by Nick Thacker
“Dixon, I’m not going to put Hannah in any more danger than she’s already in.”
I half-smiled, then continued on. I pushed a third door and felt it give a little.
I let it fall open about six inches, warily eyeing the interior of the room. About six more inches passed and I found myself staring at the business end of a steel barrel.
Joey had been watching from the opposite side of the hall and I saw his eyes widen when he realized we had found the room. He shuffled down to the end of the hall and stepped into a reading room that made up the northern end of the second floor.
Satisfied he was well-hidden, I pushed the door open more with my foot and looked inside.
Two men with pistols, one without. Two of them were large, beefy men, the type that used to be in great shape but had let a little time and a lot of tacos get the best of them. They both had shaved heads and wore earpieces I assumed were connected to the radio band they were all on.
The man not holding a weapon was standing in front of the bed, another monstrous period piece like the one we’d seen in the room down the hall. He had a mustache that placed him somewhere between 1970’s B-list actor and Saddam Hussein, and he was lacking the thickset structure that really would have sold it. He motioned me inside with a crooked smile on his face.
“Hello,” he said. His voice was deep and cool, and if it wasn’t for the situation we were in where I was going to kill him in a minute, I would have been inclined to ask him a question, just to keep listening to his voice.
I nodded at each of the men, buying some time, then stepped inside.
“Are you armed?” he asked.
I had put the pistol back inside my coat, but I looked at him like he was insane.
“Of course I’m armed. Where’s Hannah?”
The man’s head raised a bit, an intrigued look on his face.
“Ms. Rayburn is safe, for the moment. She has been reluctant to speak, but we’ve been getting acquainted with one another.”
I loved this guy’s voice. It was so assertive, so distinct. I would have recognized it anywhere. But I also knew in that moment, because of that voice, that he was not the man I’d spoken with on the phone. I squinted one eye, trying to figure out what pieces were now in play and how they were all related to one another.
This guy wasn’t the ultimate guy in charge, or he was and the guy I’d spoken to on the phone wasn’t.
“Where is Hannah?” I asked again.
The man ignored me and ducked his head to the side. The two gunmen, the fat ones with no hair, rushed over and started searching me. I knew I could have taken them out right then, stealing one of their weapons or grabbing my own when they took them out of my pockets, then shooting the third guy before he knew what the hell was happening.
I figured the Tom Sellick of the group, the man I was talking to now, was also armed, but playing the ‘I’m your friend’ card with me. And somewhere in the room or nearby was the man I’d spoken to on the phone. He might have a few other grunts with him, too, like the dead one out in the hall.
So I let them search me, knowing that I still had a Joey-sized card up my sleeve, as well. They took my pistol, seemed disappointed that it was all I had on me, and threw it on the bed.
My main man walked over, a quick two-step and he was right in my face. I was taller than him, which I liked, but not by much. We stared at one another for a moment, then he spoke again.
“Do you have what Mr. Rayburn wants?” He asked.
I stared at him. I refused to let him know that I had no idea what he was talking about, and I had no idea why he thought it was something Mr. Rayburn would want.
And that Mr. Rayburn wasn’t dead.
He asked me again, this time a bit more tension in his voice. “Do you or do you not have what Mr. Rayburn wants?”
I shook my head. “Nah, I’m afraid I don’t. And Mr. Rayburn’s dead.”
At this, he laughed. “Good one.”
Okay, I was thoroughly and utterly confused now, but I was playing a role. Cat-and-mouse, and the mouse had been caught by the cat but the cat was an idiot and the mouse had a friend waiting in the hall.
“Mr Rayburn will be here in one minute,” he said. “And he is going to be ready to make the transaction. Did you bring the transfer information?”
I turned my brain on overdrive and began crunching through the information that had been stirring there for the last few days. Hannah’s father had owned an organization that was taking part in some sketchy activities, likely overseas, and he had been killed for it. My own father had done the deed, trying to take out a mark on his own. That had started a ball rolling and had pushed Hannah and her brother into the crosshairs next, and started a mad grab for the reigns of the company.
This group, whoever they were, wanted control, and they almost had it. They didn’t know my father had killed Rayburn — they just figured it was me. No one thought it was a suicide, so the puzzle pieces could easily be arranged that way and it would make sense.
Hannah was still alive because she had convinced them — or they had assumed — that I had some interest in the company as well, as a shareholder. Maybe they thought I’d bought it from Hannah or her brother, or that I had been a silent partner all along. I was brought in because they simply couldn’t move forward without my shares.
But I had no shares to give. I didn’t have a clue what transfer codes they were after, and if it was some offshore bank’s routing and account numbers, I certainly didn’t have those. My bluff was about to be called, so I needed a plan.
I thought for a moment, but everyone in the room was staring at me. I could feel the tension. They knew I was bluffing, and I knew I was bluffing.
“Can I use the restroom?” I asked.
The man frowned.
“I have to piss.”
He glanced at the other men. Apparently this was not a scenario they had planned for. I marked that down as a little victory and had a smug little moment.
“No,” he said.
“Okay,” I replied. “Worth a shot.”
Come on, Joey, I thought. Any minute now.
I was running out of ideas, even though I wasn’t sure the ‘I have to pee’ idea counted as an idea in the first place. I needed something concrete.
I assessed the room, trying to figure out if I could manage an attack if their eyes flicked to the doorway to see if Joey was coming in. He would be ready to shoot, but he had the disadvantage of knowing I was in the room somewhere, so he couldn’t — I hoped — just start shooting things that looked alive.
On the other hand, the men knew that their own leader — apparently Mr. Rayburn — was coming in as well, so they couldn’t exactly start shooting the second a man rounded the corner, either.
That gave me the only attacking advantage. I didn’t have a weapon, but I didn’t have to hesitate for anything, either. I could start running at the nearest guy with a pistol, get it out of his hand, and start in on someone else before everybody realized what was going on.
Unfortunately it all relied on Joey actually walking into the the room. I wasn’t about to start a fight against four armed men, three of whom were standing at-the-ready, without knowing Joey was there to back me up.
I didn’t have a believable way to stall, so that left me with only one option.
I decided to tell the truth.
“Look,” I said. “I’m just a bartender. I met Hannah when she came in to my place. We had a moment, you know? Nice girl. I’d really like to not see her harmed.”
“You killed two of our men, and put two more in the hospital.”
“Those guys are in the hospital? Come on — I barely touched them.” I paused, then looked at all three of my captors in turn. “And by the way, it was three. Homeboy out in the hall, your idiot grunt over at Marley’s B&B, and that sad little frat boy you tried to throw in to keep things interesting.”
It seemed like Mustache was actually doing the math in his head. I wait
ed, politely, for him to finish.
“You’re not a bartender,” he said. “Why would you kill those guys if you had no interest in Mr. Rayburn’s affairs?”
“You damn well better believe I am. And I killed those assholes because they were assholes. You don’t come marching into my bar with a gun looking for a fight without getting one.”
“You’re not just a bartender.”
“Let me make you a drink, prove it to you. You got a minibar in here?”
I thought I saw one of the fat guys laugh, just a quick little snap of a smile. That was enough. I needed it. I decided I’d try to kill him last.
“You’re wasting time, Mr. Dixon.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You know my name already. That’s impressive.”
“As I told you, Ms. Rayburn and I have been growing close. And I’m sure Mr. Rayburn told you how persuasive he can be.”
I felt a wave of revulsion. How could a man treat his daughter that way? I didn’t understand — I didn't believe it. Bradley Rayburn had kidnapped his own daughter? And tortured her? And…
I didn’t take the next step in my mind. It was already enough that anyone would dare to touch her, and I’d already decided I’d kill whoever did that. It made it more difficult that he was already dead.
I was confused, and I was no longer trying to hide it.
“Let me have Hannah,” I said. “And I’ll give you your company.”
The man stepped back, then smiled. His mustache barely moved, just a caterpillar of hair sitting on his thick upper lip. “That is much more amenable, Mr. Dixon. And that is precisely the arrangement Mr. Rayburn was hoping for.”
I nodded, then turned around when I heard footsteps in the doorway. If it was Joey, he’d probably just killed us both by loudly announcing stomping his arrival and ruining the surprise.
It was Joey, but he wasn’t alone.
Instead, the man we had run into outside after we’d parked came into the room, pushing Joey into the room with the barrel of a nasty-looking pistol.
“Good afternoon again, Mr. Dixon. I’m glad you made it to my brother’s funeral.”
50
“YOU’RE EARLIER THAN I EXPECTED,” Rayburn — the other Rayburn — said.
“Who the hell are you, anyway?” I asked.
I sensed the two fat guys move in toward me. I waited, trying to anticipate their next move. They’d try to squeeze my arms at the bicep, forcing me to stand between them, and they’d guide me to wherever Hannah was being held.
Or they’d knock me out, kill Joey, then take me to Hannah.
Or they’d torture all of us, kill Joey, and then —
I forced my mind back to the present. This was exactly why I didn't make plans. There are too many variables, too many options, too many possible outcomes.
As much as I was pained to admit it, Joey and I were both collateral here. If we made it out alive, great. But my only goal today was getting Hannah to safety. Nothing else mattered.
So the fat guys came forward and grabbed my arms, just as I’d suspected. But instead of moving me toward the door, they just turned me. A little bit, so I was facing the door.
And Joey.
He had a half-smirk, half-frown on his face, a weird contortion that told me he was sorry yet pissed they’d gotten him in the first place.
“How'd he find you, Joey?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Right place, right time.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I guess so.”
Rayburn nudged Joey farther into the room so we were almost face-to-face. He sniffed, then looked at me.
“We are close,” he said. “Do you have what I need?”
“I — I do,” I lied.
“Why the stutter?”
“I just… just — j — just do that, every — every now and then.”
I’m not sure it worked. Rayburn shook his head like he was about to scold a toddler.
“Seriously?” he asked. “Has that bullshit ever worked?”
“Every now and then. Mostly —”
“Stop!” he yelled. “Do you have what I need?”
“Your company? Yeah. In my head. But I need to know you’ve got what I need.”
“The girl?”
I shook my head. “Nope, sorry. Plan’s changed. I need the girl… and I need him.” I nodded toward Joey.
Joey gave me a small nod in return.
“Unacceptable,” the man said. “That wasn’t our arrangement. You were to —”
“We had no arrangement, asshole. You told me to come visit you, I’m here.”
“I told you to come visit. Not him.”
“He was just along for the ride. Not his fault.”
The man scowled. “I never said it was his fault. It’s your fault. And I’m going to make you pay for it by forcing you to watch.”
“Watch wh —”
Joey howled in pain and dropped to one knee. He screamed again when his knee hit the carpeted floor and I saw that the man, Rayburn, had Joey’s hand in his.
Specifically, he had one finger in his hand.
Joey blew air out his mouth, trying to fight off the pain of the broken index finger.
“I discovered long ago that I didn’t really need to take the weapons away, I just needed to ensure that they couldn’t be fired by anyone I didn’t trust.
I nodded. Seemed like a pretty effective strategy, I had to admit.
The man continued. “And did you know that most small pistols can be fired with just a pinky? Not even on the dominant hand. Accuracy decreases wildly, it seems, but sometimes when you’re desperate…”
“Listen up, asshole. I’ve got what you want. Just —”
The man tensed up and I could see the pain in Joey’s eyes even before I heard the telltale muffled crack of another finger. He whimpered once, then raised his head up and stared straight ahead. He was still on one knee, so he was staring into the buckle of my belt.
“Sometimes when you’re desperate,” the man continued, “you’ll do anything. Like attempt to fire a weapon with nothing but a pinky finger. So we have eight tries left, don’t we? I trust that you will not interrupt me again, Dixon. Is that clear?”
I waited a few extra beats to make sure he wasn’t going to talk again and I’d inadvertently interrupt him. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever you say.”
“Good. Now, let’s get to business. You’ve got the transfer codes. I’ve got the girl. Hannah Rayburn.”
“Show me.”
“All in good time,” he said.
I shook my head. “No, now. Show her to me, and you get the codes immediately. No more games.”
I watched his beady eyes thinking through the possibilities. I’d already done my best to think through them, and all I’d come up with was that if he had intended to turn over Hannah once he received the company shares, he would honor my request to see her.
If he didn’t intend to release Hannah, he would force me to reveal what I knew right now, right here. Then he would kill us both. And then Hannah.
So this was sort of a turning point. This Rayburn asshole would reveal a little bit of his character to me, right now. I was already going to kill him, of that much I was certain. But how I did it might — maybe — just change a bit if he stuck to his guns and gave me Hannah.
And if he took me to her right now, so I could verify that his bargaining chip was intact and safe, and relatively unharmed, I might believe that he’d give her up once he had what he wanted.
I ignored the fact that I didn’t have what I’d promised him. It was all a matter of buying time.
“Fine,” he said. “That’s a fair arrangement.”
He started to turn around, and I felt the fat guys’ vice grips on my arms tighten some more, then Rayburn stopped. He turned back to me, frowning.
“But I forgot.”
I frowned.
“Your partner here. We don’t need him.”
He lifted his arm, the one holding the pistol, letting his
other arm drop a bit and loosen its grip on Joey’s broken hand.
Then he fired.
51
I WAS MOVING EVEN BEFORE my mind had fully accepted what was happening. When I get real motivated, I’m pretty damn fast.
But I’m not near as fast as a bullet, so I must have already sensed it, already intuited that it was going to happen. The handgun came up, I sensed the squeeze and tension there right before the pistol fired, and I was already moving.
I didn’t have much else to aim for, so Joey got it.
The two fatties still had my arms in their grip, and I knew they'd instinctively tighten up with both hands to make sure I didn’t slip away, meaning they’d also have no free hands to draw their weapons.
I was counting on all of that. I used their rock-solid grip as a fulcrum and swung my legs up and out as hard as I could, planting my feet right smack in the center of Joey’s chest. I’m sure it could have cracked a rib or three, but there was no other option.
The pistol fired, but Joey and Rayburn were already flying backwards toward the door. Rayburn hit the edge of the doorframe, smacking like a dead fish as he fumbled back into the hallway, but Joey fell clean through.
The force of my double-footed kick on Joey’s chest pushed me and the two guys holding me backwards a few feet. I hoped it would be enough to get out of their grip.
The two guys on me and Mr. Mustache were shocked, a little dazed, and probably deafened by the explosive noise of it. I felt the guys’ grips wrenching my arms off their mounts, but I twisted sideways as my feet started falling back toward the floor. I twisted, hard, feeling the pressure build in my shoulders, but it worked.
My left arm fell free from the man’s hands and I lifted it up just as my feet hit the floor. I caught my balance, stood up, and smashed my closed fist into the face of the other fat guy — the one who’d laughed earlier.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. “Wanted to wait until last with you, but…”
He stumbled a bit, somehow still holding onto my arm, so I hit him again. And again.
