John Locke - Wish List

“She’s not expecting you before midnight. But don’t worry, you can call her at the next stop.”

“When will that be?”

“Couple hours.”

“I’m going to need to pee before then.”

“Feel free to do so. It’s your car, after all.”

“Look, Mr. Creed, you can’t just—”

I knocked him unconscious with my fist. Something I should have done hours ago.

Two hours later we crossed the Crawford, Indiana county line into Harrison. I took the first exit and doubled back on the two lane to a gravel road I’d used a couple of times before that led to a dense, secluded area. After a few minutes I found the dirt road I was seeking, and followed it until it dead ended in the woods. I put the limo in park and kept the lights on.

Then I got out and walked to the back of the car and opened the cabin door and pulled Jinny Kidwell’s lifeless body off the back seat.

Chapter 6

Jinny was unconscious, not dead, but by the time I got her wrist chained to a tree in the deep woods, she had begun to stir. I chained Harrison Ford to another tree, twenty feet away. I didn’t know how long I’d be gone, and didn’t want my prisoners to get dehydrated, so I took six bottles of water from the limo bar and divided them up, along with the blankets I’d brought from Jinny’s trailer.

Then I forced Jinny and Harrison to scream at the top of their lungs, until their voices were raw, and waited to see if anyone showed up to help them. No one did. I drove away, waited twenty minutes, then returned, and found them sitting by their respective trees, crying. I think they’d probably gotten their hopes up when hearing the car approach, but were saddened to learn it was me.

I hung around a few minutes and listened patiently as they gave me all their reasons why I shouldn’t leave them there, and then I left them there.

Chapter 7

Buddy’s house was a baby shit yellow split-level ranch, with green shutters and clogged gutters. It was the second house on a wide, tree-lined street that featured a dozen similar homes. Buddy and Lissie’s subdivision consisted of six through streets and four dead-end cul de sacs, eighty-three homes in all. A nice middle-class subdivision, from what I could tell by jogging it twice and studying everything within my field of vision. Specifically, I was looking for anything out of place: a limo other than mine, a van that might contain people with surveillance equipment, gangsters guarding the house, a mariachi band, a conga line filled with cartoon characters…

But nothing caught my eye except for the sad-faced octogenarian two blocks over, who walked to the center of his yard to retrieve his newspaper. He stood out because he was dressed in nothing more than an open bathrobe and a giant adult diaper.

“You think it’s easy?” he yelled. “Huh? You think it’s easy?”

I had no idea. But it looked pretty easy. As I passed him he yelled, “I get no visitors! You think it would kill them to show up once in a while? All I ask is one time, to have some visitors.”

I made a mental note of his address.

Other than him, I saw nothing. Buddy was right. These Wish List people were good.

What I did expect to see was Buddy. On his porch, out by his mailbox, looking out his window, or just standing in his driveway. After all, we had an appointment. Having offered me a million dollars to protect his wife, he’d have been here, if he had a choice.

I needed to establish contact. Unless I broke into his home, I wouldn’t know if anyone was holding a gun on him and Lissie. And if someone did happen to be inside, guarding them, I could get killed trying to break in. Therefore, a phone call seemed in order.

Buddy had told me his phone was bugged, but I didn’t intend to say anything that should raise any eyebrows. But when I called, Lissie answered frantically.

“Buddy?”

I disguised my voice. “Actually, I’m calling for Buddy. Is he there?”

She paused a few seconds, trying to place my voice. It probably seemed familiar to her. My friend and former associate, Callie Carpenter, claims my fake voice is terrible. She swears I sound like Sponge Bob Square Pants.

Lissie said, “Mr. Jefferson?”

I said, “No…”

“Perkins?”

“No, ma’am. I’m sorry. Is Buddy there?”

“Who is this?”

I hung up. Although nothing concrete had been said between us, I’d learned a few things: Buddy wasn’t home. Lissie had been expecting his call. And she thought he was with a Mr. Jefferson, or Perkins, the limo driver Buddy had referred to as being dangerous.

I believed there were no gangsters in the house with Lissie because I, myself, have held people hostage in their homes, and when the phone rang, I always reminded them what to say and how to say it before answering. Since Lissie had answered my call on the first ring, I doubted there was any dangerous physical presence in her home at that time.

But I knew that would change quickly, because Rudy’s people were not only monitoring the interior of the house with cameras, they were also monitoring Buddy’s phone. They would immediately send a car to make a surveillance sweep of the neighborhood after hearing my call. I mean, who phones someone at the crack of dawn using a disguised voice, unless they’re up to something? I didn’t want to be out on the street when they arrived, but if I loitered too long near the house waiting to ambush them, some early rising neighbor might see me and call the cops.

I quickly broke into the side door of Buddy’s garage, entered it, and looked around for hidden cameras. Within a minute I found three, along with two bundles of cash. Did I mention Buddy was a complete sap? I left the money where I found it, and kept searching the garage until I saw a can of black spray paint, which I squirted onto the pinhole cameras that had filmed my every move.

If I knew where the money was, the Wish List people certainly knew. So why would they let Buddy keep it? Was it possible they intended to abide by their agreement? If so, Buddy might be wrong about Lissie’s life being in danger.

Unless he refused to repay one of his wishes.

I had originally intended to break into Buddy’s house, render Lissie unconscious, and get her to safety. I mean, it would have been nice if I could have knocked on her door and said, “Lissie, I’m a former CIA assassin. Buddy hired me to protect you. Let’s go!” Or maybe call her and tell her to run out the door and go somewhere safe. That would be simple, and she could probably get away before the Wish List people could get a car here. But I had no reason to think she’d listen to a total stranger. For one thing, she’d been hovering over the phone, waiting for Buddy to call. She wouldn’t just run away without hearing from him. For another, they probably had a tracking device on her car, so she wouldn’t get far. Nor was she likely to willingly climb into a car with me.

Since the cameras had caught me in the garage, I’d have to scrap my original plan. There simply wasn’t enough time to get Lissie to my car before they arrived.

And there was something else.

While searching the garage I found something that changed the playing field and made me want to leave immediately: I’d seen wires running through one of the vents. The kind of wires demolition experts attach to plastic explosives.

Chapter 8

I burst out the garage door, jumped the back fence, and ran to the far side of the subdivision, where I’d parked the limo. As I threw the car in gear, I wondered why they hadn’t detonated the garage the moment I sprayed the camera lenses. But they hadn’t, and that probably meant…well, I didn’t know what that meant. But I booked it out of there and hoped Lissie would be safe until I came up with another plan. It would be difficult, since all the action would be taking place in a self-contained neighborhood, where at least one garage was wired with explosives. Also, I knew next to nothing about who I was dealing with, how many were involved, or what their motives were.