“No, don’t,” he cried out, “you can’t do this to me.” That odd clanging sound rang out again. Butcher didn’t even bother to glance at Bill; he looked at Peggy and said, “So, you work for the insurance company that insured Garrison’s jewelry for $250,000.”
Peggy pointed at the tape over her mouth.
“You just need to nod, no need to remove the tape,” Butcher said, his eyes cold. She still held her head high, refusing to submit. Butcher shook his head, and Slim approached her.
“When I ask questions,” Butcher said, “I expect answers. Slim’s very rough; he’s not very sympathetic to women, like to snakes. Well, as far as I know, you work for that insurance company, and Bill was negotiating with you to return the jewels, you would have him avoid prosecution and pay him about $30,000 to $40,000. Is that right?”
She shook her head.
“Loosen her up, Slim,” Butcher said, “she’s lying.”
Slim tapped the back of her neck with the metal rod, just a light tap, but a sharp pain shot into Peggy’s head. She saw stars, felt a numbness, then the pain intensified. “I’m waiting for your answer,” Butcher said. She took a deep breath, fighting against the nauseating headache, then shook her head firmly. Slim raised his wrist, but then saw Butcher signal him to stop, a hint of admiration mixed with confusion in his eyes. “Holy hell,” he said, “this chick’s got some guts!”
Butcher turned to look at the unconscious Bill and said, “When he wakes up, we’ll have some questions for him. Someone told me directly that Bill was selling us out, and—damn it, that must be right.” “Should I take off the duct tape?” Slim asked. “Not yet,” Butcher said, “we’ve got all night. We—” A strange noise came from outside the apartment door, like fabric rubbing against it.
