I shook my head. ‘The market’s tough these days, even for a man like you with such a . . . specialised skill set.’
‘That’s so thoughtful of you both.’ The Blade held his knife up to the light, scrutinising it and then carefully running a finger over the edge, as if cleaning a small spot. ‘What to do, what to do, what todo . . .’ He began pacing the room, taking slow strides. This wasn’t the pacing of an agitated man though; he was cool, calm and collected. Firmly in control.
‘Can’t cut you up into tiny pieces, and even if I could, don’t have time to dispose of two bodies before this afternoon. Can’t kill you, but can’t let you live either.’ He stopped pacing and swung around to look at us. ‘See my problem?’
‘It’s a real dilemma,’ I said. While the Blade had been talking, I’d already mentally run through every single scenario here. My training had kicked in and my brain was working on autopilot.
Step one: assess the threat profile. One subject, high-risk, edged weapon, unpredictable behaviour, confined space. No known accomplices, but that didn’t mean we weren’t being watched.
Step two: scan the environment. Identify hard and soft cover. Assess light sources. Count exits – visible and potential.
Step three: evaluate the subject’s psychological state. He was calm. Too calm. Calm was dangerous. Calm meant premeditated. He was clearly a Type B hostage-taker: calm, manipulative, enjoying control.
Step four: communication protocol. Establish rapport. De-escalate. Don’t provoke. Maintain eye contact without challenging. Mirror his tone, not his threats. Never beg. Never plead. Keep him engaged. Well, that had already flown out the window; this guy was way too smart to be manipulated by us and some cheap psychological tricks. Our only option was to meet him with the same sarcasm and disdain that he was dishing out to us.
‘So what conclusion have you reached?’ I asked.
He clicked his tongue, then bared his teeth and looked at them in the reflection of the blade. ‘Don’t you hate muesli?’ he said suddenly. ‘Always getting stuck between your teeth.’ He used the tip of the knife to pick something out of his incisor. I looked over at Cam while he was distracted and tried to communicate with him. We were both thinking the exact same thing, that much was certain. We were going to have to take him on physically. No two ways about it.
‘At least it’s high in fibre, keeps you regular,’ Cam said. Hediscreetly indicated the statue against the wall. It was big, heavy and perfect for dishing out a blow to the head. I glanced to my side, looking at the umbrellas and walking sticks by the front door. Cam nodded.
‘Now, now . . .’ The Blade returned his attention to us. ‘Don’t think I don’t notice those little looks you’re giving each other. Don’t think I don’t know you’re planning on hitting me over the head with that . . .’ He pointed at the statue. ‘And that you’re trying to decide whether to poke me in the ribs with the point of an umbrella or take out my knees with a walking stick.’
‘Knees,’ I said drily. ‘I’d decided on the knees.’
‘It’s a good plan, but let me tell you why it’s not going to work.’ He walked towards the foot of the bed. ‘Because of this.’ He reached behind him and pulled a gun out of his waistband, a long silencer attached to the end of it. ‘I don’t want to kill you, but if I have to, I will. I’m sure my bosses will understand, even if it’s a little messy.’
Cam and I clocked each other. We both knew that this totally changed things.
The Blade pointed the gun at my bedside table. ‘You see those little cocktails? The ones in the shot glasses?’ He swung his gun to Cam’s bedside table, and then back to mine. Sitting on each one was a shot glass filled to the brim with a bright yellow liquid. Beside them, bottles of water. ‘And do you see the ropes on the floor?’
I peered over the side of the bed to see a rope coiled neatly on the ground.
‘Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re both going to drink those cocktails – sorry, I ran out of time, couldn’t put little umbrellas and pineapples in them.’
‘Who has the time for umbrellas and pineapples?’ Cam said, playing along.
‘Exactly!’ The Blade pointed both the knife and the gun at us, just in case we’d forgotten that he was armed with more than one weapon. ‘And then once you’ve drunk them, you’re going to tie each other up. Hands behind your backs, ankles bound together, nocheating. And then . . .’ he smiled thinly, ‘you’re going to climb into that cupboard over there.’
He gestured towards the closet, and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. It had all started in a cupboard, and now it was going to end in one. How poetic, in a way. Or was it ironic? Or was it just really shitty?
‘Don’t worry, though,’ he added, as if this was all just some polite misunderstanding, ‘the drink won’t kill you. It’ll just knock you out for twenty-four hours. Long enough to keep you out of my hair. And when you wake up, I’ll be gone and we can all pretend this never happened.’ He tapped his head with the gun now.
Cam and I locked eyes, then we both turned and looked at him.
The Blade sighed. ‘Don’t give me that look. I’ve won. You’ve lost. It’s not a big deal. Happens to the best of us. Sometimes there are winners and sometimes there are losers. As my mom would say, it’s how you play the game that really matters.’
‘I don’t lose,’ I muttered.
‘I figured you’d say that.’ With a lazy flick of his hand, he gestured towards the window, where another gun barrel had appeared. ‘That’s my associate, Vasha. I told him I had some difficult guests. People who don’t like losing. He’s here to make sure you drink your medicine and tie each other up nicely.’
‘Asshole,’ Cam spat, which surprised me. Cam never got rattled in situations like this.
‘I know, that’s what my wife tells me all the time.’ The Blade burst out laughing.
‘So she’s not really dead then?’ I asked.
He let out a long, slow sigh. ‘Sadly, she is still very much alive. But what can you do, eh? Women . . . can’t live with them, can’t kill them either. What do you say?’ He looked at Cam, who didn’t say a word. But Vasha did.
