Marcus Sakey - The Blade Itself

The chain clanked as he unlocked it and let it dangle against the fence. He pushed the gate open, adrenaline pounding. He got in the truck, pulled into the yard, and made a quick three-point turn to back the Explorer up to the trailer door.

If luck was really with them, Evan wouldn’t mention the kidnapping once he was in custody – after all, it was a federal charge and would add time to his sentence. Danny suspected the guy wouldn’t care. Evan would tell the cops everything just to lash out at him. But by then Tommy would be safely back with his dad, and Danny would know the name and location of the only eyewitness to the murder in the parking lot. That would give him some leverage – the state’s attorney might be willing to drop weak charges against him in trade for an assured case against Evan. Provided that the boy was safe and Debbie cooperated.

And if not?

Then he was going to jail.

Danny took a deep breath and popped the rear door release. Showtime. Leaving the engine running, he hopped out and started for the trailer, expecting the door to open at any moment. Debbie must have heard him drive up, but he saw no sign of her – the blinds didn’t part, the door didn’t move. Was she still panicky from yesterday?

He took the cinder-block steps in a stride, opened the door, and stepped in. The lights were off and the windows were shuttered. After the bright morning sun, the trailer was dim as a cave. A thick smell of burned coffee and rotting garbage filled the air. If Debbie was there, she was sitting in the dark.

He almost called her name, stopped himself. She clearly wasn’t there; no point in Tommy overhearing anything now. Where could she be? The plan relied on her help. Did he dare wait? Time was precious – Evan could show up at any moment.

Suddenly, he realized that Tommy hadn’t made a sound. Not when he’d thrown the door open, and not since.

He remembered the little moan Tommy had given as the pistol pressed his forehead, the way Evan had smiled and winked. His imagination furnished a terrible vision of Tommy silent and still, duct tape binding his arms and legs, dark brown blood surrounding a hole like a third eye in his forehead. Danny lunged toward the couch, but his eyes hadn’t yet adjusted to the darkness, and he slammed his knee into the cabinet. Stars lit up his vision. Cursing, he leaned forward, his fingers fumbling in the shadows.

He felt fabric, cushions. His hands patted the sofa wildly, covering it in broad sweeps. Nothing.

Panic seizing him, he scrambled to his feet and reached for the light switch. The glare spilled across the tacky sofa. The fabric looked garish, stained and sunken. Scraps of duct tape dangled from the arms and legs of the couch, their ends ragged. The torn cover from a box of microwave quesadillas lay precisely in the center of the couch.

With shaking fingers, Danny reached for it. On the flip side, a note had been scrawled in black ink: Partner – Change of plans. Sorry .

He blinked, stared at the note, back at the sofa.

Tommy was gone.

Danny backed away, bumped into the cabinet, knocking the note free. It flipped as it fell to the floor, the bright colors of the package design giving way to the dark of the cardboard, bright, dark, bright, dark.

He had to get out of there. Regroup, figure something out.

What? What can you possibly do now?

Evan had somehow anticipated him. It seemed like every time he made the slightest progress, something conspired to take it back. He felt that old tightrope feeling, like a lean in any direction could be fatal. Without Debbie, without Tommy, Danny had nothing.

He shook his head, ordered himself to move. Time had been tight before. Now it was absolutely desperate. Somehow, he had to think of a way to turn things around before Evan got in touch with Richard. Every second counted. He bent, took the note, folded it, and tossed it in the trash. Pulled the duct tape off the couch and threw it in as well. The trailer needed a thorough cleaning and wipe-down, but he couldn’t afford to do it now. He turned off the light, reached for the door handle, and stepped out into the glaring sunlight.

His truck was where he’d left it, but now a blue sedan blocked it in. At the rear stood a man he didn’t recognize, a black guy in a fedora and a hawk-eyed expression.

“Danny Carter. Just the man I’ve been looking for.” Sean Nolan stepped out from beside the car, a hand casually resting on his gun hip. “Remember when I said I’d be watching you, asshole?” He smiled. “Turn around and put your hands on your head. You’re coming with me.”

The Camaro reeked. What was it with Mexicans and their fucking air fresheners? Evan had fallen for the car the moment he saw it, with its stripper’s curves and tinted windows. He’d jimmied the door, broken the ignition, stripped the wires, and had it purring in a minute. But though he’d thrown the cardboard Christmas tree out the window, the smell had seeped into the fabric. His cigarettes were smoking sour, and Debbie was alternating dead silence with talking too much.

“I’m going to go open the trunk, let some air in.” She reached for the handle.

“Sit back.”

She turned to glower at him, that naggy glare all women had. “He’s going to suffocate.”

“He’ll be fine.” He kept his tone level but firm. Sometimes, he swore to God, it was like talking to a dog.

“I don’t see why we had to move anyway. It was nicer in the trailer.”

He stabbed out his cigarette, ignoring her. He’d parked up the block from the construction site, and had a clear view in all directions. A row of run-down apartments sat on the right-hand side, and in the hour they’d been parked, he’d seen only one person leave, a tired-looking black woman wide as she was tall. The Camaro pointed away from the fenced entrance to the loft complex, but he had the mirrors angled to cover it. He could feel the tension winding in him, like thick cables cranking a notch at a time. Prison had taught him to use that. The long, slow menace of years stretched you thinner and thinner, forced you to learn to sit still, to turn the growing tension into strength. The tighter the cable wound, the greater the force when you let it snap. By tonight he’d be a millionaire, and Danny would be left to clean up the mess.

As though thinking his name had conjured him up, the silver Explorer slid into Evan’s rearview mirror. He could see Danny at the wheel, and though he couldn’t make out an expression at this distance, he imagined pursed lips and a wrinkled brow, like an old lady.

“Man doesn’t have a clue.” The Explorer loomed steadily larger, running maybe five below the speed limit. Danny checking things out, but not wanting to get noticed. “Fifty says he drives right by us.”

Debbie looked over, puzzled, and then the truck passed them and continued to the end of the block.

“Hey,” she said, “wasn’t that Danny? It looked like his truck.”

The left blinker came on, and the SUV vanished around the corner.

He turned to her and smiled, enjoying her confusion. “You owe me fifty bucks.”

She tried to smile back, but he could see the flicker of fear in her eyes. It’d been there since yesterday in the parking lot. And it had gotten more pronounced this morning, when he’d made her blow him to pass the time. As her head had bobbed up and down in his lap, he’d been able to tell that she wished she were anywhere else, and that had added a little spice.

Funny thing was, if she hadn’t snuck around on him, hadn’t gone running to Danny, he would have given her the money. Now she was just one more thing Danny could deal with.