“But what about going viral?”
“That’s our trump card. But I don’t think we’ll need it. What I suggest is we send the video to Jerry—you can upload it and send it by phone, you’ll need to get a cheap throwaway—and then we wait.”
“Don’t you guys see what he’s doing?” Corey said. “He talked you asshats into ‘going viral,’ and now he’s changing the rules of the game in midstream.”
Luther cleared his throat. “Horses.”
“What are you talking about?” Corey shouted.
“Horses in midstream. You change horses in midstream, not the rules of the game.”
Max looked at Sam P., and Sam P. shrugged and gave him his long-suffering look. The look that said, Why do I have to put up with fools like this?
“Wait a minute,” Max said. “Luther, you called Talia.”
Luther said, “What about it?”
“It was your personal cell phone?”
Sam P. looked at Luther. Luther blanched.
“They can trace it right to you.”
“But you said your wife doesn’t want you.”
“Yeah, that’s true, but Jerry does.”
“So what do we do?”
Max pretended to think. Finally, he said, “It’s going to take some time. They have to hire someone to get your phone records, and then they’ll have to have someone in law enforcement come here to look for me. Should take a while.”
Sam P. said, “How much time would it take?”
“Depends on how much Jerry wants me.”
“And your estimate of that? If you can be truthful, please.”
“Several hours, at least. Jerry would have to talk to the sheriff here. They’d have to put together a task force and get them out here—probably a SWAT team. Around here, that’s going to take time.”
“Yeah, it’s going to take time,” Corey said. “Like, we’re all in this together.”
“Shut up, Corey, I’m trying to think here,” said Sam P.
“What stake’s he got in this? He’s the hostage!”
Sam P. looked at Corey. Then he looked at Max. “That’s an excellent question.”
Max stared into Sam P.’s eyes. Max could feel his teeth clench, as if he shook from the cold. The cold was the crust around him, but the furnace inside, the anger he felt, wasn’t faked. He didn’t have to act this time. Holding Sam P.’s eyes, he said, “I want to put it to her. I want this to blow up in her face.”
Sam P. visibly recoiled. “I can see that.”
Max saw Luther stir from the corner of his eye. He could feel a change in Luther. Max suddenly commanded his full respect. “Damn right,” Luther muttered.
Corey said, “This is bullshit. I’m gone.”
Sam P. said, “Corey, this is important.”
“Yeah, well, a deal’s a deal. If I don’t show up at Benner’s right now, he’ll wonder what’s up.”
Sam P. sighed. “I suppose you have to go. He’s paranoid enough as it is.” He looked at Max. “Corey’s got this sideline.”
Corey glared at Sam. Started to say something, but thought better of it. Looked at Max. “I’ll see you later. Something tells me you’re not going to make it out of here alive.”
“If you’re going, Corey,” Max said, “Get a prepaid phone. We’ll use that from now on. We can upload the video on it.” He turned to Luther. “Corey should take your phone. If the cops come, you can tell them it was stolen.”
Max was thinking how sweet it would be to see the look on Talia’s face when the video of her kidnapped husband, bruised and abused, went viral.
He wondered how she’d like to see that on YouTube. Especially the part where he pleaded for his life and begged Talia to do everything in her power to save him.
“But we have to have throwaway phones, so no one will trace it to us,” Max added. “Right, Luther?”
Luther nodded, although he looked a tad bit confused.
“Corey,” Max said, “turn off Luther’s phone and dump it somewhere out in the boonies.”
“I’m not taking orders from you. You’re already dead, man. You just don’t know it.”
“Corey, don’t threaten the man,” Sam P. said.
“Bullshit!”
“Corey?” Sam P. said. “You want in on this or not? We’re trying to do this right.” He looked at Max. “But we’ll keep our own phones, thank you very much. You neglected to mention that all we have to do to elude the, ah, authorities, is to turn them off. Max, do you think your wife will change her mind? Is it conceivable that she would pay the ransom to get you back?”
“No.”
“Then it’s unlikely that the authorities will be able to trace us through Luther’s phone. Am I right?”
“She wouldn’t go to the authorities.”
“So it’s a moot point. Luther can keep his phone. But our friend Max here is right about the prepaid phones. Corey, we’ll want two.”
“He’s torquing you guys around, don’t you get that?”
Sam P.’s voice got quiet. “Are you in or are you out?”
In the end, Corey was in.
Chapter Sixteen
TEN MINUTES AFTER his kidnappers left Max alone in the bomb shelter, he heard an engine start up outside. Even fifteen feet belowground, encased in steel and concrete block walls, he could hear the reverberation. Big engine, maybe a 454—a muscle car.
The car screamed away, the engine going from sweet to angry.
A few minutes later Luther came down to see him.
“Corey take off?” Max asked.
“You heard the car? Down here? That’s Corey’s pride and joy. A nineteen seventy-one Chevelle SS. Frankly, I’m worried he’s raising his profile too much, but you can’t reason with Corey. You probably already know that.”
Max said, “You and your uncle are smart guys. Why are you fooling around with a redneck like him?”
“He’s got his uses,” Luther said primly.
“You know what’s missing here?” Max said. “A Porta-Potty.”
Luther sat down on one of the folding chairs. “Hopefully, you won’t be here that long. I am sure as hell not going to risk taking you upstairs to the toilet. Can’t you just hold it?”
“Not for a day. I told you, it’s going to take a while. Jerry’s got to talk Talia out of her snit. She’ll come around, but she needs a certain amount of hand-holding.”
Luther ran a hand through his thinning hair. Kidnapping, it seemed, was taking a toll on him.
Max asked, “You feeling well?”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look so good. I want to ask you something. How are you going to complete the transaction?”
“We’ll have your wife wire it to an offshore account.”
“You know how to do that?”
“My uncle’s working on it now.”
He did not sound at all confident.
“So then what? They send you the money, and you kick me loose?”
“That’s about the size of it. We haven’t worked out all the details.”
Luther sounded conflicted. His voice lacked conviction.
Max knew then that they planned to kill him.
The sudden, hard knot in his throat was hard to choke down. But he swallowed hard and concentrated on escape. He was smarter than them. And he had skills. He was a hands-on actor, a scrupulous researcher, and early on in his career he had done most of his own stunts. As a leading man, as an action-adventure actor, he’d been placed in a lot of fake situations. But he had skills and he’d thought through his actions, worked long and hard with stunt people, choreographers, directors, and other actors to simulate real-life fights. He’d rappelled down from a helicopter, learned to drive fast and defensively, learned a few aspects of the martial arts, and picked up a few tricks of hand-to-hand combat.
A pretty spotty array of talents, but Max was tough. This was real life, but it shouldn’t intimidate him.
He realized he’d been so set on revenge agai
nst Talia and Jerry that he’d seen this as a game. It wasn’t a game. As inept as these people were, they were deadly serious. If it was just Luther and Sam P., he’d have a chance. But Corey—he’d seen guys like that before. He had a certain cunning. He was impulsive. Quentin Tarantino could have written him—which meant he could go off like a rocket at any time.
Max felt the prickle on his scalp.
Corey wanted to kill him.
He remembered the day in July—he was working on a thriller called Sudden Death—the day he’d learned how to administer a chokehold. He’d learned other things too, over lunch at a taco stand later—stuff the former ATF agent had told him. How to disable, how to kill.
When Max stood up, Luther looked suddenly alarmed. “What are you doing?”
“I have to take a leak, that all right with you?”
“I guess so.” Luther stood too. He had a gun in his hand.
“You going to shoot me?”
“No, it’s just a precaution. No sudden moves.”
“Just have to pee, is all.”
“Because I tell you, we’re in this to the end. You don’t know what we’re capable of.”
Max sauntered over to the wall, unzipped his fly. “What are you capable of?” he asked. He didn’t look at Luther, kept it casual—no worries, man.
“The stakes are high,” said Luther. “You’re not the first person who ran afoul of Corey.”
“No?” He was having a hard time loosening up enough to let go.
Realized he’d been holding it a long time.
“Maybe if you knew how dangerous he is, how dangerous we are, you would understand,” Luther said. “Corey put a guy into the hospital. Nearly killed him. Guy’s in a wheelchair—Corey served time for it. And if you’ve noticed, he doesn’t like you.”
“He did that?” Still unable to summon up the ability to piss, his bladder really hurting now.
“Corey did that.”
Max said nothing. Closed his eyes. The little dots were back in his vision—something that had been an on-and-off companion. Just another mystery since he’d left Desert Oasis.
“You OK?” Luther said with alarm.
“Dizzy.”
And he was. His bladder had locked up on him. He’d held it too long, and now it was frozen solid shut.
Max heard Luther stand up.
Max sagged against the wall. “Jesus.”
Luther took a tentative step toward him. Max realized he was in shock. The dots were obliterating his vision, but he knew there was only one chance.
Luther laid a tentative hand on Max’s shoulder. Max glanced behind Luther, saw the gun sitting on the folding chair.
Luther, you’re going to regret that.
Max whipped around, the dots flying around inside his eyes, his bladder screaming with pent-up pain, and he had Luther by the throat, the thumb and forefinger of his right hand pressing against the carotid. At the same time, the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, acting as pinchers, gripped the key spots below and behind each ear. Luther fell like a sack of laundry.
When he wandered into consciousness a few seconds later, Max had Luther’s Smith & Wesson 9 mm, which he stuck in the back of his jeans. The success of the attack worked on Max and finally he could void his bladder. There was relief, but also a buzzing in his head. The fuzzy dots of light were back, dancing behind his eyes.
“Is the trapdoor locked?” Max said.
Luther could barely focus. Max knew how he felt.
“Luther, don’t make me do it again. I nearly killed you the last time. I’m not an expert at this.” Max leveled his gaze at Luther, kept eye contact. The dots just a distraction now. “Is the door above locked? Does Sam P. have to open it for you?”
“It’s not locked. My uncle didn’t want to have to wait by the door.”
“Why didn’t he come down with you?”
“It’s hard for him. His weight.”
“When’s Corey coming back?”
“I don’t know. It shouldn’t take him too long to buy the phones, but if I know Corey, he’s probably gone to see his marijuana source.”
“He’ll be back soon?”
“Very soon. You can’t—”
Max clocked him. Hard, right in the mouth.
Luther sprawled on the floor, blood seeping from his mouth and nose, making a lace pattern on his chin and jaw and shirt—out cold.
Max went through Luther’s pockets. Wallet, cash, keys.
He pulled the 9 mm out of his waistband and checked the magazine. Fully loaded. When he stood up, the dots behind his eyes were back. The dots Gordon White Eagle had given him as a parting gift.
He swayed a little, then his head cleared.
He remembered Gordon White Eagle telling him he would solve all his problems. He would cure him of his drugging and alcohol abuse.
“We’ll see about that, Gordy,” Max said. “Drugs and alcohol are the least of my problems right now.”
He shoved the gun into the snug of his back. Then he went looking for Sam P.
IT WAS EASY.
Maybe it was too easy. Sam P. was watching a video. It wasn’t just any video. It was a sex video.
Max had seen a lot of disgusting sex, some of it on the highest levels and in the best Jacuzzis at the best addresses with the best sluts and cabana boys and the richest jaded old farts in the world, but this stuff was worse. It pitted arousal against the gag reflex, but Max had a highly developed gag reflex—he could turn it on and off like a spigot. The worst thing, Sam P. liked freak shows starring the desecration of innocents—be they animal, vegetable, mineral, or altar boy.
So Max didn’t mind jabbing the gun muzzle into the base of Sam P.’s testicles, even though, for one dizzying moment, he thought he’d lost the barrel in a funhouse mirror of wrinkles and folds.
Sam P. froze—not a jiggle. For a moment, the Other Max, the Max who played a Nietzsche-spouting nihilist in Dystopia: The Second Epoch (not his best performance; the whole thing depressed him for months afterward) took over and he felt his finger itch. He knew one squeeze would do it, blow this pathetic balloon of a man to kingdom come, send Sam P. zipping up into the atmosphere on a fart and a cry, and he stopped himself just in time.
“You’d better tell me everything,” Max said. “And if you don’t, I’ll shoot off one part at a time.”
Sam P. understood immediately.
When Max was done, he shoved Sam P. down into the dungeon with his nephew.
He kindly left them two bottles of water.
And the last of the Lunchables.
THE TRAPDOOR HAD been modified—it could be locked shut with a padlock. Max wondered if Luther and Sam P. had kidnapped someone else before this. The idea sent a chill up his spine. Wouldn’t put it past them. He had found the key to the padlock easily enough—it hung from a hook on the wall just inside the outer door, which was unlocked. Next, Max went through the house—car keys, the video camera, Sam P.’s phone, what little cash they had, and their credit cards. He’d ditch the credit cards and use the money. He checked the video, and it looked good. He could upload it to one of the cell phones any time. Next, he needed transportation. He knew Corey would be back soon. He’d call out to his buddies, and when they didn’t answer, he’d think they were in the bomb shelter with Max. If a car was missing, they wouldn’t call the police. No, Corey would come looking for him.
Max had a choice: walk the three miles back to town and risk being seen, or take one of the cars, hit the freeway, and hope he had a good enough head start. From there, he could hide anywhere.
The first thing Max wanted to do was get to Gordon White Eagle. He wanted to find out exactly what White Eagle had done to him, how he’d screwed him up. He wanted the man to reverse what he’d done, if that was even possible. Then he’d settle with Jerry and Talia.
He took the gun from the small of his back and hefted it. He’d never been into weapons all that much, but had to admit this one felt good. He pictured press
ing the muzzle into Gordon’s handsome tanned temple. Imagined suggesting Gordon find a way to restore him to the person he was before.
And he would ask Gordon who the guy in the shower cap was.
Chapter Seventeen
TESS HAD THE Bajada County Sheriff’s Office break room to herself. No one was using the computer, so she sat down at the desk and looked up the Desert Oasis Healing Center again. The first time Tess had looked at the website, she’d seen references to “sandstone adventures” in several places. Whoever wrote the copy for the site was fond of the description. She clicked on each section and reread them.
“As you are drawn closer to the powerful force field of the magical sandstone formation known as the Flying Saucer Vortex, the most potent vortex of the area, you will discover the healing power of Celestial Vibrations. From the act of traversing the magical red rocks you will experience the feminine energy of our own unique brand of sandstone adventure.”
Tess winced. She wasn’t an English major, but she knew bad writing when she saw it.
So what did this mean? Nothing, by itself. But taken together with the woman and the boy, it seemed likely that they were the ones who’d purchased the truck from Talbot’s Chevrolet.
Tess glanced at the tabs on the top of the healing center’s website and noticed that the Desert Oasis had a gift shop. She decided to take a look. Besides healing crystals, New Age music, shaman prayer sticks, and expensive handbags, there was a section for kids: plush toys, puzzles, expensive baby duds, and T-shirts emblazoned with “The Desert Oasis Healing Center,” over a red rock vista. (Even though the red rocks of Sedona were almost twenty miles away.) Among the gifts was an official Desert Oasis yo-yo.
The boy had a yo-yo. The car salesman at Talbot’s Chevrolet had told her that.
Tess was now 99-percent certain that the woman and the boy had been the ones to purchase the truck for Sandstone Adventures, and that Sandstone Adventures was a fabrication of the Desert Oasis Healing Center.
Why hide the purchase of a truck? Why did the woman dress up and wear a wig?
Something was going on.
Tess had that bad feeling—what her ex-husband, who’d worked SWAT in Albuquerque, called his “Spidey sense.” She had a strong Spidey sense about the woman and the boy.
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