A Lesser Evil - Lesley Pearse [176]
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Trueman said, but he looked scared now, taking a step back behind his desk.
‘Sit down, you piece of shit,’ Dan bellowed at him, taking a step closer.
Trueman’s eyes were swivelling around the office as if looking for a weapon, but he did what Dan had ordered and spread his big hands out on the desk. ‘You’ve got the wrong man, son,’ he said. ‘I run clubs, I’m a businessman.’
‘Yeah, what business did you have in the Muckles’ filthy den then?’ Dan asked. ‘You got your men to take my wife because you guessed she’d seen you going in there. A little girl was raped and killed there, what kind of business is that? Well, I got here before the police because I want my revenge. So tell me where she is, or as God is my judge I’ll start shooting, first your hands, then your legs, and it will be some time before I finish you off altogether.’
Out of the corner of his eye Dan saw a thick walking stick propped up at the front of the desk and he guessed that was what Trueman was looking for. It was a flashy job, all varnished knobbly bits with silver on the handle. He leaped forward, grabbed it with his left hand and whackedit down with force on Trueman’s hands.
The man yelped involuntarily.
‘Tell me,’ Dan insisted, lifting the stick again.
‘You’ve got it all wrong,’ Trueman said, but the power had gone out of his voice. ‘I haven’t taken her.’
Dan was past caring what he had to do to get it out of the man, so he hit him again, this time hard on the head.
Even if his left arm wasn’t as strong as his right, by rights the blow should have smashed Trueman’s skull. He reeled back in his chair, clutching at his head now, but although blood was seeping through his fingers, he wasn’t knocked out.
Guns weren’t Dan’s thing. He wanted to feel the man’s flesh beneath his fists. He put the safety catch on and slipped the gun back into his pocket, then leaped on Trueman, pulling him up by the shoulders and hammering his fist into his face. His nose almost exploded, and before he recovered from that one, Dan punched him in the mouth. He picked him up again, twirled him round and threw him over the desk, knocking off the lamp, papers and a box of cigars.
Dan had been a fierce brawler in his teens, he’d boxed too, and the years of bricklaying had given him iron muscles and stamina. Trueman was some four or even five stone heavier than himself, and although the room was too cramped for fighting, in his anger he tossed the older man around the office like a rag doll.
Trueman’s false teeth shot out on to the floor and his whole face was a bloody pulp. He tried desperately to reach the door, but with one more power-packed punch Dan knocked him down again to the floor. He landed on his side.
Dan was on to him instantly, rolling him over on to his face and sitting astride him. He pulled the rope from around his waist, and twisting Trueman’s arms up behind his back, he secured his wrists while the man was still reeling from the last blow.
He hit him several more times before he managed to get the man’s knees bent back so he could secure his ankles along with his wrists. The finished effect was like a trussed chicken; the more he tried to move, the more it would hurt.
Trueman cried out with the pain, but Dan lit a cigarette and knelt on the floor beside him, looking right into his eyes.
‘Tell me where she is,’ he said, and held the cigarette to the man’s temple. When he didn’t reply Dan burned him and Trueman yelled out again. ‘I’m not fucking about,’ Dan warned him. ‘You give me the address and I’ll phone my mate to go and get her. Once I know she and the other woman are safe I’ll let you go. Or at least let the Plod have you. But meanwhile I can just sit here and burn and burn you until your whole body’s covered in them. And I’ll enjoy it.’
As he put the cigarette close to the man’s