When Mike Devine opened the door, Soneji sprayed him with the same strong chloroform potion he'd used on Michael Goldberg and Maggie IZose Dunne. Fair is fair.
Just like the two children, Devine crumpled onto the wall-to-wall carpeting in his foyer. Rock music played from inside the apartment. The inimitable Bonnie Raitt. “Let's Give Them Something to Talk About.”
Agent Devine woke up after several minutes. He was woozy and had double vision. All of his clothes had been stripped off. He was totally confused and disoriented.
He was propped up in the bathtub, with cold water halfway to the fim. His ankles were handcuffed to the faucet handles.
“What the fuck is this?” His first words came out slurred and sloppy. He felt as if he'd had about a dozen highballs.
“This is an extremely sharp knife.” Gary Soneji/ Murphy bent over and showed off his Bowie hunting knife. “Watch this graphic demonstration. Focus those big blurry blue eyes of yours now. Fo-cus, Michael.”
Gary Soneji/Murphy barely nicked the former agent's upper arm with the knife. Devine cried out. A dangerouslooking three-inch cut opened up instantly. Blood flowed into the cold, swirling bathwater.
“Not another peep,” Soneji warned. He brandished the knife, threatening Devine with another nick. “This isn't exactly the Sensor razor from Gillette or the Schick Tracer. More like scratch and bleed. So please, be careful. ”
“Who are you?” Devine attempted to speak again. He was still slurring badly. “Whoreyou?” he said.
“Please allow me to introduce myself, I am a man of wealth and taste,” Soneji said. All right, yes, he was giddy with success. The prospects for his future were shining so bright again.
Devine was even more confused now.
'That's from 'Sympathy for the Devil.' The Stones? I'm Gary Soneji/Murphy. Excuse the tacky deliveryboy uniform, the rather crude disguise. But I'm in sort of a hurry, don't you know. It's a pity, because I've been wanting to meet you for months. You rascal, you.
“What the hell do you want?” Devine struggled to maintain some of his authority, in spite of the very dicey circumstances.
“Cut to the chase, hmmmm. Okay, good. Because I am seriously rushed. Now. You have two very clear choices. ONE-I'll have to cut off your penis here and now, put it in your mouth as a convenient gag, and then torture you with little flesh cuts, hundreds of cuts, starting with the face and neck, until you tell me what I need to know. All fight so far? Am I being clear? repeat-choice number one: painful torture leading vitably to exsanguination. ”
Devine's head involuntarily leaned back away from the looming madman. His vision was clearing, unfortunately. His eyes, in fact, were wide open. Gary Soneji/ Murphy? In his apartment? With a hunting knife?
“SECOND OP'FION,” the madman continued to rant in his face. “I am going to get the truth from you right now. Then I'll go get my money, wherever you've stashed it. I'll come back and kill you, but nicely-no theatrics. Who knows, you might even manage to escape while I'm gone. That's doubtful, but hope springs eternal. I have to tell you, Michael, that's the option I'd choose. ”
Mike Devine was clearheaded enough to make the correct choice, too. He told Soneji/Murphy where his share of the ransom money was. It was fight there in Washington. Gary Soneji/Murphy believed him, but then, who could really tell about these things. He was dealing with a police officer, after all.
Gary paused at the apartment door on his way out. In his best Arnold Schwarzenegger/Tenninator voice, he said, “I'll be back!”
Actually, he was feeling exceptionally good about things today. He was solving the goddamned kidnapping himself. He was playing policeman, and it was kind of neat. The plan was going to work. Just like he'd always known it would.
Cool beans.
Along Came A Spider
CHAPTER 84
SLEPT RESTLESSLY, waking just about every hour on the hour. There was no piano to go pound out on the porch. No Jannie and Damon to go wake. Only the murderer peacefully sleeping at my side. Only the plan I was there to execute.
When the sun finally rose, the hotel kitchen staff fixed us a fancy box lunch to go. They packed a wicker basket with fine wines, French bottled water, expensive gourmet goodies. There were also snorkeling gear, fluffy towels, a striped yellow-and-white beach umbrella.
Everything was already loaded onto a speedboat when we arrived on the dock, at just past eight. It took the boat about thirty minutes to get to our island-a beautiful, secluded spot. Paradise regained.
We would be out there alone all day. Other couples from the hotel had their own private islands to visit. A coral reef encircled our beach, stretching out about seventy to a hundred yards from shore.
The water was the clearest bottle green. When I looked straight down, I could see the texture of the sand on the bottom. I could have counted grains of sand. Angel and warrior fish darted around my legs in small spirited schools. A smiling pair of five-foot-long barracuda had followed our boat almost to the shoreline, then lost interest.
“What time would you like me to come back?” the boat driver asked. “It's your choice.”
He was a muscular fisherman-a sailor in his forties. A happy-go-lucky type, he had shared big-fish and other colorful island stories on the way out. He seemed to think nothing of Jezzie and my being together.
