Sean Black - Lockdown

The bar smelled of stale beer and old men’s farts — an unfortunate side-effect of the state’s smoking ban. Lunchtime trade was sparse, but the barflies seemed to compensate for their lack of numbers by drinking industrial quantities of beer and whisky chasers.

Predictably, Lock took the chair facing the door and studied Don as he got their drinks at the bar. If he was directly involved in Josh’s disappearance he was doing a very good job of covering it. Even the more disengaged criminals Lock had encountered in his previous professional incarnation had given away something, some tiny ‘tell’, as poker players liked to call it. Nor had he gone out of his way to convince Lock of his innocence — something else the guilty were fond of doing when faced with an authority figure bearing down on them with awkward questions.

When everyone was properly settled, Lock raised his glass — Coke in his case. ‘What should we drink to?’

In the present company, a thornier topic was hard to imagine.

‘How about survival?’ offered Janice.

‘And those who didn’t make it,’ Don added.

Lock didn’t have a problem with reflecting on either of those. They clinked glasses, earning a few watery-eyed glances from the men at the bar. Lock found himself studying Janice’s face as she sank her bourbon in one and stared into the bottom of the glass as if some secret might be engraved there. He wondered how much her current composure was a result of having had to face her own death.

‘What about those we can still save?’ Lock asked, directing the question to Don.

‘What I said back there, about the kid.’

‘Emotions are running high on both sides right now.’

‘There’s no way anyone involved with us would do something like this.’

‘So who would?’

‘How would we know?’

‘So who’s Lone Wolf?’

Janice and Don shared a blank look. But not before both of them had glanced down at the table for a split second. It was the first false note Lock had detected.

‘Gimme a break.’ Lock had dropped his voice so it was barely discernible. ‘Who’s Lone Wolf?’

He uncrumpled the copy of the email he’d printed from Richard Hulme’s computer and spread it out flat on the table.

Another glance between the siblings.

‘We don’t know who you’re talking about,’ Don said.

Lock slammed his glass down on to the table with enough force to get the whole bar’s attention. ‘Stop lying to me or, so help me God, I really will do you some damage this time.’

Don drained his glass of beer. ‘It’s not any one person. I mean, it’s like Spartacus or something. People in the movement adopt the name.’

‘When they want to make a death threat?’ Lock asked.

‘When they want to make a stand,’ Don said.

‘Oh for God’s sake, Don, stop this,’ Janice said. She turned her face so she was looking directly at Lock. ‘Lone Wolf is a man called Cody Parker. He was the one who had the idea of digging up that old lady and dumping her in Times Square.’

‘And he took Josh Hulme?’

Don was on his feet. ‘There’s no way, man, no way Cody would do something like this.’

Lock stared at him. ‘And how would you know?’

Don looked away, answering Lock’s question for him.

Lock flipped back to Janice. ‘What do you think?’

‘Don’s right. He wouldn’t have done something like this.’

‘OK, then let’s go ask him.’

Don threw his head back and laughed. ‘And how are you going to do that? The government’s been looking for him for years and they’ve never even got close.’

Lock thought it over for a moment before speaking again. ‘Have you got a quarter?’ he asked.

‘What?’

‘For the jukebox.’

Don looked at Lock like he was nuts, but dug out a handful of quarters and handed them over.

‘Ladies’ choice. Any preferences?’ he asked Janice.

She shrugged, as confused as her brother.

Lock took the coins and pumped them into the Wurlitzer. He selected something by a band with the word ‘death’ in its name. Then he crossed back to the bar and slapped a hundred dollars down on the counter. ‘Drinks are on me, but I need you to max the volume.’

Lock sat back down next to Don and Janice as the first few bars of distorted guitar and pounding drums drowned out everything else. He leaned in closer so that his face was inches from theirs. ‘All that concerns me right now is the safe return of Josh Hulme to his family. Just so you’re both clear on my personal position, I don’t really give a shit about furry little bunnies having shampoo poured into their eyes, and presently I don’t give much of a shit about Meditech either. So I’m going to give you both a choice. It’s entirely non-negotiable, and you have until this song ends to make your decision. With what you’ve already told me I can hand this to the FBI and you’ll both face conspiracy charges. Janice, you’ll die in a correctional facility, probably before you reach trial. Don, with the way child abduction’s viewed by the courts, not to mention guards and inmates, so might you. In fact, I’ll take the stand to maximize the chances of that happening. That’s option one.’

The song was building, the lead guitarist working his way down the fretboard to find notes discernible only to dolphins. At the bar, a shoving match had broken out between two guys over who was to be served next. A glass smashed on the floor.

‘What’s our other option?’ Janice asked.

‘You take me to Cody Parker.’

Don rocked back in his chair. ‘What happened to the dog?’

The question threw Lock. ‘What dog?’

‘Your friend in the car. His dog.’

‘The dog attacked Tyrone’s cousin, and, see, Ty’s real sentimental when it comes to children,’ Lock said, reaching over and grabbing Don’s sore wrist. ‘More sentimental than he is about animals. So you want to know what happened to that dog he loved so much? He shot it dead. And if you dick us around, I’d say there’s a good chance he’ll do the same to you.’

‘I bet you follow round comedians shouting out the punchlines before they can get to them,’ Ty said, tossing Lock his keys.

‘Hey, it worked. They’re gonna help us out.’

Ty stared at Don, who was busy getting his sister back into Lock’s Toyota. ‘They’d better,’ he said, clambering up into the cab of the Yukon.

‘You know what to do, right?’ Lock asked him.

‘Roger that.’

As Ty pulled out of the bar’s parking lot, Lock walked back to see if Don needed any help.

He had to admit, they made for one hell of a strange-looking search party: a girl in a wheelchair with a left leg prone to random spasms, a young man pushing her with one hand while massaging his wrist with the other, a guy with a patchy buzz cut intersected by a nearly new six-inch scar, and a six foot four African American with no hair and a lot of tattoos.

As Lock pulled his car out of the lot, the black SUV holding the JTTF surveillance team was waiting for them. To ensure that Janice and Don Stokes’ choice of option two didn’t bleed into option one, his first task was to lose the tail. Seeing as the Royal Military Police had been the branch that taught the rest of the British military defensive and, when the need arose, offensive driving techniques, the prospect didn’t overly worry him.

His phone chirped. He flipped it open, driving with one hand.

‘Hey, cowboy.’

‘Carrie?’

‘How many other hot blondes who just scored a thirty-five share of the audience do you have calling you?’

‘Thirty-five’s good?’

‘Ten years ago it was good. These days it’s spectacular.’