Greg Iles - The Devils Punchbowl

“Ad

vice.”

Walt holds her eye, forcing her to see him straight.

“Okay, okay, let’s hear it.”

“It’s nothing you haven'’t heard before. But I want you to listen this time. Find another line of work.”

“Great. Thanks, granddad. You know how hard it is in this town to find a job that pays what I make on my back?”

“Find a new town. Girls don'’t live long in this racket.”

For a few brief seconds Nancy looks back at him without affect, completely vulnerable, almost hopeful, but then a dealer calls a win, and she blinks, and the walls go back up, her eyes as opaque as plaster marbles.

“Take care, Nancy. And thanks. You brought me luck.”

CHAPTER

47

Caitlin has no idea how long she’s been locked in the car trunk when the vehicle finally stops. As soon as she woke up, she found a taillight with her foot and kicked it out, but though she stuck her hand through the hole and waved it wildly, no one stopped the car.

Two doors open and close, then the trunk pops open. Someone lifts the lid. She hears gruff commands—the accents Irish. Powerful hands seize her and lift her out of the trunk, letting her feet dangle to the ground. Fear is loose in her like a wild thing, but she keeps telling herself that if they meant to kill her, they could have done it before now. She’s glad they'’re holding her up. With the hood over her head, it’s difficult to maintain balance.

“I'm holding a Taser,” says a voice. “Try to run, I'’ll juice you. You won'’t like it. I can tell you from experience.”

They march her forward at a rapid clip, then stop. There’s a jangle of keys. Suddenly she hears panting. A barrage of barking erupts close to her, and she hears heavy bodies slamming into a Cyclone fence. All at once she remembers Linda’s note, about Quinn feeding Ben Li to dogs.

“Get ’em back!” shouts an Irishman. “Goddamn it, go! Use bait if you have to.”

One man lets go of Caitlin, but the yammering dogs keep hitting the fence. Caitlin wants to speak, but duct tape holds her jaw immo

bile. After about a minute, the dogs race away and slam into what must be a different fence. There’s a metallic rattle, then the sound of an opening gate.

The man drags her through, then opens a door and leads her into a closed space that stinks of urine, old food, and dirty animals. She smells alcohol too, rubbing alcohol, plus other medical odors she can’t identify. The floor feels like bare cement. They march her twenty steps, then stop and open another door with a key. This sounds like a real door, not a gate. Someone shoves her between the shoulder blades, driving her into the room. She almost stumbles, but keeps her feet long enough to collide with a wall opposite the door.

“We’re going to take the hood off. Be still, or you get the juice. Nod if you understand.”

Caitlin nods once.

The black hood is whipped off her head, and blinding fluorescent light stabs her eyes. After a few seconds, she realizes it’s just a cheap bulb, and her vision clears. One man stands in front of her, wearing a balaclava mask. His lips show through the mask; they look bright red, filled with blood. His eyes are gray and hungry.

“Take off your clothes,” he says.

“What?”

“Get ’em off!”

“No.”

He jabs the Taser at her. “You do it or I do. It’ll hurt less if you do it.”

“Why do you want my clothes?”

“Fuckin’ hell, you mouthy cunt. Do what I tell ya!”

Caitlin pulls her T-shirt over her head, then slides her jeans down and steps out of them.

“Panties too. Everything.”

With a hiss of anger, she pulls down the panties and tosses them at his feet.

“Not bad,” he says, his voice muffled by the hood. “A little skinny for my taste, but, damn, you’re a thoroughbred, aren'’t you?”

“What do you think this is going to accomplish?”

“Ah…well, that’s up to your boyfriend, I reckon. You too. Lucky for you, he’s got something we need. But let’s see how coop erative you can be, eh? You shave it a little close down there, don'’t ya? I like it natural.”

It takes a supreme act of will, but Caitlin turns and faces the wall. A barred window is set in it, but the bars don'’t look strong enough to hold a determined prisoner. She expects to feel the bite of the Taser at any moment, but all she hears is a closing door.

She starts to turn, but then the door opens again, just wide enough for a head. “Hey, I like that side too. Better than the front, I think. I'’ll be seein’ ya, princess. Oh, yeah. Lots to look forward to.”

This time when the door closes, a key turns in the lock, a heavy bolt shoots home, and muted steps go down the corridor.

Caitlin turns slowly in place, taking in every detail of the room. It’s a simple square with plywood walls, a concrete floor, and a low ceiling that looks like the underside of a tin roof. A plastic dog bowl sits on the floor, filled with water. A pail stands beside it, empty, and she realizes that this is to be her toilet. A door slams somewhere, and the walls of her cell vibrate.

“Well, this is what you get,” she says aloud, walking forward and testing the bars with a steady pull. The bars aren'’t set in the window, but screwed over it. She could have them off in a couple of hours.

It can’t be that easy,

she thinks. Then she remembers the dogs.

“Fuck,” she whispers, realizing her situation at last. The bars weren’t put here to hold a human in this room, but a dog.

I can use my wonderful opposable thumb to get the bars off, but the dogs are outside, hoping I'’ll drop through that window like food through a chute.

The sound of an engine reaches her, and after a grinding of gears, it slowly recedes into silence. Thinking they’ve left her alone, Caitlin nearly jumps out of her skin when something bumps the wall to her left. At first she thinks it’s a dog, but then the sound comes again, a steady tapping against the plywood, low down on the wall. She drops into a crouch and puts her cheek against the wood.

“Is someone there?”

Three slow taps respond.

“Who are you?” Caitlin asks.

“Who are

you?”

“Caitlin Masters.”

There’s silence for a few moments. Then a muffled female voice says, “Penn Cage’s old girlfriend?”

“Yes! Tell me your name.”

There’s a long pause. Then the voice says, “Are you for real?”

“What do you mean?”

“You could be with them. Helping them. Quinn.”

“My God, no! They just kidnapped me. I’'ve been looking for Linda Church. Is that you, Linda?”

“You tell me the rest first. Why would they kidnap you?”

“Penn got your note—from that Pentecostal girl. He thought you’d got away safe, but I wasn'’t sure. I wanted to find you. I never stopped looking for you, Linda. I traced that girl from the Oneness church. And then the preacher, Simpson.”

Caitlin hears soft whimpering. “I want to believe you.”

“Linda, is it really you? Please tell me. What can it hurt? They already know you’re here. They

put

you here.”

“I guess. I can’t think right anymore. I'm sick. My leg’s infected.”

Caitlin remembers this from the note. She’d forgotten it, assuming that Linda had got medical care by now. “Do you have fever?”