Bowen shoved him sideways. He wiped the hair gel from his hand on the back of the calfskin seat. “Come on, Joey,” he said. “I just helped out your boxing career. Now you don’t have to worry about so many teeth.”
“Whath the hell?” Benavides said. He sounded like he had a mouthful of marbles. “Do you know who I work for?”
“Wait,” Thibodaux said, grimacing. “Don’t tell me you’re with ID.” He shot a fearful glance at Bowen. “We’re done, brother. They’ll arrest us for sure now, steal our clothes, and send this jackass in to rape us…” He cuffed Benavides on the back of the head with a hand the size of a pie pan. “What the hell’s the matter with you? Of course, we know who you work for, cochon.”
“Why are you doing this?” Benavides whimpered. “I… I… don’t even know you guys…” Each breath brought a wincing gasp as he sucked air over the freshly broken teeth.
“Waaa,” Thibodaux mocked. “I don’t even know you guys.” He looked at Bowen, telling him it was his turn.
“Where is she?” Bowen said. The “tell me or I’ll kick your ass” was implied.
Benavides gulped. “Look, guys. I—”
Thibodaux cuffed him again. “I swear, Joey…” A slap from the big man was the equivalent of being hit in the head with a baseball.
“Where?” Bowen repeated.
“Bethesda,” Joey said. “A secure wing of the psychiatric hospital.”
Bowen shot a glance at Thibodaux, who raised the brow on his good eye.
“Makes sense,” the Cajun said.
“Are they going to take her in front of a judge?” Bowen asked.
Benavides braced himself for another blow from Thibodaux. A smear of bloody drool dripped from the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know.” He choked back a sob. “I’m just a grunt. I do what Walter tells me to. He’s the one running the show.”
“I guess your boss wouldn’t be too happy to hear you’re blabbing your head off in a bar,” Bowen mused.
Benavides slumped even farther in his seat, defeated. “He’d kill me.”
“Okay,” Bowen said, “Walter doesn’t need to know anything. As long as you keep me informed about Director Ross.”
“That’s all?”
Thibodaux loomed over the backseat. “Hell no, that ain’t all,” he said. “Both hands on the wheel and hum quietly to yourself while I make a call. Don’t be listenin’ in. That’ll get you killed.”
Benavides looked as though he’d been shot. “I can’t help but hear if you talk sitting back there. Can’t… can’t you just step out of the car if it’s a secret call?”
Bowen stifled a chuckle as Thibodaux pressed the phone to his ear and swatted Benavides in the back of the head. “I told you to hum.”
Joey B began to hum something unrecognizable — far from the mighty songs of himself he’d been crooning earlier.
Thibodaux hit him again. “Would you shut up,” he snapped. “I’m on the phone.”
Bowen had to look away to keep from laughing.
Dazed and confused, Benavides leaned his forehead on the steering wheel, bloody lips emitting something in between a sob and a hum.
“It’s me, sir,” Thibodaux said in the backseat. “Yes…”
Bowen wasn’t sure who the Cajun was talking to, but it was someone he trusted. Thibodaux ran down the specifics of the conversation with Joey Benavides — who hummed louder every time his name was mentioned.
“Yes, sir,” Thibodaux said after he finished his report. He listened intently, nodding and making just enough noise so the other party knew he was still on the line. “I understand, sir,” he said at length. “No, I agree. It has to be done. We’ll take care of it.”
“What has to be done?” Benavides sobbed, unable to contain himself. “You don’t have to do anything…”
“Ahhh.” Thibodaux tilted his head to the side and leaned over the seat. “Somebody’s been listenin’ when I told them not to…”
Benavides deflated like an empty balloon.
“Here’s the deal, Joey B,” Thibodaux said. “Turns out Director Ross will be moved today. You’re gonna call me and tell me where they’re takin’ her.”
Benavides groaned. “I’m not approved to know that kind of thing before it happens.”
“Well go and get your ass approved,” Thibodaux whispered. “Because if you screw me around, I’m gonna come to your house and mess up your shit.” He leaned in so his eye patch was almost touching Joey B’s cheek. “And I don’t mean your stuff. I mean your actual shit. Your house will be covered in little tiny bits of what was once you. Understand?”
Benavides nodded quickly, forehead wrinkled like his head was about to explode. Unintelligible whimpers gurgled from his throat.
“I’m done here,” Thibodaux said. “Being near this guy makes me feel like I might catch PMS.”
Bowen looked at him.
“Puny Man Syndrome,” Thibodaux said.
Bowen gave a slow nod. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too.” He raised a brow at Joey B. “Not a word to your bosses about our meeting.”
Benavides dabbed at his split lip. “What do I tell them about what happened to my face?”
“Not our problem,” Thibodaux said. He flung open the rear door.
“Run your car into a tree on the way home,” Bowen offered on his way out. “Tell them you fell asleep at the wheel. I got a feeling they’d buy that.”
Thibodaux leaned down, looking in the window with his hand to his face, thumb and little finger extended to look like a telephone. He grinned like they were old friends. “Call me,” he said.
Chapter 47
Quinn had only meant to close his eyes for a moment, but the massive adrenaline dump from the day before had taken a heavy toll. More even than the physical stress, hours of worry over Mattie and Kim had eaten away at Quinn’s reserves. Once on the plane, he felt relatively safe, and allowed himself to relax before his body shut down entirely. He’d all but passed out after Mattie had returned from visiting her new friend, leaving her to watch over him while she read Lemony Snicket.
Quinn had always been athletic, climbing mountains, running track, and boxing from the time he was a boy. He’d learned, even then, that when in peak condition, the mind and body could do amazing things. In China and Japan, he’d witnessed feats of skill and stamina that seemed superhuman. The Air Force Special Operations pipeline taught him that human limits went far beyond the wildest imagination of most — but there was always a price. Reaching those limits required huge expenditures of energy — and with that came the eventual need to recharge. No matter how tough and well-trained a person was, at some point, body and brain needed a break.
Roughly an hour after Quinn had closed his eyes, he became aware of someone in the aisle beside his seat.
Willing himself back to consciousness, he sat up to find Carly the flight attendant standing above him. Her hand resting on the back of his seat, lips tight, she looked down as if she was afraid to disturb him. Her blond hair had lost the perfection of before, more disheveled, as if she’d been on a run or just gotten up from a nap.
Quinn coughed, rubbing the grit of sleep from his eyes. His head ached and he felt as if he’d swallowed a cup of sand. He wondered how long she’d been standing there and chided himself for allowing her to hover over him at all. That kind of lapse could get a man in his line of work very dead.
Carly forced a smile, probably for Mattie’s sake. She cast a quick glance toward the rear of the plane. “May I speak with you a moment?”
Quinn was instantly awake. Flight attendants didn’t summon passengers out of their seats for no reason. He half turned in his seat, expecting to find a couple of ham-fisted government agents waiting for him at the bulkhead, ready to slap the cuffs on him. There was no one there but an elderly woman who disappeared into one of the lavatories.