Dan Simmons - Hardcase

One of the goddamned bushes rose up as he passed.

Kurtz swung the.45 to bear, but too late—a man's arm from the bushes, some sort of camouflage suit, something black and stubby in the man's right hand.

A great, hot force exploded against Kurtz's chest and God's flashbulbs went off in his skull.

Pain.

Good . He was alive.

Kurtz came back to consciousness slowly, very painfully, muscle by muscle. His eyes were open and there was no blindfold, but he could see nothing. He was in great pain. His body did not respond to commands. He was having problems breathing.

It's all right. I may be hurt bad but I'm alive. I'll kill the fucker and get Rachel free before I die . Kurtz concentrated on forcing breath into his lungs and calming his pounding heart and screaming muscles.

Minutes passed. More minutes. Kurtz slowly became oriented in his body and around it.

He was in the trunk of a car. Big trunk, big car. Lincoln or Cadillac. The car was moving. Kurtz's body wasn't moving. His muscles were alternating between cramps and involuntary spasms. His chest was on fire, he was nauseated, and his skull rang like a Buddhist gong. He'd been shot, but not with bullets. Stun gun, thought Kurtz. Taser. Probably rated about 250,000 volts. Even as his muscles and nerves came back on line, he found he could barely move. His wrists were manacled or handcuffed behind him, cruelly, and somehow attached to manacles around his ankles.

He was naked. The floor of the trunk was covered with crinkled plastic, like a shower curtain.

Whoever it is had it all planned. Followed me to Farino's. Put the phone in the Volvo. Wanted me, not Rachel. At least Kurtz prayed to whatever dark god that the last was true.

He was not quite blind. Brake lights glowed red every now and then, illuminating the carpeted interior, the plastic, and Kurtz's bare flesh. The car was moving, not just idling, leaning around turns, going somewhere. Not much traffic. The road was wet beneath the radial tires, and the sibilant hum made Kurtz want to go back to sleep.

He hasn't killed me yet. Why ? Kurtz could come up with a few possible reasons, none very probable. It occurred to him that he had not seen Cutter die.

The car stopped. Footsteps crunched on gravel. Kurtz closed his eyes.

Fresh air and a light drizzle when the trunk was opened.

"Don't give me that shit," said a man's voice with a slight Brooklyn accent. The man set the Taser against Kurtz's heel. Even with the voltage lowered, it was like having a long, hot wire inserted directly under the flesh. Kurtz spasmed, kicked, lost consciousness for a second or two, and then opened his eyes.

In the red light, looming over Kurtz, a Taser in his left hand and a huge.44 Magnum Ruger Redhawk in his right hand, stood a meaner-looking version of Danny DeVito. "You fake being out again," said Manny Levine, "and I'll shove this stun gun up your hairy ass."

Kurtz kept his eyes open. "You know why you're still alive, fuckhead?" Kurtz hated rhetorical questions at the best of times. This wasn't the best of times.

"You're alive because my people value burial," said Levine. "And you're going to lead me to my brother for a real burial before I blow your motherfucking head off." He cocked the heavy.44 Magnum and aimed the long barrel at Kurtz's exposed testicles. "But I don't have any reason to keep you in one piece, fucker. We'll start with these."

"Letchworth," gasped Kurtz. Even if he'd been unmanacled, he couldn't have grabbed for Levine at that moment. His arms and legs were still spasming. He needed time.

"What?"

"Letchworth Park," panted Kurtz. "I buried Sammy near Letchworth."

"Where, cocksucker?" Manny Levine was so enraged that his entire dwarf body was shaking. The long steel barrel shook but the muzzle never moved off target… targets.

Kurtz shook his head. Before Manny pulled the trigger, he managed to gasp, "Outside the park… off Alternate twenty… south of Perry Center… in the woods… have to show you."

Letchworth was more than sixty-five miles from Lockport. It would give Kurtz time to recover control of his body, clear his head.

Manny Levine's teeth were grinding audibly. He shook with fury while his finger tightened on the trigger. Finally he lowered the hammer on the big Ruger and hit Kurtz on the side of the head with the long barrel, once, twice, three times.

Kurtz felt his scalp rip loose. Blood ran salty into his eyes and pattered on the plastic liner. Good. Nothing serious. Probably looks worse than it is. Maybe it'll satisfy him for now .

Levine slammed the trunk shut, made a U-turn, and drove away with Kurtz rocking and bleeding heavily in back.

Kurtz had little sense of time other than the slight ebbing of pain and the even slighter return of muscle control, but it might have been about an hour later when the big car pulled over. The trunk opened and Kurtz breathed deeply of the cold night air, even though he had been shivering almost uncontrollably during the ride.

"All right," said Manny Levine, "we're south of Perry Center. It's all county roads and gravel roads around here. Where the fuck do we go next?"

"I'll have to sit up front and guide you," said Kurtz.

The dwarf laughed. He had small yellow teeth. "No fucking way, Houdini."

"You want to give your brother a decent burial."

"Yeah," said Levine. "But that's Job Two. Job One is killing your ass, and I'm not going to let sentiment get in the way of that. Where do we go next?"

Kurtz took a second to think and try to flex his arms. He'd found during the ride that his handcuffs and ankle manacles were chained to each other and to something solid behind him.

"Time's up," said Manny Levine. He leaned forward with the Taser. The ugly little stun gun had electrodes about three inches apart. He set those metal studs on either side of Kurtz's right ear and pressed the trigger for an instant.

Kurtz screamed. He had no choice. His vision, already impeded by the loose scalp and dried blood, popped orange, bled red, and faded for a while. When he could see and think again, Levine was grinning down at him.

"Half a mile past County Road 93," gasped Kurtz. "Gravel road. Take it west toward the woods until it stops."

Levine reached down, set the electrodes against Kurtz's testicles, and zapped him again. Kurtz's scream lasted long after Levine had slammed the trunk shut and begun driving again.

Levine slammed the trunk up. Snow fell past him in the red glow of the brake lights. "Ready to show me?" said the dwarf.

Kurtz nodded carefully. Even the slightest movement hurt, but he wanted to look more injured than he was. "Help me out," he croaked. This was Plan A. If he was going to lead, Levine would have to unchain him from whatever bolt held him in and undo his ankle manacles. Perhaps he would have to uncuff him while the miserable midget was close enough to grab. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was the best he'd come up with so far.

"Sure, sure." Levine's voice was amiable. He reached over with the Taser and pressed it into Kurtz's arm.

Flashbulbs. Blackness.

Kurtz came to lying on his side on the frozen earth. He blinked his one good eye, trying to figure out how much time had passed. Not much, he felt.

After Levine had zapped him, he'd obviously dragged Kurtz out of the trunk—not carefully, Kurtz thought, feeling a new broken tooth in the side of his mouth—and reworked the bondage arrangements. Kurtz's hands were cuffed in front of him now. Normally this would be good news, but the cuffs were attached by a chain to ankle manacles in state-prison manner, and a longer, fine-link steel chain—perhaps fifteen feet long—ran to a leather loop in Levine's hand.