Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
Contrary to common perception and the reputation he had built over the years, Guerrero didn't enjoy torturing people.
And for once it had nothing to do with his friendship to Chance.
Never ever, not even in his worst days of juvenile anger, had inflicting pain on other human beings been fun to him.
Violence was something that always came back to haunt you and bite you in the ass. Guerrero was no bible thumper, but there was definitely some truth to they sow the wind and reap the whirlwind. Executing violence on someone almost certainly led to revenge, if not by the victim himself then by his folks.
Bad people have friends and relatives, too. No one takes kindly to a loved one being exposed to pain and suffering, even if he was a bastard.
So the first rule of torture was use only when absolutely necessary.
It was tempting to resort to violence to get a result, especially when time was pressing and the supposed-to-be source of knowledge stubborn. But shortcuts could make long delays, at least if you took the second rule of torture to heart: Always clean up after yourself.
Raising fear, implying that one could use torture when necessary was much more effective. No tedious cleaning up afterwards and less risk of causing a retaliation campaign. A lot of productive things could happen if you put a gun to someone's head.
There was a difference between not enjoying torture and not feeling bad about it, though. Pretty much the same difference that was between not enjoying to kill someone and not feeling bad about it.
"I swear that's all I know!", the young man bound to the chair in front of him cried. Blood and sweat were running down his face and bare chest in thick streams. The electric shocks had made him lose control over his bladder. There was also vomit on the floor.
Sometimes there was no way around having to clean up.
On the other hand, since they were in Guerrero's completely tiled private dungeon with built-in drainage in the floor and lots of bleach in the storage room, the amount of extra work was manageable.
"Brax blackmailed the city council. He told them San Francisco would be buried under a series of unsolvable crimes if they didn't pay him. Don't know how much money he asked for, but it was a lot." The young man's voice was choked with tears and terror. Eyes wide with panic he summarized once more what Guerrero had forced out of him within the past few hours.
An unnecessary act. Guerrero's memory worked just fine. He didn't forget things.
Guerrero was familiar with the phenomenon, though. A lot of people seemed to be of the opinion that as long as they just kept talking, they wouldn't get killed.
He busied himself behind his captive's back, rummaging around in his tackle box as if he was looking to retrieve another instrument of torture.
"The bank robbery was intended as a demonstration of Brax' powers - in and out with SFPD reduced to the role of a helpless bystander. That's why the policemen besieged the bank; the mayor had ordered them to not let us escape under any circumstances. He wanted to prove to Brax that his crimes would not go unpunished. Of course he underestimated him. The tunnel had been built months in advance." The ex-robber's neck was slightly reddish from sunburn. He must have been to a beach shortly before Guerrero had caught him. How old was he? Twenty-two, twenty four maybe.
Pity.
"We weren't supposed to kill someone. No one ever said anything about murder during the planning stage. It was just in, stick around a little to demonstrate what Brax could do and out again, I swear." The young man's pleading voice climbed another octave.
"I really didn't overhear any part of the telephone conversation between Brax and Walter. All I know is that a call came in and suddenly there's the dead woman on the floor. If I had known the whole shit would lead to murder, I would have never taken the job, never! Brax must have decided that spontaneously, maybe because there was suddenly such a fuss outside, with FBI and all. Maybe Brax wanted to punish the mayor for involving so many people. I'm very, very sorry that woman died!"
Of course he was sorry now. Considering what Guerrero had done to him in the course of the past few hours, everything else would have been a surprise.
The young man had been the stubborn kind of information source.
On the other hand, given Brax' reputation of what he did to traitors, an understandable attitude. Only last month a snitch had been burned alive in his car that had been rumored, only RUMORED to have sold some minor, irrelevant piece of information to the police. Just like Guerrero, Brax was a firm believer in the doctrine of fear. The more people were convinced he would mercilessly retaliate, the less inclined they were to let anything leak.
Until, of course, someone with a car battery came and changed their priorities.
"I promise I won't tell a soul about today. I sure as hell won't go to the police. All I want is to get back to my wife and kid. See, it was for my son that I..." The ex-robber tried to turn around and look his captor in the face, since it still sounded as if he was sorting his instruments on the table behind his back, but he was tied up too tightly, he couldn't move an inch, couldn't see what Guerrero was doing.
It was better that way.
Silently, with one fluid movement, Guerrero drew his gun, released the safety catch, aimed at the young man's neck and pulled the trigger.
Tomorrow he'd sent the wife money and instructions where the police could find the body.
Without a proof of death you can't cash in on a spouse's life insurance.