But the policeman was closer again now, and he said, “No. You’ll be quiet, won’t you, boys?” They nodded.
“Put your hands behind your back!” Powell said to Gene, and they heard Gene grunt with pain. Powell was angry again; they could feel it, even with their eyes taped shut. The policeman made Powell angry, and Powell took his anger out on one of them at the earliest opportunity. It was a pattern that would be repeated.
“Ready,” Powell said when he had finished.
“Please keep your eyes forward, Gene,” the policeman said.
“Don’t you try to look at his face in the mirror, neither!” Powell added.
The boys could not see anything now, but they heard the car door next to Bret being opened.
“Not the boys,” Gene begged. “Please—”
“Shut up!” Powell said.
“Of course nothing will happen to the boys,” the policeman said. “Did you hear me, Chris?”
“Yes,” Powell said sullenly.
There was a silence, then Powell said, “Yes, sir, I heard you,” in a nervous voice. “Nothing will happen to them boys.”
They heard movement outside the car.
“Oh, Jesus!” Gene said. “Oh, please, don’t hurt Julian—”
“I really don’t want to hear protests from the good doctor,” the policeman said. “This is all his fault, anyway. Tape his mouth, Chris.”
They heard the tape being pulled off the roll, Gene’s pleas for mercy stilled midsentence.
“Scoot over, boys,” the policeman said. “Toward the other door.”
They obeyed, huddling together.
“Wait,” he said. “Chris, tape their hands in front of them, not behind. It’s a long ride back.” But the policeman was the one who gently reached for them, cut the bonds, moved their hands forward, and retaped their wrists. The skin on his hands was rough, but when he touched them he was almost as gentle as Gene had been. “There, that’s better now.”
Next they felt him move off the seat, and soon after, another weight replaced him. Julian. Julian’s head was laid across their laps. Bret was unable to prevent himself from making a small sound of anxiousness, but otherwise their terror kept them silent. They lightly moved their fingers over Julian’s face and hair in a blind quest for reassurance. Bret could feel Julian’s breath, the warmth of his skin. His eyes were taped, but not his mouth. He was alive.
“There now, he’s fine,” the policeman said. “Everyone will be fine very soon, right, Gene?”
Gene made a muffled sound.
“I know you are frightened by all of this, boys,” the policeman said, “but I promise you won’t be hurt.” He paused. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Chris?”
“Yes, sir.”
“My dad…,” Bret dared to say.
“Your dad got a little bump on the head. He’ll wake up soon. Now, Chris, cut the tape from Gene’s hands so he can write the information for us. Eyes front, Gene…. Thank you.” They heard the sound of tape being cut. A rustle of paper.
“You didn’t mean to delay taking our payment to our suppliers, did you, Gene?” the policeman asked. “No, I didn’t think so. And it won’t ever happen again, will it? No. Now, Chris is just going to keep an eye on everyone until I’m satisfied that you haven’t done anything foolish, Gene. Anything else foolish, I should say. Because, Gene, forcing me to deal with you directly like this is very, very foolish. So think carefully before you write.”
They could hear Gene scribbling.
When the scribbling stopped, the policeman said, “Now, before you hand that piece of paper over your shoulder, make certain it will be very easy for me to find the money…. You’re certain? Fine, then.” He paused, then said, “This mushroom-shaped rock — is it easily recognized?”
They heard Gene’s frantic sounds.
“Good. I would hate to have your children terrified — not to mention leaving you and your friend so very uncomfortable — while I searched every last boulder in the gorge. Close your eyes now, Gene, and keep them closed. Chris, tape his hands again, please. His eyes as well.”
The car door closed.
“A word with you when you’ve finished, Chris,” he said, his voice now coming from the driver’s side window. “Oh, one other thing, Gene. Your gambling friends haven’t seen any of this money yet, have they?… No? I’m so happy to hear that. For your sake.”
Christopher Powell closed the car door. “Don’t cry, Daddy,” Sam whispered as they heard Gene Ryan trying to conceal the sobbing sounds he was making behind his gag.
They heard the police car drive off. When Powell came back to their car, he quickly taped the boys’ mouths shut.
“Fuck that old bastard,” Powell said. “I ain’t listening to no kid’s bellyaching.”
Powell drove them to the warehouse. The boys tried to figure out where they were being taken, like kidnap victims did on TV, but they couldn’t keep track. Every time the car would turn, Julian would start to slide off their laps, so they spent most of their time trying to hold on to him.
