Kill Jill (19 page)

Bronson yells, “Give it to her, Mr. Dee!”

Doug hollers, “Take it, bitch! Take it all!”

Bronson says, “You hear that? That’s anal! I guarantee you, he’s giving her anal! God, I wish it was me!”

“You wish Mr. Dee would give you anal?” Doug says.

“Funny,” Bronson says.

“I think so,” Doug says. “But I wonder if Jack does.”

The grunting continues. Between each grunt, Jack can hear Jill’s cries of pain.

Tomorrow I’m going to kill them
, Jack says to himself.
I’m going to kill them all
.

“Jack, you look
terrible
!” Bobby says, with a mocking tone. “Did you not sleep at
all
?”

It’s ten a.m. They’re sitting at Bobby’s kitchen table. Tilly the cook has prepared an assortment of food for their breakfast. Under different circumstances, Jack would be all over the biscuits and sausage gravy.

Bobby’s kitchen has three doorways. One leads to the dining room, one to the butler’s pantry and bar area. The third leads to a hallway with a bathroom, laundry room, and an exit. Three goons are guarding the doorways, and none of them are Doug and Bronson.

Bobby’s right. Jack didn’t sleep last night, didn’t even attempt it. Jill’s beating was horrific, endless, and featured distinct rounds, like a boxing match. Round one? Verbal abuse. Round two? Physical assault. Round three? Sexual assault. Round four? A quiet period, where the sound was turned off. Rounds five through eight? Repeat. Rounds nine through twelve? Repeat.

Bad as the beatings were, and the sexual assaults, the quiet times were even worse. When the sound went dead, he prayed to hear her scream again, knowing that even though she was in pain, at least she was still alive.

As long as Jill was alive, there was hope.

But that was then, and this is now, and Bobby’s gloating.

Jack’s face is impassive, but only one thing is preventing him from leaping across the table and strangling his host to death.

He’s tied to his chair.

A rope binds his feet and ankles to the chair legs. Another rope binds his lap to the seat. Another binds his stomach and chest to the chair back. Another binds his right hand to the chair arm. Only his left hand remains unbound, so he can eat.

The idea being, if he decides to throw something at Bobby, his left hand won’t be as accurate. Of course, Bobby’s hedged the bet by removing all metal utensils, the salt and pepper shakers, the gravy bowl, and the china from Jack’s limited field of reach. If Jack’s going to throw something, his options are limited to a plastic fork, a paper plate, and whatever food he can grab.

“I didn’t get much sleep either,” Bobby says, holding his hands up so Jack can see they’ve been taped. He adds, “It’s not as easy as you think, beating a defenseless woman all night. Really bruises the fists and hands.”

“I know she fought back,” Jack says.

“Sorry to disappoint you, sport, but she wasn’t as feisty as you’d like to think. She cried, begged, and accepted most of the beating in a fetal position. Of course, I stretched her out time and again, to inflict the maximum pain possible. I pounded every inch of her body with my fists.”

“You’re a sick bastard. I wish I’d killed her yesterday, to spare her the pain and humiliation.”

“I don’t blame you for feeling guilty, Jack. You let her down, no doubt about it.”

Bobby puts some biscuits on his plate, splits them in half, ladles gravy over them, grabs some bacon, fried potatoes, and onions.

“You should eat,” he says. “Want me to call Tilly in? Have her prepare a plate of food for you?”

“I don’t eat with psychopaths.”

Bobby laughs. “You’re upset with me.”

“Fuck you.”

“You were on camera last night, during the beating. I was preoccupied, of course, but my guys pulled clips for me to watch this morning. I couldn’t help but notice you appeared to be distressed whenever Jill cried out in pain.”

“Any normal human being would have the same reaction.”

“Maybe. But I think there’s another reason.”

Jack looks at Bobby through venomous eyes.

Bobby says, “If you’ll remember, there were long periods of time where you heard nothing. That was me, turning off the microphone. I didn’t want you to hear the interrogation, or Jill’s confession. I wanted to give you a chance to confess every last detail, and see if your stories matched. Before I ask you what happened, I’ll say two things. First, Jill told me everything. Second, to her credit, it took a long time to get it out of her.”

Jack lowers his head, squeezes his eyes shut.

“You know what I think?” Bobby says.

“I don’t give a shit.”

He nibbles a piece of bacon and says, “Crazy as it sounds, I think she actually believed you were going to save her, somehow.”

Jack looks up at him.

“That hope, that belief in you, kept her going. No matter what I did to her, she denied everything. Denied you two had a connection. Denied you were running off together. She even denied you had
sex
! And frankly, I gave up. Beating and fucking her like that? For all those hours? I gotta tell you, that took a lot out of me.”

He sighs, waves a hand, dismissively. “Maybe it’s because I’m old. Maybe it’s because it was so late when we started. But the truth is I couldn’t get it out of her.”

Jack’s face lights up. “She’s still
alive
?”

“What I’m saying, I couldn’t get her to confess by beating her.
You
got her to confess, though. Without saying a word.”

“What the
fuck
are you talking about?”

“Remember when Jill began screaming? I’m talking about the very first screams. Three in a row, if I remember correctly. I don’t want to say what I did to make her do that. But there’s a digital counter on the tape that shows you in the guest room, listening to her. I showed that clip to Jill. Her screams, the tape count. A few minutes later, more screams. Her, getting beat up, begging for her life, you, sitting on the bed, eating a sandwich, drinking a beer…”

He pauses, then says, “You broke her heart, Jack.”

Jack stares at him blankly. What he’s saying, the whole macho act he put on for Bobby’s sake backfired. And wasn’t it Jill who told him to be himself, and stop acting so tough all the time? Didn’t she, in fact, tell him not to underestimate Bobby?

Bobby says, “Seeing you calmly eat a sandwich while she begged for her life took all the fight out of her. She confessed everything, voluntarily. Said she’d been a fool to believe in you. And that’s when I saw it.”

He spears a piece of potato, eats it, and says, “I looked in her eyes and everything was different. Like someone turned out the lights. And that’s when I realized she was within an inch of dying. So I bravely climbed on top of her and did what I said I’d do. I fucked that last inch of life out of her.”

He laughs, finishes his breakfast, then says, “All night long I punished that woman, trying to make her apologize for running away. But she never did. I couldn’t understand it. I mean, if someone’s beating the shit out of you, and you knew they wanted an apology, wouldn’t you say you’re sorry?”

He shakes his head and goes quiet. Eventually, he says, “It took a long time, but it finally dawned on me. You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?”

Jack says nothing.

Bobby says, “She was taking that beating for
you
. So naturally, I tried to get her to confess she’d had sex with you. Tried to make her admit you were planning to run away together. She wouldn’t, so I beat her harder. Beat her till my hands hurt. Beat the nipples off her tits. At that point I didn’t even care about her running away, all I wanted was her confession. And no matter what I did, she denied it. It’s like she knew she had that one power over me, and she held on to it like a Senator clutches a bribe. And you know what? The bitch won. She beat me. Like
Cool Hand Luke
, she won the fight by never quitting…until she saw the video of you in the guest room. When she saw that, I didn’t even have to ask. She spilled her guts. Told me everything.”

He laughs again. “All it took was a beer and a sandwich.”

Jack sits there quietly, tears filling his eyes.

“If I were a member of a jury,” Bobby says, “I’d take those tears as a sign of your guilt.”

“Keep that in mind, you pompous bastard. When
you
go to court.”

Bobby chuckles. “I’ve been in court more times than you can count. Judges and prosecutors have swimming pools, tennis courts, and vacation homes to prove it.”

His face grows serious.

“Are you a betting man, Jack?”

“You expect me to have a civil conversation with you? After beating your wife to death and
laughing
about it while eating breakfast? You’re psychotic.”

“The more you cooperate, the easier it’ll go for you.”

“You’ve already admitted you couldn’t break Jill. You won’t break me, either.”

Bobby smiles. “Jill knew I loved her. She knew I’d show restraint. You won’t get that type of coddling from me.”

“Beating her to death is your idea of
coddling
?”

“Did you fuck my wife, Jack?”

“No.”

“She said otherwise.”

“You might have beaten a false confession out of her, but that doesn’t change the facts.”

“Were you planning to run away with her?”

“Fuck you, DiPiese. I’ve said all I’m going to say.”

“You remember how we met, Jack? It was what, four years ago? I hired you to find a guy? I’d been searching for months with no luck. Took you what, two days?”

“It took me two hours. I
billed
you for two days.”

Bobby chuckles. “Serves me right. That was what, four years ago?”

“Something like that.”

“You happen to remember the man’s name?”

“Todd Hardy.”

“Who
does
that?” Bobby says. “Goes through high school, marries a college girl, has two kids, runs off and marries a guy in California, and takes the guy’s last name?”

“Todd Hardy.”

Bobby nods. “A moment ago I asked if you were a betting man. I had a reason for that. During the past two months you either found Jill two days ago, as you claim, or much sooner, which I suspect. But either way, you learned a lot by investigating her, and following her trail. My question is this: how many different men would you guess my loving wife slept with during her life?”

“I couldn’t care less.”

“You’ll want to re-think that, because I happen to know the exact number. And if you guess right, I’ll spare your life. I’m not going to pay you the balance I owe, because you didn’t actually return her, as promised. But you have my word. Get the exact number, and I’ll spare your life. But if you guess wrong, it’ll go badly for you.”

“Five,” Jack says.

Bobby looks surprised. “What made you say five? Did you have this conversation with Jill already?”

He did, in fact. But what he says is, “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“We’ll get to that in a minute. I’m just making sure that’s your final answer. Bear in mind, she’s thirty.
Was
thirty, if I’m being precise. And you said she was working in a strip joint.”

“So?”

“Five seems a bit low, don’t you think?”

“I’ll stick with that number.”

“Will you tell me the truth, Jack? Will you admit you fucked my wife? Will you give me that much?”

“I wouldn’t give you the sweat off my dick.”

A fourth goon walks in. “What do you want?” Bobby says.

“He’s here. Your visitor.”

“From the department?”

“Yeah. Carter.”

“He brought his equipment?”

“Yeah.”

Bobby says, “Take him to the den and wait with him.”

When the goon leaves, Bobby turns his attention back to Jack. “Remember the jar I showed you last night?”

When Jack fails to respond, Bobby tells one of the goons to fetch it and place it on the table. When he does, Bobby says, “Rayburn, bring the tray I prepared. But be careful.”

Rayburn leaves, comes back carrying a tray with four jars, all identical to the empty one on the table.

Except they aren’t empty.

Each jar contains a pair of testicles.

Bobby picks up one of the jars and holds it so Jack can get a good look.