Belize, Puerto Rico, and other ports south. He slowed down, concentrating on something.
“You hear something?”
“What am I listening for?”
“Just listen.” He jazzed the engine and we scooted ahead for a moment.
“Hear that?”
“What?” I hate it when people do that. Tell me what the hell I’m supposed to be listening for.
“That. Right there.”
I heard it. A clunk.
“Yeah, a clunk. Why couldn’t you say, ‘Listen for a clunk’?”
James ignored me. “Shit. I’ll bet we’re low on oil.”
“Just like that, you know?”
“Had a friend who was driving home with some girl and clunk. Car threw a rod because of low oil. Had to catch a bus home.”
“We’re back to a rod again?”
“Just shut the fuck up, Skip.”
I could see our warehouse just up the street, lit up by a new floodlight in the parking lot.
He pulled over, three lots from the one with the forklift next to the building. Three lots from the parking lot where I’d run my ass off. Three lots from the warehouse where I thought I’d seen Vic Maitlin.
“What are you pulling over for?”
“Check the engine.”
“Shit, we should have driven the Prism.”
“Makes no difference. They know every vehicle we own. Besides, we can park the truck here around back of this building and walk over to their warehouse.”
“What I meant was, the Prism doesn’t drink like it’s dollar beer night.”
“Yeah, and the Prism hasn’t made us one fucking penny by hauling anything either.”
“And, James,” I was ready to bow out after my last shot, “the Prism hasn’t almost got us killed!”
He stepped out and walked around to the front. I sat in the passenger seat watching him. He reached under the hood, flipped a lever, and raised it. I could hear him tinkering, probably pulling out the dipstick and trying to figure out if we needed oil.
“Shit. It’s dryer than a witch’s womb.”
“And what do we do about that at nine o’clock at night?” I yelled through the windshield.
“Put oil in it, asshole.”
I put my head out the window. “And, Mr. Lessor, where the hell do you think we’re going to find oil at this time of night?” I could just see us stranded by the water. Tomorrow morning we’d both miss work again, and I’d have to beg a ride home from Em.
“If you will be so kind as to fold down the passenger seat, open the door behind the seat, you will find that closet with the false wall. Inside you’ll find a case of oil. You see, I do know what I’m doing.”
I’d forgotten. James, for once in his life, was prepared. I got out of the seat and gently folded it down. In the dim light it was hard to find the door. If you don’t know it’s there, it’s hard to see.
Finally I found the small metal pull, opened the door, and stepped into the dark closet. James had set the case of oil to the right. I fumbled for a can, lost my balance, and ended up on my knees as the door swung shut and I was lost in the pitch black.
And then I heard the second noise that night that frightened me. The sound of a car pulling up beside the truck and a voice asking, “Having engine trouble?”
I knew the voice. There was no question whose voice it was.
“I asked if you’re having engine trouble.”
I could hear James’s trembling voice. “Yeah. I just-look, I don’t want any trouble.”
“Ah, Mr. Lessor. I’d help you. I really would. But it seems my arm is in a cast and a sling right now. A little hunting accident from the last time we saw each other. I don’t know why you’re here, but it could be the biggest mistake you’ve made in your whole life.”
CHAPTER SIXTY
I held my breath longer than I’ve ever held it. I used to practice in the public swimming pool when I was just a kid. Other kids would say they’d heard of guys who could hold their breath for two, three minutes. I may have made it for about fifty seconds but that was it. I swear that night I made three minutes easily.
“Where’s your partner?”
It was Big Mouth, the guy who’d rolled the Buick.
“He had some late calls to make. He’s in sales and-”
I heard a thud, then James grunted.
“He’s not here.”
Another thud.
“Don’t mess him up too bad. We may need to get some serious information from him.”
There was some rustling around, then the voice that I assumed belonged to Carlos. “You look like a fucking trussed-up pig. I’d put you on a spit and watch you twist in the fire.”
There was no sound. I pictured James, tied with rope and gagged, thrown in the backseat of their car, or worse, in the trunk. I thought about coming out. For about half a second. There was no earthly good I could do.
“I’ll drive the Buick. Carlos, you follow in the truck. We’ll park inside the warehouse in case he was meeting someone. Post someone outside to see who drives by. We can’t take the chance on any company tonight. Especially tonight.”
The car started and pulled off. The driver’s door opened on the truck and I took another deep breath, praying the door to my closet had latched. All I needed was for that door to spring open. It didn’t.
Carlos started the engine, let it idle for about fifteen seconds then said to himself, “What the fuck is that noise? Thing goes clunk. Clunk.”
The truck started moving and I started counting the seconds. Less than forty-five and I heard other voices as Carlos pulled into the warehouse then the sound of the big overhead door as it rolled over the top of the truck and slammed to the concrete floor. I was blind, but my ears were picking up everything.
“Where is the partner, Juan?”
“He doesn’t want to say. I suggest we play pass the pig.”
A voice I didn’t recognize said, “Push him over here.”
There was a soft thud and a grunt. James was getting the shit beat out of him and there was nothing I could do.
“Where is Eugene Moore?”
“Take the gag out of his mouth.”
“Where?”
James spit. I could hear it even through the thin door. I thought he was spitting to clear his mouth after losing the gag.
“You motherfucker. You spit on me-” Whack. Whack.
If my boy lived through this I would have to give him all the credit in the world for taking this beating on my account. But as long as one of us was still undetected, there was a chance I could get out and get help. I just didn’t see any opportunity at this point.
“Want to tell us? Where is your partner? The other night, he was running like a scared rabbit. Maybe he is in his briar patch?”
“Yeah. Maybe.” James croaked. “Maybe if he was here he’d run again. Seeing as you guys don’t have any weapons on you, maybe he’d take off running and bust out the side door like he did the last time and-” Whack. Thud.
