Marcus Sakey - The Blade Itself

He waited, watching the mirror. Like clockwork, the Explorer came back around and stopped in front of the gate. Danny got out, opened the gate, then drove the truck through, making an elaborate turn to back the ass-end up to the trailer. Always overthinking.

“What’s he doing?” Debbie was turned around in her seat to watch as Danny got out of the truck and walked into the trailer.

“Making his play.”

She looked back, and he could see her figuring it out. “We didn’t move Tommy because you were afraid of the police. We moved him to get away from Danny.”

He nodded, not looking at her, staring toward the trailer instead. He could imagine it, Danny stepping into that dark space, looking around. He’d be getting that tingling nerve sense in his fingers and feet, catching the first hints that something was wrong.

Can you feel it, Danny? All of your betrayals are coming round again.

The weird thing was, some part of this stabbed him, made him wonder what he was doing. The man in that dark trailer had once been his brother.

Once, but long ago.

“Who’s that?”

Her voice pulled him from his head. In the rearview mirror, a light blue Ford was pulling into the open gate. There were two men inside, both wearing hats. The car moved into the construction site like it owned the place. Detectives in an unmarked.

The tension in him wound further. Danny must have gone to the police. It wouldn’t change anything, but it made his blood burn.

“Evan, what’s going on?” Her voice went up to an irritating whine. “Are those cops?”

With the gate wide open, he could see most of the way to the trailer. The blue car had parked right in front of Danny’s, blocking him in. The doors winged open, and the detectives got out, both of them with hands high up on their sides. They moved with professional ease, each checking a different direction, trusting each other. A black guy in a bright orange shirt and an old-time hat stood on the side of the car closest to them, squinting in their direction.

“Oh God, he’s gonna see us,” Debbie squeaked. “We’ve got to go.” She reached for his arm, shook it. “Come on.”

He didn’t let the cable inside him snap. Just slip a couple of notches. An open-handed smack sent her tumbling toward the dash. He moved fast enough she didn’t even gasp. Just came back up with both hands at her cheek and the look of a scared little girl.

“Be quiet,” he said, locking the car doors with a flick of the switch and then turning back to the construction site. The door was open, and he could see Danny standing in the frame. The cops were both turned toward him now, their hands resting on their guns, neither drawn. Evan wished he could hear what was being said.

And then Danny raised his hands, turned around, and laced them behind his head. The white detective took the cuffs from his belt and locked Danny’s hands behind his back.

Danny hadn’t gone to the police at all. Somehow, they’d come after him.

Debbie had started whimpering, but kept it quiet enough that he ignored her.

The detective guided Danny into the back of the car, then closed the door and stood talking to the other cop. He gestured to the trailer, and the black one shook his head. Evan’s eyes narrowed. There might be enough inside to piece together what had happened. He hadn’t counted on cops, and his heart raced as one of them climbed the cinder-block steps. But the guy only shut the door, then got into Danny’s truck and followed the blue Ford out. Maybe they didn’t have a warrant. Both cars stopped just outside the gate, and the white cop got out to close it.

Would you fucking look at that. Sean Nolan, from the parish. Small fucking world.

Nolan latched the chain, then took a long look up and down the street. There was no way they could be seen, not with the tinted windows and glaring morning sun, but Evan thought the detective’s eyes paused on the Camaro. He moved a hand to the ignition, ready to roll, but Nolan got back in his car. They pulled out, turned right, then left, and were gone.

What the fuck had just happened?

Evan twisted around to face the windshield, ignoring Debbie’s accusing stare as she wriggled as far against the door as she could. Somehow the police had found Danny. It couldn’t be an accident. He must have given himself away somehow.

Danny could’ve told him three reasons it had happened, probably have had them alphabetically. But at the end of the day, who cared why? The fact was that Danny was on his way to the police station, and when they got there, the police were going to start leaning on him. Hard.

Which made it cover-your-ass time.

The cops couldn’t have known about the kidnapping. He’d seen street fights where sixteen squad cars rolled up in minutes. No way they’d send just two detectives for this. So it all came down to what Danny did next. What he told them.

And that made his next move clear. He smiled, popped his head from side to side, and started the car. “Buckle up, honey pie.”

“Where are you taking me?” Her voice was cold, and the contempt in it amused him.

He turned to her. A bright red mark burned on her cheek. He smiled. “We’re going to get ourselves a little insurance.”

Square and six feet on a side, the holding cell looked like a janitor’s closet. The smell of industrial cleansers couldn’t quite overwhelm a lingering odor of diarrhea, the product of years of junkies. The walls were concrete, chipped and worn, with rebar showing through in spots. Graffiti was scratched into every surface – the walls, the floor, the heavy wooden bench, the rail where they cuffed down violent suspects. On TV, people were usually put in lockup with other prisoners, but that was nonsense. After all, he wasn’t being charged with anything yet. They’d been careful to make that clear.

“What’s this about?” Danny had asked Nolan in the car, wondering how much they knew.

The detective’s eyes had flicked up to the rearview mirror. “You’re a hard man to get hold of.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“So Karen told me. To track you down, we’ve had to visit all the construction sites your company is working on. Lucky we bumped into you, huh?” The detective winked at him. “But you know, you really should return phone calls from the police. You know who doesn’t?”

Danny had stared back, seeing the line coming.

“People with something to hide. You got something to hide, Danny?”

He’d shaken his head and looked out the window, telling himself to take advantage of this time, to use it to plan his next move. He was smart, he’d think of something.

But that had been four, maybe five precious hours ago. In that time they’d driven him to the Area One station on Fifty-first, processed him, taken his watch, wallet, keys, and shoelaces. They’d put him in an elevator, taken it up one flight, and steered him through surprisingly corporate-looking halls to this holding cell. Unlocked the solid wood door, removed the cuffs, told him to take it easy, and then left him to pace tiny circles and think.

And despite all that time, he hadn’t come up with a plan worth a goddam.

Okay. Methodical. What do you know?

It was a short list. He knew that the exchange would happen sometime today. He knew that the police could hold him for something like forty-eight hours without charging him. Which meant he knew time was not his friend.

The list of things he didn’t know was more daunting. He had no idea where Evan had stashed the boy. No idea what his time line was. No idea where he would set the meet – though now it surely wouldn’t be Union Station. He didn’t even know where Evan lived, or what his phone number was.