Page 49 of Priestly Sins
“Where is she?”
“If you were to live, you’d find that Sirona Dugas was a ticketed and confirmed passenger on flights to Miami, LA, Seattle, New York, and New Jersey this morning. Five ticketing agents can show she boarded and five manifests record her movement to her corresponding connecting international flights. Whether she — or say, another woman you victimized — were to stop or connect would be up to her, or their, discretion. Again, if you were to live.”
“You fucking piece of sh—”
I shove the gag back into his mouth forcefully, fighting his shaking head, but his extra weight and lack of overall health means he can’t struggle and breathe at the same time. This time I stay in his face as he looks for the door. He thinks he’s still in control but he’s about to learn.
“Your henchman, who was to be here in ten, got your voicemail redirecting him to protect Zera. Kind of me, I’d say. I could’ve let her go down with you—take the fall for your crimes. Instead she’ll soon learn of your generosity, your desire for her to run the shipping business, if she wants it, as it comes back from bankruptcy. The PR shit will be a nightmare, but it will provide her an income with you out of the picture. You living large off the backs of others shouldn’t bring punishment on her.”
I turn my back to him, calming my nerves.
Like an actor in a pivotal scene, I need to keep my calm and remember my lines. I want him to know — need him to understand — and I only get one chance to say what I want to say.
I pull out the doubloon and flip it between my fingers and over my knuckles as I pace in front of him. It calms me. Centers me.
“You won’t be my first kill. God willing, you will be my last. Frankly, I don’t enjoy it. With each, I pray. I ask God to forgive them for their sins, accept them into His kingdom, be merciful on their souls. I want that same forgiveness and mercy for mine, you see…
“With you, that will not happen. I care nothing for your soul. My only wish is that you burn in hell. I hope mercy and forgiveness elude you.”
Lost in my own thoughts as I pace, I fail to see the leg come forward in a brutal kick to my side. His movements loosen the restraints at his hands and he gets more and more leverage. The wiggling, though, causes him to thrash about and yanks at his arms until hollow pops echo in succession through the little room.
He bellows.
On one knee, I grab what I expect is a nearly broken rib. It takes me several minutes to fight for breath and be able to stand again. If I die, I die, but I’m taking this fucker with me.
Clara’s face flashes before my eyes. I cannot die today… I made her mom a promise to get her safely home. And that’s what I intend to do.
I stand and throw a punch right into the spot where one of his arms is no longer connected to his shoulder socket. He screams in pain. My accompanying wince ruins the moment.
“Fuck you and shut up!” I spit out and hold up the doubloon, close enough he can’t fail to recognize it, and he stills. Whether Lady Justice or the court jester is the side he sees makes no difference to me. He is the jester; I am justice.
“I won’t ask because I don’t want to know. And you’re such a lying sack of shit, I wouldn’t trust your answers. But die knowing that I know what you did and that you signed your own death certificate on a hot July night. Claire Goodman is why you hang here, why you’ll die here, and why I won’t think of you another day in my life.”
I grab an ice pick and, without preamble or concern, plunge it into his heart.
“Rot in hell.”
I watch him take his last breath and finally, fucking finally, have peace.
* * *
That momentary reliefis short-lived since disposing of this fat motherfucker is, even after all my plans, more than I bargain for. And with my chest on fire and my internal organs practically rearranged, my adrenaline will have to provide the fuel for the next couple of hours.
Releasing the hook, I drop his body onto the cold concrete floor. He’s slumped at an odd angle. Dead plus bound plus overweight means his shape oddly resembles one of those fat cat memes people pass around online. I’d laugh if it didn’t hurt so fucking much.
I fish through his pockets and find the keys to his Escalade. I dread this next part. I hadn’t banked on the ribs, so this will suck way more than I could’ve expected.
With agonizing pain, I drag him out, fold him into his SUV, keeping an eye out for onlookers, and jump behind the wheel.
Great swamps are only an hour away. But since I don’t have that kind of time, a back channel or crappy inlet will have to do. He may be discovered sooner, but the same creatures live in both.
It’s the all wrong season for hungry alligators, but there are more than alligators in those waters.
The fifteen-minute drive is filled with regret that I cannot finish this as cleanly as I would have liked and with the dread that I’ll need to haul him again while fighting to breathe.
By the last turn, I exhale. I haven’t passed another living soul for several minutes. In excruciating pain, I move Enzo to the driver’s seat, buckle him in, lower the windows, and drop the car in neutral. Before releasing the parking brake, I force the doubloon into his mouth. I find it more than fitting.
I push the vehicle, choking back a scream of agony, until it hits the water’s edge and floats for too damn long. When the water meets the window sill, the nose dips under the surface, and I’m free.