been more heroic myself.”
“You shouldn’t have got involved,” Sabrina said.
“Nonsense, my dear. Rage must be withstood.”
“You don’t know Bill. He’s a maniac. He won’t give up until he finds you.”
EIGHT
Zig drove to a motel 6 on the outskirts of town. He liked it for the isolated location, and also because it was made up of separate cabins rather than one long strip of rooms. You could have your privacy while you worked and not worry too much about noise.
He had rented the last cabin in the row, the farthest from the highway. All the other cars were gone, the cabins dark, the occupants answering the call to donate money to casinos.
“Guy’s not making a sound,” Clem said.
“The miracle of pharmaceuticals,” Zig said.
“Yeah, but aren’t we gonna want him compos mentis?”
“It’s short-acting. He’ll be fine.”
Zig backed the car to the door of the cabin: the chances of being seen were minimal.
The bald guy was lying on his side in the trunk, groaning faintly.
“Take his feet,” Zig said.
They got him inside and lowered him into the bathtub, his bald head under the tap. Zig snapped a manacle onto his wrist, the other end onto the drainpipe under the sink. He turned on the cold water in the tub.
“Hey, Baldy. Wakey, wakey.”
The guy coughed and tried to sit up, banging his head on the tap.
“Oopsa-daisy,” Zig said. “Don’t wanna damage the cue ball there.”
“The fuck’s going on,” the guy said. His speech was slurred, the sedative boosting the alcohol he’d no doubt consumed at Luigi’s.
“My name’s Sub. And this is Tractor.”
“I don’t wanna know your names. I don’t even want to see your faces.”
“Too late now.”
Pookie squinted at the manacle on his wrist. He straightened his arm so that the chain went taut. “The fuck?”
“Sub-Tractor,” Zig said. “Ring any bells?”
Zig could see the first tiny flame of fear igniting behind the fog in the guy’s eyes.
“Don’t worry. We’ll have you out of here in no time,” Clem said, and Zig gave him the look. “Provided you tell us what we need to know.”
“About what? You think I work in a bank or something? I don’t know nothing about nothing.”
“We’ll be the judge of that,” Zig said. He picked up the bolt cutters and held them over the tub. “You ever play This Little Piggy?”
“Fuck you, let me outta here.” He yanked hard at the manacle, taking it into his other hand and really pulling.
“Take his shoes off, Clem.”
Clem reached for a foot, but Pookie started kicking and thrashing. Clearly, a bigger dose was indicated. Clem finally clutched his far foot and stood up so Pookie couldn’t kick at him with the other. He was really panicking now, twisting frantically back and forth, jerking this way and that. Manacles for the feet next time, Zig decided. He probably should have figured that out ahead of time, but he wasn’t going to get down on himself for learning on the job.
“Knock it off, Baldy,” Zig said. He stood up and stomped at the guy’s head, not too hard. Still, it made a noise against the tub. “We’re not going to do anything to you, if you co-operate.”
“Jesus Christ, I told you, I don’t know anything.”
“Don’t answer yet. I want you to think long and hard about how you can help me with my problem.”
“What fucking problem?” Pookie closed one eye against the water dripping into his face.
“My problem is that Max Maxwell was behind the San Francisco job, and I need to know where he put the take.”
Pookie shook water out of his eyes, blinking. “You’re asking the wrong guy. Max pays me cash. I don’t know anything about the take. I don’t even know how much it is.”
“You’ll have plenty of opportunity to revise your answers.” Zig opened and closed the bolt cutters right in front of Pookie’s face. “Just think about these and This Little Piggy.”
The guy opened his mouth and sat up a bit. He looked like he was going to say something, but then he winced as if he had really bad gas pains and turned his head to one side. He slid back down the tub and lay still.
“That’s fucked up,” Clem said.
“Turn the tap on again.”
Clem turned on the cold so it splashed all over Pookie’s face, but he still didn’t move. “Man, guy’s really out.”
Zig leaned over the tub and pressed the point of the bolt cutters against Pookie’s throat. “Hey, Baldy. Pay attention.”
Zig pressed harder. The guy didn’t move.
Clem looked up at him. “You think he’s dead?”
Zig took Pookie by the lapels and pulled him up to a sitting position, then shook him hard, but his head just lolled against his chest.
“Wake up, you bastard.” Zig shook him again. He held him out at arm’s length, a look of disgust creasing his features. “Fuck.”
He let him drop, and Pookie’s head connected with the tap in a way that looked extremely dead.
“Jesus,” Clem said. “How can you plan for something like this?”
Zig looked at him. “I don’t suppose you would happen to know CPR?”
Owen woke up, drifted off, and woke again to Sabrina pressing a cold compress to his forehead. He could hear Max talking to someone-the television, of course. Sabrina didn’t say much. When she saw he was awake, she placed a face cloth full of ice into his hand and pressed it up against his ear.
She had the Rocket’s first aid kit open on her lap and must have been using up the entire supply of disinfectant, because it hurt like hell.
“Gah,” Owen said. “If I look anything like I feel …”
“You don’t look bad,” she said. “But he did kind of mash up your ear a little. I’m sure it’ll shrink again.”
“I really need to rinse my mouth out.”
“Can you get up?”
She stood aside as he pushed himself to a sitting position. Nausea swirled around him, but he managed to totter to the bathroom. He rinsed his mouth, spitting streaks of red into the tiny sink.
By the time he emerged, he was feeling a little better. His stomach hurt, his head was throbbing, but at least the nausea was ebbing. Sabrina was sitting on the edge of the dining banquette, the first aid kit now closed on her lap and her hands folded neatly on top of it.
“God, you’re beautiful,” Owen said. It just came out.
“Oh, boy. Someone’s head is still out of order.”
Owen lowered himself to the bunk again. It was just a foam mattress over a wooden platform, which he could now feel attacking his bruises.
“Galahad awakes,” Max called. “How is thy head?”
“Hurts. Everything hurts.”
“Well, you have an angel of mercy tending you. It can hardly be hellish.”
