Page 4 of Little Crazy

Cory met Clint and Cochise when they entered the mansion. “Is it done?” Clint asked.

“Yeah.” Cory rubbed his mouth and averted his eyes.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“No,” Cory murmured. “Everything went as planned.”

“The brothers?”

“They’re in the guest room… out cold.”

Clint nodded. “Good.”

“Uncle Clint…” Cory started, then faltered.

“What is it?”

Sighing, Cory shrugged and waved his hand. “Nothing.”

“If it’s something,” Clint said, “then tell me.”

Cory opened his mouth to speak when his dad and Angelo walked up. Cory clammed up and disappeared into the lounge.

“What’s with him?” Cochise asked.

Anthony shook his head. “I don’t know. He’s been acting strange since we moved the brothers to the guest room.”

Clint glanced at the Egyptian. Something feels off. That’s what Cochise said. Was Cory feeling it, too? Clint released a tense breath. “I need to call Oliver and tell him we have the brothers in custody.” Clint walked away, took out his phone, and made the call, explaining the situation to Oliver.

“Cristof wants to see it himself,” Oliver said.

“See what?”

“That the men are… detained.”

“You have my word,” Clint said. “They’re not going anywhere.”

“I’m not questioning you. And neither is Cristof. But sometimes, an abuse victim literally needs to see for themselves that the threat is removed, and they are safe.”

Clint released a stiff breath. “I’m not okay with this.”

“I realize that. But he’s very upset. I think he needs this.”

Rubbing his eyes, Clint nodded. “He can come here and see them. But I won’t allow him to stay and watch what comes after. That’s not an option.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t expect it to be. I’ll drive the boy over to the mansion myself. We’ll be there soon.”

“All right,” Clint muttered and ended the call.

“What is it?” Cochise asked.

Clint shook his head. “The kid wants to come here and see for himself that we have the brothers.”

The Egyptian looked doubtful. “And you said yes?”

“Oliver said he was very upset. He can take a look, then leave. I made it clear he can’t be there for the punishment.”

Cochise nodded.

“While we’re waiting,” Clint said. “Let’s go see if the brothers are awake.”

The brothers hung limply in chains that reached down from the low ceiling of the concrete room; arms stretched above their heads. The two gangsters threw buckets of ice water in their faces, abruptly waking them.

“Huh!” Carlo Caruso gasped, shaking his head and flinging droplets of water in all directions. “What the—” He faltered, gulping air and blinking the icy water from his eyes, then zeroed in on the gangsters as he yanked against the chains. “What the fuck is going on? Who the fuck are…” He went silent as he blinked again and got a good look at his captors. “I know you…”

“That’s good,” Clint drawled. “It would be a bitch to die by a stranger’s hand, now wouldn’t it?”

“Die…?” Ciro sniffed and shook his head to clear the water trickling down his face. “Why the fuck you want to kill us? What’d we ever do to you? We know not to fuck with you.”

Clint stepped closer. “You ever hear the saying, when you do it unto one of the least of these, you do it unto me?”

“What… what the fuck you talking about?”

“It’s from the bible,” Clint informed. “Jesus’ words. In short, it meant that whatever they did to others—especially children— they were doing to Christ himself. When they committed evil deeds against others… they committed evil deeds against Jesus.”

Carlo huffed. “What’d you bring us here for a fucking Sunday School lesson?”

Cochise casually withdrew his large blade and touched it to the older brother’s chin. “Be careful… or you might lose that tongue.” His gray eyes darkened. “It wouldn’t be the first tongue I cut out.”

Ciro swallowed hard. “I-I don’t get it. What does any of this have to do with us?”

“I’m no messiah,” Clint spoke low, “but when someone abuses a kid… I tend to take it personally.”

“Abuses a…” Carlo started, then faltered when Cochise narrowed his eyes and dug the tip of the blade into the soft underbelly of the man’s jaw. He swallowed thickly. “What… what’re you talking about?”

“You saying we abused a kid?” Ciro looked shocked. “What kid? Man, we don’t get down like that.”

Carlo spoke calmly, his voice slightly tremulous. “Listen… listen. I don’t know what you heard, but my brother’s right, we don’t mess with kids.”

“You’re fucking pimps ,” Clint growled. “You going to try and tell me you’re not selling kids on the streets? Bullshit.”

“We’re not,” Carlo insisted. “What we told your little bait boy was true. None of our workers are underage. None of them are out there against their will. And any one of them can quit any time they want. And that’s the fucking truth.”

Eyes narrowing, Clint responded in a brittle tone, “I don’t believe you.” His jaw tightened. “You beat and raped a teenage boy when he tried to quit the streets. You told him he wasn’t grateful for all your generosity —forcing him to sell himself. ”

The brothers exchanged a confused look. “What the fuck you talking about, man?” Ciro croaked. “We didn’t do that.”

“We told you,” Carlo said, a strain to his words. “We don’t have any underage workers.”

His face twitching, Clint grabbed the man by the throat and shoved his face close, teeth clenched. “Why the fuck should I believe you when I saw the kid myself?”

Carlo swallowed hard beneath Clint’s grip and rasped, “I don’t know who you’re talking about… but he got it wrong… it wasn’t us.”

Clint glanced at Cochise. The Egyptian had that look again—like in the car. Something feels off. Clint prided himself on his ability to tell truth from bullshit, and he was rarely wrong. It didn’t sit well with him that he was suddenly plagued with doubt.

You saw the boy—his bruises and state of mind. The kid was fucking traumatized and terrified.

Was it possible the boy identified the wrong men? He seemed certain when he named the Caruso brothers.

Clint stared at the brothers. They’re putting on a show. Just because Clint hadn’t encountered anyone who could fool him with fake sincerity didn’t mean there wasn’t a first time for everything. Clint gestured to Cochise, and the two gangsters exited the guest room.

“I don’t buy their story,” Clint muttered. “And I sure as fuck don’t like when assholes try to pull the fucking wool over my eyes.”

Cochise remained silent.

“Speak your mind,” Clint said. “If you disagree, then say so.”

The Egyptian took his time before speaking. “We should wait and see how they respond to the boy. I doubt they expect us to bring the boy in to confront them. Their reaction should tell us what we need to know.”

Clint nodded. “I agree.”

When Oliver arrived with Cristof, the boy’s mental state hadn’t changed. He walked into the mansion with his head hung low, shoulders hunched in a cowering manner, and his arms wrapped tightly around his thin frame, a shell of a boy. One look at him renewed Clint’s certainty that the brothers were lying. Something had happened to this kid. Something bad. There wasn’t a fucking chance in hell Clint meant to turn the brothers loose until he knew what the hell was going on and who had hurt this boy.

Cristof tentatively raised his head and looked at Clint, eyes filled with anxiety. “You… you got them?”

“Yeah,” Clint replied. “We got them.”

“I-I want to see them,” the boy whispered with a tremor.

“You don’t have to do this.”

Cristof swallowed and blinked away fresh tears. “I… I need to see them.”

Shooting a look at Cochise, the cowboy asked, “Are you positive these are the men who hurt you? Is there any way you could be wrong?”

“No,” the boy whimpered. “I-I’m not wrong. It was them.” His chin trembled as he looked fearfully at the gangsters. “They… they said they didn’t do it… didn’t they?” His throat worked as quiet terror filled his eyes. “And you… believe them… don’t you?” Panic gripped him, and he hugged himself tighter. “Are-are you going to let them go?” He choked on a sob. “They’ll come after me—they’ll kill me!”

“Take it easy.” Clint held up a hand. “No one said anything about letting them go. I promised we would protect you, and we will. I want to make sure we’re punishing the right people. If I take you to them, and you say we got the ones who hurt you, then that’s good enough for me.”

Cristof sniffed and dragged his arm across his damp eyes. “O-Okay.”

“Everything will be all right,” Oliver softly assured the boy. “You have a place with us at the foster house for as long as you want.”

Wiping his eyes again, the boy looked gratefully at Oliver. “Thank you,” he whispered. “You’re nice. I’m not used to nice people.”

Oliver smiled. “Get used to it.”

Cristof returned an uncertain smile. “I’ll try.”