by Don Winslow
Neal picked up the phone, rang the front desk, and asked for Hatcher. Five minutes later, the detective called him back.
“I have a problem,” Neal said.
“Why does this fail to surprise me? I’ll be up.” Hatcher suppressed a sneer with some effort when he saw the young lady passed out on Neal’s bed. “A bit too much of the old persuasion, son?”
“She arrived this way.”
Hatcher sniffed the near-empty glass of gin. “And she brought this with her, I suppose.”
Neal shrugged. “I could never deny a lady a drink.”
“I rather think you can never deny a lady at all. In any case, what is the problem?”
“I have to get her out of here.”
“That is your problem. What is mine?”
“Hatcher, do you really want me to drag her through the lobby with all those people down there? How will it look?”
“With all respect to your privacy, why can’t the young lady sleep it off right here?”
Neal did his best to work up a decent blush. What with the nerves and the fear and all, it wasn’t tough. “Because the young lady is quite young. Hatcher, I just want to take her home. Help me get her out quietly and into a cab, please?”
“This is a bit much.”
“Okay. You’re right. I’ll just drag her through the lobby.” He started to lift Allie off the bed.
“Is this the niece?” Hatcher asked.
Neal nodded.
“I don’t believe you actually found her. And managed to bag her.”
I’m not sure I believe it, either, Neal thought. “She’s not in the bag yet.”
“I’ll ring a cab. We’ll use the service entrance.”
“He‘s got her.”
The overseas connection wasn’t the greatest. The phone crackled and popped like a Rice Krispies commercial.
“Who’s got her?”
“Carey’s got the kid. She went up to his room with him, then they left out the back.”
“Shit. You know where they went?”
The guy was enjoying this. “You said not to follow him.”
There was a long silence. “I know where he went.”
“What now, boss?”
“Can you do it?”
“I don’t do that kind of work. But I know who will. Local talent named Colin. He’s her pimp, and you know pimps.”
A lot of snaps, crackles, and pops went by before he got his answer. “Okay. Make it happen. Here’s the address. Phone number if you want it.”
“Might come in handy.”
“Hey, just get it done.”
Colin was in a major-league sweat. He’d been standing in the fooking Covent Garden tube station for close to an hour. No Neal. He grabbed Crisp by the shirt when he came back from the phone.
“Alice isn’t back and no word from Neal. We’ve been fucked, Colin.”
“Not yet, we haven’t.”
They hopped the train and rode it to Piccadilly. He breezed past the young doorman and got into the lift. Outside Neal’s room, he felt for the knife in his jacket pocket and got ready to use it. He motioned Crisp to the other side of the door and then rang the bell. And waited. Waited a good five minutes before stationing Crisp at the lift and going to work on the door lock.
Inside the room, everything was gone: luggage, clothes, Neal, Alice, and the books.
Two minutes later, he was at the registration desk. “Mr. Carey’s room, please.”
“Mr. Carey has checked out, sir.”
Triple poxy whoredog asswipe. “Did he leave a forwardin’ address?”
“Let me see, sir.”
Hurry, mate. Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry.
“No, sir, sorry.”
Colin slammed his fist on the counter. Then he headed for the door.
The doorman knew his lines. “Did you lose something, mate?”
“Did you find somethin’?”
Moments later, Colin and Crisp were in a taxi. Colin was thinking about bloody murder.
The doorman found the gentleman in the bar, just where he said he would be. “I did what you said.”
The gentleman slipped him a tenner. “Good job.”
The gentleman went to a phone and waited for the overseas connection to go through. “It’s over.”
“Hey, you sure?”
“He’s a duster.”
“What about her?”
“You kidding? A junkie and a pimp? It’s the perfect relationship. Forget about her.”
“Okay, get lost. Very lost.”
Allie started to come to as Neal plopped her on Simon’s bed. He was out of breath from lugging her dead weight up the stairs and maneuvering her into the bedroom. He was tying her wrists to the torn sheets when she woke up enough to speak.
“Are you kinky or something?” she asked, looking at the restraints but not necessarily objecting.
“I haven’t had the chance to find out.” He tightened the bonds just enough to hold her. It seemed to wake her up a little.
“Neal, what’s going on?”
“Nothing. I want you to get some rest.”
“Why are you tying me up?”
Neal sat down on the bed. He took her chin in his hand and lifted her face so that they were looking at each other.
“Alice, listen. No more smack. That’s over with.” He saw a fine edge of panic creep into her eyes. “I’m going to give you something to cool you out. It’ll be okay, but no more heroin for you.” She was still too woozy to really take in what he was saying, and he figured that was probably a blessing for them both. He broke a Valium in half and gave it to her with a swallow of Coke. The sugar would help. She fought him a little at first, but her body wanted sleep and her mind wanted refuge, so after a few seconds she took the pill. Neal sat with her for the few minutes it took her to go to sleep. Then he shut the door, went into the kitchen, and fixed himself a cup of coffee.
Seventy-two hours. He needed seventy-two hours and that should get them through the worst of it. She wasn’t too badly hooked and there was no question of her dying of withdrawal. He knew he could nurse her through it, knew he could get her off smack and get hooked on Neal, because that’s what it took. Three days of this and she’d belong to him as if he bought her at an auction. More than that, because she’d want it, too. That’s the way junkies are, and it takes a long time before they get to a place where they can stand up by themselves. So he’d wean her off the dope, and tell her he loved her, that he’d be her new man and take care of her, that they’d take the money and split and live happily ever after. Then he would whip her on an airplane and take her back and hand her over and that would be that. And it’s a shifty world, but there would be plenty of time to reflect on what a dark hole the universe is when this particularly shifty job was over. And he wasn’t letting her out of his sight, because she wasn’t going to be any Halperin kid. All he needed was seventy-two hours… seventy-two mean, sweaty hours-especially for Allie.
The ringing of the phone cut right through him. Made his heart jump a little before he reasoned that it was probably a friend of Simon’s who didn’t know his schedule. He went into the sitting room and lifted the receiver. “Hello.” “Hello, rugger.”
Neal edged to the window and inched the curtain aside. Colin probably didn’t have a gun, much less a rifle, but there was no sense taking chances.
Colin waved to him from the phone box-a cheery little wave accompanied by a wide grin. Vanessa was with him. He couldn’t see Crisp, which meant that he was out back-along with God knows how many others. Neal closed the curtain and stepped back into the middle of the room. “Hello, Colin.” “You’re dead. She with you?” “No.”
“Lying bastard. She’s dead, too.” “Come on up. We’ll talk.”
“I’ll be up, all right, rugger. Not to worry. When I’m ready.” He rang off. Neal’s mind raced. Come on, think. Cut through the fear and think. You weren’t followed; you’re sure of that. Sure or just arrogant? No, sure. O
kay, who knew about this place? Simon. He’s out. Kitteredge, Levine, and Graham. Couldn’t be Kitteredge; makes no sense. Levine and Graham. Say it ain’t so, Joe. And how would they hook up with Colin? Unless they knew about him all along. Unless I was sent to make Liz Chase happy, while the Senator and everyone else wanted Allie to stay lost. So when I find her… I’m written off. I should have seen it. No files on the kid. Fed the Mackensen bullshit story like it’s gospel. No backup. No partner. Check in every day, let us know how you’re doing… Well, I’m doing pretty shitty right now, Ed.
It’s 11:15, give or take. Colin is waiting for the small hours, when screams can be written off as nightmares. When the streets are quiet. No passersby. Then he’s got you.
The fear hit him again. The slash of the knife across his face. There was no way he could take Colin, no way.
Knock it off, Neal. Think. Run it through. You could call the cops. And tell them what? That you’ve kidnapped a girl? Fed her drugs? She’s tied up in the other room? Not a good choice. Okay, deal. You have the books. Trade him the books for Allie. Why should he? He can have it all. But he needs the name of the buyer for it to do him any good. Bargain there. No, he can get that out of you. You’ll talk. Colin holds a knife to Allie’s face. Shit, babe, be honest. If he holds a knife to your face, you’ll tell him.
And where would you go? Even if you got out of here, where would you go? You could make a break for it. Throw her over your shoulder and run for the tube. It’s closed, moron, and you’d never make it five steps. A cab? Same. That leaves the car. Down the back stairs and into the garage. Assuming you make it, where could you take her? Fuck her. Maybe you can handle Crisp on the back stairs and make it to the car, but not with her. Dump her, babe.
Right, he thought. Then you’ll have another face to add to the Halperin collection. So work backward. Go from the solution to the method. Where would you like to be? What’s the ideal? Safe, quiet, isolated. A place the office doesn’t know about. Think, think, think… a place you can hear your own heartbeat. How about a cottage in the Yorkshire moors?
Where did Simon say it was? Get to work, Neal.
He started to search the apartment.
Neal found what he was looking for almost immediately. Maybe his luck was changing. It was a road map of Britain, with the route to Simon’s Yorkshire cottage marked in bright orange, and notes on how to proceed on the unmarked roads. Neal went to the phone and dialed. It rang a long time.
“Dad?”
“Where are you?”
“Just listen, because I don’t have much time. There’s some stuff you have to know…”
Neal sat down on the edge of the bed. Allie was still sound asleep. Her face and hair were damp with sweat. He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand.
“I’m sorry, kid. I screwed it up. I tried to help you out and ended up getting you in more trouble. I’m really sorry.”
He figured he still had an hour or so before show time. He didn’t feel like sitting around letting the fear eat him out. He thought some more about Joe Graham and then did a very Joe Graham thing.
He cleaned. The place was a mess anyway, and that was hardly the way to repay Simon’s hospitality. He found a broom and a mop, some powdered cleanser and floor wax, and set to work. He vacuumed and dusted, polished furniture and scrubbed and waxed the kitchen floor until the sucker gleamed like ice.
When he was done, he felt much better. Then he sat down with a book to wait it out.
The footsteps woke him. He could hear Colin trying to sneak up the front stairs. He checked his watch and was surprised that it was quarter to four.
The steps paused on the landing. He heard fumbling. He saw the thin piece of metal slip the lock. The door opened just a crack. Apparently, Colin didn’t fancy getting whacked in the face with something hard and heavy. Too bad. Neal felt the sickening bile of fear rise. He fought to hold it down as Colin’s foot pushed open the door. Colin stood in the doorway, both hands tucked inside his leather jacket. Which hand has the knife? Neal wondered. He remembered playing that game with the old Italian men in the neighborhood. Which hand has the candy? He’d never been very good at it then, either.
Colin said, “You’ve been trying to ring but the line was engaged, right?”
What if I give up, Colin? What if I throw up my hands and say you can take the book, take Allie? Instead, he said, “You should have come with an army, Colin.”
Colin stepped in and locked the door shut behind him. “For you, rugger? Mind, I’ve seen you fight.”
“You want a cup of tea? A beer?”
“We can start with a book.”
“Start and finish.”
Colin shook his head.
“Where are we, Neal? Whose place is this?”
Neal saw Colin’s left wrist tighten. So it’ll come from that side if it comes. When it comes.
“A friend’s.”
“Are you ripping him off, too?”
As a matter of fact…
“I’ll give you the book. You leave Alice.”
“True love, is it? The book’ll do me no good without the name of the buyer.”
“Okay, I’ll toss that in, too.”
Colin took a tentative step toward him. Neal backed away.
Colin said, “You’re not in much of a position to toss anything, are you, Neal lad? I think I’ll take the book and the girl. And you’ll give me the name.” The knife flashed out of his left pocket. He held it, blade turned flat, level with Neal’s eyes, no more than a foot away.
The point sparkled and danced in front of Neal’s eyes. He felt the thud in his stomach and the tightness of breath in his chest. He’d seen people get cut.
He let the terror come up, thought about his face sliced open, the sickening flap of flesh dangling, the scar he would wear for life… Tears filled his eyes.
“She’s dead, Colin. She must have OD’ d.”
Colin’s hand dropped, not much, but just enough-enough for Neal to turn and run. He ran through the sitting room and flung himself through the sharp left into the kitchen. He had just enough lead to jump onto the counter.
Colin was half a second behind Neal. When he hit the waxed kitchen floor at full speed, his slick leather loafers went out from under him. He landed hard on his back, but not before his head took a nice bounce off the squeaky-clean linoleum. Neal raised the mop high above his head and jammed the butt end down into Colin’s crotch as if he was planting the flag on Mount Everest. This gave Colin a new relationship with the concept of pain, and he rolled on the floor in a fetal position, groaning.
Neal picked the knife up from the floor and put it into his pocket. Then he stepped over to the refrigerator and pulled out the pan he had placed in the freezer. It was now packed with solid ice. “Crisp,” he yelled in his best imitation of Colin, “get your arse in here!”
Crisp crashed through the flimsy back door and saw Colin rolling on the floor. He never saw Neal swing the pan of ice like Jimmy Connors smashing a high backhand. The heavy pan hit him square on the bridge of the nose, crushing bone and cartilage. Crisp was out before he hit the floor, which was probably a blessing, as he fell right on his shattered nose.
“You whore’s bastard,” hissed Colin with unintended accuracy. He tried to struggle to his feet, but nauseating waves of pain held him to the floor.
Neal went into the bedroom, lifted Allie in a fireman’s carry and hefted her down the back stairs. He was breathing hard and heavy from excitement, fear, and the exertion of beating up Colin and Crisp, so it took him a little longer than he wanted to get down to the garage. He didn’t have a great deal of time before Colin would suck it up enough to come after him. Knife or no knife, Colin would wipe him out in a fair fight, so Neal was hurrying to make sure there wouldn’t be one. He leaned Allie against the garage wall while he fumbled in his pants pocket for the key. He noticed his hands were shaking. Just to make things better, Allie was starting to wake up.
He got the door ope
n, pulled her over to the dreaded Keble, opened the passenger door, and worked her into the seat. This maneuver felt as if it took about an hour and a half, and he expected Colin to come through the garage door any moment. He finally got her and himself settled in the driver’s seat.
Allie came to life. “Wazzup?” she asked sleepily.
“We’re going for a ride.”
“Thas nice,” she said happily, and fell back to sleep.
Yeah, thas nice, Neal thought, if I can get this thing started and get us out of here. He put the key in the ignition-the trunk key. It didn’t fit. Neither did the door key, no matter which way he tried.
Colin was fumbling with his own equipment, which seemed to be all there, even though that Yank bitch’s whelp had tried to geld him. His nether parts ached, though, no mistake, and his head hurt like Sunday morning. He got to his feet and stood over Crisp, who lay as stiff and still as a girl fresh out of the convent.
“C’mon, mate, get up,” Colin said, prodding Crisp with his toe. Crisp didn’t move.
The ignition key fit as if it had been made for the purpose. Neal turned it, stepped on the gas pedal, and waited for the demonic car to throb with malevolent life. Instead, it whined a dry, rhythmic hack. He tried it again. Same thing. Neal said some words your mother never taught you, and tried again.
Crisp wouldn’t move. Colin shook him a few times.
He came to. “My nose! What happened to me?”
“That beggar Neal smashed it. Let’s go get him.”
“You go get him,” Crisp moaned, sinking back to the floor. “I’ve had enough of him.”
Colin gave him a boot in the groin for good measure and headed down the back stairs. The motion joggled his throbbing balls, and he decided he might take two or three days to kill Neal when he found him. Then he heard the distinctive sound of an engine not starting coming from the garage at the bottom of the stairs. If there isn’t a God, he thought, there bloody well certainly is a devil.
The keble wouldn’t start, even though Neal was about standing on the gas pedal. All it would do was hack and spit, and Neal, who hated cars anyway, hated this car more than he had ever hated anything.
