“You alright?” Ike asked.
“Yeah, just out of fucking shape. Why don’t you ask him?” Buddy Lee said. He walked over to a pallet of mulch and sat down on top of it. Ike went to his cubicle office and got his roller chair. He placed it right in front of the kid. Then he went to the tool rack. He came back with a tamper. It was a tool they used to even out the dirt when they planted a large tree or ran some sprinkler lines. A four-foot-long wooden handle with a flat black iron square at one end, it was a fairly simple piece of equipment. He placed the tamper between him and the kid before taking a seat in the roller chair.
The kid was in the wooden office chair. Ike had zip-tied his wrist to the arms of the chair. Once Buddy Lee had cleaned himself up, they had grabbed an area rug from Isiah’s office and rolled the kid up inside it. The decision to take the kid wasn’t something they had discussed. There was no need. It was obvious the kid and the big guy were somehow involved in what had happened to the boys.
The kid was about a hundred pounds lighter than his partner. In this case his partner had drawn the short straw, genetically speaking. So, they left the big guy sprawled across the hallway floor and carried the skinny kid out of the town house like a pair of late-night movers. They passed a few people as they walked to the truck. Most of them didn’t look up from their cell phones long enough to notice two men carrying a vaguely human shaped rug down the sidewalk. If any of Isiah and Derek’s neighbors had heard the ruckus, they didn’t feel it was necessary to get involved. Apparently the neighborhood wasn’t that gentrified yet.
Ike put his finger under the kid’s chin. He raised his head until they were eye to eye.
“What’s your name? You ain’t got a license on you. That was smart,” Ike said. Buddy Lee was shocked at how gentle his voice sounded. It was like he was about to tell the boy a bedtime story.
“Fuck you,” Andy mumbled. Ike pulled his finger away. The boy’s head dropped into his chest. Blood dripped from his mouth and his nose. The wound on his cheek was weeping like a broken-hearted bride. Ike place his hands on the end of the tamper’s handle, then placed his chin on top of his hands.
“You smart. And you got heart, I’ll give you that. But you got to know this ain’t gonna end good for you, right? I mean, you break into the house that belonged to our sons. You try to kill my man over there. You know what that tells me? Either you killed our sons or you know who did,” Ike said. Andy didn’t strain against the zip ties. He used every ounce of his waning strength to raise his head.
“Who sent you to that house?” Ike asked.
Andy spit into Ike’s face. His head dropped back down to his chest. The spittle landed on Ike’s chin. He stood. He wiped his chin, then wiped his hand on his pants.
“Help me take off his boots,” Ike said. Buddy Lee grabbed the kid’s left foot and Ike grabbed the right. They pulled off his boots and tossed them next to the pellet lime. Ike grabbed the tamper. He moved behind Andy. He raised the tamper until the flat square head was parallel with his belt buckle. He brought it down with all his strength. The metal head striking the concrete floor created a cacophony inside the cavernous warehouse. Ike took a position near Andy’s left arm. He slammed the tamper down again. Both Andy and Buddy Lee flinched. Ike moved around Andy like the hands of a clock, each time slamming the tamper down and sending a harsh report through the building.
“Who sent you, boy?” Ike said finally.
Andy flexed his wrists. The zip tie on his left hand was immovable. The one on his right, however, had the tiniest bit of play. The Black guy had looped it through a spindle, then around the armrest, then around his wrist. The spindle was loose. If he put his back into, he could probably break it. Then he could use the chair as a weapon and make a run for it. None of that would happen if this motherfucker smashed his toes.
“A guy sent us. He was looking for info on a girl,” Andy said. Ike stopped moving.
“What guy?” Buddy Lee asked.
“I don’t know. I mean I don’t know his name. He just told us he was looking for a girl that was supposed to be talking to a reporter. He wanted info on where she might be,” Andy said.
He took a deep breath, sending an ache through his chest that made him wince. Ike bent forward. His face was barely an inch from Andy’s.
“You lying to me?” Ike asked.
“No. I swear.”
“What was the girl’s name?” Ike asked.
Andy sighed.
“Tangerine.”