Free Henchmen by Eric Lahti Page B

get shot, it does a lot of damage all the way through your body - but it’s over quickly.  When you get cut, it takes time to die.
    I look down at Goodman. “You sold every fucking thing that guy had?”
    “I kept a locked box.  They were looking for it, so I figured it was important.”  He promptly shuts the fuck up, like he’s said something that he shouldn’t have.
    “They,” she asks him.  “Who are they ?”
    He’s purses his lips like if he squeezes them tight enough, no more secrets will spill out.
    Jessica holds up the knife. “Let me explain something to you, slick,” I say. “She will cut you up, and smile while she does it.  Since time is of the essence, I’m thinking she should start with your face.”
    I look over at Jessica and raise an eyebrow in question.  She shrugs.  “Why not start with an eye?” she asks.
    “Good point.  No pun intended, Sil.  Ever seen what happens to an eye when it gets punctured by a knife?  Your eye is mostly water surrounded by a membrane.  It’s kind of like a water balloon.  Puncture it and you can guess what happens,” I tell him.
    Jessica smiles and says, “Pop.”
    Goodman has stopped struggling.  Faced with the choosing between a possible situation with “ them ,” whoever they may be, and a couple of crazies right in front of him, he’s kind of freaking out.  Fear is a wonderful thing. 
    At least, it’s a wonderful thing to share with other people.
    He gulps the biggest gulp I’ve seen, closes his eyes and says, “In the top right drawer, in the back, under the papers.”  Apparently the local horror has outweighed the faceless horror.
    Jessica opens the door and pulls out a dull gray, seamless metal box.  There’s a tear in her eye as she cradles it to her chest.  “I haven’t seen this in years.”
    “Take it and get out, you sick fucks.”  Apparently Goodman’s not so terrified that he can’t speak.
    “Shut the fuck up, asshole,” I tell him.
    “You’ll never get it open.”
    I twist my foot and hear the bones in Goodman’s hand pop and grind.  I think I just broke a couple of his fingers.
    “Is that the only thing left?  Do we need to need to break or cut things to get the whole story?”
    “That’s it. I told you. I sold the rest,” he spits through gritted teeth.  Tough little bastard.  I’ve seen people break down and cry over a hangnail. This guy got his hand ground into hamburger, and he’s just gritting his teeth.
    Jessica hands me back my knife, kicks Goodman in the head, and walks to the door.  From a pure security point of view, it would be best to kill this guy and keep the loose ends to a minimum.  Murder tends to bring more police attention than assault, though, so I let him live.  Goodman’s gone limp, so I chuck his name plate in the trash and follow Jessica out the door.

10 | A Day On The Farm

    Home may be where the heart is, but it’s not always where the quiet is.  When we got back, Jessica disappeared into her room. Jacob was busy shooting random things in the yard, Jean was listening to Ministry at top volume, and Frank was testing saws. 
    Yes, saws.
    Frank was testing some new electric saws he’d found, which he intended to use to hack into buildings.  They’re pretty quiet, normally, but he was trying to find a way to make them quieter.  Part of this was muffling the motor; the other part is working with the cutting wheels.  The smoother and sharper the wheel, the quieter the cutting.  Of course, there are other things involved - like the material you’re cutting.  Some things just won’t be quiet to cut, but the idea is to treat it like a silenced gun: maybe not perfectly silent, but close enough for jazz and government work.  If you can cut through a padlock without waking up the sleeping guard, you’re probably doing well enough.
    He’s test-cutting chains and locks, and there are cut pieces all over the garage.  We may be all out of locks now.
    “New toy,