The man dangles from the ceiling. His head droops without a sign of life. The blood from his nose and mouth that splattered to the floor has dried up while the bruises and welts on his body are in full bloom. That's how the deer had looked that Devon had hunted as a child—it's how his father had hung them up in the shed to bleed them out. Arms splayed, legs tied, and his belly exposed, the man is ripe for gutting. Even his tongue hangs out.

"Open the door," Devon tells the guard.

He glances at Ashley; her face is totally blank. In the five years they've worked together, he has never seen any emotions from her except when she was working undercover, and then they were just for show. He knows she enjoys causing people pain, but that is the extent of her sharing. She's a walking icebox who only speaks when absolutely necessary. What made her turn out this way? A question that Devon has asked himself many times, but he suspects it was either childhood trauma or some severe form of abuse.

When he steps into the room, his eyes narrow to adjust to the glaring fluorescent light. The room is tiled white from top to bottom, the brightness almost blinding. It's the typical white-room torture chamber, although physical torment has proven more effective than psychological terror on this particular prisoner. He can even endure hours of listening to that silly Barney song without flinching.

Devon grabs the man's thick hair. "Wake up, Ramon."

A groan is the only reply.

Devon slaps Ramon's cheeks until his eyes open lazily.

"Go to hell." In the state he is in, Ramon's accent is thicker than usual. The pain is all too visible in his eyes; the words are pressed through gritted teeth. Coupled with his shallow breath, his body is about to give up.

"I'm sure I'll end up in hell eventually"—Devon grins—"but not today. The prospects for you, on the other hand, are rather good." He lets go of the hair and Ramon's head drops forward again. "Look, we have no interest in holding you here. If you give us the information, you can go home to your wife and kid. No one has to die."

"I don't believe you." Ramon runs his tongue over his thirst-cracked lips. "You'll kill me anyways. Besides, I told you I don't know anything."

Devon snorts. "Now who's the liar?"

He nods at Ashley, who pulls out her nightstick. Without hesitation, she whacks Ramon across his bare back. Violent coughs send fresh blood flying.

"Goddamn it." Devon pulls out a tissue and dabs the blood off his sports jacket as best as he can, even though it will need to be dry-cleaned. Luckily, they had run a health check on Ramon when he first arrived, which came back clean. Catching some disease is not a risk Devon signed up for.

"Look, Ramon. It would be easy to snatch your wife and the baby off the street. We could bring them here and change your mind that way, but quite frankly, I don't have the time." He doesn't add that kidnapping a toddler is where he draws the line, although Ashley might not share the same reservations. "All we need is the Coyote's identity and how to get in contact with him."

With great effort, Ramon raises his head. "Like I said, Miguel was the only one who dealt with him." The words are low and strained. More coughing follows.

If Devon isn't careful, Ramon will go into shock and die. The boss was very clear that this would have consequences, even if he didn't elaborate. The new president isn't big on torture, but the fool fails to realize that guys like Ramon are a serious threat to the nation. They don't deserve leniency if they don't cooperate. So far, only Naiara had understood the value of a snitch and walked away with an immunity agreement, plus a new identity, after striking a deal.

Devon glances at Ashley; she's gazing back with blank eyes. Her jaw works overtime, smacking the gum in her mouth. One word and she'll snap Ramon's neck, but it will be Devon's head that might roll afterward. As his subordinate, she can always claim she only followed orders.

"Are you telling me Miguel left everyone in the dark?" Devon chuckles. "No offense, but that's a bunch of crap."

Spit and blood drip from Ramon's mouth. "Tomás might know. Miguel never completely trusted him, but Tomás has always managed to figure things out." When his muscles spasm, Ramon's teeth dig into his lip. "You can snatch him, but I guarantee you that he won't talk." He speaks with great effort.

The last part is something Devon doesn't doubt. Tomás Araya is a man without a conscience and few loyalties. He'd sell his wife, newborn child, and sister to a pack of starving wolves if that furthered his cause. Enduring pain is second nature to him. Devon can torture him as long as he wants without Tomás giving him anything useful.

"There's only one person Tomás might confide in," Ramon mutters with a heavy breath.

Devon's brows arch at this revelation. "And who's that?"

"Stacy." As he coughs again, more blood drips from Ramon's mouth. "I've always thought Tomás has a thing for her. I think she reminds him of Rosanna. She might be able to get into his head."

A slight tingle spreads under Devon's scalp. "You think he likes her enough to turn his back on General Varela? I highly doubt that."

"After Mateo's betrayal, Tomás will never trust anyone in Malaguay. An outsider is your only chance." One more cough shakes Ramon's body before his head falls forward.

Devon holds two fingers to Ramon's neck. "His pulse is as good as nonexistent. If we don't stop here, we'll kill him."

Ashley shrugs as if she doesn't care one way or another, but when Devon shoots her a dark look, she steers toward the door and bangs her palm against the heavy metal. "We need a medic in here."

The Marines take over and Devon leaves Ramon's still body behind, hoping he'll make it. If not, the paperwork will be a bitch, even if he could wiggle his way out of a reprimand.

"Do you think he was telling the truth?" Ashley asks.

"About Stacy? Hard to tell. He was in a place where he would've said anything to save his skin."

"Hmm." She trudges behind him as he starts to walk toward the cafeteria. "Are you gonna chance it?"

He halts abruptly. "You think we should?"

"Tomás did help her when she killed Emilien, which was out of character for him. Ramon might've been on to something."

Devon puckers his lips; Ashley has a point. "If we send her back, we'll have to find a way to sell it to Santino. He won't just welcome her home with open arms."

"True"—a slick smile spreads on Ashley's lips—"but there's always the child."

Santino's last living heir. Naiara turned the baby over to the government as the price for her freedom just hours after his birth. At first, she resisted, but when they threatened her with the death penalty—something carried out rather swiftly in Guantanamo—she buckled. Her son is the government's contingency plan in case they ever needed strong leverage to get a foot in the door in Malaguay. This could actually work.

"I'll think about it."

~~~~

© Sal Mason 2016

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