by Jeff Strand
Benjamin reached for the crank, but there wasn't one. "It's automatic," he said, loudly enough to be heard through the glass. "I can't roll the window down unless the engine is on."
The man opened his jacket, giving Benjamin a quick glimpse of a gun in a holster, then closed it again. Of course he had a gun. That's just the kind of day this was turning out to be.
"Open the door," the man said.
Benjamin opened the door a crack.
"More."
He opened it more.
"Get out."
Benjamin jiggled the chain. "I'm handcuffed."
The man smiled. "Well then, we'll just have to cut your hand off."
At least this cleared up any confusion over whose company Benjamin wanted to keep. He questioned the wisdom of the man saying something sadistic instead of using the more intelligent strategy of pretending to be a benefactor, but, hey, if he was a dumb bad guy Benjamin had a much better chance of getting out of this. For now he had to try to keep him talking.
"Cut off my hand? In a Wal-Mart parking lot? Really?"
The man gave him a slow, stern nod.
"I don't believe you."
The man blinked in surprise. Then he reached into his inside jacket pocket and withdrew a hunting knife with an eight-inch blade—sheathed, but still upsetting.
Benjamin forced himself to continue talking. "Nice knife."
"Thank you."
"Still, I've done some hunting—" He hadn't. "—and you can't just lop somebody's hand off with a knife like that. There'd be sawing and spraying blood and a lot of screaming on my part. You can't do that in a crowded parking lot in broad daylight."
The man seemed unfazed. "You think so? I could always shoot it off then."
On the other side of the car, his partner let out a guffaw. "Dude, you can't shoot somebody's hand off with a .38! What the hell?"
"Hey, shut your trap!"
"You can't do it, though. You couldn't even shoot somebody's hand off with a .44. You'd have to shoot his wrist five or six times and then yank it off."
"That's what I'll do, then!"
"You're going to fire a gun five or six times in a crowded parking lot? And then you're going to stand there and try to rip through tendons? C'mon, dude!"
"Are you trying to sabotage the mission? Is that your intent?"
"No, but when you make up phony threats like that you take away from the credibility of the real ones!"
"He doesn't know if it's credible or not!"
"Everybody knows you can't just shoot somebody's hand off! It's common knowledge! He's a teacher, for crying out loud!"
"He's an English teacher!"
"So? I bet he still went to college!"
"They don't have a gun class in college!"
"I'm not saying he took a gun class! I'm saying that if he got through college, he's probably not a complete idiot! And only a complete idiot would think that you could shoot off somebody's hand with that kind of gun!" The man pointed to the Wal-Mart building. "Go up and talk to any person in that store. Anybody. They'll know that you don't shoot somebody in the wrist and have their hand just pop off like the flower off a dandelion! When you make that kind of empty threat, you make us look simple!"
The other man nodded. "Yeah, okay, you're right."
"I wasn't saying it to be a jerk. But you can't intimidate people unless the logic holds up."
"I already said you were right! What do you want, a cookie?"
"I was explaining myself! Why is that such a bad thing? It's a sign of respect!"
"Respect this," said the first man, flipping him the bird over the car.
"Oh, that's nice. Real nice. That's the direction this conversation has taken, huh? No sense resolving this like adults when we can waggle our middle finger around. Here, here, right back at you." He returned the gesture.
Benjamin sat quietly.
The first man slammed the car door and stormed off.
"What? You're walking away now? You think that's a sign of maturity? How many chances did Dad say we have left? How many?"
"Bite me, Clyde!"
"One! He said we have one chance left, Joey. You wanna be the one to tell him that we were right there and we screwed it up?"
"You're the one who screwed it up!"
"I'm not the one walking away!"
"Kiss my ass!"
"Why do you wanna be this way? Huh? Why act like this? Why not just accept my comments in the spirit in which they were intended? Why is that always so hard for you? You act like I'm always picking on you, but I'm offering solid advice. Solid advice, Joey. Dad picks on you, not me. Why can't you just say 'Hey, he's right, the gun comment was kind of silly, I'll make sure not to say something like that next time' instead of getting all bent out of shape?"
"It's the way you said it."
"How'd I say it?"
Joey raised the pitch of his voice. "Dude, you can't shoot somebody's hand off with a .38! What the hell?"
"You're right. That wasn't cool. I'm sorry."
"No, you're not."
"I am so! I should've phrased it differently. The message was good but the delivery was bad. I'm sorry."
"You mean it?"
"You think I'm the kind of guy who apologizes for fun? Of course I mean it!"
Joey returned to the passenger side window. Benjamin shifted uncomfortably.
"So what do we do with him?" Joey asked.
"I dunno. Pick the lock?"
"You got a lockpick?"
"I got a paperclip."
"That'll work." Joey patted his jacket. "Remember the gun I've got in here?" he asked Benjamin. "I'm not gonna use it to shoot your hand off, but I will shoot you in the face if you try anything funny. Got it?"
"I do."
Clyde opened the driver's side door and leaned inside. He took a paper clip out of his pocket, bent it into a straight line, then stuck it into the lock of the handcuffs. His brow furrowed as he twisted the paper clip around in the mechanism.
"How long is this gonna take?" asked Joey.
"Thirty-seven seconds. How should I know? You wiggle the clip until the lock opens."
"I'm just saying, we probably shouldn't have spent so much time arguing. She could come back any minute now."
"Are you trying to distract me?"
"No."
"Then talk less."
Though Benjamin's entire plan for escape had involved these two men babbling long enough for help to arrive, he had to admit that right now he just wanted them to shut up. He was starting to believe that the parasite only came in second place in terms of causing pain.
Fortunately, they sat in blissful silence for at least ten seconds while Clyde fiddled with the handcuff lock.
"Got it?"
"No."
Six more seconds of silence.
"Now?"
"I'll tell you when I've got it! I'm not gonna leave you out of the loop!"
Almost four more seconds, then: "We really should speed this up."
"I swear, if you don't lock your mouth, I'm gonna shove my foot in there. I'll do it!"
Benjamin noticed that Julie was standing directly behind Joey. A quick blow to the back of the head and Joey dropped out of sight. This was a nice development, except that Clyde, who probably had a gun or knife of his own, was still leaning into the car next to Benjamin. Without hesitation, Benjamin slammed Clyde's head into the steering wheel, honking the horn.
"You son of a—"
Benjamin tightened his grip on Clyde's hair and slammed him against the wheel again.
"I'll kill—"
Benjamin slammed his head against the dashboard this time. Clyde had no verbal response. Benjamin let go of him and he tumbled out of the car.
"Nice work," said Julie, reaching into her pocket. She took out a small key and unlocked the handcuffs.
Benjamin popped the bracelet open, pulled his hand free, and gave her the dirtiest look of which he was capable.
* * *
"The Smith brothers. They're not smart men." She thrust the keys into the ignition and started the engine.
"I got that. But they had guns! And knives!"
"Sorry about that. I didn't think they'd find us that quickly."
"No offense, but the planning here seems to suck."
"There was no time. This wasn't a bank heist with months of prep. Believe it or not, waving a gun at a bunch of doctors would not have been my top choice of methods to get you out of there. Tonight, while I'm lying in bed, I'll come up with eight or nine better plans."
"You could've just posed as a parasite expert and told the surgeons that they needed to hold off, and then explained the situation to me and asked if I'd accompany you to California."
"See, that's the kind of alternate plan I'll think of tonight."
Benjamin was not one to strike a woman, particularly one who'd already demonstrated her superior physical prowess, so he didn't. But the desire was there.
* * *
Julie made it quite clear that she would appreciate it very much if Benjamin would refrain from talking for a while. It was her second time using the gun as a threat after saying that she didn't enjoy using the gun as a threat, which was an inconsistency that he thought she should be aware of, yet he decided to respect her wishes and remain silent.
He also didn't complain about the quality of the clothes she'd brought him, which he changed into as they drove along the highway. The blue polo shirt she'd selected was geeky even by his standards, and the jeans ripped when he put them on, even though they were too big. Quite obviously she wasn't being reimbursed for her expenses.
She seemed pretty darn incompetent for a bounty hunter. Of course, almost all professions had more than their share of incompetent representatives. Mr. Shaefer, who taught Health, was rock-stupid and provided disturbingly inaccurate information about social diseases. There were incompetent teachers, doctors, lawyers, construction workers, and zookeepers, so why shouldn't there be incompetent bounty hunters?
They drove out of the Tampa city limits without incident or conversation. Shortly after leaving the city limits, they pulled off the interstate and stopped at a gas station. Julie handed him the plastic shopping bag.
"Here's shaving cream, scissors, and a razor. Lose the beard."
She then explained the time limit—five minutes—and the penalty for not following her exact instructions. The penalty was predictable.
* * *
Benjamin stared at himself in the streak-filled mirror. He'd had the beard since college. Who was this beardless, goofy-looking guy staring back at him? Did he really look like that? Even if you discounted all of the cuts and toilet paper bits stuck to his face, he was a pretty serious dork.
He did look younger, though. That was something.
Somebody pounded on the bathroom door. "You about done in there?" asked Julie.
"I'm pinching a loaf."
"You are not. I can see you through the gap."
"Give me a minute."
"You have thirty seconds."
He was really getting sick of being bossed around. They needed to have a serious discussion about her attitude. At least if they did end up driving all the way across the country, they'd have plenty of time to chat about it.
He'd also taken a couple of extra minutes to get the piece of needle out of his stomach, which was not a joyous process.
Benjamin looked at himself one more time. This was going to take a long time to get used to. At least it would if he weren't intending to grow it right back.
He frowned, turned his head a bit to the side, and leaned closer to the mirror. There was a small red welt underneath his ear. He poked at it with his index finger. It didn't hurt.
Weird.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"Am I permitted to talk now?" Benjamin asked after they were back on the road.
Julie shrugged. "I guess."
"Thanks. What the hell is inside me?"
"It's a very valuable, experimental specimen. A parasite. I don't know what they developed it for."
"What do they call it?"
"You don't want to know."
"Yes, I do."
"Piranha."
Benjamin frowned. "Okay, that's just wrong."
"I work for the men who paid the scientists who developed it. They'd kind of like it back."
"How'd I get stuck with the little muncher? Bad tuna?"
"They think it was in Brian Dexter. It intensifies the host's existing addictions to a point where the lines of reality may begin to blur. Did you notice any enhanced addictions?"
"Uh, yeah."
"With a dead host, it would've shrunk quickly to microscopic size and wouldn't show up in an autopsy. I'm not sure how it transferred to you."
"Could it be airborne?"
"Could be."
"I think it jumped into my nose."
"Bummer."
"How did it get into Brian?"
"They've traced it back to one of the people working in the lab, so it seems to have bounced from host to host, until it settled in Brian. His intestine must've been the most comfortable. It stayed there and grew until he died, then switched to you. You just got too close."
"I guess it's a relief to have an explanation for Brian's behavior. It would be more of a relief if the same parasite weren't in my intestine. Thank God I didn't grab a meat cleaver."
"You'd be able to control its influence better than a puberty-stricken teenager, so that was never a problem. As far as I know. They actually didn't tell me that much about it." Suddenly she waved a hand at him. "Shhh."
"What?"
"Shhh!" She peered closely into the rear-view mirror. "That might be them."
"The Smith brothers?"
"No. The ones we actually need to be worried about."
"The organs in jars people?"
"Yeah."
"Do you think we could reason with them?"
"I very seriously doubt it."
"Are you sure? Has anybody tried diplomacy? I guess I'd just feel kind of silly going through all this danger if we can work things out with, I don't know, an oral contract or something."
"Are you some kind of idiot?"
"No. Just working off nervous energy. But is my idea really that wacky? I don't know these people. Maybe they're closet pacifists."
"They're not. Trust me." Her cell phone rang, and she glanced down at the display. "It's them."
* * *
Margaret Wilson sat in the police station next to Cindy, trying not to go insane. Her mental health had taken a beating lately. Benjamin acting crazy she could handle. A call at work informing her that he'd been rushed to the hospital was highly stressful but not unmanageable. Being told that he'd have to go into emergency surgery was even more stressful yet still something she could deal with. Learning that he'd been kidnapped right off the operating table was pushing it.
"Did he have any enemies that you know of?" asked the police officer, a droopy-eyed kid who looked like he could be fresh out of high school.
"No. I mean, he had to fail a student every once in a while..."
"Do you know of any students who responded in a particularly negative manner to that?"
"We had our house egged once."
The cop nodded thoughtfully. "A drastic leap from egging to kidnapping, but we'll research it. Do you remember the culprit's name?"
Margaret thought for a moment. "Not off the top of my head. It was three years ago."
"Do you have reason to believe your husband was having an affair?"
"No."
"Do you have any reason to believe he might be involved in some sort of crime? Narcotics? Money laundering?"
"No."
"Did he ever smoke marijuana?"
"No."
"Ne
ver?"
"Not ever."
"Would you prefer to be questioned without the presence of your daughter?"
"My husband never smoked pot."
The cop nodded thoughtfully. "I see."
"And even if he went through sixteen doobies a day, I don't know what this has to do with him being kidnapped."
