Gregg Hurwitz: You're Next

‘Fucking stinks in here.’ William armed sweat off his brow. ‘Before we take it to the next level, we should check with Boss Man.’ His left leg was trembling. ‘I’ll get the phone.’

He labored up the stairs and returned a few minutes later. His gait had worsened from the effort of climbing and descending, one foot dragging, pigeon-toed. He reached Mike, squatted, and held the phone to Mike’s ear.

Brian McAvoy’s smooth voice. ‘She’s in a foster home, isn’t she?’

Mike said, ‘Who?’ The syllable like a claw raking his throat.

McAvoy laughed. ‘With the money at stake? We’ll check every last one in the state. And then we’ll move to the next state. And the next.’

‘So all this,’ Mike said, ‘is about money?’

‘You think I’m just a casino?’ McAvoy said. ‘I am a nation . I made something where there was nothing before. My daughter etched her initials into the front step when we poured the foundation. I know you think your life, your daughter’s life are a big deal. But as far as collateral damage goes when it comes to nation building? There’s no choice. This isn’t my fault any more than it is yours. Or Katherine’s. So let’s handle this like men. Men with a decision to make. Here’s my proposal to you: You tell us where she is, and we’ll make it humane. For you, now. And more importantly for her.’

Mike’s breaths were shallow across the receiver. He said, ‘No.’

‘We’re finding her either way. All you’ll be doing is sparing her a scared, miserable existence between now and then.’

‘No.’

‘So what’s your plan?’ McAvoy said. ‘You’re going to outlast my two guys there?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Bring ’em down through force of will?’

‘Sure,’ Mike said.

A guffaw. McAvoy had intended it to be dismissive, but there was surprise in it as well. ‘And then?’

Mike said, ‘You’re next.’

A very long silence ensued. Then McAvoy said, ‘Tell William I’d like to talk to him.’

Mike rolled his head. ‘Wants… to talk… you.’

William stood up with the phone, cigarette dangling between his lips. ‘Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh.’

He snapped the phone shut and tossed it to Dodge, who slid it into the thigh pocket of his cargo pants. Something passed between their eyes, and then Dodge crouched, picked up the ball-peen hammer from the neat square of burlap, and tapped it into his vast palm.

William said, ‘Why don’t you get rid of our pal there first. He’s makin’ my eyes water.’

Dodge shuffled over, rolled Hank’s body a few more times in the plastic sheeting, and hoisted him onto a shoulder. Mike’s stare lingered on the remaining drop cloth that he’d soon be occupying.

William said, ‘Leave me the rag.’

Dodge tossed it over, and William held it up in front of his face, his small eyes and patchy beard visible through the holes. He shot a stream of cigarette smoke through the towel and said, ‘This ain’t gonna work no more.’

Dodge swung Hank’s body down, which struck the floor, sending a vibration through the sit-up bench. He tugged off his shirt and dipped it into the tub of water, his shoulders and biceps bulging beneath his wife-beater. On his way back to the body, he dropped the sopping shirt onto Mike’s face.

Darkness. Mike had managed to suck in a breath before the shirt hit, and he fought the wet fabric with his mouth and tongue, moving it around. Breathing was difficult, but without fresh water pouring through he was able to draw some air.

William’s voice floated down at him. ‘When we’re done with you, I wonder if you’ll see my brother. If you do, tell him I’m sorry. I should’ve looked out for him better, like he looked out for me. Tell him we sent you.’

Mike heard Dodge’s heavy boots creak the stairs as he carried the body up. He heard William’s knees crack as he crouched and then the glug glug glug of the milk jugs filling. From upstairs came the muffled ring of a phone, then the screech of a fax. A moment later Dodge’s voice called down – ‘Look’ – and something soft hit the cellar floor. The sound of paper uncrumpling, then a shrill laugh escaped William.

‘Wow,’ William said. ‘Wouldja look at that. Okay, go on and take care of the body. I’ll fill in our friend here on the recent developments, and then we’ll go handle business.’

Heavy footsteps moved overhead, and a screen door banged. Mike kept manipulating the shirt into position. His teeth locking into the fabric, he blew out hard and managed to suck a few drops of air around his lips. Then he kept working the shirt across his face – almost there.

A singsong voice. ‘I got something to show you.’ Another laugh. ‘Looks like a cop who owed me a favor came through. Little girl found. In a foster home. He was good enough to fax over a picture so we could confirm. Before we… you know, saddle up and ride all the way out to… Arizona.’

Heat spread through Mike’s chest, out through his limbs. A prickling panic, suffused with rage. Images flickered through the darkness – Dodge and William rolling up in their truck. Snatching Kat off the playground. Her little body, fighting and twisted in panic.

He forced his focus back to the wet shirt. A few drops tapped the fabric, increasing the pressure above his nose, quickening to a thin stream; William was playing with him, drizzling water. ‘Wanna see?’

William reached for the shirt, and then the weight was lifted from Mike’s face. A grin twitched around the cigarette. ‘Ta-da!’

Mike caught a flash of the uncrumpled fax in William’s hand – a photo of Kat in the backyard of the foster home. The picture had been taken at night, the flash severe, and Kat was recoiling, terrified, her skin bleached a sickly white.

Mike breathed through his nose, his nostrils flaring, his mouth clamped around the acid liquid burning into his tongue.

Cigarette smoke unspooling up the side of his face, William looked down at the object clattering on the concrete floor, freed from the wet shirt.

A cheap plastic cigarette lighter.

Chewed open.

The cherry on his cigarette flared with a shocked intake of breath, and William lifted his eyes just as Mike wrenched himself forward in an excruciating sit-up and blew a spattering of lighter fluid into his face.

The cherry erupted into a sparkler, embers flying into William’s eyes and beard. One side of his face caught, the wisps crackling, giving off an acrid odor. William screamed, a high-pitched feminine wail, and stumbled blindly to the tub, with the fax, aflame, fluttering after him.

Mike fought to keep himself bent up into the incline, and as William dunked his head into the tub, Mike flopped off the situp bench, landing across William’s shoulders. The bench flipped with him, the pads clinging to one calf.

William bucked and fought, Mike struggling to keep his weight on him so his face would stay submerged. But without the benefit of his arms, Mike could only pin William so long. William slid out from under him and collapsed on his back, sputtering and moaning. Mike rolled off as well, the wooden lip digging into his side, and spun over to the square of burlap. With the cloth restraints biting into his wrists, he felt for the tools behind his back, his fingers fussing over metal rods and rubber handles. William writhed on the floor, holding his eyes and thrashing. Something stuck one of Mike’s fingers, and he reached for it again, holding the blade even as it opened the pad of his thumb. Trying to will the tingling from his fingers, he got the knife turned and sawing against the restraints. His panicked stare moved between William and the door at the top of the stairs.

Silently, William shoved himself to a sitting position. One eye was open. His teeth showed as a slash carved out of red flesh and black, curled hair. He struggled to his feet and lurched toward Mike.