“Would your partner take me down in the basement too?” Eunice asked.
Damn! Tristan thought. Does she suspect something? Maybe that there’s no basement and that Bernie is in on this gag? He said, “Whether he does it here or in the basement, you ain’t gonna like it either way. Jist get us what we want.”
“We don’t have five hundred thousand dollars,” Eunice said.
“How much you got?”
“Very little. We might be able to come up with the five thousand that my husband offered you. Maybe a little more.”
“Don’t say that to my partner, woman. That’s all I can say.”
“Would you let me go so I can get some money from the bank for you?”
“Oh, yeah,” Tristan said. “We’ll drop you off at Bank of America or somewheres and let you and him bounce inside to make a withdrawal.”
“I didn’t mention him,” she said. “You could keep him in the basement as a hostage.”
It was at that moment that Tristan Hawkins began to get a very strong feeling that doing the gag his way was doomed. And that only Jerzy could get the information out of her, by doing it his way.
That’s when he heard the heavy footsteps, bumping sounds, and whimpers from Dewey. The door opened and Jerzy stomped in, playing his part to the hilt, and Dewey, now a balls-out method actor, dragged himself across the floor and fell heavily onto his stomach with a plaintive “Ohhhhhh.”
“Tell you what,” Tristan said. “You two have a nice little talk and we’ll be back in ten minutes for your final answer. By the way, man, would you like to take a leak?”
“He already did,” Jerzy said with the snuffling giggle that Tristan had come to hate. “Look at the front of his pants.”
“Let’s give them some space,” Tristan said.
After the door had closed, Dewey gradually quieted down, erupting in a sob only every so often, when he felt the timing was right. He knew that this was his last chance to persuade her, and he wanted her to speak first. But she was silent.
A moment passed before she said, “Are you blindfolded, Dewey?”
Perfect, he thought. She didn’t ask how badly he was hurt or what they’d done to him. She’s thinking of how to escape! “Of course,” he croaked, followed by a whimper.
More silence, until she finally said, “Are you hurt bad?”
He thought about trying wry laughter but wasn’t certain he could pull it off. Then he said, whispery, “I don’t hurt good, I can tell you that!”
“So, what did he do to you?” she said without emotion.
“He’s very good at those fucking body shots. Now I know I got cracked ribs. And he loves to squeeze my balls until I’m… I’m… crying like a little girl and puking my guts out.” And then Dewey surprised himself by actually crying. It was coming back to him as good as it ever had. He was Dewey Gleason, kidnap victim. He was absolutely in character. He still had the old acting chops!
“Were you able to get some idea of where we are?” she asked after he calmed himself.
“I think… think it’s a two-story house. All I could smell was mold and mildew in the basement. And him. You can smell him more than… than anything. I… I don’t want him to touch you with his filthy hands, Eunice!”
She didn’t reply for another agonizing minute, and then she said, “How do they think they can get away with this, even if we gave them money?” Eunice said. “These’re guys you know.”
Dewey sighed and said, “Oh, God! I don’t know what’s hurting more, my ribs or my nuts. What? What did you say?”
“I’m saying that you could help the police to find these two, and they know it. Do they plan to kill us after they get the ransom, or what?”
“They know more about us than we do about them,” Dewey said. “They believe we’d never dare go to the police, no matter what they do to us. They think they could tell enough about us to get the cops unraveling our business and retrieving what’s on your computers. Where there’s enough data to send us away for twenty years for grand theft and forgery. That’s what Jerzy told me between our little sessions down there. They don’t feel like they have to worry about cops at all. Pardon the pun, but he says they have us by the balls.”
“Did he specifically ask questions about my computers?” Eunice asked calmly.
Dewey felt like screaming, but he just raised his whisper a few octaves and said, “Goddamnit, yes! They found my Bernie Graham ID in my wallet. And I told him what I know, which isn’t much. And I woulda told him anything else he wanted to know. And so will you if that bastard starts working on you.”
“Okay, get a grip,” Eunice said. “We gotta figure out a way to pay them a little something. They know they’ll have to let one of us outta here to accomplish that.”
“They want five hundred thousand, Eunice. They’re not gonna settle for a little something.”
“When they come back up here, I’ll bargain with them,” she said. “They’re your runners. They’re petty thieves, not killers.”
“Jerzy’s got the instincts of one,” Dewey said bleakly. “Don’t underestimate him, Eunice. I’m begging you.”
“Let me handle it when they come back,” she said. And then she said quickly, “What time is it?”
He glanced at his watch and said, “Quarter to two.” And then he added, “More or less. Jerzy told me it was one thirty when he dragged me in here.”
She was quiet again, and he was furious with himself for looking at his watch and blurting out the time. When he spoke again, he said, “I don’t have the same opinion of Jerzy that you have. Not anymore. I hope you’ll buy me outta here, Eunice. Don’t leave me here and just hope for the best.”
“I’ll take care of things, Dewey” was all she said.
When the door opened again, Tristan and Jerzy entered, the Polack wearing a leather jacket even though the night was still warm. Dewey saw a look of grim determination on Creole’s face.
Tristan said, “We ain’t wastin’ no more time with you two. We want the five hundred grand, and you’re gonna tell us how to get it.”
“We don’t have five hundred thousand,” Eunice said.
“No?” Tristan said.
“We have twelve thousand and change,” she said. “That’s all there is.”
“Really?” Tristan said. “And we can have it, huh?”
“Yes,” Eunice said, “if you let us go.”
“What’s gonna happen now ain’t my fault,” Tristan said. “It’s your fault. We’re gonna take one of you home. And the other one’s gonna stay.”
“Let her go, Creole,” Dewey said. “She’ll keep her word.”
“You’re the one who’s goin’ home,” Tristan said. “Get on your feet.”
Dewey made struggling sounds and stood up. He said, “I’m begging you! Let Ethel go! Keep me here!”
“We’re through with all that,” Tristan said. “It’s time for all us thieves to learn how our world turns bad sometimes.”
Dewey stood looking back at Eunice, blindfolded and chained to the bed, and wanted to say something to her but could not.
Still grim, Tristan said, “Say good-bye for now to your old lady, Bernie. You and me, we’re gonna go to your crib and have a little nap till we get a call. Then we’re gonna get the money, and it ain’t gonna be no twelve grand and change.”
“Can I have a cigarette?” Eunice said, still strangely composed.
And Dewey was certain now that she either had not bought into this gag or she could not make herself believe that their former runners would actually torture her. Dewey looked into Tristan’s eyes and saw that Creole agreed with his assessment.
“I need me a smoke too,” Jerzy said, pulling off his baseball cap and dropping it onto the floor. His hair looked like a colorless tangle of fishing line.
“This ain’t no time to be burnin’ a pipe,” Tristan said when he saw Jerzy take the glass meth pipe from his jacket pocket and put it on the kitchen counter.