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“It's parked on the side street,” Mitchell said, showing me his gun, “and that's where you're headed. Start walking.”
“I don't think so,” I said. “If you shoot me, Ranger has no incentive to deal with Stolle.”
“Wrong,” Mitchell said. “If we kill you, Ranger has no incentive.”
Good point.
The Dumpster was on the back edge of the lot. I stumbled across a patch of rain-slicked lawn on wobbly legs, too scared to think clearly. Wondering where Ranger was now, when I needed him. Why wasn't he here, insisting on locking me up in a safe house? Now that my hamster's cage was clean, I'd be happy to oblige.
Mitchell was driving the mom-van again. Guess they weren't having a lot of luck cleaning up the Lincoln. And probably I didn't want to choose that as a topic of conversation.
Habib sat beside me in the backseat. He was wearing a raincoat but it looked soaked through. They must have been crouching in the bushes at the edge of the building. He was hatless, and water dripped from his hair, down the back of his neck, and onto his face. He wiped his face with his hand. No one seemed to mind that they were getting the mom-van wet.
“Well,” I said, trying to make my voice sound normal. “Now what?”
“Now you do not want to know,” Habib said. “You should being quiet now.”
Being quiet was bad, since it gave me time to think. And thinking wasn't pleasant. No good was going to come of this ride. I tried to close my emotions down. Fear and regret weren't going to get me anywhere. Didn't want to let my imagination run wild, either. This could just be another meeting with Arturo. No need to go berserk ahead of time. I concentrated on breathing. Nice and steady. Taking in oxygen. I did a mental chant. Ohhhmm. I saw someone doing that on television, and she looked like she really got off on it.
Mitchell drove west on Hamilton, toward the river. He crossed Broad and wound around in a part of town that was zoned industrial. The lot he pulled into was next to a t
hreestory brick structure that had been a machine-tool factory but was now sitting unused. A “For Sale” sign had been fixed to the front of the building, but it looked like it had been there for a hundred years.
Mitchell parked the van and got out. He opened my door and waved me out at gunpoint. Habib followed. He unlocked the building's side door, and we all trooped in. It was cold and damp inside. The lighting was dim, coming from open doorways to small offices where the sun filtered through grimy exterior windows. We walked down a short hall and turned into a reception area. The tile was grungy underfoot and the area was bare, with the exception of two metal folding chairs and a small, scarred wood desk. There was a cardboard box on the desk.
“Sit down,” Mitchell said to me. “Pick a chair.”
He took his coat off and threw it onto the desk. Habib did the same. Their shirts weren't much drier than their coats.
“Okay, here's the plan,” Mitchell said. “We're gonna hit you with the stun gun, and then while you're out we're gonna cut off your finger with the shears, here.” He picked a pair of bolt cutters out of the cardboard box. “That way we have something to send to Ranger. Then we hang on to you and see what happens. If he wants to trade, we're in business. If he doesn't, I guess we kill you.”
There was a loud buzzing in my ears, and I snapped my head to make it go away. “What a minute,” I said. “I have some questions.”
Mitchell sighed. “Women always have questions.”
“Perhaps we could cut out her tongue,” Habib said. “That sometimes works. We have much luck with that in my village.”
I was getting the feeling he'd lied about being Pakistani. Sounded to me like his village was in Hell.
“Mr. Stolle didn't say nothing about a tongue,” Mitchell said. “He might want to save that for some future time.”
“Where are you going to keep me?” I asked Mitchell.
“Here. We're gonna lock you in the bathroom.”
“But what about the bleeding?”
“What about it?”
“I could bleed to death. Then how would you trade me to Ranger?”
They looked at each other. They hadn't thought of that. “This is sort of new for me,” Mitchell said. “Usually I just beat the shit out of people or pop them.”
“You should have some clean bandages and some antiseptic.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Mitchell said. He looked at his watch. “We haven't got a lot of time. I need to get the van back to my wife to pick the kids up from school. Don't want them to have to wait around in the rain.”
“There is a drugstore on Broad Street,” Habib said. “We could be getting these things there.”
