He reached for a phone on the table and dialed. “Hey. Guess who I have?” He leaned away from the phone. “We have men out looking for you, and you came right to me. Spider thought we’d have to take you from the cops, and he was geared up to do it.”
“Most of Spider’s gang is in custody,” I retorted.
“Not all,” the judge said, returning to his phone call. “All right. I’ll bring her.” Then he clicked off and widened his stance. “Take the gun out of your waist with two fingers and set it on the desk. I’ll shoot you in the arm if I have to, and believe me when I say that I’m a crack shot.”
I did believe him. He had the trophies in the corner to prove it. I gingerly removed my gun and put it on the desk, keeping him in my sights.
“Good. Now walk this way.” He motioned with the gun. “Don’t try anything.”
Like what? I moved for him, waiting for an opening. He motioned me ahead of him down the hallway and through the fifties-styles kitchen to a garage, where he had me flip on the light. An older Chrysler waited.
“How can you be all right with Spider having killed Scot?” I asked. “You and Scot go way back.”
The judge sighed. “I know, but Scot had second thoughts, and he was going to turn us in.”
I looked at the car. Okay. He couldn’t drive and keep that gun on me the whole time. If he made me drive, I’d smash into the nearest building when we got close to town.
He reached for a set of keys on a hook and pushed a button. The trunk opened.
“No way.” I started to back away, and he lifted the gun barrel to the center of my forehead.
“Get in the car,” he said. “We want you alive, so you should probably cooperate. I’d hate to kill you. I really would.”
The car was older and didn’t have the safety features of new cars. I wouldn’t be able to kick out the lights. My legs wobbling, I moved for the trunk. He shoved me hard in the back, and I fell inside, scrambling for purchase. The lid came crashing down, and I screamed, rolling into a ball to keep from getting hit with it. The sound echoed all around, and darkness surrounded me.
I kicked and punched the sides, trying to knock out the lights. Nothing. The old car was solid. And quiet. I lost track of the time as I lay in the dark, trying to hit different points to get free. Even punching what was probably the back seat didn’t help. Where was the judge?
Finally, the car roared to life. I froze. Completely.
Then we were driving.
* * *
I lostcount of how many bumps the judge hit driving, finally curling into a ball to keep from bouncing off the trunk’s lid and sides. He truly sucked as a driver. The car smelled like old golf socks. I tried to pay attention to twists and turns and pauses, but my ears rang, and my entire body hurt. Where had he been while I’d been locked in the trunk?
And where were we going?
It didn’t make sense that he wanted me alive. No way would the DEA give him the drugs from the lab in exchange for me. He had to know that. So why?
Finally, he slowed, and the sound of the rain increased in pitch. He drove up something, and then…silence.
I could do this. It might be my only chance. I rolled to my knees to charge when he opened the trunk. Heavy footsteps sounded, and then the trunk opened. Light flashed into my eyes, and I shut them, attacking with fists and fingernails. I hit him beneath the jaw, and we went down.
My elbow smacked concrete, and I cried out, trying to scissor my legs around his waist.
“Damn it.” Fingers leeched into my hair and dragged me off him. “Quit it.” Spider yanked me to my feet.
I kicked his knee hard and punched for his soft gut, impacting surprising muscles.
“Stop.” He twisted and backhanded me so hard I fell to the ground. Pain exploded in my cheekbone. My good one. I leaped up, and the cocking of a gun stopped me. I turned, panting, to see Sal Hallenback in a greasy T-shirt and overalls holding a silver pistol pointed at me.
Spider grunted and half-bent over, catching his breath.
I swiveled, my hair still a wild and wet mess. We were in a well-lit empty metal shop with a couple of cars parked at the far side. One of several garage doors was open to a lot containing a few scattered wrecked vehicles. “Where are we?” I huffed.
“Storage garage outside of town,” the judge said, slamming the trunk door closed. “We keep some of the wrecked vehicles here for parts if we need them.”
Great. There was nobody near to hear me scream. He didn’t need to say it.
