Man of Wax (Man of Wax Trilogy) (13 page)

“He”—I shook my head—“he had nothing to do with this.”
 

“And what is ‘this’? Is ‘this’ life? Is ‘this’ the game? Enlighten me, Ben.”
 

I just sat there on the bed, watching the lines of sun.
 

“You need to understand that we’re not fucking around here. We will do whatever it takes to make sure you play by the rules. Yes, that man had a wife and two daughters, and right now that wife believes her husband raped and murdered a prostitute before killing himself. Trust me, the crime scene is very clean. The detectives working it aren’t going to lose a second of sleep over it. As far as they’re concerned, it’s an open and shut case.”
 

“And what if I were to call the police right now and tell them the truth?”
 

I said the words before I could even think twice about them—my body shaking even more, adrenaline coursing through my veins—and immediately shut my eyes and cursed myself.
 

“Don’t be an idiot,” Simon said. “You may be the star of this show, but you’re not a hero.”
 

“What are you talking about? What show?”
 

Simon ignored me. “Downstairs when you check out there will be two items waiting for you—a package and an envelope. The package will contain a new cell phone and a new wallet, with enough money to get you to your next destination. The envelope will contain a valet ticket for your new car.”
 

“I want to speak to my wife again.”
 

“I’m afraid at the moment that’s not possible.”
 

“Then let me speak to my daughter.”
 

“Sorry, can’t help you there either.”
 

“Who were those men from last night?”
 

“Trouble,” Simon said, sounding more irritated now than ever before. He waited a beat and said, “You still want a chance to win back Jennifer and Casey, don’t you?”
 

“Yes.”
 

“Then I suggest you take a shower and get dressed.”
 

“What else are you going to make me do?”
 

“You say that like you aren’t enjoying yourself. But I saw you last night, Ben. You were enjoying yourself quite a lot, weren’t you?”
 

“Last night ...”
 

“Yes?”
 

“The police are going to find my DNA.”
 

Simon was quiet for a moment, then chuckled and said, “You mean when she sucked you off? I wouldn’t worry about it. She was a prostitute, for Christ’s sake.”
 

I closed my eyes, didn’t say anything. My head had begun to pound again, those drums stressing the fact that the natives were getting restless. The soreness in my body had seemed to dissipate, but I knew the moment I stood it would return.
 

“I’m not here to reassure you,” Simon said. “I’m here to tell you what you need to do if you ever want to see your family again. But ask yourself this—have you ever been to jail? Have you ever been arrested for anything a day in your life?”
 

“No,” I said, shaking my head slightly. I was staring down at the carpet, watching those lines of sunlight grow longer and longer.
 

“That’s right. Which means your prints are not on some police database. Neither is your DNA. You’ve spoken to the police before—how could you forget your time at college?—but again, they don’t have your prints. God, Ben, you have to stop watching
CSI
. This is the real world.”
 

I was silent again, my eyes now closed. The pounding had subsided even more.
 

“Okay, get yourself cleaned up. Make sure to flush your wife’s finger, unless you want the maid to find it. Keep the ring if you want, I don’t care. But the last thing you need right now is for anyone from that bar last night remembering what you look like.”
 

I opened my eyes, stared down at the carpet, at those growing lines of sunlight.
 

“That would be bad, Ben. That would be very bad. Despite Gerald being the prime suspect in an open and shut case, there’s always the chance the police might want to speak to witnesses.”
 

I stared down at those growing lines of sunlight and thought of those two men from last night.
 

This is for your own good
.
 

Simon said, “Are you following me so far?”
 

I swallowed. “Yes.”
 

“Good. Now before we say goodbye, I need to ask you one more thing.”
 

“What?”
 

“Are we having fun yet?”

24

Jason wasn’t at the front desk when I checked out. Instead it was a young woman named Marni who smiled at me as she handed me the package and envelope.
 

“Leaving a day early, are we?” she asked pleasantly as she took my keycard. It was an innocuous enough question but still it unsettled me. I had been booked for two nights. Clearly Simon had had other plans for me.
 

I nodded but said nothing. The package—a small cardboard box—was not heavy at all but still felt like it weighed a ton.
 

“Did you have a pleasant stay here in Reno?”
 

The lobby was much busier than I’d seen it last night. I was wearing the same thing I’d worn yesterday on my drive, the same boxers and socks, all the way down to the sneakers—which, before leaving, I’d cleaned and scrubbed off any traces of vomit. The rest of the clothes were in the suitcase, along with Jen’s finger that I hadn’t found the heart to flush. (I think I was still under the impression that, when this was all over, the doctors might be able to reattach it.)
 

I nodded again. When she asked if I would like a receipt, I said, “No thank you,” and turned and walked away.
 

By a pair of empty chairs, I set the suitcase aside and inspected the items. Both were addressed to Romeo Chase. I opened the cardboard box, thinking it might be another body part even though Simon had already told me what was inside. Just like he said, another cell phone and a wallet. The wallet contained five hundred dollars in crisp twenties.
 

I put the wallet in my pocket. Turned on the phone. Waited a minute for it to fully power up and find a signal, then waited another minute for it to vibrate.
 

Simon said, “Are you waiting for an invitation?”
 

I glanced around the lobby, at the people walking back and forth, at the employees, at the cameras near the ceiling.
 

“What’s going to happen to the Dodge?”
 

“Don’t worry about it.”
 

“And the gun?”
 

“I said don’t worry about it.”
 

“Not worrying about it isn’t as easy as you make it sound.”
 

I stuffed the cardboard box in the closest trashcan and headed toward the main entrance. Two valets were waiting there, and I handed one of them the ticket.
 

As I waited, I said into the phone, “Should I expect any surprises in this car’s trunk?”
 

“You should always expect surprises, Ben. That’s the true meaning of life. But no, besides a spare tire and jumper cables, there will be nothing waiting for you back there. We’ve already gotten past the establishing part of the game.”
 

“The establishing part.”
 

“Well of course, Ben. You watch movies, don’t you? You watch TV. You know that if the viewer’s not sucked into the presentation within the first minute or so they’re bound to change the channel. And do you know what that means? Ratings go down, advertisers jump ship, and soon that show’s canceled. Or that movie’s yanked from the theaters. That’s all it comes down to nowadays, you know. Advertising.”
 

I glanced around, made sure the other valet and any patrons were out of earshot before I said, “So that message on the bathroom door, that doll and all the fake blood in the truck, it was all just, what, for ratings?”
 

“You could say that. But it’s mostly for the audience’s benefit. Keeping you on your toes keeps them on their toes. Now that we’ve established just what kind of game this is, how far you’re willing to go to save your family, we have our set audience. They’re excited to see what will happen next. That’s how producers keep any show going. By the promise of what’s to come. And believe me, with the stakes raised like they are, the next part of the game is a doozy.”
 

A black Ford Taurus pulled up, and the valet who’d taken my ticket got out. I had nothing but twenties in the wallet so I tipped him with one of those.
 

“Thank you, sir,” he said. “We hope to see you again at Grand Sierra Resort real soon.”
 

I said nothing and got in the car. The mileage showed less than one hundred miles and the interior still had that new car smell. I put the car in gear and drove out toward the highway.
 

“Where am I going now?”
 

“Do you really think I’m going to answer that question?” Simon chuckled. “You just don’t get our relationship yet, do you?”
 

“We don’t have a relationship.”
 

“Perhaps. But as long as you remember that I tell you what to do, you do what I tell you, then everyone will be happy. Because otherwise, how are you going to know what to do next? Do you even have the slightest clue what it is?”
 

“I can only guess.”
 

“Come on now, Ben, have I gotten that predictable? If so, maybe we have started a relationship after all. I mean, even though your wife and daughter are being held captive, there’s no reason you and I can’t be friends.”
 

I came to the intersection and stopped and in a bored tone said, “Left or right?”
 

When Simon spoke again, the fun was gone from his voice and he was all seriousness now, all business.
 

“Get on 80 and head east. Keep driving until you can’t drive anymore. If I were you I’d get something to eat first. You’re looking pale, Ben. The last thing we need right now is you falling unconscious behind the wheel.”
 

 
I must have pissed him off, or maybe just irritated him enough so he was closing in on disappointment, because he didn’t wait for me to say anything else, he didn’t even say goodbye. There was just a click and he was gone. I was alone, just me and this new car. I set the phone aside and pulled out into traffic, doing everything I could to forget Gerald’s warm smile last night when he told me it was a surprise, and Juliet’s seductive smile when she asked,
Don’t you want to buy me a drink?

25

I spent the next eleven hours driving. Yesterday I’d thought I was sick of the endless roads and highways, but it was nothing compared to the miles and miles and miles I was seeing now.
 

Hoping for a distraction, the radio kept me company. When I found a station I liked—these were mostly hard rock stations, the kind that played Zeppelin and Floyd and Cream—I’d stick with it until it started cutting out so much I could hardly tell what song was playing. Then I’d do another search, find another station, and keep it on again as long as I could. Really it wouldn’t have mattered what songs were playing, just as long as there was something in the background that took my mind off the past forty-eight hours. But it didn’t work. I kept thinking of Jen, Casey, Gerald and Juliet. I kept thinking of the two men who had jumped me, who had taken my glasses and the cell phone, and who had said it was for my own good. And then there was the life back home, the world that was constantly going no matter what was happening to me and my family. William and Cassandra Johnson had no doubt found a new painter by now, had contracted him out to make the Tudor look just like they dreamed. Marshall was probably doing his thing too, figuring nothing was wrong. The same about the people at Jen’s work, the people at Casey’s preschool.
 

I no longer had the carton of Marlboros I’d bought yesterday; those had been left in the Dodge. I picked up a new carton at the first gas station I came to, smoked every twenty minutes.
 

The desert was endless, nothing on the jagged horizon except the promise of more rock and sand and dead looking grass. Sagebrush dotted the view along the highway, a busy cover of silver-gray. The sky was mostly clear, an occasional aimless cloud blocking the heavy and angry glare of the sun for a few minutes at a time.
 

I was approaching Elko around seven o’clock when the sky was really starting to lose its light and the sun was lowering into the horizon. I wasn’t even hungry but forced myself to stop anyway, to gas up and use one of the many twenties at a nearby restaurant. For some reason I expected the food to taste better because it was in a place where there were car dealerships and movie theaters and doctor’s and dentist’s offices. It didn’t.
 

Back on 80 then, passing through Deeth, Wells, Oasis. I entered Utah, went through Wendover, surrounded by more sagebrush and desert. The radio, while proving a close but unreliable companion, was beginning to get on my nerves. I kept glancing at the phone on the passenger seat, waiting for it to ring. As much as I hated Simon I could at least put up with listening to his dark and unctuous voice than to be left with my own thoughts.
 

Then, just as I was passing the Great Salt Lake, he called.
 

“Miss me?”
 

“What do you want now?”
 

“Oh, nothing. Just figured you were lonely. How’s the drive so far?”