Dead America - Portland Pt. 3 (Dead America - The Third Week Book 5) by Derek Slaton

Author:Derek Slaton [Slaton, Derek]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-06-13T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

With the guards tied tightly to two chairs, sitting in front of the table, Zion and Calvin stood across from them, gazing down at their handiwork. The guard with the bloody nose was conscious, but seemed woozy from the vicious headbutt. The larger guard was more alert, but still hissing in pain.

Zion snapped his fingers. “Hey, you with me there, bud?” he asked.

“Go fuck yourself, monkey boy,” the bigger guard rasped.

Zion looked at Calvin, motioning to their prisoner as if to say did this motherfucker just say that? He crossed his arms. “Looks like we have ourselves a bold one.”

“Let’s see how bold he is after we talk to him for a minute,” Calvin said.

“I ain’t telling you boys shit,” the guard hissed, sneering at them. “So why don’t you go over to the corner, jerk each other off, and then get the fuck outta town?”

Zion sighed, holding his hands out, palms up. “Well, we were gonna be polite and ask you for directions to your boss Edward, but I’m guessing you’re not gonna be open to some friendly dialogue.”

“Why don’t you go get your mom and I’ll be friendly to her?” the guard spat, and then laughed.

Zion turned to his partner, shaking his head in bewilderment. “Man, what is it about you white people and your extreme overconfidence?”

“Fuck if I know,” Calvin admitted, shaking his head. “If I were in his position I’d be pissing myself right now.”

Zion cocked his head. “Well, you got any ideas?”

Calvin stared at the smug prisoner, and a sly smile curled his lips. “Yeah, I do,” he said. “Get behind him and follow my lead.”

Zion shrugged, intrigued, and circled around the table to stand behind the guy. Calvin leaned forward, planting his hands flat on the table, staring eye-to-eye with the guard.

“So, I’m going to try this the polite way first,” the cowboy drawled. “Where is Edward?”

The guard laughed. “Probably back at your house, fucking your mom.”

“I’m a big believer in second chances,” Calvin said, holding up a hand to Zion, “so hold on a second.” He cocked his head. “Once again, I’ll be polite. Where is Ed-”

The guard spat a massive loogie into the cowboy’s face. Calvin stayed stock still, the viscous liquid dripping down his cheek and glopping onto the table. He waited a second, and then reached up to wipe the residue from his face.

“Are you a religious man?” Calvin asked calmly.

The guard threw his head back and laughed again. “Why, do you wanna preach to me?”

Calvin glanced at his partner and pointed to the guy’s arm, as the guard continued to cackle and shake his head.

“Nope,” the cowboy replied, “just wanted to see if you would enjoy emulating your hero if you were.”

The guard sneered, trying to mask his confusion, and then Zion released the restraint on his wrist, pinning his arm down onto the table. The prisoner’s expression faltered, the confidence melting away to confusion, then concerned as Calvin drew one of his drills.

He wasted no time in positioning the bit against the back of the guy’s hand.

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