Brothers and Bones (41 page)

I tried to suck in a deep breath. Only then did I realize that my mouth was taped shut. I started to feel sorry for Randy Deacon, whom we had kept taped for a while, and for Rantham and Harwick, whom Bonz had taped up not long ago. Then I decided to save my pity for myself. I was in big trouble. At that moment, Bonz was walking out of the bathroom, toward me, and as he came he produced his nifty Swiss Army pocketknife we’d bought and jacked open the longest blade.

“You shouldn’t have hit me, Charlie.”

During my brief nap in the chair, Bonz hadn’t gotten any less frightening-looking. I looked into his eyes, the eyes of the man who killed my brother, and who might kill me eventually, and said, very coolly, in my opinion, “Go to hell.”

The problem was, my mouth was taped, so my words came out as nothing but a pathetic mumble.

Bonz walked around behind me and lifted the chair back onto its legs. He dragged it across the floor until it was a couple of feet from the couch. He walked around and sat down right in front of me, next to Rantham, who opened his eyes and watched us with interest.

Flecks of dried blood clung to one of Bonz’s nostrils. A few red marks dotted his cheeks above his beard. They might become bruises tomorrow. I hadn’t broken all the bones in his face, like I’d wanted. I hadn’t broken his nose. I hadn’t even broken skin. Nonetheless, I smiled inside with small satisfaction. I looked at Bonz’s eyes, then at the gleaming blade of the pocketknife in his hand, and my inside smile died.

“You really shouldn’t have hit me, Charlie.”

Given the way things had turned out, I had to agree with him. But I couldn’t tell him so, as I still had tape across my mouth.

“I’m gonna tear that tape off,” he said, “and I hope it hurts like hell. But you’re not gonna scream for help. You’re too smart to do that. You know it would be a waste of time, that I’d act real quickly to strangle the scream—” by which he meant he’d strangle me “—and it would do nothing but piss me off, bad. And I think you know me well enough by now to know what a bad fucking idea that would be, right?”

I looked at the knife again and imagined a few nasty things he could do to some sensitive parts of my body with even that relatively small blade. I didn’t plan to scream for help, but I wasn’t making any promises. I did nod, though, so he’d remove the tape.

“Good. We’re back on the same page then. At least on that point.” He took hold of one end of the tape. “Ready?”

Without waiting for a nod, or even a grunt, he yanked the tape from my face. It tore, it stung, it burned. But it was good to be able to breathe through my mouth again.

“Better?” he asked.

“Fuck you, asshole.”

He leaned forward and slapped the tape back over my mouth. He pressed hard on it so the adhesive would stick again.

“Wanna try again?”

I nodded.

He ripped the tape off again. It didn’t hurt nearly as much that time, but it still stung on the skin that had grown raw under the tape for however long I was unconscious.

“Better?” he asked.

I nodded. He looked down at the knife in his hand. He fiddled with it, turning it over, catching the light on the sharp edge, tapping the blade against the palm of his other hand.

“So,” Bonz said, “should we get down to business?”

“Fine with me,” I said, and bravely, I thought—especially considering how goddamned scared I was. I figured Bonz, having endured weeks of brutal torture, must have learned a few tricks he was more than willing to share with me.

“Okay,” he said. “Why’d you hit me?”

“Because, you lying sack of shit, you killed Jake.”

I waited for Bonz to jab me someplace tender with the knife blade. Instead, he scratched his beard. I don’t think he’d expected my response.

“Not going to deny it?” I asked.

“No, it’s true. I killed your brother. How’d you find out?”

“Saw you do it. On video.”

He frowned. “Never saw a camera in that room. Must have been hidden in the wall. How’d you see the video?”

“E-mail.”

“E-mail?” He frowned, thinking for a moment, then nodded to himself, as if he had only a vague idea what e-mail was. “Tricky sons of bitches,” he said. “A camera. I wondered how they knew I’d killed Jake, why they thought he might have talked to me before he died. They probably hoped you’d do exactly what you did. Well, not exactly. Probably hoped you’d kill me.”

“I meant to,” I said. “But I flipped out and lost control.”

“You meant to kill me?”

“That’s right. You murdered Jake, didn’t you? Seems only fair that I kill you.”

“I didn’t murder Jake.”

I laughed. I meant it to be derisive and sarcastic. I fear it was, instead, a little hysterical. “I saw the video. I heard you admit it. Besides, you’ve got me taped to a chair. What’s the point in lying about it now?”

“I killed Jake. I admit it. But I didn’t murder him.”

I opened my mouth to ask what the difference was, then realized there was indeed a difference. I said nothing.

“Wanna know why I killed him?” Bonz asked.

Still, I said nothing.

Bonz said, “They tortured the shit out of him that day, worse than other days. Oh, man, the screams. I’ve heard those screams in my sleep for years.” He shook his head. I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to hear any more. “He was on his last legs that morning. I knew it. He knew it. Grossi and Siracuse probably knew it. And that day, well, they just went too far.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” I said.

“I’ve seen people hurt, Charlie. I have a good idea when an injury isn’t too big a deal, and I know when it’s deadly serious. They busted Jake up, damaged his insides bad. They cracked his skull. His brain was swelling.”

“Shut up, okay, Bonz?” A hot tear was now making its way down my cheek.

“Jake was dying. But see, I didn’t know that, at least not yet. Remember how I said I was tortured, too, and I escaped? Well, it wasn’t exactly like I told you. They didn’t start torturing me until
after
I put Jake out of his misery. I went down there that day to get him out of there. I’d seen enough. I still don’t know why I risked everything for him, but I did. I really was getting tired of working for that scumbag Siracuse anyway, doing his dirty work, the mob’s dirty work, and I figured, if I was ever gonna leave, I might as well do it then, take Jake with me, do some good on my way out. But I came to my decision too late. When I got to him in the interrogation room, he was still alive. But he was dying, and he was dying slowly and painfully.”

“Goddamn it, Bonz,” I snapped, “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Tough shit, Charlie. You wanted it for thirteen years, so here it is.” He stood up when he said this and walked around behind me, knife in hand. I felt a tugging at my wrists, then the tape fell away. He cut the tape around my torso. My hands were free. I used them to wipe my eyes. “I took out the guy guarding the interrogation room and crashed in, hoping Grossi was there, intending to kill the motherfucker. But he wasn’t there. I think he’d finished for the day. Anyway, I knew right away that my plan to try to get Jake out of there, get him some medical attention, was over. I knew he was finished. So did he.”

I listened, horrified yet rapt. And Bonz continued his uncharacteristically detailed account of events.

“He begged me to put him out of his misery. He used what little strength he had left to convince me to end it for him, then gave me his message for you.” Bonz knelt in front of me and cut the tape away from my ankles.

He sat on the couch, staring down at the blade in his hands.

“So I did. I killed him. Then I got the fuck outta there.”

He closed the knife and slid it into his pocket.

“So, now you know the truth,” he said. “I killed your brother. I don’t know what you’re feeling. You may want to kill me still. You may want to punch me again. You can take your best shot. Can’t say I’m going to take it sitting down, though.”

I sighed deeply. “I don’t want to kill you. I don’t want to hit you.”

He nodded. “Well, then, I imagine you’ve got a lot to say to me, at least.”

I shook my head. “No,” I said, “not a lot, really. Just…thank you.”

FORTY-FIVE

I still wasn’t sure what Bonz had hit me with—fist? knee?—but he’d definitely clocked me good, and I had both a grape-sized lump and a watermelon-sized headache to prove it. The ice pack Bonz made for me with a bathroom hand towel and some ice from Rantham’s freezer seemed to be helping. I had bloodied Bonz’s nose and left red marks on his face, but seeing as he’d already traded terrible blows with Grossi, who was a lot bigger and stronger than I, and had a bullet sear a four-inch-long trench across his arm, I seriously doubted my little punches would cause him to resort to an ice pack for comfort. I was right.

After a few minutes with the ice pack, the throbbing in my brain diminished to a nagging little buzz, like a fly orbiting my head. I could live with that. But could I think clearly with it? I hoped so. I had to figure out the prayer clue Jake left with his dying words and then—

“Holy shit,” I said.

Bonz was at the sink in the bathroom but the door was open, so he heard me. “What?”

“Bonz, that thing Jake said to you about me finding the answers in prayer?”

“Yeah?”

“You told me he said that right near the end, right before he died, right? Were those his
very
last words?”

“Yeah, they were. Why?”

I rose to my feet, ignored the fly buzzing around my head, and hurried across the room. “Follow me,” I said over my shoulder.

In Rantham’s computer area, I dropped into the chair and moved the mouse, which killed a screen saver of swimsuit models and brought back the video of Jake’s death at Bonz’s hands, which was still on the screen. Before I hit the play button, I turned to Bonz.

“Seeing this wasn’t pleasant for me, as you can imagine. I doubt it will be any fun for you. I’m going to fast forward to the part I want you to see.”

I started the video and immediately hit the fast-forward button. I had to shift back to play mode a couple of times before zeroing in on the right place in the video. I pushed the pause button.

I turned to Bonz. “Watch Jake’s mouth closely. He says something to you, just before you…you know.”

I hit the play button again and the video resumed. Jake, in grainy black and white, mumbled something. I paused the video just as the black-and-white Bonz reached toward Jake. I turned to Bonz again.

“Well?”

He shook his head. He looked a little shaken. I didn’t plan to play the rest of the video for him.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Looks like he said just what I said he did. Play it again.”

I rewound to the proper place, then hit play. As Jake mumbled silently on-screen, Bonz, beside me, mumbled along under his breath, “Find Charlie and tell him if he wants the answers, to turn to prayer.”

“No!” I said. “There it was!” I was excited now. “He said something else, something more. On screen, it took Jake longer to say than it took you. There were too many syllables. Look closer, more carefully.”

I rewound and played the segment again. “You’re right,” Bonz said. “Move.” I rose out of the chair and Bonz took my place. He leaned close to the screen. “Can you slow it down?”

“No. Try again.”

He watched it again, his eyes squinting intently at the black-and-white lips of my brother, lips that were black and blue when Bonz last saw them. “I might have it. One more time.”

I rewound and hit play again. This time, Bonz spoke quietly along with the image. “Find Charlie and tell him if he wants the answers, to take the refuge offered by prayer.”

“Take refuge? Are you sure?”

“I’m positive. And not just from watching his lips, but I remember that now. ‘Take the refuge.’ I remember.”

“Let’s watch it one more time.”

We did. Bonz and I both said the words this time, along with the silently speaking Jake.

“You’re right. He said ‘take the refuge,’ but there’s something else. You said, ‘take the refuge offered by prayer,’ but I think there might have been more there. Watch his lips. Does he say something more than that?”

I played just the final few soundless words.

I said, “You see that? It looked like he might have said more there. Did he say, ‘take the refuge offered by
the Lord’s
Prayer’? Could that be it?”

Bonz was shaking his head, though not in denial but, rather, uncertainty. “I don’t know. He might have said that. I’m just not sure.”

He reached for the mouse, hit the rewind button, then hit play. We watched it a final time.

“Yes!” I said. “He said ‘the Lord’s Prayer.’ I’m sure of it!”

Bonz looked up at me. “I think you’re right. I think that’s exactly what he said. ‘Find Charlie and tell him if he wants to find the answers—”

I finished for him, “—to take the refuge offered by the Lord’s Prayer.” I smiled at Bonz and he looked like he might have smiled back. It was always hard to tell with him.

“Of course, we still don’t know what that means,” I said, “but it’s something anyway. It’s more of a clue. Give me some time and I’ll work it out, I think.”

Despite the circumstances, I found myself smiling, just a little. We seemed to be getting closer. Bonz wasn’t smiling, though. His eyes were on the computer screen again. He hadn’t hit the stop button after Jake’s final words. He watched himself reach out and twist Jake’s head, snapping his neck. I grabbed for the mouse but his hand closed over my wrist before I reached it. We watched Jake’s head fall to his chest. The image froze on Bonz’s face, just after he killed my brother. Bonz looked up at me.

“Figure it out, Charlie,” he said. “Figure out what it means and let’s get these guys.”

“I’m trying. I just need time to think.”

But, as we found out seconds later, our time was nearly up.

FORTY-SIX

The cell phone vibrated in my pocket again. With Bonz watching, I took it out, flipped it open, and checked the caller ID this time. Lippincott again.