"And he did?"
She shrugged. "He loves me."
"So you have two more payments to make?"
"That's what they tell me."
"Rudy?"
"And the others."
"You know their names?"
"No."
"Scary guys?"
Her face took on a thoughtful expression. "Not as scary as you. No offense."
If Jinny wasn't afraid of what they might do to her, she must be afraid of what they might not do. Like grant her wish. I took a minute to ponder what Buddy had told me about the wishes and paybacks. "How many of your wishes have come true?"
"Three."
I nodded. "The little ones."
"So far."
"And you're waiting on the big one."
She nodded.
"And the big one is so important that if it doesn't come true, something will happen that is worse to you than dying tonight."
She didn't reply.
"You were willing to have sex with Buddy Pancake and give him a million dollars. What else would you be willing to do to get your wish?"
She squeezed her eyes shut, and two little puddles of tears raced each other down her cheeks.
I said, "Are you aware they made Buddy Pancake kill someone tonight with his bare hands?"
She gave me a sudden look of horror. Then her facial muscles went slack and she stared at her hands again. I watched her go through these emotions with great curiosity.
"You're willing to sleep with a complete stranger, pay a million dollars, and even let people die in order to get this wish?"
She didn't look up, didn't speak, but her shoulders moved slightly, and I could tell she was crying softly.
"And just so we're clear, you're willing to let me kill you rather than tell me what you wished for."
She finally looked up at me. Adding in the fact that Jinny Kidwell is damned good at what she does for a living, I could tell she wasn't acting. She was in anguish, and her face ran the whole gamut of looks. She was frightened, horrified, humiliated, defeated…and somehow, hopeful.
"Must be one hell of a wish," I said.
Chapter 5
"Please, Mr. Creed. I have a wife and kids at home."
It was 1:30 a.m.
At seventy-five miles per hour with no stops along the way, Hannibal to Louisville is a five hour drive. Harrison Ford was too jittery to handle the wheel, so I fastened him to the front passenger headrest with sealing tape to help him stay put. That was two hours earlier, and he hadn't stopped blubbering since.
"You're an annoying person," I said. "Anyone ever tell you that?"
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be."
"I'd hoped you'd find this fun. I'd hoped you'd want to be my regular driver whenever I'm in the area. But you don't seem to have the temperament for it."
"I don't. I just want to go home."
"So you've said. A hundred times."
"Can you just give me a rough guess as to when that might happen? If you can tell me that, I'll feel a lot more comfortable."
I looked at him and shook my head. Our relationship wasn't working out. "Look, Harrison," I said. "You'll be back with your family tomorrow afternoon, Tuesday at the latest, dead or alive."
That made him even more nervous, so I added, "You have my word on that."
"Dead or alive?"
"Your choice. How you behave today makes a big difference."
"If I don't call my wife, she's going to be worried. If I don't come home, she might call the police."
"She's not expecting you before midnight. But don't worry, you can call her at the next stop."
"When will that be?"
"Couple hours."
"I'm going to need to pee before then."
"Feel free to do so. It's your car, after all."
"Look, Mr. Creed, you can't just-"
I knocked him unconscious with my fist. Something I should have done hours ago.
Two hours later we crossed the Crawford, Indiana county line into Harrison. I took the first exit and doubled back on the two lane to a gravel road I'd used a couple of times before that led to a dense, secluded area. After a few minutes I found the dirt road I was seeking, and followed it until it dead ended in the woods. I put the limo in park and kept the lights on.
Then I got out and walked to the back of the car and opened the cabin door and pulled Jinny Kidwell's lifeless body off the back seat.
Chapter 6
Jinny was unconscious, not dead, but by the time I got her wrist chained to a tree in the deep woods, she had begun to stir. I chained Harrison Ford to another tree, twenty feet away. I didn't know how long I'd be gone, and didn't want my prisoners to get dehydrated, so I took six bottles of water from the limo bar and divided them up, along with the blankets I'd brought from Jinny's trailer.
Then I forced Jinny and Harrison to scream at the top of their lungs, until their voices were raw, and waited to see if anyone showed up to help them. No one did. I drove away, waited twenty minutes, then returned, and found them sitting by their respective trees, crying. I think they'd probably gotten their hopes up when hearing the car approach, but were saddened to learn it was me.
I hung around a few minutes and listened patiently as they gave me all their reasons why I shouldn't leave them there, and then I left them there.
Chapter 7
Buddy's house was a baby shit yellow split-level ranch, with green shutters and clogged gutters. It was the second house on a wide, tree-lined street that featured a dozen similar homes. Buddy and Lissie's subdivision consisted of six through streets and four dead-end cul de sacs, eighty-three homes in all. A nice middle-class subdivision, from what I could tell by jogging it twice and studying everything within my field of vision. Specifically, I was looking for anything out of place: a limo other than mine, a van that might contain people with surveillance equipment, gangsters guarding the house, a mariachi band, a conga line filled with cartoon characters…
But nothing caught my eye except for the sad-faced octogenarian two blocks over, who walked to the center of his yard to retrieve his newspaper. He stood out because he was dressed in nothing more than an open bathrobe and a giant adult diaper.
"You think it's easy?" he yelled. "Huh? You think it's easy?"
I had no idea. But it looked pretty easy. As I passed him he yelled, "I get no visitors! You think it would kill them to show up once in a while? All I ask is one time, to have some visitors."
I made a mental note of his address.
Other than him, I saw nothing. Buddy was right. These Wish List people were good.
What I did expect to see was Buddy. On his porch, out by his mailbox, looking out his window, or just standing in his driveway. After all, we had an appointment. Having offered me a million dollars to protect his wife, he'd have been here, if he had a choice.
I needed to establish contact. Unless I broke into his home, I wouldn't know if anyone was holding a gun on him and Lissie. And if someone did happen to be inside, guarding them, I could get killed trying to break in. Therefore, a phone call seemed in order.
Buddy had told me his phone was bugged, but I didn't intend to say anything that should raise any eyebrows. But when I called, Lissie answered frantically.
"Buddy?"
I disguised my voice. "Actually, I'm calling for Buddy. Is he there?"
She paused a few seconds, trying to place my voice. It probably seemed familiar to her. My friend and former associate, Callie Carpenter, claims my fake voice is terrible. She swears I sound like Sponge Bob Square Pants.
Lissie said, "Mr. Jefferson?"
I said, "No…"
"Perkins?"
"No, ma'am. I'm sorry. Is Buddy there?"
"Who is this?"
I hung up. Although nothing concrete had been said between us, I'd learned a few things: Buddy wasn't home. Lissie had been expecting his call. And she thought he was with a Mr. Jefferson, or Perkins, the limo driver Buddy had referred to as being dangerous.