Tony wagged his head an got up.
“Get your ass outside with the others and wait for Carl J…” Ace paused and looked at the floor.
“Yeah, no need to use junior and senior anymore, huh?” Ramage said, and immediately wished he hadn’t.
Ace kidney punched him and Ramage doubled over.
“Who the hell asked you to talk?” Ace said.
Ramage said nothing.
“You hear me?” Ace punched him three more times in the ribs.
Ramage sucked in breath, pain paralyzing him. “I… heard,” he forced out.
“Good.” Ace nodded and the big man dragged Ramage through the dilapidated post office, around piles of garbage, to the row of offices. Ace put out his arm and motioned beard-boy to put Ramage in the biggest office, which Ramage figured had been the postmaster’s back in the day. The room was empty, save for a hook that hung from a rope tied to a steel ceiling beam and a car battery with a paintbrush sitting atop it.
Ace put his pistol to Ramage’s head. “Scruffy here is going to tie you up a little better. Got it? You try anything. Breathe in a way I don’t like, and your brains will be on the floor. We understand each other?”
Ramage said nothing.
Ace lashed out and punched Ramage in the stomach.
Ramage smiled, blood dripping from his mouth.
“Do we understand each other?” He pressed the barrel of his gun into Ramage’s cheek.
“Yeah, we understand each other. I understand that I’m going to kill you. Slow, Ace. Take my time. Have fun.” Ramage braced for another blow that didn’t come.
Ace laughed. “You’re funny, Ramage. The guys told me about you. A real asswipe to the end.”
“We’ll see when the feds arrive, backed up by the cops and the Army. We’ll see who’s laughing then.” Though he tried to keep his voice steady, it betrayed him and cracked.
“Boss says you’ve been saying that for a while now, and I’m starting to think you might be full of shit.”
“Better full of shit than to be shit,” he said.
Ace cuffed him on the back of the head and the bearded man knocked Ramage to the floor. Ace knelt and put the tip of his gun to Ramage’s temple as beard-boy knotted rope over the zip tie securing his wrists and tied his ankles together. When he was done, Ace stuck his gun in his waistband and he and beard-boy lifted Ramage to his feet, steadied him, then looped his wrist restraints over the hook hanging in the center of the room.
“Hold him,” Ace said. He went to the side of the room where a rope was tied off on an exposed wall stud. He undid the knot and pulled on the rope, lifting Ramage from the ground until he dangled by his wrists.
Ramage tried to find purchase with his feet, but if he stretched he could only touch the floor with the tips of his toes. His shoulders already ached from taking all the weight.
“Now, that’s better,” Ace said. He turned to his partner. “Go wait for the boss. He’s incoming and should be here soon. Bring him right in when he gets here.”
The sound of two distant gunshots made Ace look toward the door.
Beard-boy nodded to Ace and left.
“So, just us now, huh?” Ace took off his jacket and hung it on a broken section of wall. “In a way, I respect you. Thing is, you made my guys look bad.”
“Not a very high bar.”
Ace laughed. “Like that. That’s what I mean. You’re staring into the abyss and you’re still a wiseass.”
“Something for you to aspire to,” Ramage said.
Ace laughed again and pulled his gun. “Yeah, aspire. I like that word.”
“Sure it’s not too big for you?”
Ace put his gun in his jacket and loosened his tie. He rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck and shadow boxed as he came at Ramage.
With his arms and legs held fast as he hung from the hook, Ramage tightened his muscles as Ace pounded him like a heavy bag. The punches came fast and hard, spread around his body. Two to the face, then a volley to the chest and ribs, then back to the face. Ace didn’t pause, he danced like he was in the ring, jabbing and fading, then he finished with a roundhouse that didn’t fully connect.
Ramage’s face swelled, an eye closing, shoulders screaming as they took the weight of his body.
Ace stepped back, breathing hard, a smile cutting across his face. He wiped away sweat with the back of his hand and leaned in. “How you feeling?”
Ramage coiled and jerked himself upward, hard, lifting his legs while simultaneously pulling his knees apart as far as he could. His legs came down on Ace, the man’s head popping through Ramage’s bound legs like a mole head from its hole.
Ramage squeezed with all the strength he had left, fighting back the pain as he tried to pop Ace’s head off with his scissor hold.
Ace clawed at Ramage’s legs, trying to free himself, but Ramage was too strong, his legs like a vise. Ace turned a shade of pink as he struggled, his eyes bulging from his head, spittle dripping down his chin. Ramage closed his eyes and squeezed, all the anger of the past week releasing like a massive pressure valve.
The room filled with the smell of shit as Ace’s bowels betrayed him. Ramage opened his eyes. Ace’s arms were outstretched, grasping for him, but the big man had nothing left. The struggle continued for another thirty seconds, then Ace went limp, but Ramage didn’t stop. He pressed his legs together and jerked to the side. Ace’s neck snapped with a crack, and Ramage released him and the corpse fell to the floor.
Ramage hung there for a minute and dry heaved. Nothing came up because he hadn’t eaten in hours, but he coughed and sputtered as his gag reflex choked him. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, trying to catch his breath.
Wind whistled through the holes in the roof, pushing sand across the floor. He heard no voices, no cars. He felt around with his feet and balanced himself on Ace’s body, taking the weight off his wrists. Then using the extra height, he jumped and flipped the loop of rope over the lip of the hook and freed himself. He fell onto Ace’s dead body and rolled to the sand covered floor.
Ramage flipped onto his back, still breathing hard, rope biting into his wrists and ankles, pain arcing through his head and down his back. Blood dripped into his eyes as Ramage stared at the clear blue sky through a huge hole in the roof. Clouds drifted by, and Ramage wanted to sleep. He was tired. So very tired.
The commotion and blood were undoubtedly what brought the snake.
The desert camouflaged-colored copperhead slithered from behind the car battery in the corner. It stopped when it saw Ramage, tongue lashing out, head lifting and swaying side-to-side. Copperheads aren’t overly aggressive, and their venom isn’t strong enough to kill a full-grown person, but it would sure as hell slow him down. Ramage’s nerves danced, sweat on his forehead mixing with blood and dripping down his face.
The snake slithered toward Ramage, head up.
He shifted his position, pointing his bound feet at the oncoming reptile. When it got close, he’d crush it with his boots.
The copperhead stopped a foot from Ramage, appraising him with its dark eyes.
The creature was within striking distance, and if Ramage lifted his legs the snake would attack. Ramage’s nerves hummed like taught piano wire, primal fear surging through him. He breathed. Relaxed. It was just a four-foot reptile. Not Godzilla. He calmed himself like he was listening hard or driving Big Blue through deep fog.
The snake slithered forward, wiggled over Ramage’s boot, and disappeared into a crack in the exterior wall.
Tension and fear left him like a deflating balloon. He was exhausted. Everything hurt. His body urged him to go to sleep.
He remembered Anna and all the guilt and responsibility came rushing back like the tide. He sat up, a ray of sunlight slicing through the roof and landing on his face. It felt good, the warm heat, the familiar feeling. He ass-inched his way across the room to Ace’s jacket. He rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself onto his knees like an i
nchworm lifting its head. He stuck his head into Ace’s jacket, but didn’t feel anything except the gun. What would he do if he found something, a pocketknife for example? With his wrists bound he’d have no way of using it.
He put his back to a section of wall still standing and pushed himself to his feet. It was hard to balance with his feet bound together, but he managed to hop to the doorway. Sunlight filled the building as it shone through the giant holes in the roof, and something glinted to Ramage’s left. Shards of glass still stuck from a window frame on the east side of the building.
Ramage hopped across the room, taking his time, trying to be silent, even though he knew Piranha could arrive any minute. He reached the broken window and it only took a minute for him to cut the rope binding his wrists, and then it was an easy task to free his legs.
He gathered the cut rope and headed back to the room he’d been held in. He considered hiding Ace’s body, but what for? Instead, he pocketed Ace’s pistol, looped the cut ropes around his wrists and ankles, and laid next to Ace and played dead. The element of surprise. They’d left Ace alone without backup. Strike three.
Ramage’s mind wandered as he waited, pain ravishing his body, anger welling in him like a volcano building to an eruption. He didn’t know what he’d do when Carl Jr. arrived. He had a gun. The element of surprise, but Piranha had Anna. He closed his eyes, going through his mental photo album of Joan. What would she think of all this? He knew. He knew very well. She’d say there’s never a reason to run off unprepared, outgunned, and outmanned.
A hiss rose above the sound of sand biting brick, and Ramage snapped his head around. It was his new friend, the copperhead. Ramage didn’t tense.
The reptile slithered across the floor and disappeared back behind the car battery, paying him no mind.
The rumble of a car engine echoed through the building, then died away. Two car doors slammed. Ramage gripped the pistol, positioned himself so he could see the hallway through a rent in the wall, and waited.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Anna gazed at the same desolate terrain Ramage had as Piranha’s Tahoe sped down I-20. The exterior of the Chevy was beat-up, its black paint faded and scratched with patches of white cataract-like spots where the finish had worn away. Its interior smelled like an ashtray, and the seats were stained, the leather creased and torn. Carl Jr. sat next to her, jabbering into his phone, making no sense. He’d been popping two Ride pills for every one he’d forced her to take. She felt the pills in her pocket. She’d swallowed the first one because she hadn’t had time to think, to settle herself, but since then she’d stored the pills in her cheek and transferred them to her pocket.
“Can you go any faster, Jaybird?” Piranha said. His wide eyes darted around the car, his fat face covered in sweat. The man was a jumpy drug addled mess, and still Anna felt some pity for him. He’d lost it when he’d learned about the death of his father, and though he’d calmed she didn’t think that anger would ever subside, even if he got revenge.
Ramage. That’s who he wanted, and they were going to use her to get him. If Ramage ran, he’d chase him. If he hid, Piranha and the Sandman’s boys would search until they found him, like those knights who searched for the grail.
Carl Jr. put his hand on her knee and held out a red pill. “How about another, sweetie?”
She giggled and rubbed his hand. She took the pill, popped it in her mouth, and smiled.
He took two.
Piranha pulled a Sig Saur from under his seat and started playing with it like a child. Looking in the end of the barrel. Flicking the safety on and off. Anna was getting nervous when Jaybird slowed the truck.
“What the hell is this?” Jaybird said.
Piranha and Anna leaned in and almost bumped heads as they looked through the front windshield.
Jaybird pulled the Chevy in behind a green camper van parked on the shoulder of I-20.
“What the hell? It’s those damn hippies.” Piranha racked the slide on his gun and opened his door as the Chevy came to a stop.
“Boss, what are you—”
“Shut it, Jaybird.”
Anna stared between the bucket seats out the windshield. Puffs of white smoke wafted from the van’s tailpipe and it started to roll forward.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Piranha yelled. He broke into a run, and when he was level with the driver side door, he raised his gun and fired into the van.
Anna screamed, and Jaybird rocked back in his seat and said, “Holy shit.”
Carl Jr. stuck his gun through the shattered window and fired again. The van rolled off the shoulder, careened into the drainage ditch that ran along the road, and tipped over.
“Drive,” Anna yelled. “Your boss has lost it, Jay. Drive. You want to be here when the cops find this?”
Jaybird looked back at her, his face twisted with fear and indecision. “I… I can’t.”
“Why? Why not?” she screamed.
“I’ve got a family,” he said.
Anna fell back into her seat, her stomach a roiling acid filled furnace of pain and ice, mind spinning, perspiration breaking out all over her body, the bottoms of her feet aching.
Piranha opened the front passenger door of the Tahoe and jumped in. “That takes care of that,” he said. When he saw the look on Anna’s face, he said, “Sorry you needed to see that, my pretty.” He cackled and snorted and took another hit of Ride.
She’d known the man was a slime ball, but she hadn’t thought he was a murderer. The Ride and his father’s death had pushed him over the edge, and mouse feet ran up and down her back. She’d felt secure in the knowledge that as long as she played Carl Jr.’s game, he’d keep her alive, but based on what she’d just seen she didn’t know any longer.
“Boss, you want me to notify the cleaner about… about the disabled vehicle there,” Jaybird said.
Piranha sniffed like he’d done a line of blow longer than The Great Wall of China. “Naw. Screw them. No way they can tie it to us. Spin us around and get on with it. I want this done so Anna and I can spend some alone time together.”
Anna giggled, rubbed his knee, and smiled. She saw Jaybird’s eyes watching her in the rearview. Hiding her revulsion was hard enough, but now he’d killed Gypsy and Cecil, and she couldn’t help but feel responsible. They’d been here because of her. Trying to help her and Ramage.
Jaybird cut over the grass meridian, made a fast right, and bumped up onto a dirt road. The Tahoe kicked up dust and sand, clouding the air and cutting visibility to ten feet. Jaybird knew where he was going, clearly, because he didn’t slow as he made rights and lefts through a maze of roads pocked with abandoned home sites.
Piranha fidgeted beside her, the stink of his body odor stifling. His eyes danced in their black sockets and he looked three days dead.
He pulled out a bottle of Ride and held it up to the window. “My greatest creation. I was sitting on a beach down Galveston’s way, watching the big tankers get pulled around by tugboats, smoking a joint, when it hit me. I need to create the new Ecstasy,” he said.
“Aren’t there plenty of people trying to do that already?” she said, and then giggled.
“Not like this. Not with a surfer riding a cloud. That was my idea.”
“Figured,” she said.
His brow knitted, and his lips drew back to a thin red line.
She laughed. “Who else around here would be smart enough?”
Piranha smiled a wolfish grin, his yellow smoke-stained teeth making her throw up in her mouth a little. To cover-up the gag she laughed. If Carl Jr. figured out she wasn’t high, that she hadn’t been taking the Ride pills, she’d feel the man’s wrath instead of Ramage. She knew that was inevitable because she’d decided to fight when Carl Jr. tried to get intimate with her.
What was left of Dunwell town opened before them as Jaybird brought the Tahoe to a stop in front of an old brick post office. Anna had been to the ghost town before. It was a rite of passage for all kids who grew u
p in Ector County, but it had been a long time and she didn’t remember anything about the place.
A man in his twenties with dark black hair stood guard at the main entrance and he mock saluted Jaybird as he buzzed down the Chevy’s window. “What’s up? All good?”
“Yeah. Ace is in there with the guy now, warming him up for the boss.”
Jaybird coughed and glanced in the rearview. Piranha was staring at Anna, lost in his ride.
Jaybird unbuckled himself and swung open the door. “Be right back, boss.”
Carl Jr. started, shook his head, and the happy blank stare he’d been wearing ran away from his face and was replaced with a scowl. “What’re you doing?” He started to open the car door.
“Let me check it out first, Boss, OK? Go get Ace so he can bring you in,” Jaybird said.
Carl Jr. sighed loud and hard. “Whatever,” he said like a spoiled teenager.
Jaybird hauled himself out of the car and disappeared down a thin alley between the post office and a dilapidated wood structure. Piranha leaned back in his seat and opened the sunroof, breathing heavy as he stared up at the cloudless sky as if waiting for divine intervention. He squinted, and it looked to Anna as though he was coming down from his high. No sooner had that thought run through her head when he popped open his bottle of Ride and tossed two pills down his gullet. He held the open bottle out to her.
“Sure,” she said as he dumped a red pill into her palm. She pretended to eat it, but instead palmed it.
The sound of scratching sand on metal filled the Tahoe as Anna and Carl Jr. waited.
After another minute Jaybird appeared at the head of the alley. He stopped when he hit the street and took a handkerchief from an inside jacket pocket and wiped his brow. He looked toward the car, folded his handkerchief, and put it away. Jaybird’s shoulders slumped as he walked toward the Chevy. When he opened Piranha’s door for him even Carl Jr. in his intoxicated state could tell something was wrong.
“What?” Carl Jr. said.
“Ace… Ace is dead.”
The man guarding the front entrance stepped forward. “What the hell are you talking about? He just went in there to—”
Quick Sands: A Theo Ramage Thriller (Book 1) Page 24
