‘Hey, Ty.’
‘Whassup?’
‘I’m sorry, man.’
‘Nobody put a gun to my head. Not yet anyway. I knew what I was getting into. Felt bad for that girl too. Fuck it. If this is how I go out then so be it. I’ve lasted longer than most of my home-boys. I ain’t gonna go out crying about how life ain’t fair and shit. Hell, even if it’s over now, it’s turned out better than I thought it would. Kinda have one regret, though.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Eighth grade. Tynisha Brown offered to blow me at her grandma’s house when we were walking back from church. I turned her down because she was supposed to be dating one of my boys. Kind of wish I’d let her now. Man, she had some pair of lips. I tell you, she didn’t get ’em sucking oranges either, boy. Tynisha. Goddamn. Fine like cherry wine.’
‘Ty?’ said Lock.
‘Yeah?’
‘Do me a favour?’
‘Name it.’
‘Shut the hell up.’
‘What can I say? I talk too much when I’m nervous.’
Outside, the voices fell away to be replaced by silence. The temperature in the back of the wagon began to rise. Sweat prickled on Lock’s forehead until he could taste the salt on his lips. They sat in silence, baking in the heat and waited. If they were to be interrogated, this was probably part of it. Let them marinate for a little while and become dehydrated. Keep them quiet. Give them time to think the worst. An hour or two would be nothing to a bunch of cops sitting in an air-conditioned station house playing cards and watching TV. To two men sitting in the back of a wagon in a foreign country, uncertain of their fate, it would be an eternity. Unless, of course, they were men to whom waiting for something bad to happen was part of the fabric of their working lives.
Lock got as comfortable as he could, closed his eyes and went to sleep. Take it where you can, he figured — even if the big sleep might be just around the corner. Plus, Lock knew from experience that there was nothing more guaranteed to tee off a cop than finding a prisoner so nonchalant and unconcerned about his fate that he didn’t have the nervous energy required to keep his eyes open.
No sooner had he drifted off than the faces were appearing, floating somewhere between him and Ty. The first few he recognized. Carrie. Melissa. His mother, who had been dead a long time. Then others came, and these were the ones he found most unsettling. He could see them completely clearly, yet he had no idea who they were and why they were staring at him, silently pleading for his help. One was white but the others were Hispanic. All women. All young. All scared. Their fear and despair rolled from their eyes like vapour.
‘Ryan! Ryan!’
His name was being called. His eyes flew open. Ty had stretched out a boot to kick him in the shin. ‘Wake up, man.’
He took a moment to find his bearings. ‘What is it?’
‘You were twitching like a hound dog chasing rabbits in his sleep.’
Lock tilted his head back. ‘I was dreaming.’
A voice could be heard outside. A woman’s.
Ty called, ‘Can we get some water in here?’
There was no reply. A second later a hatch at the front of the cage opened and a bottle of water was thrown through. It bounced on to the floor.
‘We still got cuffs on,’ Ty called out, but the hatch closed with a snap of metal.
The cab door opened, and the bench under Lock shifted fractionally as someone got in and sat down. The door slammed. The engine roared back into life. There was a grinding of gears, as if the person at the wheel hadn’t driven it before. Lock looked at Ty as the wagon began to reverse, jolted to a stop and lurched forward, slowly picking up speed. Whatever was happening, wherever they were going, it wasn’t good.
The only up-side so far was that there seemed to be just one person besides themselves in the vehicle, and even though they were cuffed, that gave them a chance.
Sounds of traffic and the steady thrum of the wheels over smooth blacktop told Lock that they were still in the city. They picked up speed. After five more minutes they seemed to hit traffic because the driver stood on the brakes so hard that both he and Ty slid down the bench seats towards the cab. The bottle of water was at his feet but there was no way of getting to it.
They set off again. Occasionally a truck would pass them or another car but the traffic seemed to thin. The wagon kept moving at a steady speed. The air changed and grew fresher. The stench of the city fell away and so did the heat.
The minutes passed. Looking at Ty, he sensed that his partner was starting to suffer the effects of dehydration. His chin had fallen on to his chest, his eyes were sunken and his shoulders were slumped.
‘Ty, stay with me, okay?’
His head snapped up. ‘I’m good.’
‘Listen, they’re gonna have to stop at some point, and if either of us gets a chance we’re going to have to take it.’
‘Gonna be tough with these cuffs on but I hear you.’
They had been cuffed behind their backs, their feet and heads were all they had at their disposal. Sometimes cuffs could be popped open by banging them hard against a solid surface but Lock had already tried slamming them into the side of the wagon with no result.
The vehicle must have hit a rut in the road because it bumped violently and he almost fell off the bench. Another rut, and this time he had to stick out a foot to brace himself in place.
They were on a dirt track or off road entirely. The wagon bounced and juddered along for what he estimated was five or six hundred yards. Then it stopped and the engine was switched off. The driver’s door opened and someone got out, then slammed it shut.
Silence.
Lock began to shift towards the rear door, shuffling along the bench on his ass. Ty did the same. When the door opened, they wanted to be as close to it as possible. Even with their hands cuffed behind their backs, two on one gave them a shot.
The rear door was unlocked and thrown open. Sunlight flooded in, blinding them both. Having been in the dark for so long, and now unable to shield his eyes, the best Lock could do was squint. He could make out the outline of the driver, who was around five foot eight inches tall and of average build, but that was about it. He couldn’t see their face.
Whoever it was removed the padlock from the second door, threw back the bolts and flung it open. Then, perhaps anticipating the prisoners’ plan, they took half a dozen steps back, their right hand resting on the butt of their service weapon, which rode high in its holster.
‘Get out!’
It was a woman’s voice.
Ty went first, toeing the cage door open, shuffling forward and jumping out of the wagon on to bare desert. Lock followed him. The woman backed up a little further, making sure to keep a proper distance.
Gradually Lock’s eyes adjusted to the low blazing sunset. There were juniper trees, desert and tumbleweed and that was pretty much it. No buildings in sight. No vehicles. No other people. It was the perfect spot to kill someone.
‘Turn around,’ said the woman, unholstering her service weapon.
There was too much distance for either of them to rush her. She would shoot them before they got within striking distance, and even if she didn’t, all she had to do was move back. Maybe this was it, he thought, doing as she had asked.
Executed in the desert. Two more bodies for the coyotes.
‘Kneel down.’
Lock glanced across at Ty.
‘You got a plan? I’d sure like to hear it,’ he said.
