Chapter 8
Molly writhed on the floor, blubbering and cursing. He tried to roll, tried to reach for the pistol at his waist, and Frank stomped his elbow, evoking more squealing.
The guy was running out of useful joints on his right side.
“Who do you work for?” Frank asked the crippled redneck.
“I’ll kill you, you sumbitch!”
“I doubt it.” Frank used his foot to shove him over on his back. “I think you want to answer my question. Otherwise this ‘purty girl’ will start asking.”
Yvonne leaned down, grabbed the prone man’s boot, and bent his leg in a normally impossible direction. There was the sound of shattered bones grinding together and the punk screamed, arms flailing uselessly.
“The Russian!” he shrieked, his face pale and sweaty. “Kulish! He calls the shots!”
“He tell you to kill
