[ It wouldn't be the first time he'd given the order. Beaten or killed, it was easier to keep the work clean if it happened without clothes. If they stayed on, they'd need to be burned or otherwise disposed of, there'd be fragments of gun oil and gunpowder on the burned fabric threads in the wound, and anything that could be traced back would be. Not that they could convict just on that kind of evidence, but it slowed down trials and cost tens of thousands of dollars a day in lawyers, and a good trial could cause a lot of financial pain to the criminal element even if it didn't get them put away.
It was always about money and staying out of jail.
He reached up with his free hand, pinching at the bridge of his nose. Armando had probably seen it all in his time, but Ray had been through this a half dozen times himself. Usually it took a gun pointed at them for the guy to jump into action. One had said "You're not gonna shoot me in here," and Ray had buried a bullet in his shin and had the crippled thug pay for the redecoration himself. Twenty-six thousand dollars of it, on top of the two hundred thou debt he'd already run up. He'd sold his house, lost his wife and kids, but hey--that was the business Armando was in, which meant it was the business Ray was in. It disgusted him, but as undercover gigs went this was the ultimate test of nerve, and if he didn't have it...
He wasn't going to shoot Ray in the knee. He wasn't going to shoot him at all, but he had to make Ray think he was capable of it. When he left, he had to think: Armando Langoustini is a scary ass piece of shit, and I hope I never cross paths with him again. ]
Sure, I bet your Ma wouldn't like it if you came down with something, eh? But then she probably wants her son back in the city in one piece, too, so why don't we do what's best for her, and you, and move things along a little bit, shall we?
[ He strode forward. They both knew that the best way for this to not become a struggle, wrestling for a weapon, where one of them ended up accidentally shot in the head, was for him to keep his distance; but Armando was pure confidence, and besides, Ray had demonstrated a hell of a lot of common sense so far. He'd come all this way, and he hadn't done it to get his face shot off trying to get his gun back now.
He brought the muzzle up to Ray's jaw, standing almost in his space, and raised his other hand to Ray's throat, loosening his tie directly, showing absolutely no hesitation or second-guessing about it as he moved, business like, from there to the buttons, working open Ray's shirt. ]
Usually when I shoot a guy I like to bring the music up, you know. It's not really my thing, but it drowns out the sobbing. I can't stand the sobbing--Mammy, mammy, sweet Mary Mother of Christ it hurts etcetera. And I like to call in the doctor in advance. I mean, you shoot a guy and you mean to kill him, you just get it done. One in the head, no fuss. You shoot him to hurt him and it really helps if he doesn't bleed to death, or lose it from the shock. He can't learn anything from the experience if he's delirious, or dead. [ He flattened his hand on Ray's bare chest, just over his sternum, and tilted the gun over slightly, nudging his chin a little higher as he did so. ] So you tell me, Ray. Do I need to get my doctor in here? Am I gonna have to shoot you to get you to pay attention to me?
What do you say? You think you can take it from here?
no subject
It was always about money and staying out of jail.
He reached up with his free hand, pinching at the bridge of his nose. Armando had probably seen it all in his time, but Ray had been through this a half dozen times himself. Usually it took a gun pointed at them for the guy to jump into action. One had said "You're not gonna shoot me in here," and Ray had buried a bullet in his shin and had the crippled thug pay for the redecoration himself. Twenty-six thousand dollars of it, on top of the two hundred thou debt he'd already run up. He'd sold his house, lost his wife and kids, but hey--that was the business Armando was in, which meant it was the business Ray was in. It disgusted him, but as undercover gigs went this was the ultimate test of nerve, and if he didn't have it...
He wasn't going to shoot Ray in the knee. He wasn't going to shoot him at all, but he had to make Ray think he was capable of it. When he left, he had to think: Armando Langoustini is a scary ass piece of shit, and I hope I never cross paths with him again. ]
Sure, I bet your Ma wouldn't like it if you came down with something, eh? But then she probably wants her son back in the city in one piece, too, so why don't we do what's best for her, and you, and move things along a little bit, shall we?
[ He strode forward. They both knew that the best way for this to not become a struggle, wrestling for a weapon, where one of them ended up accidentally shot in the head, was for him to keep his distance; but Armando was pure confidence, and besides, Ray had demonstrated a hell of a lot of common sense so far. He'd come all this way, and he hadn't done it to get his face shot off trying to get his gun back now.
He brought the muzzle up to Ray's jaw, standing almost in his space, and raised his other hand to Ray's throat, loosening his tie directly, showing absolutely no hesitation or second-guessing about it as he moved, business like, from there to the buttons, working open Ray's shirt. ]
Usually when I shoot a guy I like to bring the music up, you know. It's not really my thing, but it drowns out the sobbing. I can't stand the sobbing--Mammy, mammy, sweet Mary Mother of Christ it hurts etcetera. And I like to call in the doctor in advance. I mean, you shoot a guy and you mean to kill him, you just get it done. One in the head, no fuss. You shoot him to hurt him and it really helps if he doesn't bleed to death, or lose it from the shock. He can't learn anything from the experience if he's delirious, or dead. [ He flattened his hand on Ray's bare chest, just over his sternum, and tilted the gun over slightly, nudging his chin a little higher as he did so. ] So you tell me, Ray. Do I need to get my doctor in here? Am I gonna have to shoot you to get you to pay attention to me?
What do you say? You think you can take it from here?