Bobby shifted the firearm to point at Mortimer. “I got him covered. Go ahead.”
The bat wielder went to the wall, untied a rope and slowly lowered the net to the basement floor.
“Untangle yourself.”
Mortimer spread the opening in the top of the net, shimmied out of it as he stood.
More footsteps up above, the quick patter of high heels. A woman’s voice. “Did you get one?”
The one called Bobby said, “Just stay back, Sue Ellen. We got it handled. Floyd’s down there with him now.”
Floyd said, “You want me to search him down here or bring-”
Mortimer bolted for the stairs, ignoring the pain of his leg wound. He got three steps before feeling the sharp smack at the base of his skull. He went to his knees, his head swimming, eyes going unfocused.
“I told you not to fucking do that, asshole.” Floyd’s voice sounded like it was down a well.
“You got him?” Bobby called.
“Oh, I got him all right.”
Another smack to the back of the head and everything went black.
Mortimer awoke with the sensation he had only been unconscious a minute or two. The back of his head throbbed. He turned to look into the eyes of a sallow, glassy-eyed corpse. His suit jacket and shirt were off, and the cement floor was cold on his back. He was barefoot.
He raised his head, saw a woman holding his shoes.
“You must be Sue Ellen.”
She turned, shouted up the stairs. “He’s awake.”
Mortimer wished he wasn’t.
Boots hammered down the stairs while the girl looked down at Mortimer. She was a sight. An emerald-green cocktail dress, a big white sun hat, black silk gloves, fishnet stockings, satin pumps. She looked like she was auditioning for a community college production of
Her face, pretty in a flat, plain sort of way, was ruddy, her brown eyes dull, her expression a bit too slack- jawed. She blinked at Mortimer, still holding his shoes. She didn’t seem very concerned that Mortimer was conscious.
Maybe that was because Floyd and Bobby stood next to her now, Floyd with his baseball bat and Bobby with what Mortimer could now see was a single-barreled shotgun. Bobby had thinning hair the same red as Floyd’s but a sharper, angular face and hard, probing eyes of bright blue. Like Floyd, he wore jeans and flannel shirts in layers.
The three of them gawked at Mortimer like he was a farm animal with a mildly interesting disfigurement.
“What are you going to do with me?” Mortimer asked.
Bobby shrugged. “Don’t know yet. Sue Ellen?”
“Nothing hidden in his shoes,” she said. “And I already went through his pants pockets. I’ll look in the jacket.” She picked it up, started turning the pockets out.
“Let me go,” Mortimer said. “I don’t have anything you want.”
“Shut up,” Floyd told him.
“If nothing else we can put him on the bicycle line,” Bobby said.
Floyd pointed at Mortimer’s thigh with the bat. “He’s got a bum leg.”
“He’ll heal up okay.”
Sue Ellen squealed. “It was in his jacket pocket.” She held up the pink plastic card she’d found. “Wow. A Platinum member.”
Bobby sighed. “Hell. Okay, then. Give him back his shoes.”
DINNER AND ENTERTAINMENT
XX
They all hopped aboard the wagon and started up the county road. For a while, Mortimer could not take his eyes off the mule pulling them. He’d seen no horses or cows or sheep or livestock of any kind. Perhaps the mule’s mangy, decrepit state had kept it from being eaten. Even as starved as Mortimer felt, the animal did not look appetizing.
The wagon rocked back and forth. They clip-clopped up the road.
“Where are you taking me?” Mortimer asked at last.
“Joey Armageddon’s,” Bobby said.
“What? All the way back to Spring City?” The mule would never make it. Maybe he’d end up eating it after
