“Where did you come from?”
“I found your truck empty and I was standing at the front door when I heard glass breaking. I came in and found Ferny Ernest here loading his piece.”
“A pair of MP5s firing subsonic rounds, noise suppressors. That the sort of weapons the good colonel was dealing?”
Alexa nodded.
“So, what the hell are you doing here?”
“I had an epiphany. I doubled back.”
“I didn’t see your car on the street.”
“Parked on the next street and cut through the Lathams’.”
“What was this epiphany?”
“I figured you planned to do something insane and that I should be with you so I’d know what you didn’t do in case I’m ever asked officially. I thought about what you said about this guy’s value weighed against the Dockerys’ lives.” She winked at Winter and smiled. “You were right. I was wrong. This is new territory for me.”
“It was Max Randall?” Click asked, from the floor.
Winter nodded. “Yes, Click, I saw his face clearly.”
“Why would he shoot me?”
“I’d bet he came back to cancel the job offer Sarnov extended to you earlier this evening.”
“Why would he do that?” Click demanded.
“Because Sarnov as much as told you that he was planning to wipe your family out, and Max probably decided it was too much information too soon. He knows nothing you can do with a computer is unique enough to jeopardize his ass after Bryce is free.”
Click said, “You saved me-so I know you aren’t going to hurt me.”
Alexa laughed and shook her head slowly. “Boy, for a genius, you do not know Shinola.”
46
Winter Massey looked in his rearview mirror at Alexa’s headlights, and then beside him at sulking Click’s profile. Being almost killed had a sobering effect on people lucky enough to be able to remember it after the fact. Click was still wearing his red-and-blue plaid flannel robe over his T-shirt and boxers. The athletic sock on his right foot was bunched around his ankle like a badge of defeat.
“Your girlfriend was going to kill me,” Click said.
“You were trying to load your gun. If you had, I would have killed you. What are you bitching about? You’re murdering a young mother and her child.”
“You have children?” Click asked.
“No,” Winter lied.
“Married?”
“No.”
“Girlfriend?”
He shook his head.
“Gay?”
“Don’t talk to me unless you’re ready to tell me where the Dockerys are.”
“Why?”
“You really want to know?”
“Du-uh,” Click said. “I wasn’t asking so I could smell your breath.”
“I don’t want anything personal about this. It’s business. I intend to keep your family from killing two innocent people, and I am willing to do whatever I have to do. I don’t want to remember you as a real person because it might make me feel bad about what I had to do to you.”
“I was just making conversation.” Click looked at the road ahead, sullen. “I mean, somebody saves your life, keeps their girlfriend from killing you, and plans to torture you, you have to wonder about them.”
“I didn’t save you because I like you or give a damn if they kill you. I did it because I want to find out what you know. You’re just a map to me. Whatever happens to you depends on how it affects my route to find the Dockerys.”
“I can’t help you hurt my family.”
“You’re not like them. They’re killers, you’re not.”
“They might be what you say they are, but they’ll be around a long time after you’re dead. I’m no Judas.”
“If they murder the Dockerys, I’ll make sure you spend the next thirty years in prison without access to computers.”
“Smoot blood goes back hundreds of years. Our ancestors came here from England. No Smoot has ever ratted out another one.”
Winter figured the first Smoots came kicking and screaming, clapped in irons, straight from the bowels of some British penal institution.
“One way or the other, you’re going to tell me where the Dockerys are. That, Click, is a dead-certain fact.”
“You can’t make me tell you anything.”
Winter smiled.
“I bet you’ve never beaten anybody up or tortured them before. You don’t have the eyes for it. You didn’t even shoot back at Randall.”
“No need to make a racket that would have brought the cops.”
Click reached down, opened his robe, and pulled up the T-shirt. Even in the dimly lit cab, Click’s torso looked like Jackson Pollock had created a masterpiece on the young man’s canvas of skin by using a variety of blades and red-hot objects to get the desired effect.
He sneered. “Do anything you want to me. We have this family tradition that gets passed down from father to son. You can burn me with cigarettes, break bones, pull out my fingernails, or carve me up like a Thanksgiving turkey and all you’ll get for your trouble is your own sweat.” Click dropped his shirt and closed his robe. He said offhandedly, “Whatever you can do, I’ve already had. You might as well just shoot me and go on about your snooping business without wasting any more time than you already have.”
Winter thought about a man who would do such a thing to his own child. He thought then about his own son and his infant daughter, and deep inside he was on fire.
He intended to find Lucy and Elijah, but after he did, he wanted to kill Peanut Smoot.
Maybe Click truly believed he wasn’t going to rat out his father, but Winter knew differently.
47
The sign that had been suspended from a bar between the brick columns had been taken down. As a precaution Winter handcuffed Click’s wrists behind him before he got out of the truck. He opened the padlock and swung open the steel pole that stretched, from hedgerow to hedgerow, across the asphalt driveway. The No Trespassing signs on either post glowed in the headlights. Winter watched Alexa drive through, took his truck in, then locked the gate.
The parking lot had been cut into the side of a hill studded with pine trees. The building at the base of the hill stood on a flat beyond a rock-walled stream. Its dark roof, accented by pools of rainwater, looked every bit as large as a football field.
“What is this place?” Click asked.
“Isolated,” Winter said.
Winter led Click and Alexa down a long run of wide stone steps, across a wooden bridge over a rushing brook. The slopes and flower beds were buried under a carpet of rust-colored pine needles. A motion-sensitive light came on, illuminating the walkway and the front of the structure. The trio crossed an expanse of concrete, beneath a cantilevered awning, to arrive at a set of glass doors. Streaks of adhesive were evidence of logo graphics that had been removed from the inside of the glass at some point with a razor. Subtle lighting from a fixture over the reception counter, which was faced with wood veneer, allowed the arrivals a view of a lobby that had been stripped of all other furniture. Winter took his keys from his jacket and, isolating one, used it to unlock the door. As he ushered the others inside, a rhythmic beeping filled the space.
“What is this place?” Click asked again, sounding like a curious tourist.
Winter strode behind the reception counter and, using another key, opened a steel box and typed in the numbers to disarm the alarm system. He removed an odd-shaped key that hung inside the alarm box and came back around the counter.
Winter gripped Click’s arm and led him roughly through a door, into utter darkness.
“No!” Click screamed, whirling in the dark. Winter pressed him against the wall with his left hand while he located and flipped a switch. The lights in the wide hallway came on.
When Click yelled, Alexa had pulled her gun, and the lights caught her crouched with her back against the wall, aiming at Winter and Click. She blinked, frowned, straigh
tened, and put her gun back in her handbag.
Click’s face had lost all its color and was twisted into a mask of horror.
They walked fifty yards to a steel door. Winter unlocked it and pushed Click into a narrower hallway, where four very solid doors ran along one wall. Each door had an eye-level, sliding peep panel. Winter unlocked the first door.
“This a jail?” Click said.
Winter hit the light switch on the wall beside the door, illuminating a bare bulb in a cage fixture high up in the ceiling.
“Get in,” he said. He shoved Click and the young man hit the cell’s back wall.
“What is this place?” Click asked, his eyes darting around.
“A padded cell,” Winter said.
“What’re you going to do to me?”
“Like you said, I can’t torture you into talking. So I’m going to shelve you and move on. Sort of like a private maximum security cell block.”
“You can’t leave me in here!”
“Why not?”
“It’s kidnapping for one thing.”
“Now, that’s ironic,” Alexa said.
“Your family kidnapped the Dockerys. I kidnapped you. I don’t know where they are. Your family doesn’t know where you are. I don’t find the Dockerys, they’ll die. The Dockerys die, so do you.”
“You won’t kill me.”
“You’re getting the worst side of the deal, because the Dockerys will die soon, but you won’t die for a long time.”
“Bull,” Click said. “You’re not a murderer.”
“You don’t want to split that hair. A man can live for weeks without food before his stomach acids dissolve his vital organs. Water is a different story. Three to four days without it and you’re done. But. .” Winter reached into his coat and took out an eight-ounce bottle about half filled with water. “If you conserve it, you can ration this for a long time. It’ll give you more time to think about what your family did to the Dockerys.”
Click said, “It’s the same as shooting me.”
“Think so?” Winter scratched his head. “Doesn’t seem that way to me. More like you’re committing suicide.”
“Screw you!” Click’s voice was fierce, but his eyes reflected a deep uncertainty.
“Once I close this door, we are going to walk out of this building. If we find the Dockerys and they are still alive, I’ll come back and let you out. Nobody but me will ever come back to check on you, and even if the hall out here was filled with people, they wouldn’t hear you if you had a bullhorn. This room was designed so patients going through DTs couldn’t harm themselves or disturb others with their screaming. After a few days in here you might decide on suicide. It won’t be easy, but you might be able to get that bottle cap lodged in your throat and block the air passage, if you don’t just swallow it.”
“This is wrong!” Click’s eyes narrowed to slits, his lips thinned. He looked around and up at the bare bulb in a steel-wire cage. “This doesn’t bother me.”
Winter reached over and flipped the light switch, plunging the cell into darkness.
“You turning out the lights?” Click sounded afraid.
“Tough old Ferny Ernest isn’t afraid of whips, chains, knives, hot wire. But he doesn’t like the dark.”
“Please,” the young man begged. “Just leave the slot open and the hall light on.”
“Click, people pay good money to spend time in sensory-deprivation chambers. All alone with just your brilliant mind for company. You can do math problems or figure out computer programs to pass the time. Some religions believe that hell is a dark void where you spend eternity alone with only your thoughts for company. In every religion, murder is a mortal sin that guarantees hell.”
Click bolted for the door. Winter body-blocked him easily and flipped him onto his back. Then Winter stepped out and closed the door, silencing Click’s anguished screams. When Click pressed his face against the note-card-sized square of two-inch-thick Plexi, his eyes wild with terror, Winter slid it closed.
“How long are you going to leave him in there?” Alexa asked Winter.
“Good question.”
“So, what is this place?”
“A building Sean bought to turn it into a safe house for battered women. They start work on it in a few weeks. I had the keys because we’ve been meeting with architects and space planners.”
“Your own private Abu Ghraib. Great start, Massey. You just have one prisoner and you’re torturing him.”
On the way back up the hall, Winter told her about Click’s scars, the conditioning to physical pain the boy had been put through for years, probably starting when he was very young.
“God, child abuse for the good of the family,” Alexa said sadly.
“For the survival of the Smoots,” Winter said.
“He’ll bug out,” Alexa warned.
“His fear of the dark is a full-blown phobia, but he won’t die from it. If I leave him in there a couple of hours, it will seem like a lot longer to him. When we come back and give him a chance to come clean, he’ll do it.”
“This is so wrong,” Alexa said. “I can’t believe you. . that we can be so cruel.”
“Without him, you’ll never find the Dockerys in time, Bryce goes free, and not one of the Smoots will ever be punished for Lucy’s murder. What I got from reading Sarnov’s lips through a window won’t hold up in court. But knowing what we know might give us leverage with the next Smoot.”
Alexa grabbed Winter’s arm when they entered the lobby. “I don’t think I can do this.”
“Damn it, Lex!” Winter yelled. “Stop thinking about this little vermin, and think about Lucy and Elijah. Click is a career criminal who is conspiring to murder two people just to throw a trial to free another murderer so Bryce can go on being a death merchant. We let him out now and it’s all over.”
“Turn on the light,” she argued. “Keep him in there, but if he goes insane from the fear, he’s no good to us either.”
Winter thought it over for five seconds. “No way.”
“What do we do in the meanwhile?”
“See what we can learn from somebody else.”
“Peanut?”
“Don’t know where he is. We could go look at each Smoot house, maybe find another Smoot or two. We can’t torture them because they’ll never talk. We might follow Peanut if Clayton tells us where Peanut is-or was, since this phone-trap thing isn’t instant-and we could tag along behind him. If he goes to where they have the Dockerys. Too many ifs.”
“Why couldn’t we trade Click to Peanut for the Dockerys?” Alexa said.
“Peanut would never go for it. Click’s life isn’t worth a day in prison to him.”
“He might if we promise we won’t prosecute.”
“You think he’d believe that? We both know that men like Peanut Smoot aren’t the sorts you can deal with unless you have something they really, really want and can’t take away from you. And I don’t think Laughlin, Sarnov, and Colonel Bryce would let him do it and live. Peanut’s freedom is more important to him than the lives of any member of his family.”
“So how do we find Peanut?”
“We don’t. You go back to the hotel and get some rest. If I don’t call you by daylight, you call the cops anonymously and tell them where Click is. He doesn’t know your name. If I get the location, I’ll call you. I never show up, it’s not your fault.”
“What are you going to do?”
“The best I can,” he answered. “I know you want to help, but you’re in my way. If you really want the Dockerys, back off.”
“Tell me.”
“I’m going to go see someone who should know where they are, who might be willing to tell to save his skin.”
“Who?”
“A lawyer.”
“You’re not serious?” Alexa said. “You’re just going to tip our hand early. Laughlin isn’t some kid, Winter.”
“Lex, don’t worry. If he doesn’t tell me where the Do
ckerys are, I’ve got more padded cells.”
48
Lucy Dockery would have one chance at survival. She had formulated a plan based on what she was sure she could lay her hands on in order to effect an escape. She had done her best to weigh what she was capable of doing against what wasn’t as likely to work. For example, she had seen a bottle of antifreeze in the bathroom, probably used for winterizing the trailer’s toilet. She imagined that if she could get some of it in Dixie’s coffee, the woman might drink it and it would probably kill her the same way it did dogs that drank it. But as far as Lucy knew, the poison could also take a long time to work, and she wasn’t going to get a chance to pour it in the coffeepot, and maybe Dixie wouldn’t even drink any coffee. She was resigned to the fact that her plan was dangerous and it was likely that, if it worked, Dixie probably wouldn’t survive. Well, Dixie planned to kill her and Elijah, and if she had to kill in self-defense, she was pretty sure she could do it.
In theory.
Every time she imagined striking a fatal blow to Dixie, every fiber of her being resisted the alien thought. Lucy was horrified and revolted at the very idea of taking a life.
Yes. To save Elijah, I will. If I absolutely have to, Walter, I will. I promise.
She heard Dixie making noise in the kitchen, mumbling to herself, running water into the sink, opening and closing the refrigerator. Lucy lay still, curled herself into a fetal position. When the door opened, Dixie entered carrying a glass and a plastic bowl. She had a T-shirt draped over one shoulder and a towel over the other. She sat down on the bed.
“Missy?” she said in a low voice. “Baby, you awake?”
Lucy drew herself into a tighter ball.
“You poor little thing. Dixie’s going to clean you up,” the big woman said. “I’m sorry for what Buck did. He got punished for it. He sometimes has trouble controlling his temper. I know you didn’t mean to upset him like you did.”
Dixie reached out and dabbed at Lucy’s blood-matted hair with a wet end of the towel.
Lucy moaned, playing barely conscious as Dixie worked halfheartedly to clean her up. “You are one lucky gal,” Dixie chirped. “This isn’t near as bad as he can do. Not by a long shot it ain’t. It’s sort of his way of fore-playing. Buck’s used to doing like he wants, and that won’t never change. But he won’t bother you again. Not so long as you don’t give me call to turn my back and let him. Think of me as your angel standing between you and. . Honey, you need to sit up and let Dixie put this shirt on you so you won’t be naked.”
Side by Side wm-3 Page 16
