“Nelson’s garage was our next stop,” she heard him saying from the other side of the door as the emergency number rang once and then twice, “but I had to shower. She’s in the bathroom—I put her in the one without the window. I even screwed with the wi-fi, to take out her cell. But—fuck! There’s a phone in there!”
The doorknob rattled and the entire door shook as Maddie took the phone’s handset with her into the shower. “Pick up pick up pick up pick up.” But it just kept ringing.
She shrieked as the door splintered—as a giant booted foot came through, and then was pulled free before a hand—also big—reached in and turned the knob.
The door opened with a crash, and two large men—Nelson’s skinheads—grabbed Maddie. As she dropped the phone into the tub, the call was finally connected, and a little voice echoed against the porcelain. “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
Maddie kicked and screamed, but her arms were pinned, and her legs flailed as they contacted nothing. One of the men clamped a gloved hand over her mouth.
A third man grabbed the phone and pulled the cord right out of the wall. “Motherfucker!Move! Go, we gotta go. The bitch called nine-one-one!”
One of the skinheads laughed as they carried her out of the bathroom. “Dude, we’re in Van Nuys. We could have her make us lunch and give us all blow jobs and we’d still be outta here before the police showed.”
“Oh, no, no, I wouldn’t…do that.” Dingo was in the kitchen. He’d changed into a pair of black cargo pants and a Superman T-shirt, his hair slicked back—still wet from his own shower. He was holding on to his cellphone, as if the door-kicking-in had bored him so much that he’d spent the time scrolling through his Twitter feed. If Maddie could’ve, she would’ve incinerated him with her eyes. “Keep your distance, mates. I’m peeing knives. I’m pretty sure she gave me gonorrhea.”
Maddie bit the man through the glove.
“Fuck!” He yanked his hand away, but then smacked her in the face.
Her ears rang, but her mouth was free. “I hate you, Dingo! You’re a liar! He’s lying!”
He was lying.
He waslying.
Oh, my God, Dingo was lying!
Time froze and the world seemed to move in slow-mo as she looked directly into Dingo’s eyes, and he widened them slightly—just a little—just enough, even as “I didnotgive him gonorrhea” came shrieking out of her mouth. And she instantly realized why he’d said that—so that they’d think twice about touching her—so she screamed, “Hegave gonorrhea tome,” before the third man—the guy with the dead eyes who drove the black truck—slapped a piece of duct tape over her mouth.
“Punch her lights out if she keeps fighting,” he said, and she forced herself to calm down and stop resisting, although God, that was hard to do. Still, she knew that if they hit her hard enough to knock her out, she’d have an even smaller chance of surviving this.
“Tie her up,” Dead-Eyes ordered, and one of the men who was holding her must’ve been carrying a rope, because her arms were forced behind her, and she felt it going around her hands and cutting into her wrists.
Dingo cleared his throat. “We should go,” he said. “I’m sure Mr. Nelson’s waiting.”
Dead-Eyes peeled a few bills off of the wad of cash that Dingo had obviously given him—from Fiona’s room. He held it out to Dingo. “Dude, your job is done. You’ve gone way above and beyond.”
Dingo looked affronted. “You’re kidding, right? That won’t even cover the costs of the walk-in clinic. I spent money on gas and food and…No,dude,I’m going with you. I’m pretty sure there’s a real reward coming, and I’mma make sure Mr. Nelson gives it tome.”
And with that, Maddie was sure. Or at least mostly sure. There was no way Dingo would willingly do a face-to-face with Nelson, was there? He was coming along so that he could try to save her, wasn’t he?
But when the skinhead pushed her to get her to move faster and she tripped and fell onto her knees, they all laughed, and Dingo laughed, too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Sir, it’s not good,” Izzy’s voice came over the truck’s Bluetooth. He, Seagull, Timebomb, and Hans had arrived at the house in Van Nuys.
Pete didn’t expect it to be good.
In fact, the news just kept getting worse.
He and Shay had been driving for an hour when Lindsey first phoned to tell them that a 9-1-1 call had come in from the Dingler residence, and that the Van Nuys police had arrived to find the place deserted. There were, however, both signs of a break-in and of some kind of struggle inside of the house.
No one had been able to give them more details—like, was there blood? Had someone been killed, and the body removed? Or had Dingo and Maddie merely broken in themselves, and then had a food fight?
Lindsey tried to make a human connection, but the Van Nuys Police Department was still recovering from a very busy night, and she kept getting put on hold.
Another hour had passed as Pete pushed further west. He was still a good hour away from Van Nuys, but Izzy’d apparently made the trip up from San Diego in record time.
