Truck Stop by Jack Kilborn

his face a snapshot of confusion. Alex goes to the nightstand. She flicks on the butane torch, adjusts it to a blue flame, and gives him a quick, two-second taste on his thigh.
    Lance howls.
    “That’s nothing. I can keep it there for a lot longer. Or move to more sensitive parts.”
    She gives his erection a playful flick with her finger.
    “What...what the hell do you want?”
    “I’ve followed your career. You’ve done well with the police department. Been in the papers several times. Always were a bit of an adrenaline junkie, Lance. Is that why you picked the EOD?”
    He stays silent. Alex brings to torch up to his face. The flame makes a hissing sound, like a snake. Lance quickly nods.
    “Most squads have a van or a truck with their equipment in it. They don’t like to leave dangerous materials at work. Too risky. So they take it home. Does you boss have one?”
    Another nod.
    “Truck or a van?”
    “A van.”
    “What sort of goodies are you boys packing?”
    Lance opens his mouth but nothing comes out. His eyes are locked on the torch.
    “Dammit, Lance. Focus. What kind of caps?”
    “Bridgewire.”
    “Sun cord?”
    “Maybe three hundred feet on a spool.”
    “Got a pigstick?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Rounds?”
    “Two cases. Assorted.”
    “How about initiators?
    “Yeah.”
    “It sounds like you’ve got a very well-stocked van, Lance. Now tell me about the big stuff.”
    “My... throat’s dry.”
    “That’s because you’re afraid I’m going to burn you again. And I will, Lance, unless you focus. What else you got?”
    “PENO.”
    “Nice. That’s Finnish, isn’t it?”
    “Yeah.”
    “How many bricks?”
    “Six.”
    “Anything else? Tell the truth now, Lance, or we’re gonna have a weenie roast.”
    “We... we got a few M18A1s.”
    Alex raises her good eyebrow.
    “Really? Wow. That’s impressive. So far, so good. Now, the moment of truth.”
    Alex leans forward, peering into his eyes.
    “Where’s the van?”
    Lance doesn’t say anything.
    “You sure you want to play hard to get, Lance?”
    His Adam’s apple bobbles up and down like a tetherball.
    “If...
if
... I tell you, what are... what are you going to do to him?”
    “I just want to borrow his van.”
    “I don’t want him or his daughter to get hurt.”
    Alex sits on the bed, running her hand over Lance’s chest.
    “What is he to you? Best friend? Father figure? Fuck buddy? Caring about people never leads to anything but pain, Lance. Trust me. I know from experience. That’s why I’m going to tell you the truth. Lieutenant Lucky Andringa is as good as dead. And if his wife and daughter are home when I stop by, they’ll die too.”
    Alex lightly pinches one of his nipples. Lance begins to cry.
    “No tears, Lance. I just gave you a gift. I freed you from having to worry about him. It’s not your fault he’s dead. I’m the one that’s going to kill him. And there’s nothing you can do to prevent it. Now tell me where he lives.”
    Lance turns away, burying his face in the pillow.
    “You sure you don’t want to tell me? You’re going to tell me eventually.”
    Nothing.
    “Okay. Your choice.”
    Alex picks up the duct tape, tears off a strip, and sticks it over his mouth while he thrashes back and forth. She runs her fingers through his hair, still sweaty from their sex.
    “Thank you, Lance. I was hoping I’d get to try this out. Will you look how cute this pink handle is? It matches my nails.”
    She smiles her half-smile, then descends with the blow torch.

1
Chapa
    I was merging from Harlem Avenue into mid-afternoon traffic on the Kennedy when word came in that another floater had turned up in the Chicago River.
    “I phoned you first, Mr. Chapa.” Zach Bridges, an intern at the news desk, had taken the call. “Just like you always tell me to.”
    I steered with my knee for a moment, one hand on my cell and the other fiddling with the air conditioning. There was a snowflake symbol on the dial, meant to