Page 77 of Mouse Trapped

“Hey,” Blade’s voice is full of wonder. “You gonna scalp him, Chief? Thought you only did that when they’re dead.”

“That’s more common,” I say coldly, my voice devoid of any emotion. “Yet quite effective alive, don’t you think?”

Castro’s eyes are flickering wildly. Rolling up as though to look at my knife, then into my face to see whether I’m serious.

While a lot of North American tribes used to practice the art on their enemies, it wasn’t particularly followed by either Apache or Navajo. In fact, the South Americans would be more familiar with the practice. Mexicans were paid for each scalp of an Apache they collected. But a history lesson isn’t what I’m about here.

Without speaking, I press the tip of the blade in just above Castro’s hairline, and trace it lightly in a semi-circle around where I would make my first cut, should I want to do so.

Castro squeals like a stuck pig.Fuck.If that’s his reaction and I haven’t done anything, what’s he going to do if I really start to sever his scalp?

“Heads bleed really badly, Chief.”

“You’ve got the tarp down,” I reply to Blade. My eyes never moving from my victim. “Now, tell me what you wanted with my boy.”

“Your boy?”

The sharp tip of the flint presses in. “Andrew De Souza. And don’t think you can kid me into believing you weren’t there for him. Won’t work. Lie and I’ll start cutting.”

Castro shuts his mouth, and closes his eyes, seeming to wait for me to begin.

“May I?” Blade steps up alongside, pulling out one of his knives, and waving it at Rodriguez. “You could teach me a thing or two, Chief. Never scalped a man before. This blade do the job?”

I feel my lips twitch, momentarily it’s hard to maintain my warrior expression as I look at his knife and give what I hope is a serious and considered nod. Fuck knows whether it would work. The enforcer would know better than me. I notice the room has gone silent, brothers pushing closer to watch.As if I really know what I’m doing.All my knowledge comes from playing with the boys on the Rez, kids messing about. But I think there’s some truth in the playacting we’d done.

“You gonna tell me who paid you? Who you were working for?”

“Tell him,” Rodriguez cries out. Seems he’s more afraid of Blade than Castro is of me. Well, I don’t blame him. When Blade wears his enforcer’s face, there’s not an ounce of compassion in him.

Castro tries to pull back, but I’ve got a firm grip on his hair. “Don’t say anything,” he calls out. “Remember what will happen to us.”

“Chief?” I suppress a smile, realising Drummer’s tagged the handle too, and hope it’s only temporary. “They’re both illegal. We’ve taken their documents. Reckon they’ll be sneaking back over the border.”

“Going back to your master? Like whipped dogs?” I snarl at Castro. While he doesn’t answer, the spark in his eye tells me I’m right.

“You work forEl Procurador,” Blade tells them. Then gives a sideways glance to me. “We know that answer, Chief. Now, how do I do this?” The enforcer might be using a conversational tone, but when Rodriguez squeaks I realise Blade has pressed the tip of his knife into his skin.

I take over again. “I want to know whereEl Procuradorholes up. Tell me and maybe you’ll keep your scalps.”

Castro spits in my face. I wipe it away with the hand holding the knife. Yellow paint comes off with it. As I stare at the colour on my hand, seeing it gives me strength.

My captive answers, “He’ll do worse than that.”

“Worse?” Blade asks casually. “Does anyone survive a scalping, Chief?”

“Not very often. It’s rare.”

As an acrid smell fills the air, Blade looks down. “Fuckin’ pissed himself.” He glares at Rodriguez as though offended. Then again to me, “You’ll have to talk me through this.”

There’s no way I can suppress my quick grin in his direction, but it’s off my face when I tighten my grip on Castro’s hair, and speak directly to him. “Let’s get this done. Any time you want me to stop, Castro. Just give me the answers I want.” I nod at Blade, seeing I’ve got his attention. “Press in until you’re slicing through skin, then draw your blade in a semi-circular cut, holding the knife slightly sideways so you’re separating the scalp from the skull.”

“Castro,” Rodriguez whines. He kicks out at Blade with his legs, spurring my victim to start fighting too. Brothers step up and quickly have them contained and held steady.

Both our knives are bloody as we cut deep into and under the skin. Rodriguez is crying, then he’s screaming.

“What next?” Blade has to raise his voice so I can hear him over the din.

“Now do the same to the other side.” I use the flint knife, wondering whether it’s ever been used for a job such as this before.