Landry started speaking even before he was fully in the doorway.
“So, have you decided to—”
He got no further. Rob put all his strength into the swing. Landry managed to duck slightly before the makeshift club connected solidly enough with the top of his head that his knees buckled and he fell on his back just inside the door.
Rob didn’t wait to see the effect of his first blow. As soon as Landry landed, Rob started kicking him, first to the head, then to the midriff. Landry was able to get his arms up and partially deflect some of the blows, but after a frenzied flurry of solid kicks found their mark, Landry lay still.
Still wary of his captor, Rob backed away a step and stood there panting. The aches and pains that had left him in the rush of adrenaline now assailed him once more. He could barely believe what he saw. The bushy mustache, which was apparently fake, lay coated with dust a few feet away from Landry. The curly, graying wig had flown off and lay in a heap next to the doorjamb. Landry’s wavy blond hair was now only partially covered by a latex skull cap.
The radical transformation of appearance held Rob transfixed for a few moments. Then Landry groaned and turned his head to one side. He was coming to. The spell broken, Rob limped to the outer door, threw it open and went outside.
The car was still in the parking lot. Rain danced off the roof of the car and soaked Rob almost immediately. He considered going back inside for the keys, but the thought of facing Landry again got him jogging across to the fence as quickly as he could. He ran with lurching strides and threw frequent glances back over his shoulder, expecting to see Landry in pursuit, waving his gun at him.
Rob groaned. The gun. Why hadn’t he looked for it? Too late now.
He passed through the gate. A lone car drove by with its headlights on against the deepening Friday evening gloom. He turned left and trotted along the sidewalk. His knee loosened up more and more as he did so.
At the first street corner he paused and tried to decide which direction to turn. To his right lay the dark desolation of fenced-in warehouses, construction sites and, eventually, the waterfront. Rob shivered and wiped rainwater from his forehead and eyes. He had no desire to wander that territory alone at night. Instead he headed up the hill and almost immediately found himself in a residential area.
He kept to the shadows as much as he could. All the while he felt like a dark Buick was sure to come hurtling up behind him at any moment. He slowed to a walk as a stitch in his side developed, but the image of Landry’s face got him trotting again.
Before long he saw the lights of a convenience store burning at the end of the block. He felt like a desert wanderer happening upon an oasis.
An old-fashioned bell tinkled overhead as Rob entered the tiny store. The teenaged boy behind the counter looked like he was struggling to grow a straggly red beard, but his age and genetics weren’t cooperating. Rob was surprised when the young man looked at him with such alarm. Then he remembered how he must look.
“Can I use your phone?” he said.
The guy just blinked.
“It’s an emergency,” Rob said. He spread his hands. “Can’t you tell by the look of me? And it’ll be a local call.”
The young man nodded earnestly.
“Sure,” he said and produced a phone from under the counter.
Rob dialed nine, one, and had his finger poised over the one button when he changed his mind. He hung up. What could the police do for him at this point? His captor had started to wake up when Rob took off, and would surely be long gone before the cops could arrive. Rob would be stuck looking at mug shots all night. And when he finally got to leave he’d be right back where he was now — scared to go anywhere that someone might know to look for him.
What if he asked to be locked up for his own good? Rob dismissed that thought immediately. No way he wanted to spend even one more minute in jail if he could help it.
Rob’s head buzzed with pain and exhaustion. He needed someone to think for him, to tell him what he should do. He picked up the phone again and dialed a number he knew from memory. To his immense relief the call was answered after only one ring.
Dysart was barely able to concentrate enough to drive as he worked his way home through the residential streets. He remained convinced that Landry must have Rob, but if that was true then he couldn’t understand why Landry hadn’t called. Surely Rob wouldn’t be able to resist Landry’s brand of persuasion. Dysart felt like First Malden’s entire future was teetering on the edge of destruction, and the next phone call he received was likely to tip things in one direction or the other.
His breath caught when the phone in his pocket trilled, but then his heart sank when he realized it was his personal cell rather than Landry’s special phone. He pulled to the curb and flipped open the phone.
“Hello,” he said.
“Stan, thank God I got you. I really need your help. Can you come pick me up right away?”
Dysart hesitated when he heard Rob’s voice. What the hell was going on? Didn’t Landry have him?
“Stan, are you there?”
“Yeah, sorry. What’s going on?”
“This is going to sound weird but I’ve had the worst night you can imagine. I just spent the last couple of hours tied to a chair while this guy beat on me. I thought he was going to kill me but I managed to get away.”
Dysart clutched the phone so hard the skin around his fingernails turned white. This was not possible. For all the money he was paying Landry. How could the idiot get bested by Rob? By a child!
“You’re kidding,” Dysart said.
“I’m scared he’s going to come after me again and … I didn’t know who else to call.”
“You did the right thing. Where are you?”
Rob told him.
Dysart thought fast. He still might be able to salvage the situation.
“All right,” he said. “Stay where you are. I’ll come get you.”
“Hurry, okay?”
“Of course. Just stay put.”
Dysart hung up, pulled out the other cell and started angrily punching buttons.
The bottom drawer of a filing cabinet swam into view, still bearing a cardboard label with the letters M-Z scrawled on it. Landry felt like he had been run over by a stampede. He tried to sit up but felt dizzy as soon as he made it up onto one elbow. After a pause to let his head settle, he sat up fully and rested with his elbows on his knees.
Rob’s chair still lay on its side with the discarded rope nearby. The arm missing from the chair made it clear how Rob had gotten loose. Landry shook his head. How could he have been so careless? He spotted his pistol lying ten feet away under a desk. Apparently Rob was careless too.
He stood up and took inventory of his battered body. His head pounded and he was sore all over, but his wooziness was gone and everything seemed to be in working order. After removing the silencer, the gun went back under his jacket.
How long had he been unconscious? He glanced at his watch. Couldn’t have been long — ten minutes, maybe. Enough to give Rob a good head start, anyway.
Landry noticed what looked like a dead rat lying at the edge of the floor. His hand went to his head and found the wig missing and the latex cap torn almost all the way off. He removed it completely, then stooped over and picked up the wig. A few seconds of scanning the floor turned up the dusty mustache as well.
He was standing there staring at them when his cell phone rang.
“Yeah?” Landry said.
“What the hell is going on?” Dysart said.