David Dun - At The Edge

"You sure you want to do it this way?"

"Yup."

"We'll give you ten minutes with this guy, then we're taking him downtown."

"Fair enough."

"By the way, the red bandanna had cannabis resin in it. Probably worn by a pot smoker. Maybe a grower."

Dan drove straight to the bank, all the time keeping an eye on his watch for the time of the chopper's arrival. At the bank he removed $5,000 in cash. He got twenty-four $100 bills and the rest $1 bills. He made twenty-four piles in his briefcase, each stack topped by a $100 bill. Then, sprinting from the bank and leaving an openmouthed teller, he jumped in the car and went to Sak's.

"Here we go," Dan whispered to himself, jumping out of his car. Trotting down to the big shop building, he spotted a guy with manager stitched over the pocket of his blue work coat. "You must be Gilbert."

"That's me, unless you're lookin' for Big Gilbert." The man shouted over the whine of two departing diesel tractors that the mechanics were revving.

"No, I'm lookin' for you. I'm Jake," Dan said in a voice that said that name should mean a great deal to Little Gilbert.

"Well, so?" Little Gilbert said.

"Can we go inside?" Dan said.

They walked through the lube area behind the rows of workstations to a small office with a gray desk on a concrete floor. It was a cluttered mess, the desktop covered with junk-food wrappers, old receipts, an adding machine, and an old girlie calendar. Dan closed the door.

"Didn't Big Gilbert tell you?" Dan said, the surprise evident on his face.

"Tell me what?"

"Tell you that I'd be coming with the twenty grand. You're supposed to tell me how to find that blue van, the one you did the windows on."

"Did somebody call earlier?" Little Gilbert asked, stress and suspicion becoming apparent in his voice.

Dan exploded with a shout, grabbed the smaller man by the collar, and slammed him against the wall, letting all his anger and frustration escape. Literally, he wanted to hurt the man. "You hicks can't get anything right. This is what I'm talkin' about, you dumb greaseball."

He let the man sag to the floor. Setting the briefcase on the desk, he opened it a crack, then slammed it shut before Little Gilbert got more than a tiny peek at the money inside.

"He said I'd know where to find the pot grower who brought in the van?" Little Gilbert moaned.

"Absolutely. The one who always wears the red bandanna. Can't think of his name." Dan clicked his fingers like he was trying to think. "And if you can't find him, the whole deal's off, and Big Gilbert can do without his twenty thousand. My guess is that when I leave here with Big Gilbert's money, he's gonna kick what's left of your ass good."

"God," Little Gilbert groaned. "He never told me, I swear it. Let me make some calls."

"There's no time.'' Dan slammed the man back up against the wall. He put a knee into his testicles, then dropped him to the floor. Dan feigned hysterical violence, kicking the man in the ribs but making sure not to connect too hard. Finally he stopped.

"Please, one call," the man choked out, rolling on the floor.

"One call, but then I really kick the shit out of you." Dan watched over Little Gilbert's shoulder as he called Big Gilbert's housekeeper and heard that she didn't know Big Gilbert's whereabouts.

Dan shook his head sadly. ''I'm gonna beat you to death."

Little Gilbert looked like he was going to cry. "I'll try his mobile." He punched the buttons so fast he misdialed twice.

"This cowboy with the twenty grand is here, and I need to know how to find Jack Morgan. Whaddya mean what guy? He's beating the shit out of me.'' Little Gilbert listened, then looked up at Dan.

"I won't say a thing," he said into the receiver.

"It's Jack Morgan. Now get the hell out of my shop. Big Gilbert's gonna tear me limb from limb."

"I doubt it, this time," Dan said, picking up his case. On his way out the door, Dan met a sheriff's deputy. "He's all yours," Dan said, dialing the sheriff. "We're looking for a pot grower. Jack Morgan."

"You like your face, bitch?" Corey whispered. "I've got a razor here that will do some funky things to it."

Maria tensed behind her blindfold but said nothing.

Corey took out her stiletto and popped the blade. Teasing the blade down Maria's cheek, barely touching it, she chuckled quietly. "What have you got to say?"

"Your video won't look like much if I have a Halloween face," Maria said in a strong voice.

Corey exploded with a backhanded slap, snapping Maria's head back and raising an ugly welt on her cheek.

Then, calm again, as though the outburst had been merely an affectation, Corey grabbed the heavy hood and put it over Maria's head.

"You're right. We gotta do it slow, and we can't make a mess. We'll just take some of that spray you liked so well earlier and drip it on the mask. Right over your nose and mouth. No permanent damage except mental. It'll feel like you drowned about once every sixty seconds. Only you never die. You just want to. Here goes the first drop."

The noxious fumes exploded in the tiny room, causing Corey to step back.

Maria began gagging.

Corey grabbed the hood off. She put her lips an inch from Maria's ear. "This ain't a war. They don't give medals for refusing to talk. All we want is a little information about cooperation between you and the mouthpiece. And McCafferty and her buddies in industry."

Corey waited, pacing back and forth while Maria continued choking. Finally Maria spoke. "Nothing happens until you loosen the pressure on the handcuffs. They're cutting off my circulation."

Corey thought for a moment. Given enough time, she was certain she could get Maria talking without loosening the handcuffs-but she had no time. Speeding the dialogue and making the woman look better on videotape was all important. And any chance of escape was nil-the door to the makeshift room was locked, her feet were tied, her waist was taped to the chair, and Jack was standing guard just outside. And if that wasn't enough, the German was watching in the next room.

She loosened the cuffs slightly.

Dropping the foot prop on the recliner chair, Hans sat bolt upright. He didn't like what he was seeing through the two-way mirror. He wasn't sure that Corey was experienced enough to be loosening those cuffs. Then again he sensed she was hurrying and that was good.

Hans went to the door and spoke softly. "Goddamn it, Jack, if you want two eyes tomorrow morning, you make sure that if Maria Fischer comes through that door she's a dead Maria Fischer." Then he carefully locked the door. Initially he had felt good about the setup. That was until he found out they didn't kill the kid. If that kid saw something, anything, there could be trouble and soon. He liked Corey's style, but he needed results.

Corey needed a little coaching.

Dan drove to the airport to meet Otran's helicopter and the two officers assigned to it. Like most things involving aviation, it was a little slower than anticipated. As he was turning into the road for the airport, his cell phone rang. It was Gail.

"The title guys and foresters found no property in the name of Jack Morgan. They have six people calling every outlying post office, as well as all the major branches. They say if someone by that name gets mail in this county, they'll figure it out."

The news hit Dan hard. If Morgan was a renter or squatter, it could take days to find him.

"I'm sorry," Gail said.

Dan got a call-waiting beep.

"This is Dan Young."

"This is Murray, the title man. The Geary Creek Post Office holds mail for a Jack Morgan and family. They're a bit reclusive-actually, the whole bunch up there is a bit that way."

"I know the general area. People grow pot up there," Dan said.