The Seventh Day
Page 40
Jess smiled and could tell Tracy was happy for the olive branch. She offered up an eight-by-ten photograph in return. “It took a little while to find this, but I thought I’d seen it among Dad’s things.”
Jess studied the photo. Clark James had his arms around a curly-haired guy wearing glasses, a loud tropical shirt, and a crooked smile. Jess had never seen the other man, but the church behind them was the same one from Tom Cox’s photograph.
“It’s a publicity still from the movie. Since the film was never finished, none of these ever got released. I guess Dad kept a few for posterity.”
“The church is in Mexico,” Jess realized.
“It’s a small town called Santa Alvarado, about fifty miles inland from Puerto Vallarta. Dad’s character was a former preacher who became this mythic gunman.”
Jess pointed at the man in the Hawaiian shirt. “Who’s this guy?”
“The writer of the film. Had a strange first name. Tag, I think. I could easily find out. Is it important?”
“I don’t know what’s important right now.”
Tracy continued to gently stroke his brow. Jess was so exhausted that he didn’t stop her. He never imagined it would be his father’s death that would lead to a moment like this. It was so ironic that Jess had to wonder if he and Tracy were an inescapable force.
“What are you hoping to find out, Jessie?”
“I keep asking myself that. I guess I just want to know what happened to my father. Which is so damn strange that I’d even care. After everything? Doesn’t that strike you as being totally fucked up?”
“He was still your father.” Her finger continued to gently massage his brow. “I just think he was really sick and his heart finally gave out.”
“After crawling halfway across the desert to find me?” Jess stared at the valley below. “I’m having a hard time getting past what he whispered to me the day I got back here.”
“Which was what?”
“He said ‘they’ were killing him.” Jess turned to look Tracy in the eye. “I’m now wondering by ‘they’ if he meant Edward Rice and your father.”
“That’s crazy sounding,” Tracy said.
“I know. I know.” He shifted around, uncomfortable in his own skin. “I never should have returned my mother’s phone call. Then maybe none of this would have happened.”
Her hand traced the side of his face. “You don’t know that.” Tracy’s fingers dropped further and moved down his neck. “Besides, if you hadn’t called her back, I wouldn’t have gotten to see you again.”
Jess raised his own hand to meet her groping fingers. And just held them.
“I’ve missed you, Jess. I really have.” She let out a gentle sigh as if just saying it out loud had lifted a huge burden off her shoulders. “Have you missed me?”
Jess let go of her hand. He didn’t avoid her eyes and answered with the truth. “I miss what we once were.”
“Doesn’t mean we can’t try again.” Her hand moved back to his face. “I’m not sure. The only thing I know is that I can’t stay here.”
“Maybe I could come with you.” Jess flinched as her finger hit a singed sore spot. “You’re really hurt, Jess.”
“I don’t feel much of anything.”
“I haven’t either. For a real long time.”
Tracy brought her lips close to his cheek and barely grazed the burn mark. Then, she broke away and cried out. “No!”
Jess turned to see two men emerge from the darkness. Both wore jeans and dark long-sleeved shirts. They had ski masks over their faces. One carried a baseball bat.
Jess tried to get to his feet, but the man with the bat swung first. The Louisville Slugger bounced off the side of his head and Jess tumbled to the ground. He could hear Tracy screaming for them to stop—right before a second swing knocked him out cold.
* * *
It was either a big-assed bump or his head smashing off a wall that made Jess come to.
He tried to straighten up and got another head clobbering for his trouble. Moaning softly, Jess turned to see a sliver of moonlight pouring in through a tiny hole. He reached out and traced its shape, then shuddered when he realized what the hole was.
The opening in the lock of a car trunk.
Jess tried to throttle down the ensuing wave of panic that came with extreme claustrophobia. Not bad enough that he was crammed into a space for someone half his size; his plight was worsened by the driver navigating a road with a billion potholes.
Fiddling with the lock proved worthless; it was jammed on the outside and didn’t have a mechanism inside to pop the trunk. Jess tried to swivel onto his back, which proved anything but a cinch. There was no wiggle room. Plus, his right shoulder was killing him. It took a good five minutes to flip over, all while his body continued to be pounded by the bumpy road.
Once on his back, Jess found his nose was less than three inches from the trunk lid, which made an MRI seem like a spacious condo and ratcheted his freaked level up a few notches.
The car wrenched to the right and slowed down.
The bumps got even nastier, rattling the scrambled eggs that filled his brain.
Then the vehicle braked to a thankful stop, giving Jess one more good head jolt.
Jess suddenly realized whoever was driving might open the trunk. He needed to figure out what to do if that happened.
What if it didn’t open? Maybe they were going to dump the car in a river. He immediately dismissed that notion. What river? They had to be in the middle of the desert. And, wouldn’t they be moving still, rolling down an embankment so that the car could sink? Jess shook off that horrible thought and tried to come up with a game plan.
After being jammed into the tight space for God knows how long, he didn’t think he could move fast enough to attack whoever put him in the trunk. His best bet was to act like he was still unconscious. Let Whoever-It-Was drag him out of the car. Once he was in open space, he could make his move.
He heard a car door open. He waited for what seemed like forever, and then it slammed shut. Good. Only one guy. And Jess had the element of surprise on his side.
A second door opened.
Shit. The odds just got a whole lot worse. Jess shut his eyes and did his best possum impression as footsteps approached from both sides. Words were murmured that he had no chance of making out. A key scraped, fiddled in the lock, and then clicked. The trunk lid started to open.
Jess allowed his eyes to flicker open a microscopic inch—just enough to make out two shapes. Framed against the moonlight and stars, two ski- masked men loomed over the open trunk.
One guy reached in and grabbed him. The hand brushed against Jess’s burnt shoulder, resulting in the greatest acting performance of his life— pretending to be unconscious when he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs.
The man hauled him out of the car and onto his feet. Jess purposely let himself slump like dead weight onto the man’s body. Not a big reach—he felt like shit.
He heard the other man slam the trunk shut and figured this was it— catch them by surprise, jump in the car, and take off.
Now or never.
“I think he’s awake,” one of the masked men mumbled.
Jess’s eyes snapped open. Just in time to see a blunt object coming straight for his head.
* * *
The next thing Jess knew, he was being dragged across the desert to his own private hell.
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