Infected Page 80

Bill’s scared-rabbit look returned to his blood-smeared face. How could the Soldiers use some weak-a.s.s like this? It was probably a trick — yes, a trick. Bill was trying to lure him into overconfidence.

“That s.h.i.+t isn’t going to trick me, Billy Boy, no bout-a-doubt-it.” He was smarter than these f.u.c.kers. They didn’t know what they’d started by f.u.c.king with a Dawsey, because a Dawsey doesn’t take s.h.i.+t, no sir, no how.

Perry reached out and pulled the sock from Bill’s mouth. Bill breathed deeply, but other than that didn’t make a sound.

Perry licked his lips. He tasted blood. He didn’t know if it was his or Bill’s. Eager for the final answer, he leaned in close and asked his vital question.

“Who the f.u.c.k do you work for, and what are the Triangles going to turn into?”

Perry’s face was only inches from Bill’s. The dark circles around Perry’s eyes made it look as if he hadn’t slept in days. The whites were so bloodshot that they took on a pinkish hue. Bright red stubble stuck out offensively. There were open sores on his lips; it looked like he’d bitten through them not very long ago.

But that question — triangle?

“Perry, wha . . . what are you talking about?” Bill knew it was the

wrong thing to say, but he couldn’t think of another answer. Perry’s eyes swelled with anger, adding to the already psychotic stare.

“Don’t screw with me, Bill.” His quiet voice carried the threat of death. “You and your little Jedi mind tricks can just f.u.c.k off. I’m not buying what you’re selling, junior. Now, I’ll ask you again, what are the Triangles becoming?”

Bill’s breath came in short, ragged gasps. What was this madness? What did Perry want to hear?

Bill tried to fight back tears of frustration and panic. Pain ripped through his body in a nonstop cacophony of raw nerves and cutting metal edges. It was so hard to think!

He struggled for words, struggled to make sense of it all. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Perry. It’s me! It’s Bill, for G.o.d’s sake! Why do you want to do this to me?”

A smile crept across Perry’s face. He reached out for one of the knives that had Bill’s hands impaled on the wall. Bill’s body went rigid with white-hot tension.

“Getting a little loud in here, don’t you think, Billy Boy?”

“I’m sorry,” Bill said quickly, his hushed whisper filled with fear and pleading. “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

“G.o.dd.a.m.ned right it won’t, Billy old sport. If it does happen again, you’ll be dead before you can apologize. Your warnings are gone. You’re in Double Jeopardy now, where the points can really add up, so I’ll ask you just one more time: what are the Triangles becoming?”

Bill’s mind spun wildly for an answer, anything that would keep him alive even a little bit longer. He had to come up with some bulls.h.i.+t and fast, but it was so hard to think, impossible to concentrate. Perry was going to kill him.

“I...I don’t know, they didn’t tell me that.”

“Like h.e.l.l they didn’t,” Perry said, never losing his predatory stare. “You’ve got one more chance, Billy, and then I’m going to carve you up.”

Bill scrambled for an answer, but he couldn’t make his mind focus past the pain, past the psychotic situation, past death that stared him in the face. What had Perry called him? The “informant?” Informant for what? For whom? What raving paranoid vision did Perry see through those bloodshot eyes?

“Perry, I swear, they didn’t tell me!” He watched the rage flare up in

Perry’s eyes. Bill kept talking, his voice a nasal, pleading, pitiful cry. “It’s not my fault they don’t tell me anything! They just told me to keep an eye on you, let them know what you were doing.”

That reply seemed to strike a chord. Perry’s look changed, as if Bill’s words answered some important question, but he still looked far from placated.

Bill continued, clutching to one faint glimmer of hope. “It’s not my job to know what the h.e.l.l they turn into.”

Perry nodded as if he accepted the story. “Okay, maybe you know and maybe you don’t,” he said. “Just tell me who you’re working for.”

“I think you know that already,” Bill said quickly. He held his breath, waiting for a violent reaction. The salty tang of blood mingled in his mouth with the tangible taste of fear. The flicker of hope glowed a bit brighter as Perry nodded and smiled.

Dizziness swept over Bill. The room seemed to spin. He couldn’t keep this up. “Perry, you’re out of control. You’re paranoid . . . you’re hallucinating . . .”

A s.h.i.+ver rippled through Bill’s body. The apartment suddenly felt so cold, so icy cold. Black spots formed in front of his eyes, and another dizzy spell threw the room into crazy, unpredictable motion.

The ratf.u.c.ker was pa.s.sing out again. Perry b.i.t.c.h-slapped him three times, three vicious lefts, each harder than the last. It felt so good to lash out like that. You can’t let people faint on you, not when you need information. All this p.u.s.s.y-a.s.s narc needed was a little Dawseystyle discipline. You’ve got to have discipline.

Bill blinked a few times, but his eyes were once again clear and lucid. Perry had hit so hard that his hand stung from the slaps. The right side of Bill’s face started to swell almost immediately, growing red and plump like a Ball Park frank.