these circumstances, but I have more questions.'
'Yes, Mr. Parker,' the doctor said, his voice low, remorseful. 'I am very sorry, too.'
I heard a faint rustle come from behind us, then there was a sharp pain in my leg. Before I could shout, the gravel of the driveway came hurtling up to meet me, and then everything swam away.
22
I woke up groggy, with pain in my head and my leg. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the faint crack of light coming from a doorway on the far side of the room that was otherwise pitch-black. I was standing up. I was shirtless, my bare torso cold against a metal pole behind me. My head pounded, and when I tried to move I realized my hands were bound above me, my legs bound below.
My arms were bound and tied to what felt like a metal pipe. I groped around, felt that the pipe went straight back into the brick wall behind me. My feet were bound behind the same pipe. I wriggled but it did no good.
Suddenly my eyes flew open. Amanda. Oh, God, where was she?
I struggled against the bonds, but I couldn't see anything, couldn't reach the rope that bound my hands.
Then a voice spoke out from the darkness, and I stopped moving.
'Don't worry, she's fine. I'm sorry my associate had to restrain you, but I promise it's for your own good.' The voice was gruff, older, slightly raspy. A smoker's voice.
'Who are you?' I said. 'Come over here so I can see you, asshole.'
'Listen to you, talking as though you're holding all the cards. When your hand was folded before you even woke up.'
I heard a spark, like a match striking flint, and then a small orange flame lit up the darkness. The flame rose until
I heard a sucking sound. The flame lit the end of a cigarette, and with a puff was blown out.
I could see the cigarette about ten feet from me, and with each inhalation I caught the outline of a man's face.
I couldn't see much detail, but he looked to be in his late fifties. Harsh light to go with the harsh line. He just sat there, sucked his cigarette and said nothing.
'Come on!' I shouted. 'What do you want?'
'What do I want,' the man said. He flicked away the cigarette and stood up. He must have turned on a light switch, because suddenly an overhead lamp cast a soft glow over the room. I made out what I could. I was in what looked to be some sort of basement. Bare cement walls and a tiled floor. There were no windows I could see. The room wasn't dingy, though, and in fact I was surprised that it appeared to be rather well maintained. A plush leather sofa rested in front of a television set, and a long-forgotten treadmill sat adorned with boxes and discarded clothes.
If this was a prison or interrogation room, it wasn't the most intimidating one. The man approached me, took another cigarette from his pocket, lit it and took a deep drag.
Then he approached me, plucked the cigarette from his lips and held it out.
'Want a puff?'
'Yeah, nothing satisfies me more than sucking on a butt that was just in some strange asshole's mouth.'
'You sure? It's a Chesterfield.'
'Gee, now, that makes a difference. Go screw yourself.'
The man shrugged, took another puff.
'I haven't smoked another brand in over thirty years.
You know, you can enjoy the pleasures of so many things in life without knowing where it came from. Who made it. Thirty years ago, I would have taken a beating before I smoked. Now I can't get enough of 'em. Ironic, 'swhat it is. That delicious burn inside your lungs, just makes me want to close my eyes, savor the feeling. My ex- wife always asked why I spent so much time reading about crap like that and never listened to her. I'd say, baby, because one's interesting, and one ain't.'
I stayed silent. The longer he talked, the longer I stayed alive.
'Chesterfields started to become popular back in the day when Arthur Godfrey ended his radio program by saying, 'This is Arthur buy-'em-by-the-carton Godfrey!'
Since the program was sponsored by Chesterfield, pretty soon that's all anyone wanted to smoke. The nonfiltered
Chesterfields were popular during Vietnam, allegedly the strongest nonnarcotic stimulant in the country. The government dropped Chesterfields into the jungle by the thousands. And the common man, he figured whatever was good enough for the fighting men and women of this country was good enough for him.'
The man stepped into the light, and I finally got a better look at him.
His graying hair was full, skin worn and weatherbeaten.
The crow's-feet at his eyes actually made him look handsome, like one of those blue-jeaned cowboys who spent their days on oil rigs, the kind that actually needed a Chevy flatbed. He was lean, about five foot eleven, wearing a dark green T-shirt and jeans. There was a thin scar about an inch long that ran down his right cheek. It was a faint line, slightly jagged, as though it hadn't been stitched up right. He took another pull, let the ash hang on the end for a long while smoldering before tapping it onto the floor.
My heart hammered in my chest. My wrists ached, and the pins and needles in my feet let me know they wouldn't be much help.
'Where is she?' I said.
'You need to be more trusting,' the man said. 'I told you she's fine. So you should believe that she is fine. I'm not gonna lie to you, Henry. You do me the same courtesy, and things are gonna work out just splendid for Ms.
Davies. But let's just focus on the here and now. You and me. Got it?'
'Who are you?' I said.
'Who I am isn't as important as what I have to offer,' he said.
'I don't want anything from you,' I spat. 'People know
I'm here. That door's gonna get busted in any second and
I'm gonna laugh as they haul your ass away.'
'Really…they're coming for you, huh? Who, the CIA?
FBI? Batman? Guess you wouldn't mind then if I leave your girl alone for a few weeks. She won't need food or water since, you know, they're coming for her.'
'You're making a mistake,' I said. 'She doesn't belong here.'
'Well, she's here. No changing that now. Anyway, back to what I was saying. I have something to offer you, Henry, and if you're as smart as I think you are you'll take this offer.'
'What is it?' I said.
'It's simple, really,' the man said, taking another puff.
'I need you to tell me everything the good doctor told you and everything you know about the kids. Spare no detail.
It's very important you lay all your cards on the table. And if you do just that, and I believe you, behind door number one will be your girlfriend's life. You spill, she lives. You don't spill, her blood does. Simple as that.'
'I'll take the offer,' I said, 'because we don't know anything. Petrovsky didn't say a word to us. Now, let us go.'
'Oh, come on, Henry, you think it's that easy? You think that's it? Nah, we can get some more out of you.'
He took the cigarette from his mouth. Looked at the filtered end.
'Chesterfields,' he said. 'Just about heaven. Can't find the unfiltered bastards anywhere nowadays, but smoke enough of these and they do the trick.'
'Hope that lung cancer acts mighty quick,' I said.
