Anglos. A handful who could have been Middle Eastern. Berman was lying against the wall, with Krista and a muscular young Asian man at either end of him. Krista stood when she saw us.
Al-Diri said, “Here. See what you believe. Is he close to death?”
I shrugged my shoulders to point out my wrists.
“The cuffs. I need my hands.”
The Syrian motioned to Royce, who clipped off the plastic.
I went over, smiled at Krista, and knelt by Berman’s head. Krista stared at me as if she was trying to figure me out.
I smiled like the friendly family doctor because al-Diri and his men were watching, and spoke loud enough for them to hear.
“How’s he doing?”
This time when she spoke she remembered her accent.
“Not too well, I think, but maybe the same? His eyes, they move but do not see. He says the crazy things.”
Berman looked better. He was less pale, and his skin wasn’t clammy. When I touched his head, he looked at me. His eyes seemed vacant, but more or less focused, and the pupils matched in size. I’d seen baseball players, army buddies, and guys at the gym look worse. I had looked worse myself more than once. I held Krista’s eye for a moment.
“Yeah. I see what you mean.”
I checked for a fever, peeled up his eyelids, and felt his head for injuries. He had three large contusions behind his right ear, and winced when I touched them.
I got up, and went to al-Diri as if I didn’t want to speak in front of the girl.
“He has a bad concussion for sure, but I’ve seen worse. I didn’t find a break, but the one thing I can’t tell is whether he’s bleeding. If the pressure is building on his brain, he’s screwed. If not, he should be okay in a few days if you keep him iced.”
The frown line notched his forehead.
“Iced?”
“Yeah. Ice his head. Reduces the swelling, and might even stop the bleeding. You have ice here?”
“Yes. We have power.”
I’d seen his men working on the commissary power when they’d brought me here.
“Get some towels and ice, and I’ll show you. We also have to get some water in him. You let him dehydrate, he’s gone. He’ll be fine if you make him drink.”
Al-Diri told the gawky guard with the Adam’s apple to get what I asked for, and the guard hurried away.
Something buzzed, and al-Diri pulled a phone from his pocket and moved away. He cupped the phone, and gestured to Royce.
“Find Medina.”
When Royce left, I squatted by Berman and whispered to Krista.
“Don’t react to anything I say. My name is Elvis Cole. I’m working for your mother. I’m going to get you out of here.”
She showed no reaction except to wet her lips. She glanced past me to check the guards before she spoke.
“Now?”
“Soon. Someone on the outside is coming to help, but we’ll go whenever we get a chance.”
I looked at the Asian kid.
“Kwan Min Park. Your grandfather and cousin are helping me.”
A tiny smile cracked his features. Kwan Min Park was being smuggled into the United States because he was wanted for seven murders in South Korea.
“We leave. Soon.”
I glanced back at Krista, then Jack.
“He’s hurt, but he’s coming around. What happened?”
Kwan said, “Teeth.”
He bared his teeth in a horrible grimace.
Krista said, “Medina. The guard with broken teeth. He was hurting me.”
She stopped, and stared at me as if that was all she wanted to say.
“I understand. Are you okay?”
“So far. He keeps looking at me.”
I glanced across the crowded room. Medina wasn’t with us, but the large room was thick with nervous prisoners and roving guards. A group of Koreans huddled in a far corner, but no more than a dozen. I looked at Kwan.
“Where’s the rest of your group?”
“Some here, some other room. Like before.”
Krista said, “There’s another room like this across the hall. They split us, half on this side, half on the other.”
“There must be a hundred people in here. That’s two hundred people.”
“They brought us last night, our group and two others. I overheard this guard, he said one of the groups is from Russia. They have almost thirty Russian people across the hall.”
It was insane. Two hundred people of little or no means who had been kidnapped, imprisoned, and were now being ransomed to their equally poor families and miserly employers for as little as a few hundred dollars each to maybe a few thousand. Locano was right. The Syrian’s ugly business was based on quantity. If he collected one to two thousand each for two hundred pollos, he would see two hundred to four hundred thousand dollars for the people around me. If he stole two hundred people ten times a year, he saw two million to four million dollars.
I wondered why al-Diri brought the three groups to a single location, and why all three at once.
“Did the guard say why they brought you here?”
“Some guards disappeared. They just vanished or something, and now everyone thinks they were arrested. I guess they’re worried their friends will tell the police where we were, so they moved us.”
“A crew of guards? Like the men guarding you?”
“Yeah. Gone.”
Pike. Something or someone was putting pressure on the Syrian, and I knew that someone was Pike.
I checked the Syrian again. He was still on the phone, but now Medina and Royce were with him, and the Syrian looked angry.
Kwan said, “You have gun?”
I tapped my head.
“My mind is my weapon, Jedi.”
Kwan studied me for a moment, then turned away.
Krista leaned close to whisper.
“I have a knife. Jack found it at the other house.”
She reached toward her waist as if to show me, but I stopped her.
“Keep it. If you need it, use it. I’m going to get you out of here.”
“What if your friend can’t find us?”
“He will. There are people who won’t let you down.”
The gawky guard with the Adam’s apple returned with a pot of ice and a threadbare towel. Krista warned me he was coming, and told me he looked like a praying mantis. The name made me smile.
When he gave me the ice, the sharp-cornered outline of a pistol bulged in his right front pocket. This made me smile even more.
I wrapped ice in the towel and wedged it against Berman’s head. The Syrian shouted at someone in the hall. I liked it that he was angry. I thought about Pike again, and knew he was hunting.
Royce and the Praying Mantis came back a few minutes later, cuffed my wrists, and took me back to my room. I bumped Royce several times to check his pockets, and decided he carried no gun. I didn’t mind. The Mantis’s gun was with us, and would be easy to take.
