The trunk lid opened, and all I could see was the inside of a roll-up garage door looming above me. The panels were made of wood. They ran horizontally. Each one was ten inches high, with some kind of dull brown coating applied to them. Rails ran up the sides to a winding mechanism that was fixed to the rough plasterboard ceiling.
The door was less than an inch from the car’s rear fender. I stood up in the trunk and looked around. The front of the car was touching a wooden pole, sticking straight upright, with a red circular reflector attached to it at windshield height. There was a blank unplastered wall to our left, and room for two other cars to our right. The driver was in the center of the empty space. He was leaning against a round metal pillar, his hands in his pockets, looking pleased with himself. The passenger climbed out and went to stand next to him, also with a smug grin on his face. Then a plain wooden door in the opposite wall scraped open and another man stepped into the garage. He would be in his fifties, and was heavyset with dark, wiry hair and an open, friendly face. He was wearing a black polo shirt with some kind of golf club logo, beige trousers, and boat shoes. He could easily have been a lawyer or stockbroker, home for a long weekend and killing time before the Tuesday-morning rush.
“You two,” he said. “Where are your manners? Help our guest.”
My feet were on the ground long before the passenger ambled across to the car, so he just took my elbow and steered me toward the internal door. The older man stepped through first, leading us into a basement area. It was basically a long rectangle, but with a block taken out at our end for a set of stairs. Another area was paneled in at the far end for something-I couldn’t see what-which made the remaining space into a shape like a capital H.
The floor was gray concrete throughout. There were wooden shelves all around the walls with piles of suitcases, bags, plastic containers, and cardboard boxes neatly lined up on them. There was a lot of stuff in there, but you could have emptied the place inside ten minutes. The ceiling was the only part that wasn’t tidy and organized. It was mostly boxed in, but in several places the boards were missing and wads of pink fiberglass insulation were hanging down. Either the place had recently been searched, or they had a major mouse problem.
The corner between the door and the stairwell was taken up with a washing machine, a dryer, some ironing equipment, and various baskets of clothes. The older man ignored them and hurried straight through, heading for the alcove on the opposite side. That was about the same size as the laundry area, and was also fitted out for a particular purpose. But not with white goods. Two giant cages had been crammed in there. They must have been ten feet deep by six wide and seven high. The floors as well as the sides and roofs were made of heavy-gauge wire mesh. Each one had a mesh door at the front. Both were padlocked.
The cage on the right, next to the stairs, was empty. There was a person in the other one. It was a woman. She was lying curled up on her side in the far corner, facing away from us. Her clothes looked smart. She had gray- green trousers, a matching suit jacket, and black low-heeled boots. I watched her carefully. Her shoulders flexed slightly as she breathed, but otherwise she didn’t respond to our arrival in any way.
“Need the john?” the older guy said.
“No,” I said.
“Hungry? Thirsty?”
I didn’t answer.
He took a bunch of keys from his pocket and unlocked the empty cage. I stepped inside.
“Hang in there,” he said. “I’ll be right back with some food. Then you can eat. Or not. It’s up to you.”
The guys from the car trailed meekly away after the older man. Their footsteps were hard and hollow on the bare wooden stairs, and the ceiling creaked loudly as they walked about above my head. I was glad they’d gone with him. With them all out of the way I could start to look around. I’d never been in a cage like that before. I wanted to know how it was made. Where its weaknesses were.
“Don’t you know what these things are?” a female voice said. It sounded harsh and irritated. I looked around and saw my neighbor had stood up. She was tall. Five eleven, allowing for the heels. It hadn’t been so obvious when she was curled up.
“They’re dog cages,” she said. “Made to hold big, angry dogs. Dobermans and Alsatians, for God’s sake. And you think you’re just going to claw your way out? Some fingernails you must have.”
“Have you seen any dogs around here?” I said.
“I didn’t say I’d seen dogs. I said these were dog cages. Which they are. Look.” She pointed with her right foot to a metal tag attached to the mesh low down at the side of her cage. It said HOUND COMPOUND INC.
If these were dog cages, where were the dogs? I’d had more than my fill of trouble with them in the past, and there was no room in my plans for them now. Especially not big, angry ones. I scanned the rest of the basement. There were no leads or bowls or baskets. No packets or cans of dog food. No dog paraphernalia of any kind. No dog hairs on the floor. No smell of dogs. And no sound of barking.
Maybe the dogs were dead.
Maybe a previous owner had left the cages behind.
Or maybe these cages hadn’t been bought with dogs in mind.
A door banged above us, then I heard footsteps on the stairs again. The three guys reappeared. The older one was carrying a rectangular tray. It was brown plastic with fake wood grain like they use in cheap cafeterias. Two items were on it. Something tall and square wrapped in shiny white paper, and a small bottle of Coke. It was plastic. There was no cutlery.
The driver took the tray and the older man fished in his pocket for the keys. He motioned for me to move back then opened the door. The driver put the tray down just inside the cage. He moved slowly and kept his eyes on me until he’d stepped back out and fixed the padlock into place.
“There you go,” the older man said. “Enjoy.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Maybe I will. Then what?”
He studied me for a moment, as if deciding whether to answer.
“Someone wants to speak to you,” he said, finally.
“Who?” I said. “When?”
“Someone important. They’re on their way now. Be here soon. Better eat. Might not get the chance, later.”
He stayed and looked at me levelly for another few seconds. It didn’t seem threatening. More like he was curious about me. Then he turned and led the others back upstairs.
I picked up the tray, took it to the back of the cage and sat down. I took a mouthful of Coke-nice and cold- and then unwrapped the white paper package. A sandwich was inside. The largest sandwich I’d ever seen in my life. It was fully three inches thick. There were two large chunks of white bread crammed with dozens of slices of pastrami and big wedges of Swiss cheese. Mustard was dripping out between the layers. Fitting it into my mouth would be quite a challenge.
“This is huge,” I said to the woman. “Like some? There’s plenty for both of us.”
She came across to the boundary of the cages and had a look.
“Don’t like pastrami,” she said.
I shrugged and picked up the sandwich.
“Suit yourself.”
The woman waited until I’d finished eating and then moved down inside her cage so she was level with me. She leaned forward and took hold of the wire. Her hands were close together, about shoulder height, and I could see her wrists were bound with the same kind of cable tie as mine.
“Same jeweler?” I said, raising my arms. She smiled.
“Sorry about before,” she said. “If I was rude.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“ ’Cause I could really use a friend right now. Think we could be friends?”
“No. I shouldn’t think so.”
“Oh. Why not?”
“Different taste in sandwiches. I might want more pastrami, you’d insist on something wholesome-it would be a disaster. We’d probably kill each other inside a week.”
“Oh, yeah. I see what you mean. Could be a problem, the food thing. Think we could work around it?”
“Maybe. In the circumstances.”
“That’s good. ’Cause I really need to talk. You mind? You’re not one of these silent, solitary-type guys are
