Gone The Next (13 page)

I said, “Aren’t you going to buckle me in?”

No reply. I was taking a risk, talking, even though he’d told me not to.

“I didn’t hear the click of your seatbelt either,” I said. “Are you aware that driving without a seatbelt is a misdemeanor punishable by a fine of up to two hundred dollars?”

“Shut up. You will not get another warning.”

It’s probably no surprise that I didn’t want to get Tasered again, so I did shut up. Besides, it was a better use of my time to try to figure out where we were going. I could tell that he turned right on Highway 71, but after that, he took several more turns quickly, and it was hard to follow it in my mind’s eye. I think that was his intention. Then we drove for about ten minutes at highway speeds. No turns, no stopping at traffic lights. We had to be on either Highway 290 or Highway 71, heading west.

Eventually, we took a left and went much slower for a short distance. Several more turns followed, and then we finally came to a stop. He killed the engine immediately.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Johnny.”

“Johnny what?”

“Johnny Hungwell.”

“That’s a bad start. I’m telling you right now that I’m not a patient man.”

I was thinking about the nine-millimeter Glock hidden in the secret compartment beneath the rear passenger bench. Wasn’t doing me much good there, was it? Hell, it could be in the glove compartment, right in front of me, and it still wouldn’t matter until he uncuffed me.

“Roy Ballard,” I said.

I felt an arm brush my leg as he leaned toward the glove compartment and popped it open. He was checking my name against various documents. He found what he was looking for and closed the glove compartment.

“What were you doing on the side of the road tonight?”

“Looking for a place to take a leak. I’ve been drinking these new diet shakes and my bladder is the size of a — ”

Bam!

He zapped me again, this time on the left biceps. God damn, did it hurt. Must have been a handheld stun gun this time, rather than a Taser. Either way, it lit me up like a squirrel on a transformer. Fortunately, it lasted no more than a few seconds.

He gave me a moment to recover, then said, “I told you there would be no more warnings. What were you doing on the side of the road tonight?”

I was beginning to have revenge fantasies. The things I would do to this asshole if I got the chance. But, for now, I had to just get through this. I figured I should tell the truth. Hard to make up good lies on the fly.

“I was wrapping up surveillance on a man named Brian Pierce. He lives right there on Thomas Springs Road, but I guess you already know that.”

“Why were you watching him?” The guy didn’t sound like a local. More of a northeastern accent, but softened by being in the South for at least a little while. My guess, anyway.

“He filed a workers’ comp claim for a job-related injury. I get hired by insurance companies to make sure guys like Pierce aren’t committing fraud. That’s why I have all this equipment in here.”

Now he got up and went into the rear of the van. I could hear him looking into various zippered bags and plastic bins, going through all my stuff. Double-checking my story. Or maybe looking for stuff to steal.

I said, “Do I get my camera back at some point?”

“Shut up.”

He rustled around back there for another minute or so, then returned to the driver’s seat. “You put the dryer in his driveway?”

“I did. Hoping he’d move it with his injured hand and I’d catch it on video.”

I noticed that he didn’t stumble or hesitate when he said “his driveway,” as opposed to “my driveway.”

“How long have you been watching him?”

“Couple of days.”

“Be specific.”

I definitely did not want to get blasted a third time, but something told me to lie. Gut instinct. I went with it. “Since Thursday afternoon.” The truth was, it had been Wednesday, the day I thought I had seen a little girl at Pierce’s place.

“You sure?”

“Yes. Thursday afternoon.”

“Learn anything?”

“Nothing. Hard to see his house past all those trees. And if I were to trespass, any evidence I got would be worthless. He never went anywhere, so I couldn’t trail him.”

“Did he have any visitors?”

I’m betting he already knew the answer to this question and was testing to see if I would answer it honestly.

I said, “Only one that I saw. A woman in a Jetta. I never got the plate number so I have no idea who she was.”

“So now you’re giving up?”

“I have other reasons to believe he isn’t committing fraud.”

“What reasons?”

I didn’t want to answer. If I did, I’d be revealing that someone from the restaurant had spoken to me. Again, my gut was telling me to keep that to myself. If there was any chance at all that I might be putting Jessica in danger, I was going to keep her name to myself.

I still hadn’t answered when I sensed movement near my left ear. I flinched. Couldn’t help myself. Then I heard the crackle of the stun gun just inches from my head. I flinched even bigger this time. I was making a vow to myself at that moment. I was going to put this son of a bitch through the same damn torment. Nothing greater, nothing less, just the same.

I said, “I was going through the paperwork last night and I saw something that my client had overlooked, which was that the manager of the restaurant said that Pierce had originally declined to file a claim. He didn’t want the benefits, but the manager encouraged him to take them. That means there is basically zero chance that he is committing fraud, hence no need to investigate him.”

A long silence followed. The man was weighing my answer. Either believing it, and contemplating it for reasons I didn’t understand, or trying to decide whether I was lying or not. No way to know.

I realized then how quiet it was. Wherever we were parked, there was no traffic noise at all. No other suburban sounds, either, such as a dog barking or the hum of a streetlight. Nothing but the buzz of crickets.

“Here’s the situation,” the man said. “I don’t give a flying fuck about Pierce. Don’t know him and don’t care whether he’s committing fraud or not. That’s none of my business. But I work security for someone else in that area and I needed to know why you were hanging around. Now that your work is done, it would be best if you stayed the hell away from Thomas Springs Road. You understand me? Don’t go anywhere near there.”

This was good news. Not the bullshit about him not knowing Pierce, but the fact that he wasn’t going to shoot me. All I had to do was be cool.

“I hadn’t been on that stretch of road for years,” I said. “And I sure don’t have any reason to go back. My client has already closed the case.”

“If you go back there, I can promise that you will regret it. Immediately.”

“I won’t be going back.”

Long pause. He was trying to think of any other questions he should ask or threats he should make. Evidently he decided that he wasn’t quite done.

“You report this and you’re gonna wish you hadn’t. Got me? But if you let it go — look at it as a learning experience — then you and I won’t have any further problems. Sound reasonable?”

“Hey, that’s fine by me. You’re just doing your job.”

“Okay, in the back, on the floor.”

I didn’t have much choice. Again, he steered me with a rough hand on my arm. I went to my knees in the rear of the van, behind the bench seat.

“All the way down.”

He laid me flat, my arms still cuffed behind me.

“I’m going to remove the mask. If you want to make the biggest mistake of your life, try to get a look at me. You understand what I’m saying?”

“I do.”

He pulled the mask off my head and it felt good. I hadn’t realized how sweaty my head had gotten. It was dark enough in the van that I couldn’t have gotten a good look at the guy even if I’d tried. But I didn’t try. I kept my nose to the carpet. Why blow it now?

“Now I’m gonna take the cuffs off. Do not move. Do not get off the floor. I want you to stay right where you are for ten minutes. If you move before that, there’s a real good chance I’ll be standing right outside watching you. Then again I might be gone. Much better for you if you wait the ten minutes.
Comprende?
”

“Yep.”

He popped the cuffs off and that felt even better than having the hood removed. By then, my arms and shoulders were throbbing.

“Ten minutes,” he repeated. “Your keys will be a hundred yards down the road.”

I felt the van shifting as he made his way to the open door and exited. Then it was still again. I’m not positive, but now I thought I could hear an engine idling somewhere not too far away. His ride, waiting for him. Somebody had followed us out here. Which meant there was at least one other person working with him. Assuming I really was hearing an engine, and now I wasn’t so sure.

I waited one minute, then pushed myself off the floor of the van. I didn’t get shot, Tasered, clubbed, smacked, or otherwise assaulted.

Looking out the rear window, I got my bearings quickly. There was just enough fading light to see that the van was parked in a cul-de-sac. No houses to be seen anywhere. Just oak and cedar trees, and faraway hills turning gray in the twilight. Ten feet from the van, a wooden stake with bright-orange surveyor’s tape tied around the top was driven into the dirt. Smart. He had driven us down into an empty neighborhood. The roads had been put in, but nothing had been built yet. Nobody would be poking around here after dark.

I quickly checked all my gear, and it appeared that nothing was missing. My Glock was still in the hidden compartment. I exited the van and started walking, using a flashlight as I went. The keys were right in the middle of the road, about one hundred yards away. The man was a damn humanitarian.