Pike worked the dirt loose from the hood and sides and tail, then soaked a towel in the soapy water and went over the car again. He rubbed hard, and when the body was clean, he worked on the tires and wheels, then rinsed the body again. He dried the car with the remaining towels, then wiped down the interior.
When Pike finished, he tried to remember when he had last seen Cole’s car this clean. He couldn’t, and didn’t care. It was clean now. When Cole came back, his car was good to go.
Pike dumped the bucket and went inside. He stripped off his clothes, put them in the wash with the towels, then showered in the guest room bath. The cat followed him through the house, and back again when he put his clothes in the dryer.
While the clothes were drying, Pike went upstairs for Cole’s gun-cleaning supplies, and brought them down to the dining table. Cleaning lubricant, cotton patches, a bore brush and cleaning rod, a soft cotton cloth.
Pike unloaded the pistols, and broke down the Kimber. He could take the Kimber apart and reassemble it blindfolded, in the dark, and under any conditions. He did not have to think about what he was doing. His hands knew the way.
The cat watched from the far end of the table. Pike pushed cotton patches wet with cleaning lubricant through the barrel and over the frame and slide and the recoil spring assembly and breech face. Pike glanced at the cat as he worked, and noticed the cat wasn’t looking at Pike; it watched the parts as they were brushed and wiped.
Pike set the recoil spring assembly into the Kimber’s frame, replaced the slide, and fitted the slide lock pin into place. When the Kimber was reassembled, Pike set it aside and worked on the Python. He glanced at the cat again. Its eyes had narrowed into smoldering cuts and its tail flicked like a dangerous snake.
Pike swabbed lubricant through the Python’s cylinder chambers and barrel, then over the recoil plate and under the cylinder star. He ran the brush through the barrel and chambers, then swabbed the steel clean, but did not look at the gun while he cleaned it. He watched the cat.
The cat paced at the far end of the table, stalking from one side to the other, its tail snapping violent strikes that stung the air as the fur on its spine rippled.
Pike reloaded the Kimber. He pushed one fat, golden. 45 ACP hollow point after another into the Kimber’s magazine until it was full, then seated it. He rocked the slide to chamber a round, and set the safety.
The cat came toward him, paced away, then returned. Its dark face was as fierce as a Maori. The fur on its spine was spiked like a Mohawk warrior.
Pike put the Kimber aside and loaded the Python. He opened the cylinder and slid a long. 357 magnum cartridge into a cylinder chamber.
The cat came closer.
Pike dropped in a second cartridge, then a third, and now the cat stood only inches away, but it no longer looked at the gun. It stared at Pike, and its molten black face was furious.
Pike finished loading the Python. Six chambers, six cartridges. He closed the cylinder, but held tight to the pistol, and stared at Cole’s cat. Elvis Cole’s cat.
The cat licked its feral lips, and made a low growl.
Pike nodded.
“Yes. I’m going to get him.”
He put the guns in their holsters, drank a bottle of water, then called Jon Stone.
“Come get me. I’m not waiting until morning.”
Stone picked him up a few minutes later.
Jack and Krista: seven days after they were taken
34
One day after the beating, Jack opened his eyes, blinked, and looked at her. His pupils were dilated.
“Whush on TV?”
“Can you see me? I’m here.”
His eyes rolled, and came back to her.
“Nancie. Mommy ish home.”
Krista touched his lips. A stab of fear arced through her every time he mentioned his aunt.
“Shh, baby. Don’t talk about Nancie.”
His eyes rolled again, widened, then closed.
Jack was stretched out along the wall in their spot beneath their window. The guards had brought Jack back to the room, and placed him by the piss bucket. They had given her ice wrapped in a towel for his head. That was the extent of their aid. Kwan dragged him to their rightful spot under the window. The ice had melted, so she folded the damp towel, and placed it under Jack’s head as a cushion.
Kwan sat nearby. No one else in the room had approached. As if they feared the guards would give them the same.
“Talks more. Good.”
Jack was mostly unconscious yesterday after the beating, and Krista thought he would die. His skin grew pale and clammy, and he would tremble violently between periods of calm. He began mumbling earlier that morning. Krista thought this was a good sign, but didn’t know. Jack was hurt badly. She hoped it was only a concussion, but her head swirled with thoughts of cranial hemorrhages, brain damage, and flat-lined monitors.
Kwan said, “How you?”
When she glanced up, he pointed to her shoulder. They had called her mother yesterday. Medina held her while Rojas placed the call. When her mother was on the line, Medina bit her shoulder to make her scream. He bit hard, and grinded against her.
She answered quickly, and pushed the memory away.
“I’m fine. It’s nothing.”
Kwan grunted, as if he approved of her bravery.
“I kill.”
She glanced at him, and Kwan smiled, but it was dark and shadowed.
“Soon.”
He settled against the wall and closed his eyes, but the smile remained.
Two more Koreans had been released in the hours following Jack’s beating. Rojas made the same speech, claiming they were released to their loving and generous families, but Kwan had once again smirked.
“No pay.”
Krista said, “You think they were killed?”
“No pay, you die.”
“You’re still alive. Who’s paying for you?”
Kwan had only smiled, and said nothing more.
Twenty minutes later, Rojas and Medina had forced her to speak to her mother, and Medina had made her scream.
She touched Jack’s head now, and concentrated on him to distract herself from the memory. She focused on Jack. It was all about keeping Jack alive until they were saved.
She was totally focused on what she might do to help him when the door opened, and Medina, Rojas, and Miguel strode in. She thought Medina was coming for her again, but the three men began kicking the people who were lying in the middle of the room, driving them to the sides. The tall man with the ponytail waited in the door until the floor was clear, then came directly to Krista. She was sure they had come to take Jack away, and shoved to her feet.
“Don’t hurt him! He needs a doctor!”
The tall man pushed her aside, and squatted by Jack. He examined one eye, then the other, and felt Jack’s forehead. Then he stood, and turned to Krista. He spoke excellent Spanish.
“He is strong. How long until his mother returns?”
Krista steadied herself. She was so scared she wanted to throw up, but her panic eased. If the man was asking questions, he could still be convinced.
“He tell me a week, but I am not sure. He does not speak good Spanish, and I do not have the English.”
“You are from Sonora?”
“Si. Hermosillo.”
“How do you know he has money?”
“My mama, she tell me. She worked in their home.”
“She says they are rich?”
Krista tried to answer the way a village girl would answer.
“They have many houses and cars. His mother, she takes trips to wonderful places. The boy, he does not work. None of them work. This is why she ask him to bring me to her.”
Krista did her best to look shy, and a little embarrassed.
“She hopes he will like me.”
The tall man made a tiny smile, and Krista felt a rush of power.