“Don’t answer,” Ray said.
“We should arm them,” Cassandra said.
Armstrong nodded. “Okay. We have extra hand guns. If we need to get you, we’ll rap twice, pause, and twice more; and then we’ll identify ourselves. If you don’t hear that knock, don’t answer the door. That goes for everybody. If someone forces their way in, shoot to kill.”
“We should have a sign for skedaddle,” Wrenn said.
Armstrong thought a moment. “Danger! That will be the sign to get in your vehicles and get out of here. We should head for South Dakota again and follow the original route.”
“Sounds like the plan,” Ray said.
“Me and Bones will take the first watch on the roof. The rest of you, go to your rooms and wait for the Hogs,” Chad said, smiling.
A few minutes later Foote came to Pamela and Eugene’s rooms with two Berettas. He got them together to show them how to use the military weapons. “This is the safety. Keep it on until you need to use the weapon. This is a nine millimeter, semi-automatic pistol. You hold it like this.”
Foote aimed at the rear wall. He showed how to hold the pistol with two hands. “Get a good athletic stand with knees bent and about shoulder distance apart. Stick your fanny out like this. Keep your trigger finger on the guard—not the trigger—until you’re ready to shoot. Here’s the safety. The weapon is ready to fire when you see the red dot. Aim at the middle of the guy’s chest, and fire.”
Colderon and his Hogs raced up Rte. 89. It was late when they got to the motel where they pulled off the kidnapping. Piper’s car was there.
“You got a tracker?” Colderon said to Piggy, his squad leader.
“Yeah.”
“Put it on the clunker she’s using.”
Piggy got out and walked to the car. Shots rang out, and Piggy went down. Colderon cut out of the parking lot. He turned around, entered the back lot, and then waited.
Armstrong and Bones came out slowly. Bones pulled out his Berretta and trained it on Piggy. He was moving a little, but there wasn’t much blood. They disarmed the Hog, and then Armstrong motioned for Bones to help carry him into their room.
“Rubber bullets,” Bones said.
They tied him up and muzzled him in Armstrong’s room, while Chad fished out his phone. “I know a way we can get what we need out of him,” he said.
Armstrong hung up, and the two went to Ray and Cassandra’s room, gave the proper knock, identified themselves, and entered.
“What happened out there?” both of them demanded.
“It was the Hogs,” Armstrong said. “They came. Wrenn and Foote shot one of them. We have him tied up in my room. Colderon is in the back parking lot as we speak, but I’ve got an idea. I called Dr. Schmidt, Dr. Grifton, and the woman who’s with them, and told them to come here. They’re leaving right away, but they’re bringing all their chemicals. Schmidt told me that one of the drugs acts as a kind of truth serum. Doctors Schmidt and Grifton know how to use them properly. This way we can learn what the Hogs are up to, what they know, what their plans are, and any other pertinent information we can get. Bones, why don’t you go over there and let Pamela and Eugene know what’s going on. They’ll be here tomorrow.”
“What about the Hogs in back?” Cassandra asked.
“We do exactly what they’re doing—wait.”
Schmidt wouldn’t get there until tomorrow. In the meantime, Armstrong was interrogating Piggy. The motel manager never saw Colderon and never knew about any impending contention between two enemy groups.
“Can you at least tell me what to call you?”
“Piggy.”
“Like a real Hog, huh?”
Piggy didn’t say anything. He just ate his sandwich. “I ain’t telling you nothin’ else.”
“Oh, I think you will,” Armstrong said with a slight smile on his face.
“Fuck!” Piggy snorted. “Why do you think that?”
“Because everyone talks eventually.”
Piggy, an ex-Blue and close confidant of Carlos Colderon, was tough and true to his word—he wouldn’t talk. He looked like an overstuffed Panda Bear. Born Jevaun Williams from Jamaica, this dark-complexioned big man was Carlos’s muscle guy. He once took on a pack of five drug dealers, broke one guy’s jaw with a single punch, slapped another to the ground, picked up two more, and slammed them to the ground. The last man ran off. The only way to tackle this guy was to shoot him first.
Ray O’Reilly released his handcuffs periodically so he could eat, while Armstrong kept a gun on him. Piggy would always laugh at the treatment, though Armstrong knew that Ray was his equal in strength.
With Schmidt on the way, Piggy began laughing as he finished his sandwich.
“What’s so funny, Piggy?” Armstrong said.
“You can’t get no… info.” Then he started laughing again, imitating the Rolling Stones song, Satisfaction. “Can’t get no… info. No, no, info. You can try, and try, and try, and try, but you can’t get no… info.” Then he just laughed again. He put down the sandwich and looked up at Armstrong with a grin. “You wanna know why?” Then he raised his voice. “Cause I don’t know nothin’, ha-ha. Hog don’t tell nothin’ to nobody who ain’t got no business knowin’ nothin’, ha-ha.”
Armstrong looked at him with a grin on his face too. Then he leaned over to Piggy. “You know stuff, and then I’m gonna know stuff. Finish your sandwich.”
Someone knocked at the door, but not the secret knock. Armstrong was cautious, but he was expecting the two doctors.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Doctor Schmidt.”
Armstrong opened the door. He gave him his room key, told him to go next door, and that he would be there in about ten minutes. Armstrong waited for Piggy to finish eating, then Ray tied him up, muzzled him, and the two went to Ray and Cassandra’s room. They were relieved from roof duty by Foote and Wrenn. Ray and Cassandra volunteered to take Armstrong’s place so that Armstrong could command operations from the ground. He explained his plan to everyone, and then went to Schmidt’s room.
“This room is not acceptable,” Schmidt said. “Too many beds. I need a single room with a single bed. Then, what are you going to do about maid service? I can’t have some damn maid coming into my laboratory.”
“I’ll take care of it, Schmidt.”
“Doctor Schmidt.”
“Yeah, Doctor Schmidt. Where’s the other esteemed doctor?”
“Dr. Grifton is in the van watching the equipment.”
“What about the woman you said was with you?”
“Wait!” Schmidt dialed a number. “Dr. Schmidt here. Where are you?”
(Pause) “Oh, okay. You know where we are, right?”
(Pause) “Good. Come to room 117.”
(Pause) “Good.” He hung up. Turning to the other three, “She’s on her way. Should be here in about half an hour. Now, what about my room and my privacy?”
Armstrong went to the front office. He was gone about ten minutes. He knocked twice on Schmidt’s room, paused, and knocked twice again. Then he said softly, “Armstrong.” He let him in.
“Everything’s set.”
“You got my room?”
“One each for you, Dr. Grifton, and the woman.”
“And the bed?”
“The manager is going to remove the other bed in there. You’ll have a single bed for you and your lab.”
“And this was okay with the manager?” Schmidt asked.
“Of course it is,” Armstrong said. “He hasn’t had so much business in ten years’ worth of off seasons. When I showed him an extra five one hundred dollar bills, his eyes lit up. Then he says ‘you don’t have an orgy going on, do you?’ And I said, ‘so what if we do?’ Then he says, ‘Just don’t do anything to attract the cops.’ I said, ‘sure’. The extra bed will be gone in an hour.”