SERIAL UNCUT (12 page)

"
I'm not exactly keen on a two on one.
If you promise to leave her eyes alone, and that she'll stay
conscious and not die on you, I could let you go first."

Donaldson's face remained blank for a
moment, then he raised his eyebrow.

"
I appreciate your offer. I sincerely
do. But I can't help but think that while I'm doing my thing, you
might make some sort of effort to do me harm. Or perhaps lock me in
here."

Taylor began to wish he never parked at this
truck stop.

"
We seem to be at an
impasse."

"
No," Donaldson shook his head. "I
believe we can work this out. I have no desire to harm you, Taylor.
And I am grateful for this opportunity. I shouldn't have flashed
the gun. That was a mistake. I've been playing this game solo for
so long, I wasn't thinking clearly. I know you have a knife on you,
and probably some other weapons in the truck, and I fear I just
began a war of escalation."

"
I don't want to kill you either." It
was the truth. Not that he had any real affection for Donaldson,
but trying to muscle the dead fat man out of his sleeper and drag
him to a river didn't seem like a fun time.

"
We don't know each other well yet.
But we're kindred spirits. Maybe we could even become
friends."

"
It's possible."

"
How long will the cop be out for?"
Donaldson asked.

"
A few minutes, probably more. Pinch
her, see if she flinches. When they're really under, they don't
flinch."

Donaldson leaned over Jack Daniels and
squeezed her breast. She didn't move.

"
She's out. You have some
rope?"

"
More bungee cords in the
trunk."

Neither man moved to get them. Eventually,
Donaldson raised an eyebrow. "Are you a gambling man, Taylor?"

"
I've been known to play the
odds."

"
Let's flip a coin. Winner gets first
crack at the cop."

Taylor considered it. "I'd be up for that,
if it were a fair toss."

"
We could go in the diner, have our
waitress do the flipping. I'll even let you call it. Would be good
to get out in the fresh air, clear our heads."

"
Let's say I agree. You still have me
at a disadvantage."

Donaldson nodded. "The gun. Firing it
wouldn't be smart for either of us. Cops might already be on their
way, after what Lieutenant Daniels did to that pimp."

"
I've got a solution."

"
I'm listening."

"
An empty gun isn't a threat. Hand me
the bullets. But do it slowly, or else I might get nervous and lock
you up here for a few days with no air conditioning or
water."

"
Fair enough."

Donaldson gently reached back into his pants
and removed the gun. He held it upside-down by the trigger guard,
and swung out the cylinder. Then he dumped the rounds onto his palm
and handed them to Taylor.

Taylor grinned.

Maybe this tag-team thing will work out
after all.

"
Are we good?" Donaldson
asked.

"
We're good. Let's hogtie this
pig."

Taylor climbed into the sleeper, and after
an uneasy moment of sizing each other up, the two of them began to
bind the cop. Donaldson quickly got the hang of it, and they soon
had Jack suitably trussed.

"
You sure she's safe here?" Donaldson
asked, admiring their handiwork.

"
Never had an escape. Bungee cords are
tighter than rope. The enclosure is steel, the lock on the door is
solid. She's not going anywhere."

Taylor grabbed the cop's purse, wound it
over his shoulder, and crawled down out of the sleeper after
Donaldson. He made sure the trap door was locked, took what he
wanted from the purse, and together they walked back to the
diner.

-8-

The moment they were gone I rolled onto my
belly and inch-wormed up to my knees. My hands were behind my back,
the bungee cords so tight my fingers were tingling. I strained
against the elastic, trying to twist my wrists apart, but couldn't
free myself.

More cords wound around my chest and upper
arms, and encircled my knees and ankles. I flopped onto my side,
wincing at the pain. My shoulder still hurt, and there was a throb
in my left breast where Donaldson had pinched me. If he'd done it
for a few seconds longer, I would have screamed.

Pretending to be unconscious seemed like a
better choice than really being unconscious, but when they tied me
up I realized that maybe fighting back and yelling for help when I
had the chance might have been the better move.

Panic threatened to overwhelm me, and I
began to hyperventilate. Fear and I were old adversaries. There was
no way to squelch it, but if I kept my focus I could work through
the fear. The goal was to not think about any potential outcome to
this situation other than escape.

Still unable to open my eyes because of the
stinging, I rolled to my left, hoping to bump into anything that
would help me free myself. I hit something soft. I brushed my cheek
against it. Foam of some kind. I rolled right instead, eventually
coming up against something more suitable. Something hard, stuck
into the floor. After maneuvering around onto my knees, I rubbed my
hands against the object.

It felt like a board, only two feet tall,
and thin. Midway down the side was some sort of protrusion. Though
my hands were quickly getting numb, I could tell by the sound when
I jiggled it that it was a padlock.

I got my wrists under the lock, trying to
wedge it in between my arms and the bungee cords. Then I took a
deep breath and violently tugged my arms forward.

The elastic caught, stretched.

I pulled harder, feeling like my arms were
pulling out of their sockets.

Then, abruptly, my hands were free, and I
pitched forward onto my face, bumping my forehead against the
padded floor.

I spent a few seconds wiggling my fingers,
wincing as the blood came back, and made quick work of the other
cords around my arms. Then I spit in my hands and rubbed them
against my eyes. The stinging eased up enough for me to have a
blurry look around the enclosure. There was moderate lighting, from
an overhead fixture. I saw beige mats. A black slanted ceiling
covered with sound baffles. A trunk. And a bound woman, her feet in
some sort of wooden stock, my wrist bungee cord wound around a
padlock on the side.

I unwound my legs, tugged off my remaining
shoe, and crawled over to her, unhooking her bindings. "Can you
hear me?"

The woman moaned softly, and her eyelids
fluttered.

"
You need to wake up." I gave her a
shake. "We're in trouble."

"
My... foot... hurts..."

"
What's your name?"

"
My... foot..."

I cupped her chin in my hand, made her look
at me.

"
Listen to me. I'm a cop. We're in a
truck sleeper and some men are trying to kill us. What's your
name?"

"
Candi. I... I can't move my feet. It
hurts."

I turned my attention to the stock. I
crawled around to the other side, wincing when I saw the blood. I
took a closer look because I had to assess the damage, then wished
I could erase the image from my mind.

"
What's wrong with my
foot?"

"
You're missing your little
toe."

"
My...
toe?
"

I studied the stock. Heavy, solid, the
padlock and latch unbreakable. So I looked at the hinge on the
other side. Six screws held it in place.

I scooted away from the stock, on my butt,
and reared back my right heel.

"
Stay still, Candi. I'm going to try
to break the hinge."

I shot my leg out like a piston, striking
the top of the stock once, twice, three times.

The stock stayed solid, the screws tight.
And if I tried kicking any harder I'd break my heel.

"
Don't you have a gun?"

I ignored her, turning my attention to the
trunk in the corner of the enclosure. I crawled over to see if
there was anything inside I could use.

"
Don't leave me!"

"
I won't leave you. I
promise."

I found paper towels, paper masks, starter
fluid, plastic bags, and a large Tupperware container. The lid had
brown stains on it--dried blood--and I got an uneasy feeling looking
at it. Fighting squeamishness, I pulled the top off.

It was filled with rock salt. But I could
make out something brown peeking through. I shook the box, and it
revealed a few of the brown things, small and wrinkled. They looked
like prunes.

Then I realized what they were, and came
very close to throwing up. I pulled away, covering my mouth. There
had to be dozens, maybe over a hundred, of them in there.

That sick bastard...

"
Did you find anything?"

"
Nothing helpful," I said, closing the
lid.

"
What's in that box you were
holding?"

Taylor was smart. He didn't leave any tools,
weapons, or keys lying around. I eyed the starter fluid.

"
Candi, do you smoke?"

"
Yeah."

"
Do you have matches on you? A
lighter?"

"
In my purse. He took it."

Dammit. But starting a fire in the enclosed
space probably wasn't a good idea anyway. However, the chest itself
had possibilities. It was made of wood, with metal reinforced
corners. I picked it up, figuring it weighed at least fifteen
pounds.

"
What was in the box!"

I muscled the chest over to Candi and knelt
next to her.

"
Hold still," I said. "If I miss I
could break your leg."

I reared back, clenched my teeth, and
shoved the chest into the top of the stock. There was a loud
crack,
but both objects stayed
intact.

I did it again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

My shoulder began to burn, and the corners
of the chest were coming apart, but the hinge on the stock was
bending.

Two more times and the chest burst open,
spilling its contents onto the mat, the Tupperware container
bouncing next to Candi.

I hit the stock one last time. The chest
broke into several large pieces. I grabbed one of the slats used to
make the chest, and wedged it in the opening I'd made between the
top and bottom of the stock. I used it like a crowbar, levering at
the hinge.

It was slowly giving... giving...

Then the stock popped open like a shotgun
blast.

Candi sat up abruptly, grabbing her ankle to
see her injury for herself. Then the tears hit, fast and hard.

"
Ah shit... that fucker."

"
We need to find a way out of
here."

"
My toe..." she sobbed.

"
Candi! Focus!"

Her eyes locked on mine.

"
We need to start rolling up the
mats," I ordered, "find the way out of here before they come
back."

She sniffled. "They? I only know one.
Taylor."

"
He's got a buddy now." I made a face.
"And they're armed."

I watched Candi's face do an emotion
montage. Anger, pain, despair, then raw fear.

"
I have kids," Candi whispered. "A boy
and a girl."

"
Then we need to find the exit, fast.
Start pulling up the mats."

"
What time is it? My man, Julius,
he'll come looking for me when I don't report back."

I thought about the pimp, running out of the
diner with his teeth in his hand.

"
Julius, uh, probably won't be coming
to the rescue. Do the mats. Now."

She wiped her nose on her arm, and then
reached for the Tupperware container.

"
Candi..."

"
I want to see."

She popped off the lid and squinted at the
objects in the rock salt.

"
What are these things?"

"
We need to look for the exit,
Candi."

"
Are those...
aw, Jesus...
"

"
Don't worry about that
now."

"
Don't worry? Do you know what these
are?"

"
Yes."

"
These are...
nipples.
"

"
I know, Candi. That's why we need to
get the hell out of here."

That seemed to spur her to action. I joined
Candi in pulling up mats, and we soon found the trap door. I pulled
on the recessed handle.

Locked.

I tugged as hard as I could, until the cords
on my neck bulged out and I saw stars.

It wouldn't budge.

"
We're going to die up here." Candi
was hugging her knees, rocking back and forth.

I blew out a breath. "No, we're not."

"
He's going to bite off our toes. Then
our tits, to add to his collection."

I reached up overhead, tugging at the
baffling stuck to the ceiling. Under it was heavy aluminum. I did a
360, looking at all the walls.

There was no way out. We were trapped up
here.

Then we both felt it. The truck cab
jiggle.

Oh, shit. They're back.

-9-

Fran the waitress was happy to flip a coin
for the two gentlemen who had tipped her so well.