“How long was he under the car?”
“Four or five minutes tops. Then he left.”
Although he didn’t know much about bomb detonation, Calvin thought four to five minutes to skillfully install a bomb under a car seemed professional.
“Do you remember what this guy looked like?”
“I watched from my window and tried to stay hidden, so I couldn’t get a close-up of his face. But he was lean, all muscle and sinew, with long black hair. At one point, I thought that he had stared right at me. Like he knew that I was watching him.”
“Any distinguishing features?” Calvin couldn’t place the man, who would have stood out among Pitt’s associates.
“Nothing I could see. He just looked like a normal guy. Until I saw him squirming underneath the car.”
Calvin thanked Tim and hung up.
He called Mike and gave him the vague description. Mike said he might have enough to go on but Calvin knew he was pretending.
“Do you still have those vests I got you?” Mike asked.
“Yeah.”
“Good, because you’re gonna need them now.”
Chapter 32
“Wakie, wakie, James.” Scott sat with the serenity of a corpse, allowing his captive time to collect his thoughts.
He had stripped Pierce naked and sat him in the middle of the room straddling a chair, legs spread, his hands tied over his head, the rope secured to a ceiling beam and his ankles duct-taped to the chair legs. Duct tape also covered Pierce’s mouth.
After his last conversation with Sanders, Scott knew that his time was running out. His reputation was on the line. He wasn’t worried about Sanders’ threat on his life, but if he failed again, he would not only be fired, but his two failures would be spread worldwide, damaging his perfect record.
“Sorry about the chloroform, James.” He knew Pierce’s head would be throbbing, not to mention Pierce’s increased anxiety once he realized his predicament. “I didn’t think I’d need it after you chugged those first two whisky sours at lunch. You made it easy for me. I can’t blame you though. Most people are less alert to danger at work than they are at home. I’ve been reading over your file.”
Scott held up a sheaf of papers. “Degenerates like you are creatures of habit. You just can’t control yourself. Once I found your place of work, all I had to do was wait. I followed you for a couple of days and just my luck—you followed the same routine every day. You couldn’t wait for lunchtime to get on the phone with your bookie and hit the nearest pub. I guess Watters’ last message didn’t get through.”
Scott saw that the mention of Calvin Watters’ name had sparked his prisoner. He watched the man’s eyes wander around the vacated, gutted building to a crumpled body in the corner.
“Don’t worry about him, James. His blood-brain barrier has been crossed by a shit load of heroin.” He held up a syringe and tension band. Like a trained registered nurse, Scott pressed the plunger and liquid dripped from the needle. “He won’t be bothering us.” Scott looked around the room. “It’s a shame they’ll be demolishing this building in a few days. I was introduced to the site by a local friend. Pity really, it’s the perfect location for my work.”
Scott watched a rat scamper across the concrete floor, stop at Pierce’s foot and then continue across, disappearing into a wall crevasse. Pierce’s nostrils flared and his eyes leaked.
“Ignore the smell, James. Our friend has been living here for a while. No functioning toilet and no change of clothes.”
Scott rose from his seat and approached Pierce. He circled the victim’s limp body. “Do you know much about the Chinese culture, James? I do. I studied it.” Scott returned to the table he’d been sitting at, slipped on a pair of rubber surgical gloves and opened a briefcase. “Did you know that at one time in China, they used castration for religious and social reasons? After battles, the winners castrated their captives to symbolize victory.”
Urine pooled under Pierce’s chair.
Scott picked up a tool from the briefcase. “This is called an emasculator. It’s used on livestock, to simultaneously crush and cut the spermatic cord, but I thought, ‘what the hell, if it’s good enough for a horse, it’s good enough for James.’”
He set the tool down. “From my estimation, you have twenty-one minutes before you’re expected back at work.” He smiled. “A lot can happen in that time. I’m going to ask you a series of questions. If I like your answers, you’ll make your deadline. If I don’t, then I’ll show you how much I learned from the Chinese. All you have to do is blink once for yes and twice for no. Understand?”
Pierce not only blinked once, but also nodded.
“Good. Do you trust I’m a man of my word?”
With wide eyes, Pierce blinked once.
“Now, Calvin Watters. Do you know him?”
One blink.
“Do you know where he is?”
Pierce paused and Scott knew his hesitation meant he was about to conceal something or lie. Scott shook his head. What kind of hold did Watters have on his victims? It was as if Pierce thought that ratting out Watters was worse than losing his manhood. Scott had to put no doubt in Pierce’s mind that what he could do was far worse than any punishment Watters could inflict.
“Don’t worry about Watters. Worry about me.”
Scott shook his head and went back to the briefcase. He slowly removed the emasculator. He fastened the ends of the clamp over Pierce’s testicles and locked it into place.
“Well.” Scott smiled. “That fits nice and cozy.”
Pierce flinched, probably more from discomfort than pain, but maybe also from the anticipation of the perceived future. Trickles of blood ran down the inside of Pierce’s leg and beads of sweat dotted his forehead.
Scott gripped the handle of the tool and squeezed a little. Pierce squirmed but couldn’t move.
“Again, do you know where Watters is?”
Low muffled sounds got past the duct tape and Pierce began to sob. He swallowed a large lump in his throat before blinking once.
Dale was still feeling the effects of his meeting with Flannery when he pulled into his empty driveway. He wasn’t sure why he was home. It was as if the old cruiser had steered itself.
Actually, he did know why. There was something he wanted to do, something he needed to do. He’d been putting it off, hoping that if he didn’t do it, if he didn’t see the actual words, then it wouldn’t be real—like it was just a horrible dream that he would soon wake up from.
But it was time.
Since his family had left, Dale tried to spend as much time at the office as possible, especially during the day when he’d notice the things he missed the most. It just wasn’t right. No noise, no smell of home-cooked food and no toys scattered throughout.
For the first time since Betty’s departure, Dale went into their bedroom. He lay on the bed and buried his face in her pillow, where her scent still lingered—lavender vanilla shampoo and coconut lime body wash.
He turned onto his back, propped his head up on two pillows and shoved his hand inside his jacket pocket, where Betty’s letter had been for four days. He’d kept it there, close to his heart, refusing to read it, refusing to admit it was over. Now he was facing that fear head-on.
His name was written in black marker on the outside of the white envelope in Betty’s handwriting.