his head was between his knees. Evaristo struggled and Diego slammed his elbow into his cheekbone with a loud crack.
I winced at the brutality, knowing that it could make talking more difficult for the agent now, but didn’t say anything. When Diego was done tying him in this new position, his bare back exposed, Evaristo spit out a tooth.
“You’re merciless,” he said, his words a thick jumble as blood pooled out of his mouth. “That’s good. It would be even better if you didn’t let me walk at the end.”
I couldn’t help but chew my lip for a second as I raised my brows at Diego. Was it our luck that we had kidnapped some sort of masochist? God, wouldn’t that be just a fuck in the ass.
Diego wasted no time. He threw the wet shirt across Evaristo’s back and pressed it into his skin. I walked up and flicked on the lighter, holding it inches away.
“Tell us how to get Angel Hernandez and we won’t have to do this.”
“You will have to do this,” he answered.
And so I did. I held the lighter to the shirt until it caught fire, then stepped back and watched as the flames spread along his back. Evaristo screamed and screamed until the fire naturally went out.
“That wasn’t even the bad part,” I told him as he gasped for breath, sweat dripping off his face and mixing with the blood on the ground. “Do you want to talk before that?”
He groaned, panting, but managed to say, “You think I don’t know this game? You’ll have to do it anyway.”
He was right about that. Only a fool would think it was over at this point.
“Fair enough,” I said. I grabbed the edge of the charred t-shirt that was now seared to his skin and ripped it right off. It took a layer of burned flesh with it.
Evaristo’s screams were deafening and seemed to go on forever. I didn’t feel anything but hope. Hope that when he calmed down, maybe he would finally talk. This was starting to become something of a chore, and if he was a masochist, that was going to take most of the fun out of it.
But every masochist has a breaking point. I wondered how much of a sadist I’d have to be to find it.
I didn’t want to do the burn method again. The chance that he could go into shock was too high, and generally most people died after the third try. By then the internal organs are fried.