No sound. No sound from inside and no sound from outside. He tried to think. How long had it been since the Ragged Man had slammed the trunk shut? Five minutes, ten, maybe fifteen? When he came back, would he check the trunk? If he did, he would be mighty mad that he was still alive and not dead like a mummy.
But if the Ragged Man was up front, sleeping or maybe reading, and he tried to get out of the trunk by kicking his way through the back seat, he would be in just as much trouble as if the Ragged Man found him alive in the trunk.
He had to make a decision. He decided to go for it.
He squirmed around so that he was laying on his back, feet facing the back seat, head facing the back of the car, and using his bare feet, he pushed against the seat. It gave a little. He saw hope and pushed harder. He could feel the seat want to give way, but something was holding it in place.
He drew his legs back by bending his knees to his chest and kicked. Pain racked his feet as they hit metal and he felt no give, only resistance. He was not going to be able to kick his way through with his bare feet.
He wormed his way around to study the situation. From the top right end of the seat to the bottom left end was a metal brace and from the top left to the bottom right was its opposite twin. The pair of braces formed a large metal X. When he had pushed and felt the seat give, he was pushing on the seat. When he kicked and met resistance, his feet, both of them had hit the braces. Even if he was able to push the seat out, he wouldn’t be able to squeeze between the supporting bands.
The metal X blocked his way, so it would have to go.
He pulled the tool box closer, took out a claw hammer. He worked the claw end between the body of the car and the top part of the brace that started on the right side of the seat. Using the end of the hammer as a lever, he pulled up and out. To his amazement the spot weld gave and the metal brace sprang free.
He pulled the metal strip away from the seat, saw that if he managed to kick the seat out, he would have room enough to squirm through.
He had to think. The back of the seat was covered with springs. If he kicked against them, they would cut into his feet and he would never be able to get out of the trunk. Then a light bulb went off in his head. He needed shoes and he had none, but what did shoes do? They protected his feet. He needed to protect his feet.
He emptied the tool box, careful to set the tools well out of his way. Then he took the oil rags and stuffed them into the metal box. This had to work. He wiggled back around into position to kick against the seat. He drew his knees back against his chest and stuffed his feet into the tool box with the rags between his feet and the metal bottom to cushion them. Then using the box as a battering ram, he kicked out against the seat. He felt it give as a metal bracket, that held the seat in place, popped.
He lay back and listened. If the Ragged Man was up front, now was the time he would come for him, but he heard only silence.
He reared back with his tool box covered feet and kicked again. Then again. Another bracket popped and he needed to kick no more. The seat had given way. There was room for him to squeeze through. He was tired, exhausted and red-blood angry. He wanted out and he wanted to get even.
He removed the tool box shoe from his feet and set it next to the gas can. Then he picked up the can and shoved it through the opening into the back seat. It was time for his escape.
He thrust his head through the opening and learned that it was going to be a tight fit. Tight but possible. Arms first, he squeezed through, scraping chest and back, but he’d been through so much he was immune to the pain, as the rough metal cut through his tee shirt and into his skin. Once the top half of his body was through, his waist, legs and feet followed easily.
Out of the trunk, he pushed the top half of the seat back into place and climbed over into the front. He opened the glove compartment, looking for matches and smiled when he found several packs. The Ragged Man was a smoker. He took a pack out, then reached into the back for the gas can.
He poured gasoline over the front and back seat, then stepped out of the car into the cool evening. With a start, he realized he was in the woods, at the end of a dirt road he knew well. If he followed it back the way the car had come, he’d wind up on the twisting winding road that led up the hill to home, but he had no intention of going that way. If he went on into the woods he would find an animal trail that he had played on often. He could follow that around and up the hill and maybe get home without running into the Ragged Man coming back to his car.
He took off his Levi’s and soiled underwear. He put the jeans back on, tossed the underwear onto the front seat and struck a match. There was no breeze. The match lit easily and stayed lit. He tossed it onto the front seat, and the interior of the old brown Ford Granada burst into flames. He turned away from the fire and jogged into the familiar darkening woods-heading home.
He was free. He had freed himself, and he had done it without the Dome Ring and its magic power powder.
Chapter Nineteen
“ It’s me, Harrison,” Rick said, shoulders slumped. It was out of his hands now. He’d tell Harrison about J.P. The FBI would be alerted. They’d do things by the book. He hoped it would be enough, but he was afraid it wouldn’t be. The man who kidnapped J.P. had killed before, he wasn’t about to stop now.
“ I’ve been wanting to talk to you for the last six or seven months, so it sure is a lucky coincidence, me running into you here tonight, so far from home,” Harrison Harpine drawled, his florid face grinning wide.
“ What for?” Rick asked, shoulders picking up. Whatever it was, it wasn’t anything that was going to land him in jail, not if he’d been looking for him for that long, and not with that grin.
“ I hear you gave a thousand dollars to Sturgees’ re-election campaign last time around,” Harrison said. He was wearing a red, white and orange plaid sportcoat that he couldn’t quite get buttoned over his beer belly and didn’t match his dark blue slacks.
“ I didn’t know that was public knowledge, but so what?” True enough, he’d given the money, but it wasn’t because he’d liked Sheriff Sturgees, he just couldn’t stomach Ozzie Oxlade. Ozzie and his brother Seymour ran the used car dealership across the way in Palma. A pair of sleezeballs to the nth degree.
“ Oh, yeah, anybody can find out who gives. They gotta post a list. It’s the law,” he said, looking down at the three of them sitting in the booth. Rick didn’t move. Katherine scooted over and Bob Mitchel followed her lead, giving Harrison room to sit.
“ I didn’t know that, but it doesn’t make any difference. Why should it interest you?” Rick said, but he could guess.
“ You gonna pass some of your money around Palma way?” He folded his hands on the table.
“ Chief, you don’t run for election. You’re appointed.”
“ Yeah, but the mayor’s not. He needs all the help he can get. It’d be a big feather in my cap, if I could say I talked to you and persuaded you to give to his campaign.”
“ He won’t face the voters for another year yet.”
“ Let’s face it, Mr. Gordon. He’s been in office a long time. Some people are already talking about a change. We’re just trying to get all our ducks lined up in a row, so to speak. Can we count on your support?”
“ I’d be glad to help out.” Rick didn’t particularly like Chief Harpine and he didn’t like Mayor Clifton Wood at all, but he wanted to keep Harrison Harpine happy tonight. If that meant he had to shell out a thousand dollars to help Wood get elected, then so be it. If he survived the next few days without winding up in prison, he’d be more than happy to contribute.
“ That’s great, just great.” Harpine beamed.
“ What are you doing here anyway?” Rick asked.
“ I was supposed to get a flight to Frisco, but they were overbooked, so I get to wait till morning.
“ You going up to Palma-Tampico?” Bob Mitchel asked.
“ Yep, just came down for a homicide convention. We don’t get many murders up in our neck of the woods, but I like to keep up. Also I get to meet cops from all over the country, you never know when that’ll come in handy.”
“ You go to a lot of conventions?” Rick asked.
“ Every chance I get,” Harpine said.
