Stuart Woods - Reckless Abandon

“Let me tell you what to hope for.”

“What?”

“Hope the NYPD catches the bastard, because they just might honor your warrant as a way of pissing off the FBI, which they love to do. Also, hope Trini doesn’t kill a cop in the process, because if that happens, they’ll never release him to you or the Feds.”

“I hope I see him on the street, so I can get just one clear shot at him.”

“Holly, this is not the O.K. Corral, and you are not Wyatt Earp. This is New York City; millions of people live here, and most of them are on the street every day.”

“Don’t you think I know that?”

Stone sighed. “I hope to God you do.”

“Did you call your friend Eduardo?”

“And when would I have had a chance to do that?” Stone put his empty cup into the paper bag and handed it to Holly. “All right, I’ll do it now.” He got out his cell phone and dialed the number. Pete answered and connected him.

“Good morning, Stone,” Eduardo said. “Have you had any luck finding this Trini fellow?”

“No, Eduardo, and this morning he killed an FBI agent who was guarding him and wounded another.”

“This man must be stopped,” Eduardo said.

“He’s on the run now, and I’d be grateful for any help you could give me in locating him.”

“I’ll make some calls,” Eduardo said. “Are you at home?”

“No, I’m on my cell phone.” Stone gave him the number, and Eduardo hung up.

“Happy?” he said to Holly.

“Deliriously,” she said grumpily.

A man in a raincoat walked up to Stone’s side of the car. “Excuse me,” he said.

Stone turned and looked up at him, only to find himself looking into both barrels of a sawed-off shotgun.

“I’ve got one over here, too,” Holly said.

“What can I do for you?” Stone asked, placing his hands on the steering wheel.

“You can do what you’re told,” the man said.

“Shoot,” Stone replied. “No, scrub that-I mean, your wish is my pleasure.”

“You got a good attitude,” the man said. “Get out of the car.”

THEY WERE MARCHED across the street and down the block by the two men wearing raincoats and carrying shotguns. As they moved down the street a pair of steel doors opened ahead of them and a freight elevator appeared.

“Hop on,” one of the men said.

They got on, the platform descended into the darkness below the sidewalk, and the doors closed above their heads. Before their eyes could become accustomed to the gloom, hands searched them and removed their weapons. Then they were shoved along a basement filled with crates of canned food and bottles of olive oil to a storeroom at the rear, where they were shoved rudely inside. The door was closed and bolted.

“All right, what now?” Holly said.

Stone couldn’t see her, or his own hand in front of his face. “You think I have a solution for this problem?”

“You’re resourceful. Think of something.”

“It’s your turn.”

She sighed loudly. “You want to just wait around here until Trini arrives and shoots us?”

“You think that’s the plan?”

“Well, I don’t think those two guys were with the FBI or the NYPD, do you?”

“Come to think of it, I don’t believe either of those groups ordinarily arms its people with sawed-off shotguns.”

“Well, that’s an astute observation.”

“It’s the best I can do in the dark.”

A light came on. It was a tiny flashlight, and Holly was holding it.

“You always carry a flashlight?”

“It’s on my key ring,” she said, aiming it around the room. All four walls were brick, and the floor concrete, with a large drain in the middle. Along the ceiling was a row of meat hooks.

“Uh-oh,” Stone said.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t tell me ‘nothing’; what ?”

“Turn off the light and save the batteries for when we need them.”

“Need them for what?”

“For seeing.”

“We need them now for seeing.”

“There’s nothing to see.”

“There’s those hooks. I don’t like the look of them.”

“Me, either. That’s why I said, ‘uh-oh.’ ”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“We’ve got to get out of here,” she said.

“I’d appreciate your thoughts on just how to do that.”

There was a long silence.

“Well?”

“I’m thinking about it,” she said.

Stone put his hand against the door and pushed. “Solid oak,” he said. “Firmly bolted.”

“Maybe if we both put our shoulders against it?”

“We’d bruise our shoulders quite badly.”

“What would you suggest?”

“We can wait for somebody to unbolt it, then put our shoulders against it. We might surprise them.”

“ Fuggedaboutit !” said a voice from outside the door.

Holly reached out and grabbed for Stone, then put her lips close to his ear. “I think they can hear us.”

“I think so, too,” Stone whispered back.

“Maybe we’d better shut up.”

“Good idea.”

“Don’t stop thinking, though.”

“I’m still thinking.”

A long silence.

“You come up with anything yet?” she whispered.

“Not yet.”

Another loud sigh. She switched on the light and turned it on some crates against the wall. “We can sit down,” she said.

They sat down.

“There’s even room to lie down,” she said.

“Are you sleepy?”

“No, I’m horny.”

“At a time like this?” he whispered.

“Well, it looks like we’re not going to live very long. It might be our last chance.”

“I don’t think I could rise to the occasion,” he whispered.

She put her hand on his thigh and felt for his zipper. “I’ll bet you can.”

“Holly.”

“What?”

“Not now.”

“If not now, when?” She got the zipper undone and began to feel around.

“You have a point,” he said, reaching for her.

SOMETHING WOKE STONE, and when he opened his eyes he was dazzled by the light from a single bulb in the ceiling. He shook Holly.

“Again?” she asked.

“Not right now. Look.” He pointed toward the door. A bottle of wine with the cork half removed and a paper bag were on the floor near the door.

Stone got up and retrieved them. Inside the bag were two paper cups, a large slice of Parmesan cheese, and a loaf of Italian bread. They fell upon the food.

“What time is it?” Holly asked, her mouth half full.

Stone consulted his watch. “A little after eight. Man, this is good cheese.”

“Bread, too,” she said. “Night or morning?”

“I don’t know. Night, would be my guess. More wine?”

“Please.”

He poured it for her, then gulped. “I just had a thought,” he said.

“Share it.”

“Last meal?”

“Stop sharing.”

They heard a noise coming from outside the door, steel clanking against concrete. It went on for some time, then it changed to the sound of a pick and shovel in dirt.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Stone said.

“Maybe it’s construction work.”

“Somehow, I don’t think so.”

“I told you to stop sharing.”

Stone walked over to the door and listened. The sounds were clearer and even less encouraging. He could hear two men grunting at their labor. “Why would they feed us, then kill us?” he asked.

The answer came back from the other side of the door. “Because I’m a romantic.”

“You’ve been listening to us, ah…”

“Screwing? Yeah. How could I help it?”

“Well, thanks for the food and wine.”

“Don’t mention it. Nice Chianti, huh?”