"Are those… aw, Jesus… "
"Don't worry about that now."
"Don't worry? Do you know what these are?"
"Yes."
"These are… nipples. "
"I know, Candi. That's why we need to get the hell out of here."
That seemed to spur her to action. I joined Candi in pulling up mats, and we soon found the trap door. I pulled on the recessed handle.
Locked.
I tugged as hard as I could, until the cords on my neck bulged out and I saw stars.
It wouldn't budge.
"We're going to die up here." Candi was hugging her knees, rocking back and forth.
I blew out a breath. "No, we're not."
"He's going to bite off our toes. Then our tits, to add to his collection."
I reached up overhead, tugging at the baffling stuck to the ceiling. Under it was heavy aluminum. I did a 360, looking at all the walls.
There was no way out. We were trapped up here.
Then we both felt it. The truck cab jiggle.
Oh, shit. They're back.
– 9-
Fran the waitress was happy to flip a coin for the two gentlemen who had tipped her so well.
"Tails," Taylor called.
Fran caught the quarter, slapped it against her wrist.
"Tails it is. Congrats, handsome."
Taylor gave her a polite nod, then turned to judge Donaldson's reaction. There wasn't one. The fat man's face was blank. Taylor left the diner, his cohort in tow. It was still hot and muggy outside, and the lot was still almost full, but there weren't any people around.
"Are we cool?" Taylor asked as they walked to his truck.
"Yeah. Fair is fair. You'll let me watch?"
Taylor shrugged like it didn't matter, but secretly he was thrilled at the idea of an audience.
"Sure."
"And you'll let me do her face?"
"Her face is all yours."
"You should try it once. The face. You peel enough of the flesh away, you can see the skull underneath. I bet Jack Daniels has a beautiful skull."
Taylor stopped and stared at him. "You've really got a hard-on for this cop, don't you?"
"I'd marry her if she'd have me. But I'll settle for a bloody blowjob after I knock her teeth out. Do you still have Jack's phone?"
Taylor had pocketed her phone and wallet. He tugged the cell out.
"Does Officer Donaldson want to inform the next of kin?" Taylor grinned as he handed it over.
"That's a possibility. Might also be fun to call up her loved ones while you're working on her, let them hear her screams."
"You've got a sick mind, my friend."
"Thank you, kindly. Let's see who our favorite cop talked to last. The winner is… Latham. And less than an hour ago. Shall we see if Latham is still up?"
"Put it on speaker."
The phone rang twice, and a man answered.
"Jack? I was worried."
"And you have good reason to be," Donaldson said. "Is this Latham?"
"Who is this?"
"I'm the man about to murder Jack Daniels. She's going to die in terrible pain. How do you feel about that?"
There was silence.
"What's wrong, Latham? Don't you care that…" Donaldson squinted at the phone. "Dammit, lost the signal."
Donaldson hit redial. The call didn't go through.
They stood there for a moment, neither of them saying anything.
"I hate dropped calls," Taylor finally offered. "Drives me nuts."
"Cops."
"I hate cops, too."
"Behind you."
Taylor spun around and froze. A Wisconsin squad car rolled up next to them. Its lights weren't on, but the driver's side window was open and a pig was leaning out. White male, fat, had something on his upper lip that an optimist might call a mustache.
"Did you men happen to witness a disturbance in the diner earlier?"
Taylor thought fast. But apparently so did Donaldson, because he spoke first.
"What disturbance?"
"Seems an Illinois cop got into a tussle with one of the locals."
"We're just passing through," Donaldson said. "Didn't see anything."
The pig nodded, then pulled up next to the diner. He let his fellow cop out, then began to circle the parking lot.
"I had to lie," Donaldson said, "or else we'd have to give statements. I don't want my name in any police report."
"I'm with you. But now we've got a big problem. One of them is going to talk to our waitress, and she'll mention us. The other is taking down plate numbers. He'll find Jack's car, realize she's still here, and start searching for her."
"We need to move our vehicles. Right now."
Taylor nodded. "There's an oasis thirty miles north on 39. I'll meet you there in half an hour. You've got the whore's phone, right?"
"Yeah."
"Give me the cop's," Taylor said. "We'll exchange numbers if we need to get in touch."
After programming their phones, Donaldson offered his hand. Taylor shook it.
"See you soon, fellow traveler."
Then they parted.
Taylor hustled into his cab, started the engine, and pulled out of Murray 's parking lot. He smiled. While he still didn't fully trust Donaldson, Taylor was really starting to enjoy their partnership. Maybe they could somehow extend it into something fulltime. Teamwork made this all so much more exciting.
Taylor was heading for the cloverleaf when he saw the light begin to flash on the dashboard.
It was the fire alarm. The smoke detector in the overhead sleeper was going off.
What the hell?
Taylor pulled onto the shoulder, set the brake, and tugged his sawed-off shotgun out from under the passenger seat. Then he headed for the trap door to see what was going on with those bitches.
– 10-
The moment the cab jiggled, I began to gather up bungee cords and hook them to the handle on the trap door, pulling them taut and attaching them to the foot stock. When that door opened, I wanted it to stay open.
Then the truck went into gear, knocking me onto my ass. Moving wasn't going to help our situation. At least at Murray 's we were surrounded by people. If Taylor took us someplace secluded, our chances would get even worse.
I looked around the sleeper again, and my eyes locked on the overhead light. Next to it, on the ceiling, was a smoke alarm. I doubted it would be heard through all the soundproofing, but there was a good chance it signaled the driver somehow.
"Candi! Press the test button on the alarm up there!"
She steadied herself, then reached up to press it. The high-pitched beeping was loud enough to hurt my ears. But would Taylor even be aware of it?
Apparently so, because a few seconds later, the truck stopped.
I reached for the Tupperware container and a broken slat from the chest, and crawled over to the side of the trap door. Then I waited.
I didn't have to wait long. The trap door opened up and the bungee cords worked as predicted, tearing it out of Taylor 's grasp. The barrel of a shotgun jutted up through the doorway. I kicked that aside and threw a big handful of salt in Taylor 's eyes. He screamed, and I followed up with the wooden slat, smacking him in the nose, forcing him to lose his footing on the stepladder.
As he fell, I dove, snaking face-first down the opening on top of him, landing on his chest and pinning the shotgun between us.
He pushed up against me, strong as hell, but I had gravity on my side and I was fighting for my life. My knee honed in on his balls like it lived there, and the first kick worked so well I did it three more times.
He moaned, trying to keep his legs together and twist away. I grabbed the shotgun stock and jerked. He suddenly let go of the weapon, and I tumbled backwards off of him, the gun in my hands, and my back slammed into the step ladder. The wind burst out of me, and my diaphragm spasmed. I tried to suck in a breath and couldn't.
Taylor got to his knees, snarling, and lunged. I raised the gun, my fingers seeking the trigger, but he easily knocked it away. Then he was straddling me, and I still couldn't breathe-a task that became even more difficult when his hands found my throat.
"You're gonna set a world fucking record on how long it takes to die."