was facing his subject. He sat down, rubber gloves, eye protection, and syringe all clearly visible to the Russian, who blinked his eyes and slowly took in his surroundings.
“Hi,” Reece said as pleasantly as possible. “I’m James Reece. You tried to kill me and Raife Hastings earlier today. I have some questions for you.”
The Russian’s breathing was slow and labored. His head was restrained by the noose, but his eyes moved to his leg, then back to Reece.
In heavily accented English he responded, “My leg. Something for my leg.”
“Oh, don’t worry about your leg. That’s about to be the very least of your problems.” One of the first rules of interrogation was to only ask questions to which you already knew the answers. Reece started with what he already knew from his phone call with Vic Rodriguez. “Let’s start with an easy one: Who is Ivan Zharkov?”
“Schas po ebalu poluchish, suka, blyat!” the Russian spat, his muscles straining to break free of the tape that kept him securely in place.
Without a word, Reece stood and walked behind him and grabbed the noose, wrenching his head back and to the side, slamming his free hand onto his adversary’s face and prying his right eye open. With the syringe, Reece administered a drop of the capsaicin solution and stepped back.
The effect was immediate. The Russian’s eye turned an instantaneous red, and his mouth opened in a roar of agony from a level of pain he had never experienced, body thrashing as his hands desperately fought to break free of the tape that bound them to the chair. Had they been free he would have ripped his own eyeball from his head, the agony feeling like a blade pivoting through his eye from the deep recesses of his brain.
“That’s one drop, comrade,” Reece said. “I have this entire syringe and more where that came from. Let’s try that again; who is Ivan Zharkov?”
The Russian blinked, blood tears running down his face, his body doing its best to clear itself of this foreign invader. Then, taking a moment, he took in his antagonizer. This was James Reece. His target. He knew Ivan should have used a team from Wagner Group. He was a Bratok in the bratva. He hadn’t broken in Black Dolphin Prison and he certainly wouldn’t break for this American. Ivan Zharkov had gotten him out of that hellhole. The Pakhan would get him out of this one. He was almost a brigadier in the organization. He would not break.
“Cigarette?” the Russian asked.
“Nope. Those things will kill you.”
The Russian looked at his tormentor. “Suka, blyat!” he said, attempting to spit at Reece.
“I was afraid you might say that. Don’t go anywhere,” Reece said, standing and returning to the med kit.
He’s not giving you a choice, Reece.
Reece closed his eyes and took a breath, seeing a vision of the Russian standing above a gagged and bound Katie, terror in her eyes.
Reece selected another 60cc syringe and filled it with tap water.
He then ripped open a Foley catheter bag from the kit and emptied its contents on the table.
Do it, Reece.
Reece opened the 14-gauge catheter and lubed it with the provided K-Y jelly. He then turned and marched back to his subject. Ignoring the stream of threats in Russian, Reece grabbed his prisoner’s penis with his gloved hand and threaded the catheter down his urethra. Unable to move, the Russian continued to thrash his head as much as the noose would allow. Reece applied pressure to his captive’s broken femur with his elbow and only stepped back when he saw yellow urine appear in the drainage bag. Reece then attached a 10cc syringe preloaded with saline to a side port, which blew up a small balloon, anchoring the system inside the bladder. Reece gave it a yank to ensure it was in place.
“You think you can make me talk, American? I used to rape guys like you in prison. I used to rape wives in front of husbands, daughters in front of fathers, and then chop them up in little pieces. You think you are tough, American? I think I’ll fuck that little blond bitch of yours right in front of you. How would you like that, you weak piece of shit.”
Reece kept his composure, unhooked the catheter bag, and attached the syringe filled with the capsaicin solution. He took another look at the bloodied mafia hit man in front of him and pushed in 5cc’s of pain.