by Sean Black
“You’re a liar.”
“I can prove it.”
“Oh yeah? How are you going to do that? You really think I’m going to let you up? How dumb do you think I am?”
With a bit of luck, you’ll be just dumb enough, thought Ty.
“You don’t need to let me go anywhere. You don’t even have to let me stand up if you don’t want to. But I can still prove it. Without either of us having to go anywhere.”
“How?”
Ty closed his eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks. That was all he needed to hear. Human curiosity had come to his rescue, the overwhelming need to know. Assuming that Chris’ hands weren’t so sweaty that his finger slipped on the trigger, biomechanics should take care of the rest.
“I have a United States Marine Corps tattoo on my right arm,” said Ty. “I got it after I finished my first tour of Iraq.”
“Bullshit.”
“Look for yourself if you don’t believe me. It’s a pretty easy thing to check.”
Chris seemed torn between wariness and curiosity. Ty slowly lifted his hand, ready to roll back the sleeve of his t-shirt. As he moved, his hand rose in a slow arc towards the barrel of the gun.
“No,” Chris shouted.
Ty’s arm froze.
“I’ll do it,” said Chris. “Put your hand down.”
Ty complied with the request. He lowered his arm so that his hand was back down by his side. He’d guessed that by moving first, Chris would want to take back control of the situation.
In a stand-off it was always preferable to let the other person think that what was happening was their idea.
Ty glanced up at him. As he tilted his head up so that he could see Chris, a fresh channel of sweat trickled its way down past his left eyebrow and into his eye. “You really going to kill me?” Ty asked.
“You think I don’t have it in me?” Chris responded.
With the gun in his right hand, Chris reached over to pull up Ty’s sleeve.
“I don’t know. Do you?” said Ty.
Chris stared down at Ty, his fingers grasping the fabric as he began to roll the sleeve up. “Maybe it’s not my first time. You ever think of that?”
The way Chris said it was chilling. It didn’t come off like a boast. Or a threat. More as a calmly stated matter of record. There was a look on his face that Ty hadn’t seen before. It was as if a mask had melted away to reveal a completely different person underneath. Ty, who didn’t scare easily, found it chilling.
“Know what?” said Ty, focussing all his attention on Chris’ right hand. The hand that was holding the gun that was still pointed at his head.
“What?” Chris said with a sneer as he stared Ty down.
Ty could tell that Chris was getting off on this. At having another man, a man he had been afraid of before, now at his mercy.
“I believe you,” said Ty. “I sincerely do.”
Ty felt Chris fingers against his bicep as his fingers eased back the sleeve of Ty’s shirt. Chris was still staring him down. Any second now, he would glance over to see if Ty had also been telling the truth about the tattoo. When he did, Ty would have one chance to save himself from getting his brains blown out.
“So who was it, Chris? Who’d you kill?”
Chris answered with a smirk.
“ Was it that kid Jennifer?” Ty said.
The smirk dissolved. Maybe Ty had hit a nerve.
“She get tired of you like Rachel had? I mean, I know you like ‘em young.”
Ty saw Chris’ hand tighten harder around the SIG. He glanced over at Ty’s arm.
With his toes dug into the ground, Ty pushed off hard, using his glutes and thighs to propel himself forward. The barrel of the gun slipped over the top of Ty’s head as his shoulders slammed into Chris’ hips.
Pain surged all the way down his spine from his injured shoulder. the gun went off. The noise deafening. Chris lost his balance and fell backwards. Ty went with him, launching an elbow at his face as they rolled.
Ty’s elbow went wide. It slammed painfully into the ground. The impact sent a fresh bolt of searing pain through Ty’s body.
Chris still had hold of the gun. Trapped under the weight of Ty’s body, he tried to scuttle back to get the distance to draw down.
Ty followed him. Pushing off with his feet, he managed to stay on top of him. He drew a fist back and slammed it hard into the side of Chris’ face.
Chris kept pushing back, trying to get out from under Ty and back onto his feet. His hand twisted round, his finger on the trigger. He started to squeeze off another shot. Ty rolled off him. Chris fired. Ty could feel the round parting the air next to him.
Chris started to get back to his feet. Ty was lying on his side, facing his opponent. If Chris managed to get back onto his feet with Ty still on the ground, it would all be over.
Fighting through the pain in his shoulder, Ty shot out a hand, and grabbed Chris’ right foot. He pulled back as hard as he could. Chris swayed for a second, desperately fighting to keep his balance.
He tried to kick his foot free, but Ty kept a firm hold it. He twisted and wrenched it as hard as he could. Ty hung on. He twisted it hard to one side. Chris yelled in pain, and, finally, lost his balance, firing the gun again as he fell.
A puff of dust pinged up from the ground, only inches behind Ty as Chris toppled over backwards.
With no time to waste, Ty scrambled towards him. He launched himself for Chris’ right arm. Pinning the arm under his knees, making sure he couldn’t fire another round in Ty’s direction, Ty drew back a fist and punched Chris hard in the chest. The punch caught him flush in the solar plexus.
Chris gasped, all the air rushing from his lungs.. He struggled for breath.
This was Ty’s chance. He moved for the gun. Chris tightened his grip on it. Ty grabbed his wrist, and bent it back at the joint. His fingers opened. Ty reached over with his other free hand and lifted the gun clear of his grip.
He let go of Chris’ wrist, and switched the gun to his right hand. It was Ty’s index finger that slipped over the trigger. He pointed the gun at Chris Fontaine’s head.
He would have enjoyed nothing more than pulling the trigger, and blowing his head off. But there were too many questions still unanswered.
Ty’s finger drew back from the trigger. He kept his grip around the gun tight, drew his back, and smashed the butt of the SIG hard into Chris’ mouth, taking out two of his front teeth with one mighty blow.
Chris screamed in pain. He drew his hand up to shield his face from another blow. Ty got to his feet. He stood over Chris for a moment, still tempted by the idea of pulling the trigger and finishing him off.
Instead, he reached down, grabbed Chris by the hair and yanked him up onto his feet, spun him round, and jabbed the barrel hard into the bottom of his spine.
“Move. Before I change my mind about killing you,” Ty barked.
64
Both hands clamped firmly over her ears, Mary stood at the side of the road with Ruth. The sound of gun fire from earlier seemed to have tipped Mary completely over the edge. Ruth’d had to half-drag, half-cajole her all the way down here. She knew that she couldn’t leave her behind, especially not now, but it would have been a lot easier to get away on her own.
At least now they had reached the main road, they could wait. Next to her, Mary sank down into a crouching position, and began to sway back and forth. So far they hadn’t seen a single vehicle. Not that they’d been here very long. Maybe only a few minutes at most. But Ruth knew that if they did, and they picked out Mary in their headlights that they’d keep driving.
Ruth walked behind Mary, and grabbed her uninjured arm, peeling her hand back away from her ear. Mary’s head whipped round.
“No one’s going to stop if you’re sitting here like this.”
Mary started to make a high-pitched keening noise. It was as much as Ruth could do not to slap her.
“Listen, I’m scared too,” she said to Mary. �
�But we both have to be strong if we’re going to get out of here. And when we do, I’m going to get you help, okay? Real help, from people who know what they’d doing.”
The keening noise stopped. Her words appeared to be getting through to her friend. She pulled Mary up onto her feet.
“How’s your arm?” she asked her.
Mary swallowed hard, trying to compose herself. “I think it’s stopped bleeding.”
“Okay,” said Ruth. “That’s good. Now, you think you can walk some more?”
“It really hurts.”
“I know. But there might not be anyone out here for a while, so we need to keep moving. The further we can walk, the safer we’ll be.”
Mary seemed to comprehend that basic logic. Ruth lifted Mary’s good arm and draped it around her shoulder. “Here, you can lean on me.”
“Okay.”
Slowly, Ruth led Mary along the side of the road. Mary slumped against her so hard that it was difficult to keep her balance.
Looking up, Ruth saw two pin pricks of light off in the distance. She blinked, trying to make sure that it wasn’t her imagination playing a trick on her.
The lights grew brighter. They were headed straight for them. A car maybe. Or a truck.
Ruth stopped walking. Mary slumped against her even more, almost pulling her off her feet and down into the culvert that ran parallel to this stretch of the road.
The height of the lights from the road suggested it was a car rather than a truck or a bus. It was moving fast. Every second the headlights grew bigger and more vivid.
Ruth could barely stay still. Escape was close. So close she could almost taste it.
Soon Broken Ridge would be nothing more than a memory. There was no way that anyone, not even the local cops, would take one look at Mary and drive them back there. She would have to be taken to a hospital to be checked out. Questions would be asked. Phone calls would be made. Even if her Dad hadn’t acknowledged her letters she was sure he wouldn’t ignore her when he found out about where she’d been sent, and how she’d been treated.
“Okay,” Ruth told Mary. “We can’t risk this driver not seeing us out here.”
With Mary still hanging onto her, Ruth began to edge out into the road. Mary started to panic. She let go of Ruth, and began to hobble back to the side. “What if it’s Gretchen or someone? Out here to take us back?”
“We’re going to have to risk it,” said Ruth as she moved to the very center of the road, held her arms above her head and began to wave frantically as the vehicle’s headlights carved a path towards her.
It was less than a quarter mile away now. She waved her arms and screamed. “Stop! Stop!”
She heard the grinding metallic sound of brakes being applied. The vehicle slowed. She could see now that it was a Minivan. Gretchen didn’t own a van. Neither did any of the other staff.
The van slowed and came to a stop. She couldn’t make out the driver through the glare. But she heard the driver’s door open. Looking down she saw heavy work boots hitting the black top.
A man walked towards her. He looked like someone who had fresh walked out of the Appalachian mountains. He was wearing boot cut denim jeans, and a plaid shirt. His head was shaved to the scalp and he had a bushy brown beard that had grown all the way down to his belly, and he wore small, round-wired eye glasses.
As he drew closer, he towered over Ruth. She could feel herself shrinking back. He smiled, but he still looked intimidating.
“What are you doing out here in the cold?”
Ruth stood her ground. So, he looked scary. But what did that tell her? Nothing. Hell, Gretchen looked like a sweet old grandma until you got to know her. Appearances were deceptive, especially when it came to adults.
And, what choice did they have? It could be another hour or more before someone else drove down this road.
“We need a ride into town. My friend’s hurt.”
The man folded his arms. “Your friend?”
Ruth looked around. Mary was nowhere to be seen. She seemed to have vanished into the night.
“She was here a second ago,” said Ruth, frantically scanning both sides of the road for a sign of Mary.
The man folded his arms.
“Well, she ain’t here now, is she?”
There was still no sign of her. “Mary?” Ruth called out. “Where’d you go?”
The bearded man was looking at her like she had a screw loose. “You shouldn’t be out here on your own.”
Ruth looked back at him. She didn’t know what to say. If she admitted it, he might just put her in the van and drive her back there. Mary’s injuries had been their, and by extension, her, ticket out of here. She had to find her.
“My friend, she’s hurt. Bleeding. I have to get her to hospital.”
The man’s face seemed to soften. “Hurt? How? What happened?”
Again, Ruth wasn’t sure what to say. Mary cutting herself felt private somehow. To tell a stranger that Mary had hurt herself seemed like it would be a betrayal of confidence.
“I have to find her,” Ruth told him, turning away.
“She was here a minute ago?”
Ruth walked back to the very edge of the road. She looked down into the culvert to see if Mary had climbed down into it. Maybe she had freaked out when the van had stopped, panicked and decided to hide.
“Listen, I can’t stay here all night with you looking for this friend of yours. Get in the van and I’ll take you home.”
Ruth couldn’t see Mary at all. She walked back behind the van, along the side of the road, checking the culvert. There was still no sign of her.
The driver had begun to walk back towards the van. He opened the driver’s door.
“Can you wait for a minute? She can’t have gone far.”
“Sorry,” said the driver. “You want me to give you a ride into town then hop in. If you don’t then that’s fine too because I ain’t waiting around for your friend.”
Frantic, Ruth called out Mary’s name again. There was no response.
The man had dropped the subject of the school. And he was offering her a ride. If she passed up this opportunity she might not get another one. She could raise the alarm when she got to town. Get people out here to look for Mary.
“Okay,” Ruth told the driver. “I’m coming.”
She walked round to the other side of the van, opened the passenger door, and climbed in. The driver got in next to her. He closed his door, started the engine and put the van into gear.
Ruth pressed her face against the window, hoping to glimpse her friend as the van moved off. She was free of Broken Ridge, but she couldn’t shake a nagging sensation that somehow she wasn’t free just yet.
She looked over at the driver. His eyes were fixed on the road ahead, his features set. He reached a hand across and pushed a button that locked both doors.
“I can’t believe I finally found you,” the driver told her.
65
Lock sat in the Explorer with Donald Price. The diner’s parking lot was empty now, the place closed until morning. For the past ten minutes they had been going round in circles. Don wanted to go get his daughter, or at least speak to her. Lock tried to persuade him it was a bad idea.
“We tried it your way,” said Don, not for the first time since Sandra had hung up on Lock. “Now let’s try it mine.”
“Don, it’s after midnight. Those kids are already tucked up in bed by now. If we roll up there now they’re going to call the cops, and we’re going to be arrested. And then where will you be?”
“At least I’ll know my daughter’s safe.”
The argument was starting to wear on Lock. Why was it always the gigs that seemed like the easiest money that turned into the biggest nightmares?
He took a breath, and repeated pretty much what he’d been saying for the past ten minutes.“And then what? She’s still going to be there and you’ll have weakened your hand. There’s no point playing your best card until you h
ave to.”
“Point taken. So why don’t I really play it? Get in there, get Ruth and take her out.”
Lock sighed. “Perhaps because you don’t actually have custody?”
“Your partner Tyrone said that what she’s going through could cause her long term problems. Come on, Ryan, what kind of father would I be if I just stood idly by and let that happen?”
He had a point. Lock knew he did. A lot of men walked away from their kids after a divorce. Not always because they wanted to, but because they felt it was for the best. The system was weighted against men in a divorce, especially when it came to children. Lock got why mothers were favored in court. But he also knew that divorce could sour people to the point where they forgot that what mattered above all else was the children caught in the middle. This situation was pretty a textbook case. Only the stakes were a lot higher.
Don Price was not going to back down. His mind was set. The best thing Lock could do for a client under these circumstances was try to find a way to accommodate what they wanted without it coming back to bite either of them in the ass.
In this case, they might not be able to march straight in and demand to see Don’s daughter. But Ty had told him security was low grade. The main barrier to escape was the remote location and vastness of the landscape around Broken Ridge. If you were trying to break out that was a problem. But if you were trying to break in it offered an advantage.
Plus, Ruth was in some kind of a barn that was well away from the main dorms. That would also make things easier, and mean there was less chance of anyone else seeing them. Lock was also worried about Ty. Not something that happened often. Ty was more than capable of taking care of himself. But his silence, even allowing for the communication problems they faced, had started to nag away at Lock.
Lock started the engine.
“Where we going?” asked Don.
“We’re going to check on Ruth. But we’re doing it my way, and after you’ve seen her, assuming she’s safe and well, we’re going to leave. I need your word on that,” Lock said, taking one hand from the steering wheel and reaching out so Don could shake on it.