No Time To Run (Legal Thriller Featuring Michael Collins, Book 1) (10 page)

Bang-bang; Bang-bang.

Michael touched the scar on his cheek, and then turned off the water. He took a towel off the rack, and walked out of the bathroom while drying himself.

As he picked a pair of boxers up off of the floor and slipped them on, he realized that the room had changed. There was a soft smell of cheap cologne and cherry tobacco. Some of the lights that he thought had been on were now off.

When Michael saw a dark movement out of the corner of his eye, he didn’t wait. He grabbed a lamp, turned, and threw it as hard as he could. The lamp smashed against the wall, shards of glass falling to the floor.

Expecting a rush, Michael steadied himself. His hands were out, ready to strike anything that came at him, but nothing came.

He stood there, frozen. His eyes wide, searching.

There was nobody in the room except him.

Michael started to relax, thinking it was an overreaction. The smells could have come through the vents. Somebody could have walked down the hall smoking a pipe. He had seen something though. Hadn’t he? Michael put his hands down.

As his breathing started to slow, the telephone rang.

The loud bell bounced off of the walls, and Michael jumped.

It rang again.

Michael walked across the room to the phone, and picked it up.

“
Yes.”

“
This is the front desk. Is everything all right, Mr. Collins? We had a report.”

“
I fell.” Michael looked at the scattered shards of glass. “Knocked a lamp onto the floor, but I’m fine.”

“
Would you like us to send someone up?”

“
No, maybe in the morning.” Michael’s eyes drifted from the glass to the four dark corners of the room. “It’s fine for now.”

“
Very well, Mr. Collins. Have a good night.”

Michael hung up the phone, and walked over to his knapsack. He had just begun removing a pair of jogging pants and a t-shirt, when the phone rang again.

Somewhat annoyed, Michael walked back over to the phone and picked it up.

“
Hello.” He thought it would be the front desk.

“
It’s time we meet.” The sound of the voice was not human. It was masked with a digital device, alternating from high to low with a long buzz trailing every word.

“
Who is this?”

“
Come down front. There’s a car waiting.” Michael walked over to the window with the phone still pressed to his ear. He pulled back the shade and tried to see the car.

The man or woman on the phone started to speak again. It was a question of some sort, but, before Michael could answer, he felt a prick in his neck: a needle. Then everything went black.

###

Michael woke up in the trunk of a car. He had no idea how long he had been out, and his head felt like it was filled with mud. Still wearing only his boxers, he could feel his toes and fingers turning blue from the cold.

He tried to move, but found that his hands and feet were bound with duct tape. Michael tried to scream, but the scream never came – a small ball, probably a golf ball, had been shoved in his mouth and then sealed inside with a thick, leather gag.

A series of bumps and turns lifted Michael up, and then threw him back down. The car slowed, jerked to a quick stop, and then continued in another direction.

The constant hum of tires on the pavement eventually changed into the crackle of tires on gravel. That sound continued for a short while and then the car stopped.

A door opened and closed, and Michael heard a man say, “Pop the trunk.”

Michael heard a beep, a double click, and then the trunk opened. A small, white light fastened to the top of the trunk turned on, and Michael could see for the first time.

A thick man, the same thick man that he had seen at the airport the day before and at the resort earlier, looked down at him. It wasn’t a menacing look, nor was it happy. The look was neutral, like that of a person who was doing his job.

“
We have some items to discuss.” The man grabbed Michael, and pulled him out of the trunk and onto the cold, wet ground without effort. The damp sank through Michael’s thin boxers. He hadn’t thought that he could get much colder, but a hard chill worked its way across and then under his exposed skin.

He tried to figure out where he was. Michael looked for landmarks, buildings, anything that could be traced later, but there was nothing.

They were in an open field.

About 200 yards away there was a hill, and below it, the field had been cleared, concrete had been poured, and a few spotlights illuminated another bland, market-tested subdivision that was in the process of being raised out of the wetlands.

The thick man took out a knife and cut the tape that bound Michael’s ankles together. The gag remained in place.

“
Stand. Don’t run.”

Michael struggled to his feet, while the thick man stepped back, put his knife away, and took out his gun in one smooth motion.

“
The three questions often posed by people in your situation are as follows.” He cleared his throat. His voice was gruff, but his words were clipped with clear articulation. He was a 250-pound college professor with a side-job of crushing concrete with his head.

“
Please note that these are in no particular order and arguably elicit answers that overlap.” The Professor cocked his head to the side. “Now, one, for whom do I work?” He paused. “Always a very good question, because it provides a framework for the situation in which you presently find yourself. For example, if I were to say, ‘I work for nobody,' you will think that you can reason with me, plead to my better instincts and an abstract moral code. Or the fact that I work alone and for nobody, may also suggest that you could overcome me in a match of physical strength.

“
That is, of course, ridiculous for I am quite large and you are quite,” the Professor looked Michael up and down, “not large, but adrenaline does odd things to people. Certainly you would agree with that, Mr. Collins, and certainly adrenaline may justify otherwise irrational decisions by someone who considers himself or herself with no other choice.

“
Thus, I must dissuade you from this notion, and direct your attention to the man in the front seat of the car. He is not my employer, nor I his employee, but, if for whatever reason you were to overtake me, that man will get out of the car and dispense with you.” Michael looked over to the car and saw the shape of a second person, and then he looked back at the thick man whose face still revealed no emotion.

“
Second question.” The Professor continued. “Also a good one, I daresay, is, ‘What do you want?’ Implicit in this question, of course, is the idea that I want something, which I, personally, do not. The scope of my relationship with you and the tasks that said relationship entail do not vary. Success is a determination made by somebody else. I have a contract, and I comply with the terms of that contract.”

“
This second aforementioned question also suggests that you have some sort of bargaining power, which you do not. Not in the traditional sense. Bargaining, as that term is commonly used, connotes an arms-length negotiation between two equal persons or entities. That is obviously not what we have here. I am holding a gun, whereas, you are bound, gagged, and standing half-naked in a field.” He smiled, and then just as quickly, the smile disappeared.

“
Third question.” The Professor reached into his pocket and removed a small metal tin and pipe. He filled and packed the end of the pipe with tobacco, and then struck a match.

The air filled with the smell of cherry pipe tobacco. It was the same odor that Michael had smelled in his hotel room. Now he knew the source.

The Professor continued to keep his gun squarely aimed at Michael’s chest, while he puffed away, deep in thought.

“
As I said, the third question is always, ‘Why don’t you just go ahead and kill me?’ This is a logical question, but you can see by the manner in which it is often posed, that the question really is not an invitation to accelerate the events that may or may not occur in the future, but is actually another attempt by you, the captive, to obtain some sort of power over me, the captor.

“
By suggesting that you are willing to die, I am supposed to fear that whatever it is that may or may not be wanted from you will never be had. This reasoning again assumes that I care whether or not my employer obtains what he wants from you, which I don’t. Perhaps this is an argument in favor of commission versus a flat-fee method of payment, but I think that having a vested interest in the outcome of any endeavor such as this may cloud one’s judgment. Thus, I always work for a flat fee.”

The Professor walked back to the car, closed the trunk, and leaned against it while puffing on his pipe. He checked his watch, and then looked past Michael toward the construction site 200 yards down the hill.

When his tobacco had been smoked, he tapped the spent remains from the end and returned the pipe to his pocket. Then he checked his watch again.

“
You have been very patient with me, Mr. Collins.” The Professor began to walk around the car. “You are obviously quite cold, but there isn’t much we can do about the weather.” He turned and went to the front, spoke briefly and quietly with a person in the front seat, and then turned back to Michael.

“
As previously stated, I do have an employer and I think you already know who it is. He asked me to deliver a message.” The Professor took a breath, collected his thoughts, and continued. “He would like the money back. It’s that simple.”

The Professor walked up to Michael. He removed the gag, and Michael spat the golf ball onto the ground.

“
I don’t have it.”

“
He thinks you do,” the Professor said. “Again, I don’t have a vested interest, but if you don’t have the money, then I will now take this opportunity to be bold and venture a suggestion. That suggestion is to obtain the ill-gotten gains from the person that does.”

“
You want me to get $500 million dollars?”

The Professor laughed.

“
No.” He shook his head. “Mario Deti wants you to give him back his $500 million dollars. I don’t want anything, which I believe we have already discussed
ad nauseam
.”

The Professor checked his watch, and then told Michael that it was time. The lesson was complete.

“
Mr. Deti wanted me to do this. He, unlike myself, is not trained in the art of subtle communication and negotiation.”

The Professor pointed down the hill toward the construction site.

“
Let’s go.”

Michael didn’t move, and the Professor fired a quick shot to his left. The loud sound of the gun filled the night and echoed back at them three or four times in return. Memories from two years ago flashed before Michael’s eyes, and he steadied himself.

“
Please.” The Professor poked the gun into Michael’s back. “I have certain instructions.”

They proceeded down the hill together. The dead winter brush cut against Michael’s legs, and his bare feet lost all feeling in the patches of snow and ice.

The Professor led Michael to the edge of a large hole that was still waiting for a cement foundation.

“
And then, of course, you must take into consideration Ms. Andie Larone.” The Professor pushed Michael closer to the edge. Michael could feel some of the dirt give way, sliding into the hole. “Prison can be such a nasty place, especially in the absence of her young, talented lawyer, which leads me to the details of your potential bonus.”

“
Bonus?”

“
Mr. Deti has information that may assist you in your defense of Ms. Larone, and he may provide such information, if you cooperate.”

“
A deal?”

“
No.” The Professor sighed. “There are no deals here, Mr. Collins. He may give you this information or he may not. It is entirely up to him, but I assure you that he will not give you this information absent the return of what belongs to him.”

“
What’s the information?” Michael asked.

“
In due time,” the Professor said. “Now, please look down.” The cold steel of the gun pressed into the back of Michael’s head, and Michael lowered it. Then another needle pricked his neck.

Michael felt his knees weaken, and then felt himself falling down into the hole as everything went black.

CHAPTER TWENTY

He woke up bruised and sore, but lying in the warm comfort of his hotel bed. The shards of glass from the broken lamp were no longer on the floor. The lamp itself had been replaced.

Michael thought about calling the police, but he had no idea where he had been or how he would answer their questions, and at the moment, Michael’s head was so clouded that he wasn’t even sure he had left the hotel room.