‘We can’t,’ Payne whispered. ‘First of all, I didn’t drive. Secondly, there are two men looking for you outside with four more on the way. We have to go down.’
‘There are two men waiting for me at the lower station.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘I’m positive. They followed me here from my house. I managed to hide in the back in the nick of time. Darla told them I continued down the incline, and they believed her. They took the last car.’ Sahlberg paused. ‘Jonathon, both men were armed.’
‘So are the men outside — with four more on the way. I suck at math, but I’ll take two over six any day of the week. Better odds.’
Payne reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.
‘No need,’ Darla said with a smile. ‘You’re good.’
‘Thank you,’ Sahlberg replied.
Payne nodded his thanks and made a mental note to send Darla some flowers and a box of chocolates. Heck, if she could somehow keep the six men stranded up here while he dealt with matters below, he would buy her a whole candy store, but he knew that was too much to ask.
Besides, she had done enough for their cause.
Payne led Sahlberg down the small flight of stairs to the loading area, where the next car was waiting. Three doors were standing open in the oddly shaped cars.
Rather than a simple rectangle that would restrict the view of some passengers, the unique tiered design of the incline cars created three viewing areas. The cars might look a bit strange in transit — like three steps in an escalator — but the design gave all the passengers a magnificent view without the need to look past, over, or through the other riders.
Each separate tier had its own door that opened on to two rows of bench seating. These benches were on opposite walls of the compartment, so that passengers sat facing one another. Inside the car, the tiers were separated only by a small railing and a steep ledge.
Payne and Sahlberg stepped into the top compartment.
There were only three other passengers on board. A couple in their fifties sat on the bench directly below them in the middle section of the car. Across from them, a teenager had spread out on the entire bench with his back to the city. Two small cords sprouted from his ears, and he drummed furiously on his backpack as the music from his headphones buzzed faintly throughout the cabin. His eyes closed, he was oblivious to the world around him.
Sahlberg took a seat against the far wall, opposite the doorway.
Payne instinctively sat in the middle of the bench, where he could survey the entire car. Taking advantage of the moment, he pulled out his cell phone and fired off a quick text to his best friend, who was already in the city:
911. MEET AT MON. INCLINE LOWER STATION. GAME ON.
It meant to come fully armed, ready for battle.
Things were about to get messy.
Just before the cabin doors closed, two more passengers jumped aboard the incline — the two men Payne had passed on the street. They sat in the empty lower level, with their backs turned to the passengers above. Payne cursed his luck. So far, they hadn’t noticed Sahlberg tucked into the corner of the upper compartment, but the journey down the hill was just starting.
For the next three minutes, they would be locked together in a moving box.
With nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.
11
David Jones had faced death on every continent and in every condition imaginable. He had been shot in the mountains of Afghanistan, stabbed in the Bolivian rainforest, and left for dead in the desert grasslands of the Gobi. He had endured pain that would cripple a battalion of lesser men, but he kept going back for more because it was his job, his duty, his calling.
He was a MANIAC. A warrior. A killing machine.
One of the baddest motherfuckers on earth.
And yet he had a weakness. A major weakness.
David Jones was scared of the dentist.
Make that petrified.
Years of soda and sugary treats had left him with more than a few cavities. Couple that with his high tolerance of pain, and he would often let things fester for weeks until he was unable to eat. To him, each filling in his mouth was a battle scar. Each represented another time he had survived the horrors of dentistry. The excruciating bright lights. The sadistic tools. The tortuously small paper cups. Just thinking about it made his heart beat faster.
‘You have nothing to worry about,’ the technician assured him as she lowered the chair into position. From his medical history, she knew that Jones was a graduate of the Air Force Academy. ‘Just try to relax. Think about flying one of your airplanes. Just floating through the sky.’
Screw that, he thought to himself. I’d rather be in a fighter jet. At least you can pull the ripcord in an F-16 and eject!
‘Deep breaths,’ she said calmly. ‘It’ll all be over soon.’
What’ll be over soon? My life?
‘Relax. I’m just going to kill the pain with a shot of Novocain, then the doctor will be in to drill the tooth and fill the cavity. Kill, drill and fill, as we like to say.’
Did she just say ‘kill’?
What kind of bedside manner is that?
She tilted the chair all the way back and sat next to Jones’s head. She looked down at him — albeit upside down — as she spread a cloth bib across his chest. Then she prepped the syringe that would be used to anesthetize the affected area.
Jones could only see her eyes — the rest of her face was hidden behind a surgical mask — but they were a remarkable shade of green. Somehow the color gave Jones a deep sense of calm … until he saw her tap the syringe. Then her eyes grew dark, and cold, and sinister. Suddenly she was a beast and he was her victim.
He was half tempted to bite her hand to defend himself, but she was too quick. He felt the pinch of her needle as it pierced his gum. A moment later, the slow burn of anesthetic started to spread throughout his mouth. He felt the poison take hold.
‘There,’ she announced. ‘All done with the first step. That wasn’t so bad, was it? The drug will take a few minutes to take full effect. We’ll be back then to finish the job.’
He groaned in anticipation.
She looked down at him, concerned. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Do I look okay?’
‘Not really. You look kind of pale.’
‘Pale? You think I look pale? What kind of bullshit is that? Never call a black man pale! Look in the damn mirror — you’re the one who’s pale!’
She stood there stunned, unsure how to respond.
Jones quickly realized his mistake. He knew he had overreacted. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I really didn’t.’ He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. ‘I swear, I’m normally not like this. You’re catching me at my absolute worst.’
She nodded and backed away.
‘Seriously, I didn’t mean it. You’re the perfect amount of pale.’
She ignored his comment. ‘Oh, one more thing. Try to keep your mouth closed. The anesthetic is going to numb your mouth and the lower half of your face. The last thing we want is for you to accidentally bite through your tongue. I’ve seen it happen many times. Boy, is it messy! You wouldn’t believe the blood. We’d have to bring in a mop to clean it all up.’
With that, she closed the door behind her.
It was her way of getting even.
Most patients would have freaked out over the thought of blood, but not Jones. He had spilled enough over the years to become immune. Too bad the same didn’t apply to power tools, because the thought of a high-speed drill in his mouth made him nauseous.