But I didn’t have the papers.
The car or truck kept moving. It hadn’t stopped, after all.
CHAPTER 39
The high windows changed from a pale shade of grey to black. Moonlight filtered in through the dust and dirt and cast the area in a faint bluish hue. I tried to figure out how long I’d been hanging on the post, but my mind refused to function. I had no idea of the hour or even what day it was; I just knew it was nighttime. Every muscle in my body had been strained to the limit. I was stiff and numb, my neck raw from rope burn. My tongue had swollen to twice the size of a grapefruit and my mouth was as dry as the Mojave. I had no feeling in my hands, apart from the million electric needles that tapdanced under the skin.
My kidnappers said they’d return. I was being tortured in absentia. The thugs wanted to soften me up. They wanted me to give them the papers. They didn’t want me to die. They couldn’t let me die. They’d better hurry. I was circling the drain and didn’t know how much longer I could survive before being sucked down.
I gave up and let my body go limp.
My head slumped. The rope tightened around my neck. Then I got pissed.
“But I don’t have the papers,” I screamed, in a voice that wasn’t much more than a feeble croak.
I thought of Rollo with the knife, and stomped my foot. “Don’t cut me! I don’t have the goddamn papers.” I kept stomping, pounding the floor, faster and faster.
The edge of my heel scraped the post behind me. Tears came to my eyes. But I kept stomping. I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t stop. My shoe caught the post again.
It moved.
I stopped.
I could hear my heart pounding. The post had moved. I looked down but could only see my toes. I couldn’t bend my head enough to see the base of the post, but I’d felt it move. The post had moved off center by maybe an inch.
I pulled my leg up slowly, bent it at the knee and, like a mule kicking the barn door, I slammed my foot backward with everything I had. The post moved again. Only a little, but it moved!
My leg became a battering ram. Bring it up, pound it back, again and again. My muscles cramped-horrible cramps. Through excruciating pain I kept kicking. I was demented, a runaway engine, kicking, kicking. Adrenalin coursed through my veins and my body came to life. I kicked harder. And harder.
The post fell.
It fell on top of me and I lay there, sprawled on the floor, too weak to move. My head had struck the concrete and I fought hard to maintain consciousness. I took deep breaths, in and out, in and out. With no tension on the rope I was able to slip my head out of the noose.
My legs twitched-both of them. Could it be? Yes! When the post fell, my other leg tore free. But my wrists were still bound together behind the post. Think, O’Brien! Yeah, I had to figure a way to get a hundred-fifty pounds of rotten wood off my back.
With great effort I was finally able to move. Weak and half dead, I slithered slowly across the floor, pushing with my feet, dragging the post with me.
The thought of Rollo and Danny returning kept me going. I aimed for the closest upright beam. When I got there I moved in a complete circle and lined up the bottom of the post perpendicular to the upright. Then I pushed with my feet. The post, now wedged against the upright, started to slip between my arms and back. It took about fifteen minutes but my body finally came free of the post. With my hands still taped behind my back, I lay on the floor panting for a full minute before I tried to get up.
The thugs could walk through the door at any moment. I had to move. I had to get out of the warehouse before they returned. I rolled on my side, balled in the fetal position, and twisted until my legs were under me. I raised my head and pushed with my legs. I strained hard and managed to stand.
I stood still for a second, maybe two, before the room began to spin. With each revolution it spun faster. Lights flashed in front of my eyes, a kaleidoscope of garish colors. The room sped up, gaining speed. I couldn’t stop it. I dropped to my knees again and bowed my head almost to the floor. The room slowed, but my stomach continued to do aerobatic loops.
I dry-heaved. It felt like I was retching up my guts. I closed my eyes and waited. Christ, I wanted to sleep! I wanted desperately to lie down and go to sleep, but I knew if I did, I’d sleep in this abandoned warehouse forever.
I stood again, and this time the building stayed anchored to the planet. It wobbled a little but I could handle that. Staggering one step at a time, I worked my way to the office at the far end of the warehouse. The office wall had windows with broken glass. Pieces littered the floor where they had fallen. I lay down carefully on my side again, close to the pile of glass fragments, and with my hands still behind my back I felt around with my fingers. I was able to pick up a long thin shard. I tried to cut the tape by feel but only managed to cut my arm. It stung, but I didn’t care. I kept working the sharp glass until I was able to wedge it between the tape and my wrists. I made only a small cut, but it was enough. When I twisted my arms back and forth and yanked them apart, the tape started to tear.
A minute later my hands were free.
I stumbled back to the post, grabbed one end and dragged it over to the small employee door-the door that the thugs had locked after they left. Using all the strength I could muster I hefted the post in the middle, balancing it in my arms, and with a grunt I swung it at the door like a battering ram. I kept at it until the door finally flew open.
Trembling with apprehension, I stepped outside and glanced at the lights of Long Beach, shimmering silently off in the distance below. I saw nothing else, no cars, no people, nothing but the pumpjacks bowing and raising in their eternal homage to the god of oil.
How do I get off this hill? Which way to go?
Headlights jumped out at me.
A car had turned onto the road at the far end of the oil field and was speeding toward me. Ducking back into the building, I flattened myself in the shadows against the wall next to the door. Could it be Danny and Rollo? That thought filled me with dread.
The car neared, then stopped right on the other side of the wall. Someone killed the engine. I heard the car door open. The rats had come back-the two-legged kind.
Quickly glancing around, I spotted a three-inch diameter pipe about four feet long resting on the floor a few feet away. The end of the rusty pipe stuck out from under a jumbled mass of cable. I moved fast, tugged on the pipe a few times until it came free, then darted back to my hiding place.
I heard Danny outside. “Hey, Rollo, shit! The bastard busted loose!”
“What do you mean?”
“Look at the goddamn door. It’s all banged up.”
“Do you think he’s still in there?”
“He’s dead if he was dumb enough to stick around,” Danny said.
“You gonna kill him?”
“Yeah, the boss said to get rid of him this time. He ain’t gonna tell us nothing.”
“What if he’s gone?” Rollo asked.
“We’ll go to his goddamn apartment and kill him there.”
“Can I cut him up? You said I could cut him up.”
“Come on, Rollo.” I heard the terrifying sound of an automatic weapon being ratcheted.
Wiping the sweat from my palms one hand at a time, I gripped the pipe like a baseball bat.
Danny stepped cautiously through the doorway, holding a gun straight out in front of him.
I stepped forward, took a hard swing, and connected. His face exploded like an overripe watermelon. Blood gushed. His knees buckled; he went down. His gun skidded across the floor.