by Barry Eisler
She stopped when her back bumped up against the side opposite from where he was sitting. “What is this?” she said, looking at him, and doing a pretty good job, he had to admit, of keeping her voice even and otherwise hiding her fear.
He waited a moment, giving her time to stew, showing her he didn’t have to answer her questions, letting her know he was completely in control. She glanced at his scalp and squinted as though trying to figure out what she saw.
“Yeah, the hair plugs,” he said, smiling. “They’re not working out so well. Shouldn’t even have bothered. I mean, it’s not like you care, right, Evie? You like me either way, don’t you?”
She was looking at him closely, and it was weird, it felt almost like she had recognized him and was trying to place his face. But that didn’t make sense. He knew she’d never seen him before. Probably she was just trying to figure out what kind of man was now holding her helpless.
Don’t worry, honey. You’re going to find out.
After a moment, she said, “Who are you? What do you want?”
He smiled. “Who I am . . . that depends. I guess I’m your best friend right now, if you want to be smart. Or your worst nightmare, if you want to be dumb. As for what I want, just what you took from the mailbox facility in Rockville this morning. Tell me where it is, and we’re done. We can all forget this little misunderstanding ever even happened.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Delgado couldn’t help laughing. “You know they all say that, right? Every one of them, in your position. ‘I don’t know anything, I swear!’ I wish I could place a big fat bet every time. I’d be rich.”
He examined a cuticle, taking his time, letting it all sink in. “The thing is, we know you know. We know everything about you. We know where you live, we know what you drive, we know how much you have in the bank. We know about your father in the nursing home, we know about your son at the deaf school. Likes baseball, Dash, doesn’t he? Evie, we know everything. And we don’t care about any of it. We only want the one thing. Give it to me, and you can go home to your boy right now. Isn’t he expecting you? Won’t he be worried?”
She looked down and didn’t answer. Bitch is tough, he thought, not unhappily. Not unhappily at all.
“Evie, if you don’t give me what I’ve asked for, I have to start doing some really bad shit to you. Like . . . torture shit, not to put too fine a point on it. I don’t think you’re tough enough to endure that kind of shit. In fact, I haven’t met anyone yet who was. So I think what’ll happen is, you’ll wind up telling me what I want to know and suffering for nothing. But you know what? Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you can handle having your fingertips crushed with pliers, having your lips burned off with a cigarette lighter.” He pulled a pliers and a lighter from his coat pocket to illustrate the point, set them on the floor, and continued. “But do you think you could watch me do all that to Dash? And worse? Because that’s where this thing goes if you don’t give me now what you’re going to give me eventually.”
A long moment went by. Delgado waited. He wasn’t in a hurry. Fuck, on the contrary, he was savoring all of it.
“Marvin,” she said, shaking her head. “He’s part of this. God.”
Delgado was surprised. “You mean Manus? You call him Marvin? How do you know him?”
“He’s . . . God, he’s been watching us. I’m so stupid.”
The director must have had Manus surveilling her. Though if she knew him as “Marvin,” the surveillance was pretty up close and personal. He wondered why the director hadn’t told him, then almost laughed. What did the director tell anyone that he didn’t absolutely need to?
He wondered for a moment whether that nice shaved bush, the lack of panties, could have been for Manus? Before the grab, Manus had told him the woman wasn’t to suffer, which at the time had been a total non sequitur. But now . . . Jesus, had the big deaf freak been fucking this hottie? He couldn’t imagine it. Well, even if he had been, so what? The thought of Manus’s sloppy seconds wasn’t exactly an aphrodisiac, but shit, there was still plenty of upside here to focus on.
He patted her arm, letting his hand linger for a moment before removing it. “Well, we all make mistakes, right? What matters is how we fix them. So fix your mistake, Evie. Tell me where it is.”
“I can’t tell you that,” she said. “I have to take you there.”
Delgado couldn’t stop himself from laughing again. “Hey, you’re right on schedule. Because that’s the next thing everyone says. To buy themselves time, a little reprieve, maybe an opportunity to actually escape. And everyone who says it thinks it’s original to them. No, Evie, you don’t need to show me. If you hid what you took, you hid it somewhere you can find it. If you can find it, you can explain where it can be found. No one buries something in the middle of a field with no landmarks, see? Okay, maybe an idiot might do something like that, but I can tell you’re no idiot. You’re a careful woman. Not quite careful enough, it turns out, but careful.”
He squatted in front of her and she looked down. He shot out a hand, gripped her chin hard, and raised her face until it was inches from his own. She tried to twist loose and he squeezed tighter.
“So let’s stop fucking around here, okay? Unless you want me to start having some fun with you.”
She tried to move back and he moved his face closer. “Would you like that, Evie? I think maybe you would.”
Christ, the smell of her, and the way those buttons were straining on her blouse. He thought how easy it would be to reach down and squeeze one of those tits. Fucking twist it. Think you’d tell me what I want to know then, bitch?
Maybe. But going that fast would foreclose possibilities, too. For now, he needed her to believe she had two completely different options: give him what he was asking for and walk away clean, on the one hand; give him what he was asking for after being permanently disfigured, on the other. If he started hurting her too soon, it would muddy that framework, and might make her more stubborn.
No, now wasn’t the time. Though soon it would be. One way or the other.
Her nostrils were flaring in and out with her breathing. He lifted her chin higher and she grimaced in pain. God, he wanted to hurt her. Not just a little like this. Not just to scare her. Really hurt her. Hurt her so she screamed.
“All right,” she said, through clenched teeth. “Okay.”
He eased off the pressure on her chin but didn’t release it.
“But how do I know?” she said. “How do I know you’ll let me go once I tell you?”
He laughed again. “Congratulations, sweetheart, you’re officially three for three. That’s the next thing everyone asks. And the answer’s always the same, too. You don’t know. Maybe I’m lying. And maybe I’m lying about torturing you and your boy Dash, too. Well, there’s an easy way to test me. Just don’t tell me what I want to know. See what happens. But you know what? I think you already know the answer. I think you’re looking at me and you know perfectly well that I’m telling the truth. So. Where’d you hide it, Evie? Tell me so I can get you home. In one fucking piece.”
There was a pause, then she said, “In the senior facility. Where I visited my father just before you grabbed me.”
Delgado considered. If it was a lie, it was a clever one. Because how the fuck was Manus going to slip in and out of a nursing home without getting challenged?
On the other hand, the difficulty of someone like Manus retrieving it was exactly what would have made the nursing home a good spot for real.
He looked her up and down. “You fucking with me, Evie?”
She shook her head.
“Because I have ‘Marvin’ standing by, and he’s going to go look wherever you tell me it is. And if he reports back that he couldn’t find it, then I’m going to hurt you like you can’t even imagine. Do you understand that?”
She glared at him. “I understand that.”
“What media is it stored on? Do not
fucking lie to me.”
“It’s a thumb drive.”
“Where, precisely?”
“The women’s room, on the left as you go in through the side entrance. Handicapped stall, taped to the back of the toilet near the floor.”
Delgado released her chin. “All right, Evie. Good girl. I’ll have Marvin go take a look. If it checks out, little Dash gets his mommy back, safe and sound. If not . . . well, let’s not even think about that, right?”
God, he loved how much defiance he saw in her eyes. And how he was going to fuck every last bit out of her the moment he’d gotten confirmation they had what the director wanted. By the time he was through with her, all she’d have left was begging. And he’d let her, too. He’d let her beg for a long time. He wanted to be able to remember it for after.
CHAPTER . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . 34
Manus was pacing at the periphery of the giant Columbia Mall parking lot. The sun shone headache-bright in his eyes as it approached the horizon, then cast a lengthening shadow on the pavement in front of him as he headed the other way. He flexed his hands as he walked. Open. Closed. Open. Closed.
He hadn’t liked it when Delgado hit the woman to stun her, but he understood it had to be done. Delgado had tossed Manus her purse, and Manus had done his part, picking up the shoe she’d lost, getting out her keys, driving her car away from the scene of the snatch. He was supposed to search the car and the purse and then text Delgado when he was done, regardless of whether he found anything. Well, he hadn’t found anything, not even in her shoe. But he hadn’t texted Delgado. He doubted the woman had on her person what the director wanted—the purse or the car were more likely. So if he told Delgado he hadn’t found anything, Delgado would think the woman had hidden it somewhere else. At which point, he would make her tell. Manus didn’t want to think about how. He didn’t like the way Delgado had been looking at her in the Sprinter, when he was kneeling on her back. Manus knew what that look meant. He’d tried to tell himself he was wrong, but he knew Delgado. Knew what he was like.
You should never have left her alone with him. Never.
Stop it. It’s what the director wanted. You had no choice.
He paced, the sun below the treetops now, their shadows overtaking his. With every other step, he smacked a fist into a thigh, harder and harder.
But you’re supposed to tell him. You have to find what she took from the director. It’s something she could hurt him with. That’s why the director had to do this.
He’d told Delgado not to hurt her. Delgado had given him a strange look, as though Manus had asked him not to hurt a fly, an ant. He’d responded, “Why do you care?” And Manus hadn’t answered. Couldn’t.
He told himself he should have gone to her earlier, before any of this had happened, even before he had gone to the director. He could have explained, made her understand she had to give back the thumb drive. Maybe she would have listened.
Or maybe she wouldn’t have. And what would he have done then?
But he could explain now. Now she would understand. Now she would listen. Because . . .
If the thumb drive is what the director wanted, once he has it why couldn’t he just let her go?
Open, closed. Open. Closed.
But what if he’s afraid she could still hurt him, somehow? Because of what she knows. And he must be afraid of that. He must be. That’s why he’s doing this. Not just to get the thumb drive back. To make sure she can never say anything to anyone afterward. That’s why. She was going to do something bad and she still could and you had NO CHOICE.
He stopped and clutched the sides of his head.
Why did she have to do whatever she did? Why?
He thought of the way she had put her hands on his face, the way she had kissed him.
I’m sorry, Evie. I’m so sorry.
He sat on the curb, covered his face, and started to cry.
He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want her to get hurt. He didn’t want her to die. But it wasn’t up to him. She’d done something, something to the director. But why? Why did she have to do that?
His phone vibrated and he yanked it out of his shirt pocket. A text from Delgado: You checked the car and the purse? And that shoe?
Manus’s heart started pounding. He hesitated, then texted, Yes.
And?
He had to tell Delgado. It was what the director wanted. But if Delgado was asking, it meant he hadn’t found it on her person. So if it wasn’t in the car or the purse or the shoe, it meant she had hidden it. Which meant the next step was, Delgado would make her tell where.
He pressed his palms to his temples and squeezed. What do I do what do I do WHAT DO I DO.
You there, genius?
Manus looked at the text. Suddenly, he wanted to go to work on Delgado. Everything else was so confusing, but that was so clear.
Yes.
Did you check her shit?
Yes.
Holy shit, are you fucking mute now, too? Did you find anything?
Tears running down his face, Manus typed, No. And hit Send.
He blinked and looked at the text. Had he meant to send it? He hadn’t thought. He’d just typed the two letters and then hit Send. And now it was done. Now he didn’t have to think about it anymore. But he couldn’t stop thinking.
He stood and began pacing again. A moment later, another text came in.
Yeah, that’s what I was expecting. She says she hid it. Thumb drive, as expected. In the nursing home next to the supermarket. Ladies’ room, on the left as you go in through the side entrance. Handicapped stall, taped to the back of the toilet near the floor.
Manus was so relieved his knees went rubbery. Delgado must have scared her into telling, but he wouldn’t have hurt her. Not yet. Manus knew how it worked. It was better to hold the pain back, if you could.
But that didn’t mean it wouldn’t come later.
He texted, Okay.
Okay as in, you’re going to check it out now?
Yes.
How long?
I don’t know. I’m not there right now.
Wait a minute, didn’t you bring the car back to the supermarket?
No. Why?
You have to bring it back.
Why?
So things look right.
Manus shook his head, not liking this at all.
What does that mean?
Do I have to spell it out for you, dummy? Her car just needs to be where she was last seen. So it looks right. Jesus, I hate this fucking texting. Can’t you get a hearing aid or something?
Looks like what?
We’re wasting time. Check the nursing home and let me know what you find.
You’re not supposed to hurt her.
Yeah, I got that the first time, genius. It’s cute that you like her but I didn’t care then, either. This has to be taken care of a certain way. Director’s orders.
He’d known, hadn’t he? Even if he’d tried to hide from it. The thumb drive alone wasn’t going to be enough. The director wanted her dead.
But . . . a certain way?
What way?
It’s not your fucking concern, okay? You have one job. The nursing home. Now do it. Don’t think about anything else. I’m doing what I was told to do. You need to do the same.
What were you told to do?
Hey fuck off, okay?
I’m not helping until you tell me.
Hey asshole you want me to tell the director you said that?
Manus didn’t care. He wasn’t going to back down.
Almost a minute went by. Then another text came in:
Make it look random, okay? Like a crime that could happen to anyone, not something targeted. You getting the picture now, idiot? Now, can you get to work, or do I have to call in backup?
Manus felt a cold fury settle behind his ears, in his chest. He held the phone at his side for a moment and flexed his free hand. Then he texted back.
No. I can go to work. Happy to.
CHAPTER . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . 35
Manus drove Evie’s car back to the Safeway, trying to keep his mind clear, to force himself to focus.
One thing at a time. One thing at a time.
He circled the lot before moving in, looking for police, a crowd . . . any evidence that the snatch had been noticed. There was nothing. He parked the car where he had taken it and killed the engine, then placed her purse and shoe inside a plain canvas grocery bag, the same kind ecologically minded shoppers carried in and out of the supermarket every day. He got out, pulled off the work gloves he was wearing, and dropped those in the bag, as well.
He walked over to the nursing home and tried the side entrance. Locked. Well, slipping in and out unobserved was probably too much to hope for.
He circled around to the front and went in. Immediately he was struck by the smell of strong antiseptic. He suppressed a gag and kept moving.
A pretty black woman was sitting behind a large, circular receptionist’s station just beyond the foyer. She smiled and raised her eyebrows as he approached, and he didn’t need to be a lip reader to make out what she said: “Can I help you?”
He stopped in front of the station, smiled awkwardly, and said, “My father can’t care for himself anymore and I think it’s time. If you have some brochures I could show him, I think . . . it would make things easier.”
She nodded sympathetically, eyeing him just a moment too long. He was accustomed to the reaction. It happened whenever he spoke in front of someone for the first time. She was wondering what was wrong with him. Deaf? Retarded? He didn’t mind. He knew there was something about his presence that made people uncomfortable, edgy, even afraid. The strangeness of his voice gave them something to focus on, something to explain away a feeling produced by something else.
She gathered up a few forms and handed them over. He glanced through them for appearance’s sake. Slick-looking materials depicting laughing, well-dressed, healthy-looking old people with perfect dentures and salon-coiffed white hair enjoying strolls and shuffleboard under brilliant blue skies, gourmet meals lit by chandelier. No one alone, everyone part of a pleasant, happy community. He’d never seen such bullshit.