“We always knew you would be the key. Ever since that shit went down in Vegas and we realized it was you guys, we knew you would be the one who would come through and help us get the flash drive back.”
“Fuck you. Fuck you and my father.”
“Now, now, Holly. That’s not very ladylike.”
“You’re a real asshole, Zane, you know that?”
“Yet you still let me sleep with you.”
“That was only because I felt sorry for you. You and your small dick.”
A moment passes where Zane doesn’t say anything, and I start to smile thinking I’ve had the last word. Then that moment passes and I remember what’s at stake. I can’t let my emotions overtake me. I can’t let my anger blur my focus.
“We could talk shit all night, Holly, but quite frankly we don’t have the time. Or I should say the children don’t have the time.”
“You wouldn’t hurt them.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
I open my mouth to respond but nothing comes out.
“I guess it’s safe to assume there are two Hollys now. The Holly of Yesterday and the Holly of Today. Does the Holly of Today, now knowing everything she does, think I wouldn’t kill these kids if I didn’t get what I wanted?”
“I don’t know. But the Holly of Tomorrow has something she wants to say to you. She says that when she sees you next, she’s going to shoot you in the fucking face.”
“Fuck this,” Zane says. “Just remember—the children’s blood is now on your hands.”
“Let me talk to them.”
“What?”
“The children. I want to hear their voices.”
“And then?”
“Then we’ll talk.”
Zane doesn’t answer. He doesn’t make a sound. I think for a moment that the line has gone dead when I hear a sniveling voice say hello.
“Casey?”
“Holly? Holly, is that you?”
“Casey, it’s okay, baby. I’m—”
“Holly, why—”
Her voice fades away and then it’s David’s voice I hear, David’s frightened six-year-old voice quickly saying, “Mommy? Daddy? Hello? Hello?”
I start to say David’s name but his voice fades away too and then it’s Zane back on the line, clearing his throat.
“Satisfied?”
“What do you want from me?”
“The flash drive.”
“I don’t have it.”
“No, but you can get it. And you will if you want these children to live.”
I don’t bother questioning him. I know he’s serious. I know he’d snap one of the kid’s necks just to hear the sound it makes. That’s the type of person Zane has become.
“How?”
“Your car is parked three blocks away at the gas station on Vicker Street. Do you know the one I’m talking about?”
“Yes.”
“The car is presently unlocked. The keys are in the glove box, along with a cell phone. When you get there I’ll call to give you further instructions. Oh, and Holly? No more being a bitch. Any flippant comment made to me will result in one of the children’s fingers being broken. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now you have exactly five minutes to get to the car before I call the cell phone. I will let it ring only five times before I hang up and kill one of the children. Do you understand that?”
When I say I do, he says, “The clock is ticking.”
Fifty-Three
The clock is ticking, all right. The moment I slam the phone in the receiver, I start the countdown in my head.
One—sprint through the kitchen—two—sprint to my bedroom—three—open the bottom dresser drawer—four—pull out my guns—five—strap the Kimber Micro 9 to my ankle—six—throw on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt—seven—stick the remaining gun in the back of my jeans—eight—run back out into the apartment—nine—slip on my sneakers—ten—bolt for the door.
My body has gone into overdrive. I have the vaguest sense that I’m moving faster than any human body should ever move.
Out the door, down the hallway, down the stairs, through the lobby, crash through the main doors, and into the night.
Two minutes.
I sprint down the first block.
Two and a half minutes.
I sprint down the second.
Three minutes.
The third block.
Three and a half minutes and I make it to the gas station, my body still in overdrive, the rest of the world a blur, and crowded around my car are three punks in long T-shirts and baseball caps tilted to the side.
When I approach them, the one wearing a Red Sox cap says, “Yo, baby, what’s the hurry?”
“Get the fuck off the car.”
“Say what?”
I step up close to him, breathing hard, the granules of sand in the hourglass of my head almost expired.
“Fuck off.”
He stands up straight. Looks at his boys. Looks back at me and lifts up his T-shirt to reveal the piece he has tucked into the waistband. It’s a dinky .38 Special revolver.
I snatch the revolver from his pants, jam the barrel right into his balls.
“Leave,” I say.
His eyes wide, he stutter-nods and then backs away, waving his confused boys to follow him.
I tear open the car door. The phone is already ringing. I throw the revolver on the passenger seat, open the glove box, and pull out the cell phone.
“Just in time,” Zane says. “One more ring and either little Casey or David would have had their throat cut.”
I’m silent, still trying to catch my breath. Finally I say, “I made it. Now what?”
“Notice the GPS system installed on your dashboard?”
I hadn’t, not with trying to beat the clock, but now I see the small screen sitting on the dash.
“What about it?”
“An address has already been keyed in for you. It will take you to the home of Atticus Caine.”
“Who’s Atticus Caine?”
“Walter still doesn’t tell you guys shit, does he?”
“Who is he?”
“He’s a guy who knows more than he should. If anybody will know where the flash drive is located, it’ll be him.”
“What if he doesn’t help me?”
“Then it looks like these children are never going to see their parents again.”
I close my eyes, try to slow my breathing, my heart
