I crouch in front of him. He’s staring at me, as if the face he saw before being knocked out couldn’t possibly be the one he’s seeing now. How is it possible that Joe-Joe the cleaner, Joe the fucked-up retard-is doing this to him? Can it be that the man they’ve been looking for has been working for them all this time?
I nod, confirming that yes, it is not only possible, but better than possible.
He grunts, either to confirm his surprise, or to ask me why, or perhaps to test the gag in his mouth. Whatever the reason, he can’t sustain much of a noise. The pain in his jaw must be killing him. Blood hangs off his bottom lip. I want to tell him it’s nothing compared to having a testicle torn off, but I don’t want anybody else knowing about that.
“You killed her, didn’t you?”
“Uh-uh.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t ki’ any’ody.”
“Yes, you did.”
This time, shaking his head, he repeats himself. Almost. “No. No, I didn’t, you cwasy fasdid.”
I think he has just called me a crazy bastard. Perhaps I am. Perhaps that’s my problem. I test his theory by standing up and punching him in the stomach.
Will you look at that? He was right. Only I’m a bastard who needs to make a deal.
“I’m going to take off your gag,” I say, leaning forward once more. “You know the drill. If you don’t, then assume it. Any sound,” I say, raising the knife to his mouth, “has an unpleasant ending for you. Nod if you understand.”
I’m still being a bastard, because I’m holding the tip of the blade directly beneath his chin, so as he nods, he keeps pricking himself. I ensure this by raising the knife higher every time his head rises. In the end, he nods with his eyes. I use the knife to cut his gag. It falls away and hangs around his neck like a collar.
“Better?”
He nods. In fact, his whole body is nearly nodding.
“You can talk, you know. That’s the point of removing the gag.”
“Listen, Joe, do you know who I am?”
It’s a stupid question, but I answer it anyway. “Of course I do.”
“Now, do you understand that it’s bad to do this? It’s bad to tie people up. Especially policemen.”
“I’m not a moron.”
“No. No of course you’re not. I understand life is difficult for. . for, well, for special people like yourself. I understand. .”
I hold my hand up. “Listen, Bob, let me stop you right there. Just because I’m a cleaner doesn’t mean I’m a Goddamn moron, okay? You need to start realizing I’m not the same idiot you’ve seen every day since you’ve been in this city.”
He tilts his head slightly as he takes this information in, and slowly he starts to do the realizing he needs to do. He comes to the conclusion that I’m not Slow Joe, but Angry Joe. I’m Superintelligent Joe.
“Look, Joe, I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just that, well, it was one hell of an act. You can’t blame me for being fooled,” he says, which sounds like an attempt at flattery.
“No, I can’t blame you, but you can stop sucking up, Bob.”
“You haven’t crossed the line here yet. If you let me go, I can forget this ever happened. We can both carry on with our normal lives. Once you do something, though, once you hurt me, there’s nothing I can do to help you out. You understand that, right? If I’m dead, I’m useless, right? Okay? You’re obviously an intelligent guy, I’m sure you understand. And I’m sure you know a useless dead cop means trouble for you, Joe, and neither of us wants any trouble, right?” he says, which is his way of assuming that neither of us wants a dead cop. “We both know that. It’s just too much hassle. So how about you untie me, huh? Untie me and we can discuss any concerns you have. We can talk about what you want.”
“Don’t you want to know what we’re going to be talking about?”
“Sure I do, Joe, sure I do, but you’ve got to untie me first, okay? Untie me and give me back my gun, and we’ll go downstairs, or wherever you want to go because it’s up to you, I promise. This is your ball game and you’re calling all the shots here, so we’ll go where you want to go and we can discuss whatever it is you have in mind, no matter how long it takes.”
“No guesses as to who I am? Other than Joe the Janitor?”
“You’re just the cleaner. Joe the cleaner. Nobody else. I don’t care if you’re anybody else, and if you are, then it’s none of my business. You can be anybody for all I care. But to me you’re just the cleaner. Just Joe. Joe who hasn’t committed any crimes other than making us all think you were slow. How about it, Joe? How about you untie me?”
He’s sweating so much I’m starting to worry that he might be able to slip out of the knots and that the duct tape will just run off him in long, silver streaks.
“Do you know who I am?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“Come on, you do know. I’m the Carver.”
“I don’t know who you are, and after you’ve let me go, I won’t even think about it. Okay, Joe?”
This, of course, is all bullshit. Bullshit that is taught to these guys when they become cops. He’s trying to negotiate with me, but he has nothing to bargain with. He knows that, but what else can he do? He keeps using my name, trying to relate to me, trying to make me see him as a real person.
“Let’s make a few assumptions. First of all, let’s assume I’m telling the truth. Secondly, let’s assume I’m not about to let you go. Thirdly, let’s assume you don’t cooperate with what I want. Do you know what happens then?”
He nods. Assumptions are something that cops aren’t supposed to make. They’re supposed to use facts, not maybes. However, Calhoun has been to some of the crime scenes. He can safely assume what will happen to him without needing any further evidence. All he has to do is swap, inside his mind, his own body for that of one of the women.
“Yeah, I know.”
“Good. Then let’s get a few of the ground rules out of the way. First of all, you’re all alone. Help isn’t coming, and you have no way to escape. However, don’t let this get you down. You’ve probably figured out that if I wanted you dead, you’d be dead already, right?”
He nods. He probably knew that from the moment he came to.
“Because if you agree to what I want, which is most likely, you’ll not only get out of here with your own life, but you’ll get paid an income for surviving.”
At this, he slowly starts nodding-at the word income, not life. Suddenly he not only survives, he becomes richer. This is sounding like a pretty good deal to him. He’s already paying for more hookers and he doesn’t even know yet how much he’s earning.
“The second thing is that I ask the questions, and you answer them truthfully. Failure to do so will jeopardize both aspects of the first ground rule. Any questions?”
He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Yes, he understands. Perfectly.
“I suppose you want to know how much money and what you need to do for it?”
“Please.”
“Twenty thousand dollars, and it’s simple to earn. You don’t need to kill anybody for it, because you’ll be leaving that to me.”
He nods at this. Thinks twenty grand isn’t a lot of money to get tied up for, but it’s better than getting tied up and shot. Twenty grand is a lot of money to earn for doing nothing. This is the part of the plan he likes. The part of the plan I knew he would like.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
“I don’t want anybody to die,” Bob starts, as if he really means it, and as if I’d really care even if he did. People dying isn’t a relevant factor for him, or for me. Under other circumstances-better circumstances, he’ll be thinking-we could have laughed at his joke.
What is relevant is Daniela Walker.