Endurance - Jack Kilborn [37]
Whenever he became too distracted, he tried to focus on Maria. The chance that she was alive meant he had to take this risk. Felix swore he’d do anything to get her back. Including going to jail. Including hurting someone who had something to do with her disappearance.
“We bled her. Same as the others. Nice and slow.”
Felix glanced at the Beretta on the dashboard. He would make John talk. He’d make that big son of a bitch talk until his lips fell off.
The motel parking lot was full, probably the only time a year that happened. The one-story building was laid out in an L-shape, its twelve rooms all side by side, guests’ parking spaces by their front doors. Earlier that day, Felix and Cameron had visited everyone staying there, showing Maria’s picture, asking questions. No one knew anything. But unlike most of the townies, the visitors were at least sympathetic.
The people who lived in the area were another story. Not that they were mean, or even particularly cold. A better word for them was distant. Over the past twelve months, Felix had talked to dozens of Monk Creek residents. He was usually met with a warm smile or a nod, but once he started asking questions their demeanor would change. Felix originally thought it was because small towns were private, wary of talking to strangers.
But now he suspected differently. Now he saw a big conspiracy of silence. There was something going on in Monk Creek no one wanted to discuss.
And John had something to do with it.
Felix drove past the parking lot, onto the unkempt grass alongside the building. He pulled the truck around the back, into a copse of trees behind his room. Once parked, Felix turned off the ignition, wincing as his ruined fingers removed the keys. Then he waited in the darkness, listening to the night, second-guessing himself for the last time.
I can still go to the cops, turn him in. John tried to kill me. I haven’t broken any laws.
Yet.
Felix considered starting the truck again. Taking John to the police was the only legal, and moral, course of action. The police had more resources, more manpower. Maybe trying to get John to talk would endanger Maria.
But what if the cops don’t believe me? What if John’s lawyer tells him not to say anything? What if John is well-known in the community? What if he’s friends with the police?
Felix couldn’t risk John not talking.
The only way to know the truth is to get it from John myself.
Felix grabbed the gun on the dash, opened the door, and climbed out of the truck. He walked around to the flatbed and rapped John on the heel with the butt of his Beretta. John squealed in fright.
“Out. Now.”
“Please don’ hurt me.”
Felix hit him again, harder. John moaned and began to inchworm backwards out of the truck on his knees and chest. Felix grabbed the large man’s cuffed wrists and helped him off the tailgate, onto his feet.
The night had gotten colder, the cool breeze pinching Felix’s wounds. John’s face was glossy with sweat, reflecting the light from Felix’s bathroom window. Felix removed the bungee cords wrapped around John’s legs and led him to the back porch; a poured slab of concrete with two weathered resin chairs facing the woods. He tried the patio door.
Locked.
Felix squinted through the split in the curtains, saw Cameron lying on the made bed, watching TV. He knocked lightly, and whispered. “Cam, it’s me. Open up.”
Cam’s head jerked at the sound, and a moment later he sprang off the mattress and opened the door. The younger man was dressed for bed, in boxer shorts and a tee shirt, but he still wore those black leather gloves. Felix had never seen Cam take the gloves off, even in the sweltering West Virginia summer when temperatures peaked at a hundred and three.
“You got one,” Cam said, his eyes getting big when he noticed John. Cam’s voice was high