Page 82 of Fierce Seas


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His anxiety grew…

The only light came from a small window covered by a steel grid between the back of the van and the cab. Making his way to the doors, he searched in the dim light for a way to open them, but hearing approaching voices, he scrambled away.

The doors opened.

He stared in shock.

The two men who had escorted him out of the station stood on either side of Jim Parker, the DEA boss running Elizabeth McKay and Manny Delgado. Gaping at Jim as he was bundled inside, Dan waited until the doors were closed before speaking.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Dan muttered.

“So, Dan Miller,” Jim said gruffly. “We finally meet. I’m Jim Parker.”

“I know who you are. I make it my business to keep tabs on the head honchos at the DEA,” Dan exclaimed, “but how do you know me?”

“I keep tabs, as you put it,” Jim grunted with a scowl, “on any cops associated with Conchello.”

“You work for him too?”

“No, the Easter Bunny,” Jim snapped.

“I can’t believe it,” Dan said, shaking his head. “Hey, was it you who tipped him off?”

“About what exactly? I tipped him off about many things.”

“That raid, asshole,” Dan retorted, “what else?”

“Okay, okay! Keep your fucking shirt on and your voice down,” Jim growled angrily.

“Well, was it you?”

“Hell, yeah, it was me.”

“Damn, and I thought I was in deep shit. When we get back you’ll be so far down you’ll choke.”

“I’m not leaving this fucking island,” Jim snarled. “There’s no fucking way.”

“Yeah, well, good luck with that.”

“Our best hope is right now, while we’re being transported,” Jim continued, “though having our hands cuffed behind our back will be a serious hindrance.”

“Hah!” Dan spouted, letting out a strange chortle.

“You think that’s funny?”

“Hell, yeah. Get ready to see the impossible.”

Lifting his long arms up behind him, and dramatizing his bizarre talent with a ghoulish expression, he moved them over his head and lowered them in front of his body. Seeing Jim’s face filled with abject horror, Dan couldn’t stop himself laughing out loud.

“That’s… that’s… impossible…” Jim gasped. “How…?”

“It was nothing, I can do all kinds of shit,” Dan declared proudly. “I wanted to be a professional contortionist and escape artist, but it’s impossible to get gigs and the money is crap. You know what else I’m really good at?”

“I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“Picking locks, any kind of locks.”

“Handcuffs?”

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