Stuart Woods - Below the Belt

“When was the last time your phones and your office were swept?”

“I don’t know, maybe last week.”

“A lot has happened since last week. We’ve talked about the birth certificates on the phone, too.”

“I’ll get Mike Freeman to send somebody over in the morning.”

“You could call Bob Cantor and have him do it now.”

“I’m not ready to panic yet, Dino.”

“What’s it going to take for that to happen?” Dino asked.

“If Ed Rawls turns up dead, then I’ll panic.”

“Well, when you get around to it, call me and I’ll help.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that.”

“You want dinner at Patroon?”

“You think I ought to leave the house?”

“I think leaving the house might be a good idea,” Dino said.

“I’ll see you at Patroon at seven-thirty, then.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven-fifteen. Don’t hang around out front, wait until you see the car.”

“All right.”

They both hung up. Stone tidied his desk and made a to-do list for the following day. He was about to leave when he decided to call Ed Rawls’s house one more time. He dialed the number, and it rang three times.

“Hello?”

The voice was not that of Ed Rawls.

“Who is this?”

“It’s Lance, Stone.”

“Any sign of Ed?”

“I’m in his study. A lamp has been knocked over and a drink spilled. The room smells like scotch.”

“What about his car?”

“It’s in the garage.”

“So he didn’t leave under his own power.”

“Apparently not. I haven’t searched the whole house yet, but I’ve got a team of specialists on their way here now.”

“I don’t think Ed is a morning or afternoon drinker,” Stone said. “If he was having a drink, it was probably last night.”

“That’s a good point.”

“I’m on my way out for dinner with Dino. Will you call me on my cell when you know more?”

“I will. Enjoy your dinner, I’m not going to enjoy mine for some time.” Lance hung up.

Stone saw Dino’s SUV outside and walked out Joan’s office entrance and into the car.

“Anything new?”

“I called Ed’s house and Lance answered. A lamp had been knocked over in Ed’s study and a scotch spilled.”

“Sounds like last night.”

“That’s what I said. His car is in the garage, so if he’s gone, he left with somebody else.”

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

“Neither do I.”

They arrived at the restaurant, sat down, and drinks were brought immediately. Ken Aretsky, the owner, came over. “You two don’t look happy,” he said. “Anything I can do?”

“Station somebody to keep an eye on our glasses and fill them when they get empty,” Dino said.

“You will not run dry.” Ken went about his business.

“When is Viv back?” Stone asked, for lack of anything else to say.

“Tomorrow.”

The two were uncharacteristically silent. They finished their drinks, and they were instantly refilled.

“We’d better not drink dinner,” Stone said. “Let’s order.”

They ordered and were waiting for dinner when Lance called.

“Hello, Lance.”

“My people are here and are still going through the house. Ed is not present, and they say that the house has been gone through by pros. They got Ed’s safe open in the study, but I don’t know if they got the strong case. There’s still some cash in there.”

“What do you think, Lance?”

“I think that, best case, Ed is in the trunk of somebody’s car. Worst case? Well...”

Ed Rawls gradually came to. They had injected him with something, and he felt numb all over. Gradually, it became clear to him that he was in the trunk of a large car, driving over smooth pavement. He was not bound or gagged, for which he was grateful. Probably, they had thought the drug would keep him out until they reached their destination.

As he became more conscious he began to explore his surroundings with his hands. He found a tire iron, which he put under his body, where he could reach it when he needed it.

There was a bit of light at the upper-right-hand corner of his space. He felt that surface, and it seemed to be the back of the rear seat. He pressed very slowly on the seat and a seam of light opened from top to bottom. Finally, he could see the back of a man’s head in the front passenger seat.

He continued to push the seat back, running his fingers down the crack of light slowly. The seat continued to give. Soon, light opened in the middle of the rear seat, which meant that it was not a bench, but divided. He could see the back of the driver’s head now, and the two men were talking, something about sports.

Ed stopped pushing on the seat. It was clear that he could press on it until it would leave half the trunk exposed, but the driver might catch that in the rearview mirror. He pushed again, but the seat back came to a stop, as if there were an obstacle to its opening. Ed got his whole hand through the opening, feeling for the obstruction, and he found it.

He ran his hand over the surface and suddenly, he knew what it was. The butt of a rifle or shotgun. He got a good grip on the stock and twisted it, to free the barrel from any obstruction; he swung the weapon and shortly, the barrel was in the foot well, and he had a firm grip on the stock. He worked the barrel along until it was touching the rear door, then he tightened his grip on the stock and pulled it into the trunk. A couple more pulls and he had possession of a police riot gun, the kind with an eighteen-and-a-quarter-inch barrel. He slid the action back far enough to reveal a shell in the chamber, then let it close.

He got a good grip on the seat back and pulled it closed. All was dark again. He arranged his body so as to be comfortable, with the shotgun lying along his right side, so that it wouldn’t be seen when the trunk opened, then he relaxed and waited for developments.

The car seemed to leave a limited-access highway, perhaps an interstate, and made a right turn. A couple of minutes later, they made another right turn onto a road that was noisier and a little rougher, probably gravel or dirt. The road wound left and right and finally made another right turn onto crunchier gravel, then it pulled up.

Ed heard the two front doors slam and footsteps on both sides of the car. He closed his eyes and made an effort to relax and let his mouth hang open. The trunk door opened.

“Let’s get him inside,” one of the men said. Somebody grabbed his left arm and pulled, and he used the opportunity to bring the barrel around and rap the knuckles sharply, raising a cry of pain.

“Oh, shit, Manny, he’s got your shotgun,” one of them said.

“That’s right, I’ve got your shotgun,” Ed said. “You should know that it’s loaded and the safety is off, and my finger is on the trigger. Take one big step back, both of you.”

The two men obeyed. While keeping the shotgun trained on them, Ed got an elbow under his body and pushed himself upright. He swung his legs over the threshold of the trunk and pushed until he could rest his feet on the ground.

“Now,” Ed said, “you’re going to do exactly as I say, and the punishment for not doing what I say is going to be a shotgun blast to the knee. You’ll survive, if your buddy can get a tourniquet on you fast enough, but you’ll likely lose the leg when you get to a hospital. Everybody got that?”

“Yes, sir,” both men said simultaneously.

“Now, put your hands on top of your head and interlink your fingers.”

Both men complied.

Ed searched the one on the left and found a pistol, a flashlight, and a pair of handcuffs on his belt. He relieved the man of those implements and tossed them into the open trunk. “On your knees,” Ed said. The man complied, and Ed searched the other one, finding the same items, along with a spare magazine. “On your knees,” he said. The man complied.