Wasting no time, Jones closed the lid on the toilet seat and sat down. After taking a deep breath, he crossed his legs, bringing the anklet as close to his face as possible. Then, with his hands chained, he tried sliding the slender piece into the lock.
Thankfully, it fit.
With his limited view of the anklet, Jones couldn’t identify the type of lock he was dealing with. He knew it could be opened with a key, that much was certain, but he wasn’t sure about its internal safeguards. If it was a spring lock, he was confident he could pop it rather quickly. Spring locks have very few safeties, making them a criminal’s dream. They can often be picked with a credit card or another thin object in a matter of seconds. If, however, the lock was tubular, then Jones was out of luck. The multiple pins of the cylinder and the dead-bolt action of the cam would require something more sophisticated than a sharpened piece of plastic.
Working like a surgeon, Jones jiggled the floater lever back and forth until he got a feel for the internal mechanism of the lock. A smile crept over his face when he realized what he was dealing with. It was a spring lock, just as he had hoped. After wiping his hands on his shirt, he slowly manipulated the lock in a circular fashion until it popped open with a loud click.
“Damn!” he said to himself. “Why are women never around when I do something cool?”
After sliding the device off of his leg, Jones was able to study the casing of the anklet in greater detail. The shell was silver in color, shiny and quite reflective, yet possessed an abrasive texture that was rough to the touch. It carried very little weight-one or two pounds at the most-but was durable, holding up to the rigors of his probing. The alloy was unfamiliar to him, possibly a mixture of titanium and a lesser-quality metal, but definitely expensive.
Too expensive for it to be a hoax.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve got ourselves a bomb.”
Now that he knew what he was dealing with, he had to decide the best way to use it. Sure, he could strap the explosive to the door and blow the sucker off its hinges, but what would that get him? Probably killed, that’s what. The moment he ran outside, the guards would be all over him.
No, in order to escape, Jones needed a way to take out the guards and the door at the same time. But how? Jones went to work on the device as he planned a scenario in his head.
CHAPTER 42
EVEN
though Payne was still trapped in the Devil’s Box, he felt good about his situation. His hunger was gone, his thirst had vanished, and he smelled kind of pretty. As soon as Bennie left the hill, Payne went to work on his shackles.
When his hands were bound to the floor, there was no way for him to remove his handcuffs. The thick bolt had prevented it. But as soon as it was disengaged, he was able to use the maneuver that he’d learned from Slippery Stan, an escape artist whom he befriended while at a magic exhibit. Unlike most magicians, escape artists rarely use optical illusions in their trade. Instead, they learn to manipulate their bodies to escape from straitjackets or multiple layers of chains. And in the case of handcuffs, Payne was taught to turn his hands and wrists at a very precise angle, which allowed him to slide from the restraints like a hand from a glove.
Of course, the cuffs were only half the battle. The next part of Payne’s escape would be more difficult, and he knew it. In order to get from the box itself, he had to rely on outside help. He wasn’t sure where that was going to come from-perhaps Bennie, or a guard, or even an escaped captive-but he knew he was stuck until someone showed up.
And it took nearly an hour before someone did.
The instant Payne heard movement outside he slid his hands under his chains, hoping to maintain the appearance of captivity.
“Are you still alive?” asked Ndjai with his thick African accent. “I bet you are bored up here all by yourself.” He lowered his face to the grate, smiling with his nasty teeth. “Do not worry. I have some company for you.”
The wheels in Payne’s head quickly started to spin. Was it Jones, Ariane, or maybe even Bennie? None of the possibilities pleased Payne, and the grimace on his face proved it. “Who is it?” he croaked, trying to pretend he was dehydrated. “Who’s out there with you?”
“The question should not be
. The question should be
.”
Payne scrunched his face in confusion. He couldn’t hear Tornado’s panting so he knew it wasn’t him. In fact, he didn’t hear anything except Ndjai’s laughter. “Okay,
is out there?”
“A couple of playmates to keep you company.”
Payne didn’t like the sound of that. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m actually all right. I’ve kind of enjoyed the solitude.”
“Is that so? You might get bored later, and I would hate for you to think of me as a bad host.” Ndjai lifted a large shoe box above the grate then shook it a few times. An angry squeal emerged from the cardboard structure. The creature, whatever it was, did not like to be jostled. “Hmmm, he sounds mad. I hope you will be able to calm him down.”
“I hope so, too.”
Ndjai rested the cardboard container on the top of the box. “Then again, that might be tough for you to do. My little friend tends to get upset around the other playmate that I brought for you.” Ndjai lifted a large duffel bag into the air, then set it down with a loud thump. “You see, this second guy is hungry, and when he is hungry, he has a nasty habit of wanting to eat the first guy, which makes the first guy nervous.”
“Wait,” Payne mumbled. “Am I the first guy or the second guy? You went so fast I got confused. Please say that again.”
The African was ready to explain when he realized that Payne was making another joke, a reaction he hadn’t expected. “I must admit, I admire your courage. Too bad it is a weak attempt to mask the fear underneath.”
“It wasn’t weak,” Payne argued. “I thought it was a pretty good effort on my part.”
Ndjai ignored the comment, moving to the business at hand. “So, Mr. Payne, I will now give you a choice. Which would you prefer first? The bag or the box?”
“Well, it’d be a lot easier if you told me what they contained.”
“But that would take away the mystery.”
“Who cares? Mysteries are overrated. I prefer comedies.”
Ndjai laughed. “In that case, let us do something fun. How about both at once?”
With a gloved hand, Ndjai reached inside the small box and tried to grab the animal.
Payne listened closely, trying to figure out what Ndjai had in store for him, but all he could hear was the scratching of sharp claws and tiny squeals of anguish from the trapped creature. “I would like to introduce you to the plantation rat, a breed that is indigenous to Louisiana.”
Holding it by its tail, Ndjai dangled the rodent above the Devil’s Box. Payne, who’d never heard of the species, mar veled at its size. It was sixteen inches in length, not including its tail, and must have weighed close to two pounds. It had a short snout, small ears, and was covered in coarse fur.
“Is that your son?” Payne asked.
“No, that is your new roommate.”
“Then I expect this and next month’s rent in cash, plus I’ll need him to sign a few waivers. Can the squirrel write?”
Ndjai smiled while lowering the rat to the box’s grate. As he did, the rodent squirmed, trying to free itself from the Ndjai’s grasp. To punish the rat for its escape attempt, Ndjai squeezed its tail quite hard, causing the creature to snap its teeth and brandish its claws in anger.
“You are going to have fun with him. He is not very happy.”
