Icon (11 page)

Sam P. and Luther digested this.

Sam P. said, “So this, uh, Jerry. What’s his last name?”

“Gold. Jerry Gold.”

“He’ll pay to get you back?”

Max shrugged. “He’ll get Talia to pay, which is the same thing. There’s no way he’s going to let his meal ticket die in a bomb shelter in the middle of the desert. But he’s going to need some time.”

“Time?”

“To convince Talia. She’s the one with the purse strings. And right now, she’s picturing life without me, and she likes it that way.”

“But this, ah, Jerry? He can convince her?”

“He’ll convince her. You’d better believe it.”

“How long, do you think?”

Max shrugged. “A day, maybe? She’s pretty stubborn.”

“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

T
EN 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 against 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.