“So Johnny. Can I call you Johnny? Johnny, I was just wondering where your good friend, I believe his name was Ronny Radgecliffe, you know, that drug kingpin that you like to hang out with, liked to hang out.” Henry smiled and brought himself to a crouching position, leaving an arm over Johnny’s shoulder, in a mock hug. “Johnny” shook his head “no” because he couldn’t speak, gagged as he was. “Oh come on Johnny! We’re friends now right?” Henry said as he playfully shook the bound and gagged Johnny Ten-Fingers. “You know, friends are willing to help each other out. Point and case. Your nick-name is very lame. Let me help you with that.” Henry said, quickly drawing a combat knife and removing a pinky. Johnny’s eyes screamed louder than any pair of lungs could. “See my friend! Johnny nine-fingers sounds so much better than Johnny ten-fingers. That’s what friends do for each other. So, why don’t you help me out, and let me know where Ronny is.” tears rolled down Johnny’s eyes as he shook his head no again. Henry jumped up with a smile, pointing to the ceiling, a single lightbulb on a string idly swung back and forth. “You know what! I agree! Your nickname is just not up to par. Maybe Johnny eight-fingers?” Henry looked down at Johnny with a smile, Johnny whimpering. “Nah, I don’t like that. Maybe Johnny No-nails? How does that sound?” Henry gleamed, gesturing towards the toolbox, where a pair of pliers hung off the edge of a steel table. Henry toyed with the idea for a moment, shaking his head happily. “You know what! I’ve got it! I’ve got the perfect name for you! Lidless Johnny!” Henry quickly grabbed Johnny by a tuft of hair and yanked his head back. Henry brought the combat knife to Johnny’s eyes and began cutting his eyelid off, pulling back for a moment, “now now Johnny! We don’t move, we wouldn’t want you to be Eyeless Johnny, that just doesn’t sound as cool!” Henry continued taking Johnny’s eyelids. Before long they were both gone. “So, my good friend, Lidless Johnny, do you like your new nick-name enough to help your good friend out?” Johnny nodded yes and Henry did a small dance. “Excellent!” he said as he removed the gag. Henry leaned in and Lidless Johnny revealed the location of the kingpin, several blocks away at the top floor of an apartment building. Henry quickly leaned in and gave Johnny a hug. “Thank you my new friend!” Henry pulled away and waved a hand in front of his face. “woo, boy, you smell. You smell like fear. You know what. You need a bath. Let me help you with that.” Henry said as he put the gag back on. “You know what I find helps get rid of that smell? A nice little blend of gasoline and kerosene!” Henry smiled as he grabbed a small gas caddy and began pouring it all over Johnny, who thrashed about wildly. “You’re a smoker right Johnny? I could tell because what fingers you have left are stained. Here let me help you with that.” Henry smiled as he pulled out a packet of cigarettes and a small chrome lighter. “Never did like them myself. Might as well help you out.” Henry said, as he put an unlit cigarette on Johnny’s gag, it hung away from his face, hooked in by the gag. “Oh, where are my manners.” Henry said, as he ignited the lighter, and quickly placed it onto the cigarette, lighting it quickly. Henry snapped the lighter shut and smiled. “Well, looks like our time is up. I’d love to stick around, but I have an appointment to make, don’t want to be late. Those deadlines are killer aren’t they!” Henry said as he casually walked out of the building, leaving Lidless Johnny soaked in kerosene and gasoline, a lit cigarette burning down slowly. It didn’t take long, a single ember from the cigarette fell upon Johnny’s clothing, lighting him ablaze in a fire that would leave him little more than bone.
Henry made his way to the apartment building, and it was quite the building, 12 stories tall in all. Ronny was on the 12th. It simply made it easier for him. There was a single guard posted out front. Henry simply walked to passed him and up to the door like he lived there. The guard quickly lost interest in him. He began reaching for the keypad, but instead quickly turned around, drawing his pistol and shooting the guard in the head, leaving the stairs covered in gray matter. Henry cursed his lack of forethought, how would he get into the building without the pass-key? He should have gotten his good friend Johnny to give him that too. Henry resorted to the only thing that he could think of, searching the guard’s pockets, after all, nobody was as dumb as a drug lackey. Fortunately, most guards were too dumb to remember a 4 key code. This was one of those guards, the guard must have had to write it down. He dragged the body into the building, placing it between the doors of the elevator. It wouldn’t go anywhere now. There was only two places that they could escape through now. The stairs, or the fire escape. He’d take care of the stairs first, he went out to the front, and grabbed the 20 gallon container of his gasoline/kerosene mix. He brought it up the stairs, soaking every step up to the sixth floor in the extremely flammable mix. As for the fire escape, he had a special mix for that. It didn’t take much, about a gallon of this liquid in key spots, and it would make the fire escape fall into the street below. He made short work of the fire escape. It fell into the street below. He made his way back down to the base of the building. With a smile he lit the massive trail of kerosene/gasoline mix. He walked out the front door like nothing ever happened. He knew where the fire station that would respond to this fire was, and which route they’d take. They might even make it in time to save them. He couldn’t allow that. He made his way to the route the fire trucks would take. Before long he heard the familiar sound of a fire truck siren. He smiled, pulled out his pistol, and blew the brains out of the driver’s head. The fire truck swerved severely, hit a pole, and overturned in a devastatingly brutal crash. It’s unlikely anyone would have survived that crash, let alone call another station in time to save that building and its inhabitants. Henry simply disappeared back into the shadows. He whispered to himself, “what’s a few dozen innocents compared to the life of Ronny Radgecliffe.” The word innocent hung bitterly on his tongue. After all, there was no such thing as innocence, only varying degrees of guilt. The next morning’s news reported on the fire, clearly labeling it as arson. They had nothing on him, they simply called him, “The Cleanser.” He liked that.