He stood frozen.
“The hard way? That’s your decision?”
Still frozen.
“Okay. Time to get rough. You leave me no choice.”
He ran.
Hard to run with bound hands. Especially when they are bound behind your back. That situation would make Carl Lewis run like Jerry Lewis.
Sam made it twenty feet across the parking lot before I caught him. He tried to kick me. Unsuccessfully.
“Nice try,” I said and whacked his head.
His eyes squinted. He glared at me.
I gripped his bound hands and marched him backward to the car.
He must have weighed a hundred and eighty pounds. Lifting that much weight would normally not present a problem for me. But I knew he would struggle. That would present a problem. It would make his hundred and eighty pounds seem like three hundred.
So I shoved him into the trunk.
The car sank under his weight.
I slammed shut the trunk lid.
The clerk in the hotel lobby nodded her thanks when I gave the scissors back to her.
“Many of our guests never return what they borrow.”
“That’s called stealing. Not borrowing.”
“Harsh. But true.”
“I’d like to check out now.”
“How was your stay with us?”
“Eventful.”
“Nobody’s ever described it that way before.”
“Lucky for them.”
I handed her my key card and waited while she did whatever it is clerks do. She did that very well. Quickly and methodically.
When she had finished she slid a sheet of paper to me. The bill. I looked it over and signed it and slid it back to her.
“We hope to see you again, Mr. Lane.”
Not after you see the mess I made of the room.
I exited the hotel and walked to the car and rapped my knuckles on the trunk lid.
“We’re heading out. So buckle up in there.”
No response.
As soon as I opened the trunk lid Sam shot up and made an awkward escape attempt.
I should have expected that. I would have done it too. Except I would have done it better.
He flapped like a chicken. He grunted like a pig.
The barn door slammed down on his head.
My eyes swept the parking lot.
Nobody around. Nobody watching.
Angry grunts from the trunk.
“Calm down, Porky Pig.”
Sam would have to be transported by car. No way could I transport him by any other means. Not by plane. Not by train. Not by bus.
That meant a road trip. A drive from Destin to Lake Ontario. Twelve hundred miles. Eighteen hours of driving. Plus stops along the way. Through Florida. Alabama. Tennessee. Kentucky. Ohio. Pennsylvania. New York. Seven states in all.
Twelve hundred miles with Sam.
Good times ahead.
CHAPTER 51
I GOT INTO the car and started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.
The car ran well enough. The engine sounded good. The brakes worked. Plus it had a full tank of gas.
It had been quite some time since I had driven a car. I own no car. The vehicles I own are these:
RV. Motorcycle. ATV. Bicycle.
But no car.
I used to own a car. A Honda Civic.
I also used to own an SUV. A Honda CR-V.
Honda. My favorite brand. The best brand. Dependable.
My Honda Fury motorcycle never breaks down. Never needs repair. Never leaves me stranded.
Sam’s Altima contained no GPS. No problem. I could find the way without one. Just head north on the highway. Easy enough.
The drive might actually be more enjoyable without a talkative GPS. Those things always interrupt my thoughts with useless information. (“In three hundred miles turn right. Recalculating. Please drive the highlighted route.”)
After a while they start sounding like parrots. Repeating the same words over and over again. Repeating the same words over and over again.
I felt like a crash-test dummy. All the stuffing had been knocked out of me. First by the Russians. Then by Sam.
My head ached. My ribs ached. Pretty much everything ached.
I needed a week or two at a hot-springs resort. The therapeutic powers of hot water could heal my aching body. I thought about visiting one of those places. Many states have them. Arkansas. Colorado. New Mexico.
I could just sit around sweating in hot water until I shriveled up like a prune. Just sit there and sip iced tea. Stare at the blue sky. Think about nothing.
But until then I had plenty to think about.
Like getting to New York without incident.
Not much traffic on the highway. Easy driving. Peaceful.
Soon I crossed the state line into Alabama. I saluted the WELCOME TO ALABAMA sign.
Two states down and five to go. Progress.
I felt good about how things had turned out. The steps I had taken to find Sam had brought him to me. Now he lay in the trunk and I sat in the driver’s seat.
In another day we would be in New York. I would give Sam to Boris. Boris would give Kelly to me.
And that would be the end of it. Or the start. Depending on your perspective. It would be the end of Kelly’s life as a stripper and the start of her life as a nurse.
First I would take her to see her father at the hospital in Watertown. Then I would take her to Rochester. Help her find a good apartment in a safe neighborhood. As I had promised Blake.
Things could have turned out differently. If Sam hadn’t shown up at my hotel, it might have taken me a long time to find him. After all he had changed his identity. That would have complicated the search.
But everything had turned out great.
I felt good.
I started singing “Oh! Susanna.”
When I had finished I started singing “Sweet Home Alabama.”
Those are the only two songs I know that mention Alabama.
Soon I would be in Tennessee. I tried to think of songs that mention Tennessee. None came to mind. So there would be no singing in Tennessee. I would have to turn on the radio or something.
On the outskirts of Montgomery I heard thumping from the trunk. Loud thumping. Like a dryer full of shoes.
Then I heard a muffled yell from the trunk.
What the hell?
“Shut up back there!”
A moment of silence.
Then more thumping and yelling.
I hit the gas. Then the brakes. Then the gas again.
I could hear Sam bouncing around in the trunk. He sounded like a bowling ball back there. I kept waiting to hear the pins fall.
“Had enough yet, Sam?”
More thumping and yelling.
Gas. Brakes. Gas.
“I can do this all day. Let me know when you’ve had enough.”
We drove in silence.
CHAPTER 52
THE FIRST GLOW of sunup.
I put on my sunglasses and powered down my window.
The cool morning air blew in.
I took out my phone and punched in the number for Blake’s hospital room.
“Hello?”
“Blake? It’s Rip.”
“Good to finally hear from you. I thought maybe something happened to you. Any word on Kelly?”
“Several words.”
“Spill it.”
“I found her.”
“Where? When?”
“She’s alive.”
“Thank God.”
“But that’s all I can tell you over the phone.”
“She with you? Let me talk to her. Put her on the phone.”
“She’s not actually with me.”
“What?”
“I’m in the process of getting her.”
“Getting her? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means somebody’s got her. But not for much longe
r. I should have her by sometime tomorrow.”
“You’re on your own? No cops?”
“No cops.”
“Those are the rules?”
“Those are the rules.”
A pause.
“You phone me as soon as you get her.”
“I will.”
“Where you at right now?”
“Tennessee.”
“I’m not even going to ask.”
“Probably a good idea. How you holding up?”
“You know.”
“Yeah. I do.”
CHAPTER 53
THE SOUNDS FROM the trunk resumed.
Thumping. Muffled yelling.
“Not again,” I said aloud.
Sam needed another lesson.
I gave him one.
Gas. Brakes. Gas.
But the sounds continued.
I gave him another lesson.
And another.
Still the sounds continued.
Class dismissed. No more lessons.
“Okay, Sam. You can stop all that racket now. I got the memo. Give me a minute and I’ll pull over and see what the problem is.”
The sounds stopped.
I took the next exit off the highway and started looking for a good place to pull over. Somewhere remote. A spot where nobody could see us or hear us or bother us.
After all I had a man in the trunk. People start getting suspicious when they see somebody in a trunk. They ask questions. They snap photos. They phone the cops.
So I wanted some privacy.
Hard to find that nowadays. Almost impossible. Phones track you. Cameras watch you. Total surveillance. Big Brother.
It took some searching but I finally found a remote road. A gravel road flanked by pine trees.
I drove down the road. Gravel crunched under the tires. Dust swirled behind the car.
An empty road. No houses. No vehicles. No people.
Perfect.
Sam wanted me to stop the car for some reason. Why? What did he need? Food? Water? A bathroom break?
Or just another opportunity to make a break for it?
Nothing pleasant about riding in a car trunk. I know from personal experience. In Missouri four goons had dumped me into a hot car trunk that smelled of mothballs. Hands bound. Feet bound. Mouth taped. The goons drove for a long time. When the trunk lid finally swung open they yanked me out and beat me and then left me for dead.
Memories. Sweet memories. I have so many of them.
My situation in the car trunk had been far worse than Sam’s. He had only one goon to deal with. Not four. Plus his feet weren’t bound.
I wanted to get far away from the main road. That would minimize the likelihood of somebody turning onto the gravel road and spotting us. Minimize. But not completely eliminate.
Two miles seemed far enough. But I drove three miles so I could see what lay ahead. Then I turned the car around and drove back a mile.
Too cautious? Maybe. But better to be too cautious than not cautious enough.
I pulled over and stopped on the roadside and shut off the engine.
It took a while for the dust to settle.
I waited.
Then I got out of the car.
If a car came from either direction, the crunch of gravel would warn me. I would hear the car approaching before the driver would see me. That would give me enough time to take precautionary measures.
I stood listening.
Silence.
When I opened the trunk lid Sam blinked furiously.
“I’m going to take off your gag now. If you try anything tricky, things will get unpleasant. More unpleasant than they already are. Nod if you understand.”
A nod.
I took the gag from his mouth.
His voice sounded hoarse.
“I’ve got to piss.”
“So piss.”
“Not in the trunk.”
“Why not?”
“It’s gross.”
“Your trunk’s already filled with garbage. A little piss won’t make much difference.”
“Come on. Have a heart.”
“This from the man who tried to kill me.”
“Nobody tried to kill you. I just wanted to put a little scare into you. Just enough to prevent you from trying to find me again.”
“How’d that work out for you?”
“Not too good.”
“I’d say.”
“Rip. That’s your name. Right? You look like a good guy. An empathetic guy. I’m about to explode here. Like a Yellowstone geyser. Let me get out and piss. Come on. Have a heart.”
I frowned.
“First let’s establish some ground rules.”
“Sure, Rip. Whatever you say.”
“No fighting. No running. No tricks.”
“Deal.”
“When you finish your business you get back into the trunk. No arguing. No hesitation.”
“Deal.”
“So we’re not going to have any trouble?”
“No trouble. I promise.”
“Come on out then.”
He rocked his body. Grunting with effort. Sweating.
Moments later the effort stopped.
He sighed.
“I can’t do it. I need your help.”
“You can’t do it? The last time I opened the trunk lid you shot up like a rocket and tried to get away. Now you’re telling me you can’t get out of the trunk on your own?”
“That’s what I’m telling you. I didn’t have to piss then. But now I do. That makes a big difference. If I exert myself too much, I might lose control of my bladder.”
“Turn over.”
“What?”
“Lie facedown.”
I wanted to pick him up from behind. That way he couldn’t bite me. Or head-butt me. Or some other damn thing.
He started twisting his body. Wriggling. Grunting.
Finally he turned over.
His wrists had deep ridges where the wire had bitten into them.
I reached down and gripped fistfuls of his clothes and hauled him from the trunk. It felt like he weighed a hundred and eighty pounds.
He looked relieved when I set him on the ground.
“Help me to my feet.”
With my foot I rolled him over onto his back. Then I bent down and gripped his collar and jerked him to his feet.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Now piss. I’ve got a schedule to keep.”
“Right.”
He started walking toward the woods.
“That’s far enough, Sam.”
He stopped and looked over his shoulder at me.
“I need a little privacy.”
“Don’t we all.”
“I can’t piss with you watching.”
“Not my problem.”
He frowned.
“Can you at least untie my hands?”
“No.”
“They’re tied behind my back.”
“For a good reason.”
“I need them to unzip my pants. Unless you want to do that. And I’m pretty sure you don’t.”
“Your pants have an elastic waistband. Just pull them down from the back. You don’t need to use the zipper.”
“You sure run a tight ship.”
“Ship’s set to sail in one minute. So hurry up.”
His bound hands tugged at his pants. First tugging one way. Then the other.
The awkward process took a while. He tugged. He twisted his body. He bounced up and down.
Finally he got the pants down far enough.
But before he could take care of business he had to pull down his Superman boxers too.
His bound hands tugged at the boxers. First tugging one way. Then the other.
As soon as he got the boxers down he started pissing.
The flow sounded like torrential rain. I half expected flash flooding.
Sam smiled with relief.
Even
Superman seemed to smile.
I waited.
And waited.
And waited some more.
“Whew,” Sam said when he had finally finished. “I feel ten pounds lighter.”
“Good for you. Now pull up your boxers and pants.”
“Aye aye, captain.”
I watched him struggle.
He bounced up and down while he pulled up the boxers. Then he did the same thing with the pants.
“Now get back into the trunk.”
“Let’s talk about that.”
“Remember the ground rules?”
“Sure.”
“Tell me the ground rules.”
“No fighting. No running. No tricks.”
“You forgot one.”
“Which one?”
“When you finish your business you get back into the trunk. No arguing. No hesitation.”
“That one must have slipped my mind.”
“Nothing slips your mind. You’re a tricky SOB. Now get back into the trunk.”
“I’d like to amend the ground rules.”
“I knew this was a mistake. A mistake I won’t make again. This is the last time you’re getting out of the trunk until we get to New York. So savor the moment.”
“New York? That’s where we’re going?”
“Start walking toward the trunk.”
“Boris is still living in New York? That surprises me.”
“I’ve got more surprises for you if you don’t get into the trunk.”
“New York. That’s going to be a long trip. Especially riding in the trunk. It’s hot back there. No food. No water. No airflow. I could die. That would disappoint Boris. You wouldn’t want to do that. Would you?”
Not really.
I thought about the possibility of Sam dying in the trunk. That could complicate things. Boris might want him alive. Disappointing Boris would be a bad idea. He might renege on our agreement and not let Kelly go free.
“You can ride up front with me. But if you try to signal anybody, you go back to the trunk. Just sit still and look straight ahead. No faces. No gestures. Got it?”
Sam looked as if he had just won the lottery.
“You won’t regret it.”
“I already do.”
I shut the trunk lid and opened the passenger door.
“Get in.”
He walked over to me.
“Do I still need to be bound and gagged?”
“Bound? Yes. Gagged? No.”
He nodded.
I strapped him into the passenger seat.
New York Strip Page 14
