by Robert Crais
I had forgotten the feeling of fear when my body and fate were controlled by an unknown power; the feeling of being so purely helpless and alone.
Until this night.
10
Tunnel Rat
Sweat pooled in the caverns of Ben's eyes. He ducked his head from side to side, wiping away the sweat onto his shoulders. In the depthless black of the box, he tried to work with his eyes closed, but all of his instincts drove them open as if with an expectation of sight. His clothes were soaked, his shoulders ached, and his hands were cramped into claws, but Ben felt ecstatic: school was out, Christmas was here, he had knocked in the game-winning run. Ben Chenier was approaching the finish line and he was happy!
“I'm gonna get out. I'm getting OUT!”
A cut opened across his plastic sky like a scar pulling free of its stitches. Ben had worked furiously throughout the night and through the day. The Silver Star bit through the plastic again and again, and loose soil fell like rain.
“Yeah, that's it! YEAH!”
He had dulled three of the star's five points, but by the afternoon of the first day the cut had grown into a snaggletoothed leer that stretched across the width of the box. Ben worked his fingers into the gap and pulled as hard as he could. Tiny pebbles bounced around him as dust trickled through the split, but the plastic was strong and did not bend easily.
“SHIT!”
Ben heard a mumble and a thump, and he wondered if he was dreaming again. He wouldn't mind if the Queen of Blame came back; she was hot. Ben stopped working, and listened.
“Answer me, kid. I can hear you down there.”
It was Eric! His voice sounded hollow and far away coming down the pipe.
“Answer me, goddamnit.”
The light from the pipe was gone; Eric must be so close that he blocked the sun.
Ben held his breath, suddenly more afraid than when they first put him in the box. A few hours ago he had prayed for them to return, but now he was almost out! If they discovered him trying to escape, they would take away the medal, tie his hands, and bury him again—and then he would be trapped forever!
The light returned, and then Eric's voice sounded farther away.
“The little prick won't answer. You think he's okay?”
Ben heard Mazi clearly.
“Eet weel not mahter.”
Eric tried once more.
“Kid? You want some water?”
Here in the darkness of the box, Ben hid from them. They wouldn't know if he was alive or dead unless they dug him up, but they wouldn't dig him up during the day. They would wait until dark. No one can see you do bad things in the dark.
“Kid?”
Ben held perfectly still.
“You little shit!”
The light reappeared as Eric moved away. Ben counted to fifty, then grew scared that it wasn't enough. He counted to fifty again, then resumed work. He was in a race with them now; he had to get out before they dug him up. The African's words echoed in the darkness: Eet weel not mahter.
Ben felt along the jagged edge of the split until he found a ragged spot near its center, then set to work carving a tiny notch. He worked the Silver Star with small firm moves like a man signing a contract. He didn't need much; just a small tear so that he could get a better grip.
The star cut through the plastic, and the notch grew. He scraped dirt from behind the plastic, then gripped the split again and pulled. A shower of soil fell all at once. Ben sneezed, then brushed dirt from his eyes. The split had opened into a narrow triangular hole.
“YES!”
Ben pushed the soil that had rained down to the end of the box with his feet, then put the Silver Star into his pocket. He pulled his T-shirt over his face like a mask, then scooped out more soil. Ben worked his hand through the split up to his wrist, and finally to his elbow. He dug as far as he could reach, finally creating a large hollow dome. Ben gripped the plastic on either side of the T-shaped hole and hung with all his weight as if he was doing a chin-up. The hole didn't open.
“You dick! You pussy asshole!”
He shouted at the hole.
“You weenie!”
He had the door; all he had to do was open it. OPEN THE DOOR!
Ben scrunched into a ball, pulling his knees to his chest. He propped a knee onto the left side of the T and gripped the right with both hands. He strained so hard that his body arched from the floor.
The plastic tore like cold taffy slowly pulling apart.
Ben's grip slipped and he fell.
“YES! YESYESYES!”
Ben wiped his hands as best he could, then took another grip. He pulled so hard that his head buzzed, and the roof abruptly split as if the plastic had simply surrendered. A landslide of dirt poured through, but Ben didn't care—the box was open.
Ben pushed the dirt and rocks that had fallen to the end of the box, then peeled open the flap. More dirt piled around him. He worked his arm and then his head up into the hole. The freshly turned soil came easily. He twisted his shoulders through the hole and then he was up to his waist. He clawed dirt down past his sides like a swimmer pulling water, but the more he pulled the more the earth closed around him. Ben grew more frantic with each stroke. He reached higher, clawing for the surface, but the earth pressed in on him from all sides like a cold sea pulling him under.
Ben couldn't breathe!
He was being crushed!
Panic filled him with terror and the absolute certainty that he was going to die—
—then he broke through the surface of soil and cool night air washed his face. A canvas of stars filled the overhead sky. He was free.
The Queen's voice whispered.
“I knew you'd kick its ass.”
Ben got his bearings. It was night, and he was in the backyard of a house in the hills. He didn't know which hills, but lights from the city were spread in the distance.
Ben wiggled along the ground until his feet were free. He was in a flower bed at the edge of a patio in the backyard of a really nice house, though the yard was dry and dying. Neighboring houses sat behind walls that were hidden by ivy.
Ben was scared that Mike and the others would hear him, but the house was dark and the windows were covered. He ran to the side of the house, and slipped into the shadows as if they were comfortable old coats.
A walkway ran along the side of the house to the front. Ben crept along the walk, moving so quietly that he could not hear his own footsteps. When he reached a chain-link gate, he wanted to throw it open and run, but he was scared that the men would catch him. He eased the gate open. The hinges made a low squeal, but then the gate swung free. Ben listened, ready to run if he heard them coming, but the house remained silent.
Ben crept through the gate. He was very close to the front of the house. He could see a brightly lit home across the street with cars in its drive. A family would be inside, he thought; a mom and a dad, and grown-ups who would help! All he had to do was sneak across the street and run to the neighbor's door.
Ben reached the end of the house and peeked around the corner. The short, sloping driveway was empty. The garage door was down. The windows were dark.
Ben's face split into a huge toothy grin because he had escaped! He stepped into the drive just as steel hands clamped over his mouth and jerked him backward.
Ben tried to scream, but couldn't. He kicked and fought, but more steel wrapped his arms and legs. They had come from nowhere.
“Stop kicking, ya little prick.”
Eric was a harsh whisper in Ben's ear; Mazi an ebony giant at his feet. Tears blurred Ben's eyes. Don't put me back in the box, he tried to say; please don't bury me! But his words could not get past Eric's iron hand.
Mike stepped out of a shadow and gripped Eric's arm. Ben felt the terrible pressure of his grip in Eric's sudden weakness.
“A ten-year-old kid, and he beat you. I should beat you myself.”
“Jesus, we got him. It saves us the trouble of diggin' him u
p.”
Mike ran his hands over Ben's legs, then searched Ben's pockets and came out with the Silver Star. He held it up by the ribbon.
“Did Cole give you this?”
The best Ben could do was nod.
Mike dangled the medal in front of Mazi and Eric.
“He cut his way out with this. See how the points are dull? You fucked up. You should've searched him.”
“It's a fuckin' medal, not a knife.”
Mike grabbed Eric's throat with such speed that Ben didn't see his hand move. Their faces were only inches apart with Ben sandwiched between them.
“Fuck up again, I'll put you down.”
Eric's voice gurgled.
“Yes, sir.”
“Keep your shit tight. You're better than this.”
Eric tried to answer again, but couldn't. Mike squeezed even harder.
Mazi gripped Mike's arm.
“Ewe ahr keeleeng heem.”
Mike let go. He considered the Silver Star again, then pushed it into Ben's pocket.
“You earned it.”
Mike turned away into the shadows and Ben caught a glimpse of the house across the street. He saw the family inside. Ben's eyes filled. He had come so close.
Mike turned back to them.
“Bring him inside. It's time to put him on the phone.”
Eighty feet away, the Gladstone family enjoyed meatloaf for dinner as they shared stories about their day. Emile was the father and Susse the mom; Judd and Harley, their sons. Their comfortable home was bright with light, and they laughed often. None of them heard or saw the three men or the boy, and had only a vague sense that minor repair work was being done during the day while the new owners awaited the close of escrow. As far as the Gladstone family knew, the house across the street was empty. No one was home.
11
time missing: 28 hours, 02 minutes
Joe Pike
Pike sat unmoving within the stiff branches and leathery leaves of a rubber tree across from Lucy Chenier's apartment. Small gaps between the leaves afforded him a clean view of the stairs leading up to her apartment, and a lesser view of the street and sidewalk. Pike carried a Colt Python .357 Magnum in a clip holster on his right hip, a six-inch SOG fighting knife, a .25-caliber Beretta palm gun strapped to his right ankle, and a leather sap. He rarely needed them. Lucy was safe.
When Cole dropped Pike off earlier that evening, Pike had approached Lucy's apartment on foot from three blocks away. The man who took Ben could have been watching Lucy's apartment, so Pike checked the nearby buildings, roofs, and cars. When he was satisfied that no one was watching, Pike circled the block to come up behind the bungalows across the street. He slipped into the dense trees and shrubs surrounding them, and became a shadow within other shadows. He wondered what was happening at Hollywood Station, but his job was to wait and watch, so that's what he did.
Lucy's white Lexus appeared an hour or so later. She parked at the curb, then hurried upstairs. Pike had not seen her since he left the hospital some months ago; she was smaller than he remembered, and now carried herself with a stiffness that indicated she was upset.
Richard's black limo rolled up ten minutes after Lucy got home and double-parked alongside her Lexus. Richard got out by himself and climbed the stairs. When Lucy opened the door she was framed by gold light. The two of them spoke for a moment, then Richard went in. The door closed.
The Marquis arrived from the opposite direction, Fontenot driving with DeNice along for the ride. They stopped in the street with their engine idling. Myers jumped out of the limo to speak with them. Pike tried to listen, but their voices were low. Myers was angry and slapped the top of the Marquis. “—this is bullshit! Get your shit together and find that kid!” Then he trotted for the stairs. DeNice got out of the Marquis and into the limo. Fontenot accelerated away, but swung into a driveway one block up, turned around, and parked in the dark between two trees. Even as Fontenot parked, Richard and Myers hurried down, got into the limo, and sped away. Pike waited for Fontenot to follow them, but Fontenot settled behind the wheel. Now two of them watched Lucy. Well, one and a half.
Pike was good at waiting, which was why he excelled in the Marines and other things. He could wait for days without moving and without being bored because he did not believe in time. Time was what filled your moments, so if your moments were empty, time had no meaning. Emptiness did not flow or pass; it simply was. Letting himself be empty was like putting himself in neutral: Pike was.
Cole's yellow Corvette pulled to the curb. Like always, it needed a wash. Pike kept his own red Jeep Cherokee spotless, as well as his condo, his weapons, his clothes, and his person. Pike found peace in order, and did not understand how Cole could drive a dirty car. Cleanliness was order, and order was control. Pike had spent most of his life trying to maintain control.
Elvis Cole
The jacaranda trees that lined Lucy's street were lit by lamps that were old and yellow with age. The air was colder than in Hollywood, and rich with the scent of jasmine. Pike was watching, but I could not see him and did not try. Fontenot was easy to make, hunched in a car up the block like Boris Badenov pretending to be Sam Spade. I guess Richard wanted someone watching out for Lucy, too.
I climbed the stairs and knocked twice at her door, soft. I could have used my key, but that seemed more confident than I felt.
“It's me.”
The deadbolt turned with a quiet slap.
Lucy answered in a white terry robe. Her hair was damp and combed back. She always looked good that way, even with her face closed and unsmiling.
She said, “They kept you a long time.”
“We had a lot to talk about.”
She stepped back to let me in, then closed and locked the door. She was holding her cordless phone. The television was running something about vegetarians with brittle bones. She turned it off, then went to the dining room table, all without looking at me, just as she hadn't looked at me when she left Gittamon's office.
I said, “I want to talk to you about this.”
“I know. Would you like some coffee? It's not fresh, but I have hot water and Taster's Choice.”
“No, I'm okay.”
She put the phone on the table, but kept her hand on it. She looked at the phone.
“I've been sitting here with this phone. Ever since I got home I've been scared to put it down. They set up one of those trap things on my phone in case he calls again, but I don't know. They said I could make calls like normal, and not to worry about it. Ha. Like normal.”
I guess staring at the phone was easier than looking at me. I covered her hand with mine.
“Luce, what he said, those things aren't true. Nothing like that happened, none of it.”
“The man on the tape or Richard? You don't have to say this. I know you couldn't do anything like that.”
“We didn't murder people. We weren't criminals.”
“I know. I know that.”
“What Richard said—”
“Shh.”
Her eyes flashed hard, and the shh was a command.
“I don't want you to explain. I've never asked before, and you've never told me, so don't tell me now.”
“Lucy—”
“Don't. I don't care.”
“Luce—”
“I've heard you and Joe talk. I've seen what you keep in that cigar box. Those are your things to know, not mine, I understand that, like old lovers and the stupid things we do when we're kids—”
“I wasn't hiding anything.”
“—I thought, he'll tell me if he needs to, but now it all seems so much more important than that—”
“I wasn't keeping secrets. Some things are better left behind, that's all, you move past and go on. That's what I've tried to do, and not just about the war.”
She slipped her hand from under mine, and sat back.
“What Richard did tonight, that was unforgivable, having you investigated. I apologize. The way h
e dropped that folder on the table—”
“I got into some trouble when I was a kid. It wasn't horrendous. I wasn't hiding it from you.”
She shook her head to quiet me and lifted the phone in both hands as if it was an object of study.
“I've been holding onto this goddamned phone so tight that I can't feel my hand, wondering whether I'll ever see my baby again, and I thought if only I could force myself into the mouthpiece through these little holes and come out on the other end of the line—”
She stiffened with a tension that made her seem brittle. I leaned toward her, wanting to touch her, but she drew back.
“—to get my baby; I saw myself doing it the way you see yourself in a dream, and when I squeezed out of the phone at the other end, Ben was in a nice warm bed, safe and sleeping, this beautiful peaceful ten-year-old face, so peaceful that I didn't want to wake him. I watched his beautiful face and tried to imagine what you looked like when you were his age—”
She looked up with a sadness that seemed painful.
“—but I couldn't. I've never seen a childhood picture of you. You never mention your family, or where you're from, or any of that except for the jokes you'll make. You know, I tease you about Joe, how he never talks, Mr. Stoneface, but you don't say any more than him, not about the things that matter, and I find that so strange. I guess you moved on.”
“My family wasn't exactly normal, Luce—”
“I don't want you to tell me.”
“—my grandpa raised me, mostly, my grandfather and my aunt, and sometimes I didn't have anyone—”
“Your secrets are your own.”
“They're not secrets. When I was with my mother, we moved a lot. I needed rules, and there weren't any rules. I wanted friends, but I didn't have any because of the goofy way we lived, so I made some bad choices and got in with bad kids—”
“Shh. Shh.”
“I needed someone to be there, and they were what I had. They came around with a stolen car, and I went along for a ride. How dumb is that?”