Stubbs tried the trunk first. He went through by the numbers, pulled out the spare tire, lifted the carpeting.
No drugs.
He looked in the backseat. For some reason there was a bunch of tools. He ignored them, kept searching. There was a god-awful odor in the back. Faint but plain.
If he got lucky, if he found the drugs here in the Mercedes, Stubbs could just take off and leave Morgan inside the titty bar. He wouldn’t have to bash the guy over the head-or worse. That would make it easier all around.
He took a pocketknife out of his jacket and opened it, shook his head. A shame. The Mercedes was a damn nice car. He plunged the short blade into the fabric, cut a six-inch slit. He reached in and around. Only stuffing.
Hell.
He did the same to the other seats. Nothing.
Stubbs sighed. He’d have to make Morgan talk. But just to be sure, he went through the car one more time.
Morgan couldn’t believe naked women could get so boring so fast. The simple fact was that Jade and Cricket didn’t give two shits about Professor Jay Morgan. Neither did Amber, Titania, Zoey, Brandi, Jasmine, or Princess Daisy. As soon as Morgan ran out of dollar bills, he’d be just another sucker paying inflated prices for watered-down drinks.
He looked around for his new pal. Deke had been a good sport. Morgan knew he was a textbook sad-sack drunk. It was good of Deke to humor him, keep an eye on him while he destroyed himself. Where was Deke? The rest room? No. Morgan remembered. The car. Cigarettes. But that seemed like a long time ago.
Morgan stood. He felt tired but steadier. He walked toward the exit. The beefy bouncer gave him a long look on the way out. The parking lot was dark, poorly lit. Chilly. His feet especially were cold. He saw the Mercedes and shuffled to it.
He opened the back door and saw Deke pulling the stuffing out of the backseat. Morgan blinked, not sure if he was seeing right. He opened his mouth. He should say something, make Deke stop tearing up the expensive car, but he couldn’t quite get his mind around why Deke would intentionally fuck up the interior of a brand-new automobile.
Stubbs looked up, met Morgan’s eyes. They stayed frozen like that for a long second.
“Shit.” Stubbs grabbed Morgan, pulled him into the car, shut the door.
Morgan couldn’t resist. He was stupefied. Stubbs pulled his fist back to his ear, held it a moment, then let loose, popped Morgan across the jaw. Hard. A smack of flesh. Morgan wilted into the corner of the Mercedes, the sparks going off in his eyes, bells. He didn’t even put up his hands, couldn’t fight back. Maybe Morgan didn’t understand what was happening. But Stubbs was on top of him. Another punch. Darkness overtook Morgan a moment, a cottony drifting. He shook himself out of it, tried to speak, wanted to know what and why. The salt taste of blood in his mouth.
“Sorry,” Stubbs said. “I can’t have you yelling for help.”
Morgan groped for reality. Was Deke robbing him? He’d had the car keys. It would have been easy to take off.
“I hate to do this, pal.” Stubbs had a fistful of Morgan’s shirt, hand cocked for another punch. “I tried to find the stuff the easy way, not cause you any more grief than needed, but it just didn’t happen that way. You should of stayed inside and watched the T&A show.”
Morgan spit blood. It stained his teeth and chin. “What do you want? Take the car.” He couldn’t find breath. Panic and dread had sapped him.
“Not here for the car, buddy. Maybe some cargo. You truck anything down here from Fumbee?”
Morgan looked blank.
“Come on,” Stubbs said. “I know all about your little side deal, snowman. Don’t you want to fork over the goods and get all this nastiness over with?”
Morgan shook his head. He didn’t know what the man meant. Cargo? What did he think Morgan was doing? There was nothing in Houston for Morgan but the conference. The only reason he’d even left Fumbee was to get away from…
“Oh no.” Morgan’s own voice was tinny and far away in his ears. Cold dread seeped into him, spread down his spine. He shrank in on himself, looked up at Stubbs.
“Oh no.” It was all he could say. He thought feebly he should fight or flee or scream, but he could only wait for the end. Maybe Stubbs would kill him quickly. Or maybe he could figure out what the man wanted, give it to him. Mind and muscle surrendered. All Morgan could do was shut his eyes tight, whine like a whipped dog.
“Knock it off,” Stubbs said. “I don’t want to hurt you. Just tell me where the drugs are.”
Morgan sobbed. He was so desperately tired. And ashamed. He thought of Fred Jones. Frail, emaciated Fred Jones. The old man would never whine. The sudden thought that Jones would see him like this, hear about Morgan’s pathetic display made him the most ashamed.
Morgan had to do something-anything-to help himself. He wouldn’t go out a quivering wad of jelly. “Drugs?”
“Don’t play dumb. I can put two and two together.”
It was perhaps a mistake that Morgan now decided to be creative.
“Jakes.” Morgan was appalled at the sound of his own voice, a hoarse croak. Fear. It was a start at least. He was trying. He would rage against the dying of his own, sad, little light.
“What? Jakes?” Stubbs’s voice took a rough edge. “What the hell does that mean?”
“The guy I came with,” Morgan said. “He’s the one. He’s got the drugs in his hotel room.”
“Let’s go get him.”
“What are you going to do?” Morgan’s voice was better. Still scared but no longer jelly.
“Don’t worry about it,” Stubbs said. “All you need to know is that I’m desperate and committed and if I don’t get what I want, there’ll be hurt and pain and bad times forever.”
Not an eloquent threat but convincing.
“Okay,” Morgan said. “Just take it easy.”
“Don’t tell me to take it easy. You take it easy.”
“Right.” Morgan’s hands shook. He breathed deep, made himself calm. “What do you want me to do?”
Stubbs let him up. “Get behind the wheel.”
Morgan reached for the door.
“Not that way.” Stubbs jerked him by the shirt. “Over the seat. I don’t want you making a run for it.”
Morgan crawled into the front seat, sat behind the wheel. He was breathing better. In the rearview mirror he saw Stubbs move, felt the cold metal behind his ear. Morgan didn’t need to be told it was a gun.
“I’ll stay back here,” Stubbs said. “You can guess what’ll happen if you pull something screwy. Don’t fuck with me.”
“I’ve had a lot to drink.”
“Don’t give me your mothers against drunk drivers bullshit.” Stubbs pressed the gun barrel harder against Morgan’s ear. “This should keep you plenty alert.”
Deke handed Morgan the keys and Morgan cranked the engine. “You’re going to hold that gun against my head all the way to Houston?”
“Yep.”
Morgan pulled out of the titty-bar parking lot, turned vaguely toward the highway.
At the light he made a decision. He barely knew he was doing it. Instead of taking the highway on-ramp, he turned toward the water, the Gulf of Mexico.
“What are you doing?” Stubbs pushed the gun barrel into Morgan’s neck.
“I missed it.”
“I can fucking see that. Don’t make this hard.”
“I can get on at the next intersection.”
Morgan drove along the water, the Gulf glittered in moonlight. Although he knew the risk, Morgan felt
