"I only wanted to protect…."
"You wanted to protect the same man who just wished for your death," I state.
Stanislav clamps his mouth shut.
I grab the knife from the tray. "Give me your arm."
"Please, don't do this," he begs. "I gave you the truth this time. I corrected all my lies…"
"Give me your arm right now. Or I will cut off something you can't grow back."
He extends his trembling arm, his muscles shaking with so much force I have to wrap my hand around his wrist to hold the limb steady in the air. Pressing the cold blade against the soft inside of his forearm, I drag the steel across his flesh to draw a shallow line. The skin parts open, and dark blood wells up in a long red stripe. He hisses in pain through his clenched teeth. Fresh tears spill down his cheeks.
"That cut is for the fake warehouse code," I tell him, slicing his skin a second time. The new wound runs parallel to the first mark. I use the exact same pressure and length. "That one is for the restaurant lie."
Carving a third line into his arm, I murmur. "That is for lying about the courier." I drag the blade down a fourth time. "That is for Levan's compound."
Four clean lines mark his pale skin. Thick blood runs down his forearm and drips off his elbow to puddle on the concrete floor. I toss the bloody knife onto the tray, then grab the heavy ceramic bowl. "Now we need to clean out those fresh wounds."
His panicked eyes lock onto the white crystals. "No, please don't do that…"
"I am putting salt in your wounds, Stanislav," I say, meeting his gaze. "I need you to understand my punishments are always literal."
Grabbing a handful of coarse rock salt. I press the sharp crystals deep into the first bleeding cut. The terrible soundescaping his mouth goes far beyond a normal scream. A high and broken screech tears from the back of his throat, his body thrashing in the metal chair. But the heavy restraints hold him firm. His boots kick at the concrete floor, his free hand clawing at the metal armrest.
I grind the salt deeper into the muscle with my thumb. The rough crystals bite into his raw flesh. "The warehouse code," I yell over his screams. "Did you lie about anything else there?"
"No!" he shrieks, "I told you the truth! I swear to God…"
I shove another handful of salt into the second cut. His throat goes hoarse from the screaming. Spit flies from his open mouth, and snot runs down his flushed face in thick lines.
"The restaurant," I demand. "Are there any other hidden details you kept from me?"
"No, that was everything! The weapons are in the cold storage room! That is the only lie I told…"
I pack a healthy amount of salt into the third cut. Stanislav belts into loud, heaving sobs that rattle the heavy chair against the floor. "The courier," I press. "What else?"
"He keeps a gun hidden under the driver's seat," Stanislav gasps out. "I left that part out. Please stop hurting me. I'm telling you every single thing in my head."
I move to the fourth cut, pressing the final handful of salt into the wound with agonizing slowness. I let him feel every sharp grain settling deep into the torn muscle. His loud screams eventually die down to pathetic whimpers, his exhausted head dropping forward toward his chest. A messy mixture of drool, tears, and blood drips down onto his lap.
I wipe my bloody hands clean on the white towel before pulling my chair back and sitting across from him. I cross one leg over the other. "Let's revisit the compound. You admitted Levan keeps forty men on guard instead of twenty. Tell me what else is there."
"There is an underground tunnel," he wheezes. His vocal cords sound shredded. "It sits under the main house and leads to a drainage ditch two hundred meters to the east. Levan uses it as his emergency escape route. If your men attack the front gates, he will slip out through the back."
"Tell me more."
"He keeps six attack dogs on the property. They are trained to kill on a specific whistle frequency. One of the night guards carries the device around his neck."
"Keep talking."
"Levan installed a panic room on the basement level. A thick reinforced steel door blocks the entrance. If he locks himself inside, your men won't get him out without heavy explosives."
"What else are you hiding, Stanislav?"
"That is the entire truth," he cries, lifting his head to look at me. His face looks like a swollen, bruised ruin. "I gave you everything. I have zero secrets left to share. Please believe me."
I study his broken expression for a long moment, then lean forward to slap him hard across the face with an open palm. His head snaps to the side, and the heavy chair rocks back on two legs before slamming down against the concrete. "That strike is for making me waste my valuable time."