CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MAX
They’re still trying to slap some sense into O’Neil when I step out of the cage. Good luck, I think. He’s not dead, but he’s certainly not getting up any time soon.
Still, I’ve taken a beating. Pops always called this being ‘bagged.’ All I know is that it fucking hurts. There’s a ringing in my ears I can’t seem to shake. My ribs feel like they’ve been sandblasted, and my left eye’s glued over. It will all heal, but none of it matters because Dawn is waiting there.
Someone hands me a towel. I wipe the blood from my face as best I can, hand the towel back like it’s a bloody Shroud of Turin.
Before Dawn can get to me, Bobby cuts in front of her, extending his hand. I take it. He’s flanked by the guy with the ponytail. “Well done, my friend. You had me going for a while there.”
“I figured I’d give everyone a show,” I reply.
He smiles, but something’s not right. “That you did. I’ll see you, and your friend, back at the casino.”
He leaves. Dawn comes forward to embrace me. I wince.
“Sorry,” she says, pulling back. “You look…”
“Like I’ve been wrestling a tank?”
“Something like that. I didn’t think you were going to… you know.”
“Win? I sure as hell wasn’t going to lose. We’ve come too far for that.”
I nod to Sam in the crowd. He gives a small salute in return before hobbling away.
Dawn turns, spots him. “Friend of yours?”
“You could say that.”
Dawn brushes off my shoulder. “I put a bet down on you.”
“A what?”
She acts sheepish. “A bet, at the Wild Horse. The guy said you were four-to-one. Is that good?”
I laugh. “If you’re asking if they’re good odds, then no, they’re not. If you’re asking how much you’ve won, it depends how much you put down. What was it? Ten, fifty dollars?”
She bites her lip, taking a receipt from her pocket. “Five-thousand.”
“Five-thousand?” I repeat, stunned. I lower my voice. “Where the hell did you get five grand from?”
“I’m a natural at the game with the cards and the twenty-one thing, what’s it called? Blackcrack or something?”
“Blackjack?”
“Yeah.”
I blow air out through pursed lips. “Jesus. I’m glad you didn’t tell me about this before the fight.”
She sees the look on my face. “Are you mad?”
“That you’ve won twenty-five grand?”
“How much?”
“You heard me.”
She lets go of my arms. “Whoa.”
“Yeah, ‘whoa’.”
“I guess you’ll get your dream after all, if we can get our hands on Rick, because this is far from over.”
She nods. “You’re right, but twenty-five thousand! I mean, dayum.”
“Keep your voice down. The last thing we need is news like that getting out. Do not lose that receipt.”
She pats her jeans pocket. “Safe and sound.”
“Let’s go.” It’s the guy with the ponytail again. “It’s time.”
I take hold of Dawn. “We’re almost there. You good?”
She nods.
We follow ponytail guy out to the limo. I just hope it’s not heading deeper into the desert.
*
We arrive back at the Wild Horse, both of us escorted down to the counting room where Bobby is waiting, sitting at one of the tables, stacks of bills before him like the first time we met.
The door closes when we’re through, but three goons wait inside with us, standing at the rear. It’s not a good sign.
I push Dawn behind me and step forward to Bobby. “I won, you give up Rick. That was the agreement.”
Bobby stands. “Relax, superstar. I’m a man of my word.”
I’m keen to get the fuck out of here. I’m exhausted, tired. I can barely stand. “So, you’ll do it?”
He looks up at the ceiling, his face screwing up. “Nah. I don’t think I will.”
I run forward, almost making it to him before I’m restrained by the goons. Normally I could fight them off, but the match has sapped all my strength. I’m weak and Bobby’s taking advantage of it. “Saul will hear about this, you fucker.”
“Will he?” says Bobby. “Because dead men don’t talk, my friend, and your time’s up.”
I struggle harder, but I can’t do it, my arms are pinned behind me, a foot driven into my back bringing me to my knees.
Bobby stalks closer, Dawn off to the side.
“I don’t care what happens to me, but leave her out of this,” I shout.
Bobby stops before her, looking her up and down. “Oh, I’ve got something in mind for her, don’t you worry.”
I summon all my strength, managing to get free but easily reined back in. “I’ll fucking kill you!”
Bobby stops, crouching in front of me, inspecting the floor. “Enough chit-chat.” He speaks to the goons. “Deal with it.”
I cannot fucking believe I didn’t see this coming. I’m pissed. “I fucking won, and you’re doing this? What do you think’s going to happen when Saul hears about this?”
“Let him come,” laughs Bobby. “He’s been biting on that Big Apple of his for too long.
Bobby walks forward until I can smell the nicotine on his breath, the filthy, grimy stink of it. “You were supposed to drop like a good boy, but no, you had to be the hero, didn’t you?”
What the fuck? “You wanted me to lose?”
“Out,” he tells the goons. “No evidence.”
I struggle again, but it’s useless.
“Max?” asks Dawn. She’s shaking against the wall. Bobby walks over and takes her by the arm. “Come on, green eyes. We’ve got business of our own.”
“Touch her and I’ll fucking kill you!” I scream, but the door closes. They’re gone.
I’m done.
She’s done.
It’s all gone to hell.
*
I’ve been out to the desert before. God knows how many bodies are out here, how many deals have gone down, lives broken.
I sit next to a goon in the back of a Hummer, another driving, the slick black of the road turning into a dusty trail and then no trail at all as we head deep into the hills.
I don’t speak. I don’t react. I try to think my way out of this, use my head, but I keep returning to Bobby, my mind conjuring up what Bobby’s going to do with Dawn. He won’t kill her. No, a pretty girl like that is too valuable, so there’s that, but the alternative might be worse. Whatever it is, it’s not going to be a cocktail party by the pool. I’ve got to get back to her, whatever it takes. That is my number-one priority.
You’re outnumbered, outgunned. You’re going to shout these pricks to death?
But I can’t give up.
I won’t.
By the time we arrive in a shallow depression, bordered on all sides by sand and rock, the sun’s low. The goons’ shadows are long as they pull me from the car. They wrench me down, gripping me by the cuffs keeping my hands locked behind my back.
The heat lingers out here, but it’s cooling fast. People have frozen to death in the desert.
“Where?” says one goon to the other.
The other wipes his brow. They’re both in suits. They haven’t bothered to take off their jackets, which probably means they don’t expect this to take very long. Goon Two points at a group of cacti. “There.”
“Isn’t that where he buried the last one?” Goon One asks.
“So fucking what?” says the other. He gestures down to the ground. “You want to put him here, with the others? We’re running out of fucking room. Over there, and let’s be quick about it. I’ve got a date tonight.”
“With your hand?” I suggest. “Or your mother?”
The punch connects right on the edge of my jaw, kicking me down onto one knee. I spit out a wad of blood. “I know little girls who hit harder than that.”
I cop a boot in the side for that one, but it’s distraction enough.
You see, the benefit of being celled up with a contortionist for three months is the education. I grimace as I dislocate my thumb, keeping the cuffs out of sight, one cuff now dangling free. I grip the loose cuff, fist it up like a knuckle duster… and wait. The timing’s got to be perfect.
“On your fucking feet, pretty boy.”
I’m led across the depression to the grove of cacti. Arriving, I see the ground has recently been disturbed. How many bodies are here? Hundreds? Thousands? It’s a big area, and Bobby has a lot of enemies. They all do.
I’m not about to become part of the landscape.
Goon One gets out his gun, a Desert Eagle, funnily enough. He holds it up.
“What?” I ask. “You’re not going to make me get down on my knees?”
“What’s the fucking difference?” says Goon Two.
I shrug. “Thought you might like me to suck your cock. I know how you guys love that gay shit.”
The second goon looks at the first on the other side of me. “Can you believe this guy?”
It’s all the distraction I need.
I snap backwards, out of the line of fire, grabbing Goon One’s arm, wrapping my own around it and directing his gun to the second goon’s leg. I fire.
Goon Two goes down, his knee cap blown out. He reaches for his own weapon, but I fire again, half of his fingers gone.
He cries out as I use my cuffed hand to strike down on Goon One’s wrist, dislodging the Desert Eagle. It falls to the ground and I go to work on his face, metal meeting flesh. He goes down hard, a crosshatch of bloody cuts on his face.
I turn to the second goon, busy trying to use his only five-fingered hand to pull his gun free.
I stand over him, my shadow long. “Don’t fucking do it.”
He goes to pull the gun free, but he’s not quick enough. I punch him right in the face, the blow slamming him into the ground, knocking him unconscious.
I collect the guns, putting one down the back of my pants and taking hold of the other.
I fucking hate these things, but this has to be done.
Goon One’s groaning, hands over his broken nose. I fish through his pockets, finding the keys. He groans again as I take hold of the side of his face, pressing it into the ground. I place the muzzle of the gun against his knee cap. “One question. You answer it, you get to keep the use of your legs today. If not, you can wind up like your buddy over there. Where’s Bobby taking the girl?”
Nothing.
I lean down closer to his ear. “I didn’t hear that, sorry.”
“Fuck. You,” comes the weak reply.
I fire, a hellish scream following, the stench disgusting.
I move the muzzle to the other knee cap, forced to use my arm to pin him down.
“Oh, Christ,” he mutters. “Oh, Jesus.”
I shake my head. “Saint fucking Peter himself couldn’t help you now,” I tell him. “I’ve got six rounds left. I’ll use every one of them if I have to, leave you here to bleed, leave you to the coyotes.”
I press down harder with the muzzle.
He barks out a name.
I press down harder. “The address. What’s the fucking address?”
He gives it, breathing hard.
I keep the muzzle there. I should do it. This guy’s bad news, but I pull it away, separating the gun and mag and tossing each in opposite directions. I slip the other down the back of my jeans.
I find his cell in his pocket, crushing it under my boot. I take out my own cell and wallet from him, pocketing it and moving over to his friend. I hunt for his cell, smashing it the same way. The last thing I want is for them to raise the alarm and tip off Bobby to my sudden resurrection.
“It’s a long walk back to the road. Better get moving,” I announce, punching the address into my cell.
The conscious goon doesn’t say anything else as I run to the Hummer, throwing open the driver’s door. It’s going to take over an hour to get there—an hour where Bobby can do whatever he likes to the woman I love.
I turn the ignition and slam my foot down on the accelerator.
“Not today.”