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Chapter 13
Slowly, reluctantly, both men raised their hands. Placed them on their heads. The man he’d shot had a wet stain on the side of his coat.
“All right. On the floor. Both of you. And if your hands move, I start shooting.”
Both men dropped to their knees. Struggled to lie down without moving their hands. Eventually, both of them lay face down on the floor.
Gideon pulled out two of the zip ties and bound one man’s hands behind his back. As he was reaching for the second man, the guy lunged at Gideon. He swung the barrel of his gun against the guy’s temple, and it connected with a dull thud. The Russian crumpled to the floor.
Watching the unconscious man carefully, Gideon finished securing the first man’s legs. Then he moved to the unconscious man. He had a bruise forming on the side of his head and a thin line of blood dribbled down his neck. Once his hands were secured, Gideon bound his feet together.
Then he searched both of them.
Both had Glocks in their jacket pockets. Knives in one pocket of their jeans. Thick wallets in the other. And they both had a small pistol strapped to their ankles.
A lot of weapons for a pair of thieves.
Gideon looked around and spotted a bed with two pillows. He removed one pillowcase and dumped the weapons in there.
Then he opened the wallets. Both had a half-inch thick stack of money. Fifties, it looked like. He tossed most of the cash into the bag with the weapons. Left a couple hundred dollars in each wallet. It’d look suspicious if both men were carrying wallets with no cash.
The first guy’s driver’s license belonged to James Smith. The second was Robert Jones.
“Wow. Really imaginative names,” he said to the man who was still conscious. “What’s your real name?”
The guy stared at him, rage turning his face red.
“What are you looking for?” Gideon asked.
Smith or Jones didn’t speak.
“You speak English?”
Still no answer.
“You want me to leave you here? Tied to a piece of furniture so you can’t move? This motel is closed for the next couple of months. You think you’d survive that long with no water or food?”
Nothing. Hatred flashed in the man’s eyes, but he didn’t say a word.
“Okay. Your choice.” He dragged the unconscious man to the sturdy, old-fashioned radiator. Attached his leg to the bar in front of it with a zip tie.
He heaved the other man to a tall dresser set against the wall, took out another zip time and bound his ankle to one of the legs.
“There you go. I’d leave you a bowl of water, but what would be the point? It’d just delay the inevitable. The heat’s not on in this unit. Maybe you’ll get lucky and freeze to death before you die of thirst.”
He headed toward the door and was in the front office before the conscious man called, “Wait. You can’t leave us to die.”
The man spoke with an accent. Eastern European or Russian. Most likely Russian. Gideon drew a deep breath and returned to the doorway. “Why not? All you had to do was answer some questions, and you refused to do that. So you’re on your own.”
“What are you doing here?” the guy asked.
“I was driving by and saw you break into this unit. We don’t care for thieves and vandals in this town.”
“We weren’t going to steal anything,” the man protested. “We’re looking for something.”
“What’s that?” Gideon asked.
“A… a package. Belonging to a friend.”
