“But won’t they already suspect us from the foam-heads?”
“Probably not, because that was based on Steve’s tip-and before my phone call. But after tonight, there’ll be no doubt. And as soon as they find out, they’ll come after us with everything they’ve got.”
“What’ll we do then?”
“Beat ‘em to the punch.”
Farther west. Limestone quarry, dump trucks, abandoned airstrip and, finally, an isolated hacienda on the back side of a palm tree farm. Serge rechecked his notebook. “I think that’s the place now.”
Moments later, Serge and Coleman crept through rows of coconut palms. They reached the edge of the trees and a clearing that led to the front porch. A van and a pickup. Buzzing crickets. Pesticide odor. A screen door opened. Serge raised binoculars. Three men came out: two strapped with weapons, the other holding a walkie-talkie. There was a short conversation at the foot of the porch, then the smallest raised the two-way radio to his mouth. They headed for the vehicles.
Coleman peeked over Serge’s shoulder. “What do you see?”
“Just as I thought. Two goons and ‘Dick’ from the Wreck Lounge.” He lowered the binoculars and swatted a mosquito on his neck. “Some kind of stash house, nice and secluded, just how I like it.”
The gang pulled out of the driveway and sped down a dusty road along the edge of the palms.
“Quick,” said Serge. “Behind a tree.”
The vehicles shot past them.
THAT NIGHT
Two burly goons in electricians’ uniforms stood in a motel hallway. One had a toolbox and the other a universal magnetic card key bribed from one of the motel’s staff. They looked both ways, then jumped inside.
The first burglar abruptly pulled up after two steps. Their informant had said nobody was supposed to be inside. He was wrong, except in this case it was better: no need to search for the hiding place.
On the other end of the room, Coleman sat at a desk with a jeweler’s magnifying loupe in his right eye, examining a large tray full of real-looking fake gems. He glanced up when he heard the men; the loupe fell from his eye and bounced across the desk.
The one with the toolbox smiled at the other. “This is too easy.” The second pulled a gun and moved quickly across the room. “Step away from the tray and you won’t get hurt.”
Coleman got up and stumbled backward until he was pressed against a wall.
“Now stay there and don’t move a muscle.”
The armed electrician kept him covered while the other dumped the tray’s contents into his toolbox. He closed the lid and latched it. “Got it. Let’s go.”
The one with the gun: “We have a witness.”
“Didn’t you hear me? We got the stones.”
“He can identify us.”
“We don’t need the heat.”
“You want to explain that to the Jellyfish? He was very specific: Never leave a witness. We can’t take the chance now that they can pin those two murders.”
“Why don’t we just split and say the room was empty.”
“Jellyfish will kill us.” He raised his shooting arm.
Suddenly, Serge rolled out from under the bed. He laid on his back and braced a pistol between his knees. “Drop it!”
The man glanced down at Serge, but kept his gun on Coleman.
“You’re not that fast,” said Serge, slowly standing up.
The man took a step backward toward the door. “Let’s call it a draw.”
“Let’s not,” said Serge. “We want our stones back. Then we’ll let you leave.”
“Fuck off.” The man took another retreat step, gun still trained between Coleman’s eyes.
“Don’t move another inch.”
“There’s no way you can shoot me before I take out your friend.” “So what?” said Serge. “I’ve never seen him before in my life.” “Serge!” yelled Coleman. “You’re bluffing.”
“Am I?” He grabbed a pillow off the bed, placed it in front of the barrel and fired.
The electrician heard the bullet whiz by. He placed a hand to his arm, then looked at it. Blood. He dropped the gun.
“That’s better.” Serge walked over and kicked the pistol under the bed. “Take a seat in that chair. And you …”-waving the gun at the other intruder-“… grab that other chair.”
“What for?”
“We going to play a little parlor game.”
Minutes later, Serge was giddy with excitement. The electricians sat back-to-back in the pair of rigid motel room chairs, hands bound behind their backs with plastic wrist cuffs. Ankles wrapped with rope to the chairs’ legs.
Serge then tied another plastic cuff around each of their necks, leaving them slightly loose.
Both captives struggled vainly against their bindings. “Whatever you’re planning, you won’t get away with it.”
“I already have,” said Serge. “Now here’s the fun part …” He displayed a roll of sturdy nylon twine, then unrolled two short lengths and cut them.
“We’ll yell,” said one of the bandits.
“No you won’t.” Serge tied loops of twine around each of their foreheads and held them in place with his coveted duct tape. “You want to escape without getting arrested, and I’m giving you the perfect opportunity.” Each loop of forehead twine left a two-foot-long tail behind each of their backs. Serge tugged them. “What I’m doing now is attaching the twine from each of your heads to the end of the plastic cuff around your friend’s neck.”
“But Serge …” said Coleman.
“Shhhhh!” He threaded both lengths of nylon through the top slats of the opposing chairs and back to the ends of the straps around their necks. “Coleman, your lighter …” Serge caught it on the fly and flicked it between the heads. They couldn’t see the action but smelled burning plastic. Serge began blowing to cool the welded joints between the melted nylon and straps. He stepped aside and smiled. “There. Done. And not a shabby job if I do say so.”
Coleman came over. “Seems like we’ve been leaving a lot of guys in chairs.”
“My life is now completely about chairs and things that remind me of chairs.”
The hostages looked up at him without a hint.
“I’ll give you a hint,” said Serge. “I’m sure you’re familiar with those plastic cuffs. When you pull them, they notch progressively tighter, but don’t loosen. I’m conducting a behavioral test.”
“What kind of test?”
“Moral dilemma. If you work as a loyal team and remain calm, you’ll survive until the maid comes in the morning. Of course you’ll get arrested when they realize you’re not legitimate electricians working for the hotel. If you turn state’s evidence and testify against the Jellyfish or Eel or whatever, you can dodge the death penalty. Still go to jail for a long time, but at least you’ll be alive.”
“You said we had a chance to escape.”
“That’s the dilemma part,” said Serge. “If you pull forward with your heads, the twine will tighten the notched strap around your colleague’s neck. Those things are ten times strong enough to effect strangulation.” Serge reached with both hands and tugged. They each heard a notch click and felt the straps tighten slightly against windpipes.
They gulped.
The one on the left looked up. “How does that help us escape?”
“I’ll be back in an hour. If only one of you is still alive, I’ll let you go. If you’re both still kicking, I’ll leave you for the maid. And there’s the big moral choice: Sacrifice a jail sentence to save your friend’s life, or betray him for your freedom.”
“You’re sick!”
“I can see you’d like a little privacy to discuss it. Come on, Coleman …”
They left the room and closed the door.