Free Dead Pretty by Roger Granelli

coming, Tony. No one is coming for you, it’s just you and me.’
    â€˜Look Mark, I dunno what you’re thinking, just give me a chance to explain, man.’
    â€˜Where’s Lena?’
    Mark watched his eyes and recognised the guilt they registered before Tony could get into a role.
    â€˜Lena? I haven’t seen her for ages. All we were doing was …’
    Tony stopped when Mark produced the gun.
    â€˜Smith and Wesson. Pretty old. Not a stable piece, I’d say.’
    Mark leant towards Tony and pressed the gun against his forehead.
    â€˜Mark, for fucksake.’
    Mark curled his finger around the trigger and smelt Tony’s alarm.
    â€˜This is going to be a long, long night,’ Mark said. ‘I want you to start at the beginning, I want it all, Tony.’
    Tony was desperately thinking for ways out. Sweat pimples were turning into acne.
    â€˜I don’t hear anything,’ Mark said.
    He brought the gun down hard on Tony’s knee. As the man reared up he hit him to the side of the head, the same side he’d kicked.
    â€˜We don’t want to be doing this,’ Mark said, ‘this thing could go off at any time.’
    Tony howled, and as he slumped down Mark moved behind the sofa. It would be better if the man didn’t see him, didn’t know what was coming.
    â€˜Come on, Tony, stop whining. That’s just a slap. If you’re afraid of someone else there’s no need to be. You’ll be dead anyway. You’ll never get out of this flat, like Lena, so you only have to be afraid of me and the pain I can cause. Think of the now, us here, this is your only chance to keep breathing. Your only one. Tell me everything and I might let you take it. I’ll know if you’re bullshitting. I always know.’
    A thin line of blood escaped from Tony’s gel. The man was unaware of it as it merged into his false tan.
    â€˜You smoke, don’t you,’ Mark said, ‘have one before you start, it’ll help you think.’
    Mark tried to modulate his voice. If he could keep it together he’d try to play good cop, bad cop. If he could.
    Tony took a pack of cigarettes from a pocket and lit one up. Mark took the rest from him. For the first time since his hillside childhood he took another from the pack, and lit one for himself. Tony breathed heavily, trying to grab a moment’s relief from this ordeal. Mark sucked on his smoke and felt his eyes water.
    â€˜Why do you ask about Lena?’ Tony said. ‘What’s going on?’
    Mark pushed his cigarette hard against Tony’s neck. The man squealed and tried to get away, only to receive another blow from the gun. The line of blood was joined by another, red tram-lines down his cheek.
    â€˜Wrong start, Tony. Look, neither of us has the time for this. Especially you. You better move things along or I’m going to put a round in the back of your head and go looking for your friends.’
    Tony started to cry. Mark was expecting it. There was nothing else for him to try.
    â€˜I can’t, man, they’ll kill me. You don’t know what you’re dealing with.’
    â€˜No, but you know what you’re dealing with here, right now.’
    Mark put his mouth close to Tony’s ear. He dropped his voice to a whisper and held the cigarette an inch from Tony’s eyes, while touching the other side of his head with the gun.
    â€˜Your own sister, Tony. What did you think I’d do? Walk away from it? Forget what happened? And why was she cut up like that, what could she have possibly done to deserve that? It was you, wasn’t it, on the phone to me when I found her?’
    â€˜I had to phone, to get you out of the flat. They made me. They didn’t expect you to come back then. You’d never have found her.’
    Even at this stage, Mark wanted there to be another explanation. For Tony not to be involved, for people not to be as evil as this. Mark