DESPITE
the approach of daylight, the Fishing Hole was still crawling with semiaroused men and naked women, a sight that surprised Payne and Jones. Neither man was a huge fan of the skin club scene, so they weren’t aware that most dancers usually did their best business just before closing time-due to the horniness and intoxication of their fans.
“Let me see if Terrell’s still here,” Greene stated. “It’s nearly four A.M., so there’s a good chance he’s already gone home for the night.”
“Should we go with you?” Jones wondered.
“Probably not. Terrell’s pretty skittish around new people. If the three of us go charging back there, he’s liable to get pissed. And trust me, you don’t want to see him pissed.”
Payne nodded while receiving a skeptical glance from Jones. Once Greene had entered the club’s back corridor, Jones spoke up. “What’s your gut say about Terrell Murray?”
“It’s undecided. Earlier tonight he seemed pretty hospitable, but it could’ve been an act. I find it pretty suspicious that he sold us defective weapons and recommended our visit to Sam’s shooting gallery within a twenty-four-hour period. That’s a pretty big coincidence, don’t you think?”
“But what would he gain from our deaths? Like you mentioned, if the kidnappers want your money, they need to keep you alive.”
“I know. That’s why my gut is undecided. I don’t know why he’d want to eliminate us. Shoot, maybe all of this was just a fluke.”
Jones pondered Murray’s role as he watched the Fishing Hole’s crowd. “You know, maybe he doesn’t want to kill us. Maybe he has to.”
“How so?”
“In a perfect world, the people who took Ariane would want to take your money, but maybe our presence in New Orleans has everyone spooked. Maybe the kidnappers figure it’s better to cut their losses before they get caught. You know, live to play another day.”
“Possibly,” Payne admitted. It was a thought that hadn’t crossed his mind. “But to be honest with you, I didn’t get the sense that Murray was surprised by our visit. If he is, in fact, the ringleader of this crime, you’d think that our appearance would’ve flustered him.”
“You’re right, but if Levon had mentioned our names when he purchased the guns earlier in the day, Murray would’ve had plenty of time to gather his senses. Right?”
“Right.”
“And get faulty weapons for us.”
“Yep.”
“And arrange our death.”
“I see what you’re saying. But for some reason that last part just doesn’t seem to click. If Murray wanted us dead and he knew that we had broken guns, then why didn’t he have someone walk into Sam’s shop and shoot us at close range?”
“That’s a good point. So where does that leave us?”
Payne shrugged. “Confused and very tired. I’m sure there’s something staring us in the face, but I can’t think of it.”
“Then let’s get out of here,” Greene said from behind. His approach had been so silent he startled both Payne and Jones. “Terrell’s not here, so I think our refund is going to have to wait.”
“That’s okay,” Jones muttered. “I think all of us could use some sleep before we face our next round of confrontations.”
Payne nodded. “Trust me, my gut tells me that there are some big ones headed our way.”
CHAPTER 26
WITH
the help of several guards, Hakeem Ndjai ordered the captives out of their cabins at the first sign of daylight. He led the bruised and battered group across the dew-covered grass to the far end of the field. The walk was a brisk one, forcing the prisoners to maintain a pace that they were barely able to keep, but at no point were they tempted to complain since their journey was far better than the backbreaking labor that Ndjai usually put them through. Furthermore, a complaint would have resulted in a swift and vicious beating at the hands of the guards.
Not exactly the way the prisoners wanted to start their day.
When they neared the tree-lined edge of the field, Ndjai ordered the group to stop, then waited for everyone to gather around him. After clearing his throat, the African native spoke to the prisoners, lecturing in his thick accent on the torture device that they were about to see, an invention that he had constructed himself.
“What I am about to show you is a contraption that I was never allowed to use on the cacao plantations of Cameroon because the landowners felt it was too destructive to the morale of the workers. Thankfully, Master Holmes views things differently and has given me permission to use some of my toys on the people that need to be disciplined the most.” Ndjai paused, staring into the scared eyes of his prisoners. “I like to call it the Devil’s Box.”
Ndjai started walking again, leading the group along the edge of the forest, taking them even further from the cabins where they spent their terror-filled nights.
As their journey continued, the sights, sounds, and smells of nature were more prevalent than on the cultivated land near the plantation house. Ducks, geese, and brown pelicans waddled on the marsh’s edge, carefully avoiding the foxes that guarded the land and the alligators that patrolled the water of the swamps. White-tailed deer darted among the fallen timber like a scene from a Disney movie, while nu trias scoured for food on the hard ground. Doves, egrets, and wild turkeys squawked and sang in the dense groves of oak trees to their left, which dripped with thick blankets of Spanish moss. Small pockets of flowers-lilies, orchids, hon eysuckle, jasmine, and azaleas-dotted the terrain, filling the air with a sweet fragrance that overpowered the horrid stench that covered the skin and clothes of the prisoners, temporarily giving the group a reason for hope.
But five more minutes of hiking ended that.
The soft sounds of nature that had calmed them a moment before had been replaced by the distant howl of a man. The echoing scream was muffled at first, but it slowly increased in volume and intensity with every step that the group took.
“A little farther,” Ndjai said as he enjoyed the sound of torture. “Then you will see why my friend is so unhappy.”
With tired legs and shortness of breath, the group mounted a man-made slope that had been built decades earlier to prevent flooding. A few of the prisoners struggled with the climb, stumbling on the loose sand and gravel that covered the mound, but the guards showed them no mercy, flogging the fallen captives across their backs with punishing blows from their braided whips. The loud cracks of cowhide, followed by the sharp shrieks of pain, only added to the horrific sound of terror that came from the crest of the hill. In unison, the combination of cruelty, agony, and torment created a noise that was so sinister, so evil, that some of the guards shielded their ears from the heinous symphony.
When the last captive reached the top of the ridge, Ndjai ordered the prisoners to study his invention. He wanted their full attention when he explained the torture device. But his command wasn’t necessary. Members of the pilgrimage had never been more wide-eyed in their entire lives. The concentration of each person was focused solely on the wooden cube that had been anchored into the hilltop. Trembling, they waited for a detailed explanation of Ndjai’s masterpiece, the Devil’s Box.
Standing four feet tall and four feet wide, the cube did not appear threatening at first glance. Made out of thick slabs of oak, the device was secured in place by a number of sturdy metal cables that had been pounded into the rocky turf. The outside surface of the box had been sanded to a smooth finish, then painted with several coats of black waterproof sealant, giving the device the look of a giant charcoal briquette. The box was solid on all sides but one; the center of the top layer had been carved in an intricate lattice pattern, allowing fresh air into the cube without giving the occupant any view except of the hot sun above.
“I know what you are thinking. The Devil’s Box does not appear dangerous, but do not let its simplicity fool you. It can be nasty in so many ways. And if you do not believe me, you can always ask Nathan.” Ndjai put his face
above the box and laughed. “Isn’t that right, Nathan? You thought you were tough when you were out here, but now that you have been in there for a while, you do not feel very tough, do you?”
The prisoner answered with a torture-filled grunt, but his words were indecipherable.
“You will have to excuse Nathan. He has been in my box since long before your arrival on the Plantation, and it seems dehydration has swollen his tongue to twice its normal size. Unfortunately, that makes words very difficult to pronounce.” Ndjai turned his attention back to Nathan. “Isn’t that right? You are a little bit thirsty, aren’t you? Well, you should have thought of that before you hurt one of my bosses, you stupid man!”
The guards laughed in amusement as they watched the taunting continue.
“But do not worry. I will not let you die of thirst. I will keep you like this for as long as I possibly can, teetering on the edge of life and death.”
Once again the captive screamed in agony, but this time with a far greater intensity. It caused each prisoner to shiver with fear and hatred for the man who had put him there.
“Before you get the wrong idea,” Ndjai continued, “and start to think that this device is simply used to bake the bad attitude out of a troubled inmate, let me point out your error. The Devil’s Box is not used for dehydration, even though I must admit the severe loss of fluids is a pleasant side effect to my invention. In fact, that is why I painted it black to begin with, to draw in the intense heat of the sun. You would be surprised at how uncomfortable a person can get when they run out of liquid.”
He moved closer to the group so they could see the emotion on his face.
“In the beginning you feel an unquenchable thirst, but from there the human body falls apart quite quickly. The tongue starts to balloon, followed by the drying of the throat lining and nasal passages, making it difficult to talk or even breathe. Lips start to crack, and skin starts to separate, painfully pulling apart with the slightest movement of any kind. Intense cramps surface in your arms and legs, causing spasms of agony that you cannot stop. Your bladder swells from the lack of moisture in your body, making you suffer through the severe urge to urinate, but the joke is on you because there is no liquid in your system to squeeze out. From there your kidneys fail, followed by the rest of your body, including your brain. All in all, not a pleasant way to go.”
Ndjai caught his breath while enjoying the horrified look of the crowd that surrounded him-children clinging to their parents, strangers holding hands for comfort and unity, fear and desperation in the eyes of everyone. It was a sight that he truly loved.
“But as I pointed out to you, dehydration is not the main intent of the Devil’s Box. It is merely a bonus, heightening the effects of its original purpose. And what purpose is that, you may ask. Well, let me tell you. The purpose is agony!”
Ndjai approached the box again, but this time one of the guards handed him a plastic container that was no larger than a carton of tissues.
“When we put Nathan in here several weeks ago, he was covered in cuts and scratches, wounds that I personally administered with the aid of a metal-tipped whip. Since that time his body has been unable to heal the torn flesh because of his severe thirst and his lack of a balanced diet. In fact, I would guess that his wounds are in worse shape now than the day I created them due to the infections that have developed. Tsk-tsk. It is really a shame. Nathan used to be such a large man. We even had a difficult time squeezing him inside the box because of his girth. But now, due to his lengthy stay in my device, he has been sapped of his size and strength-like Superman in a kryptonite cage!”
Ndjai grinned as he held the small container above the opening in the top of the box, taunting the imprisoned man by swooshing the object back and forth. This increased the intensity of Nathan’s screams, turning his moans and wails into terrified shrieks of torment. The sound, which filled the air with a sense of dread, quickly brought gooseflesh to everyone on the ridge.
“One of the most difficult things to deal with in the Devil’s Box is the loneliness. The heat is bad, the thirst is horrible, but the solitude is what gets you. Without companionship, the mind tends to wander, leaving sanity behind while looking for ways to amuse itself. It is a terrible thing, but it eventually happens to each of my victims.”
Ndjai peeled open the container’s cover and slowly started dumping its contents into the box.
“Since I worry about my friend’s sanity, I do my best to occupy him with tangible things. Instead of allowing his mind to drift into a fantasy world, where it is liable to get lost, I try to keep his brain focused on real-life issues. Each day it is something new, and each problem gets more and more difficult for Nathan to solve. You are probably wondering, what is today’s problem?” He laughed softly while answering his own question. “Fire ants!”
Ndjai drained the container into the Devil’s Box, glancing through the cube’s tiny slits to see how Nathan handled it. His intense screams proved that he wasn’t happy.
“As you can tell from his reaction, the sting of the fire ant is very painful. The poison is not life threatening-unless, of course, a person gets stung by several dozen ants in a short period of time. Did you hear that, Nathan? Do not let them sting you, if you can help it!”
Ndjai chuckled as he redirected his attention to the group. “Unfortunately, his task might be difficult. You see, fire ants are actually drawn to the taste of blood, and since he has a number of open wounds, they are going to get pretty wound up, like sharks in a sea full of chum. Oh, well, look on the bright side. If he is able to eat the ants before they eat him, he will get his first dose of protein since his capture.”
The guards smiled at the remark, showing their approval of Ndjai’s presentation.
“At this point of my lecture, I am sure you are wondering why I brought you up here to start this day. That is what you are wondering, isn’t it? Well, the reason is quite simple. I wanted to show you how good you currently have it.” Ndjai paused for a moment to let that comment sink in. “Is the heat of the summer sun intense? Sure it is. Is working all day in the field tough? Definitely. Is sleeping on the ground of your cabin uncomfortable? Of course.”
Moving closer to the group, Ndjai narrowed his eyes to tiny slits. “But keep this in mind. If you mess with me or my staff, I will make things so much worse for you. I will make your stay a living hell.”
CHAPTER 27
DRAPED
in a Tulane University blanket, Payne opened his eyes and gazed around the room. Wearing nothing but boxers, he had spent the night on Greene’s couch but barely got any sleep. Thoughts of Ariane had kept him awake way past daybreak.
Payne felt much better after a quick shower. His body was reenergized, and his mind was suddenly clear. Some people needed caffeine in the morning, but Payne relied on a bar of soap. After getting dressed, he looked for Jones, finding him downstairs in the living room.
“What time is it?” Payne asked.
“Almost noon. I would’ve woken you up earlier, but I know you didn’t sleep much.”
“You got that right.”
“Don’t worry. Levon and I were busy while you were getting your beauty rest.”
“Doing what?”
“Discussing last night. And after careful analysis, we came to the conclusion that Levon messed up bad.”
“How so?”
“He neglected to tell us something about our guns. Something important.”
“Such as?”
“They were loaded with dummy bullets.”
Payne shook his head as he sat on the couch next to Jones. “How did
that
slip his mind?”
“Apparantly, on the rare occasion that Terrell sells a weapon to a new customer, he likes to load them with dummy bullets-substituting sand for powder. That way his weapons can’t be used to rob him.”
“And Levon knew this?”
Jones nodded. “But since he was buying the guns for us, Levon assu
med that they’d be loaded with regular ammo.”
“You realize his assumption could’ve gotten us killed.”
“You’re right, and he knows it. The big baby’s been pout ing all morning.”
“Why? There’s nothing he can do about it now. Besides, it’s not like we could’ve saved Sam, even if our guns had worked.”
“That’s what I told him, but he’s still taking it hard.”
“Don’t worry, he’ll be fine once I talk to him. Speaking of which, where is he?”
“At Terrell’s. While you were sleeping, he made an appointment to get us some new guns. This time, loaded with
real
bullets.”
“That should help. When will he be back?”
Jones pointed to a nearby security monitor. “Actually, I think that’s him now.”
Payne glanced at the screen and saw an Escalade pull through the front gate. A minute later, Greene walked through the front door.
“Guys!” Greene shouted. “Where are you?”
Payne and Jones made their way to the foyer, anxious to see why Greene was so excited.
“What’s gotten into you?” Jones asked. “You seem happier than before.”
“That’s ’cause I am! You know how I went to get you guns? Well, I came back with more than that. Something
much
better.”
“I hope you didn’t buy a missile, because Jon doesn’t carry that much cash.”
“No.” Greene laughed. “I got some news on the Posse!”
“On the Posse?” Payne demanded. “How did that happen?”
“Well, I went to the Fishing Hole to talk to Terrell about the dummy bullets. I figured if I bitched enough I could get him to cut us a deal on some new guns. Unfortunately, he was on the phone when I rolled in, and his boys said he’d take a while to finish. So instead of waiting by his office, I strolled out front to check out the talent. And that’s when I saw him!”
“Him?” Jones asked. “What the hell were you doing watching a guy dance?”
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