Captive-in-Chief (31 page)

After five minutes of silence, Joe popped the trunk lid, climbed out, and rested at the rear of the car. Catching his breath, he cooled down slightly from the hundred plus degree heat he’d had to endure since the engine was switched off. He needed to be on his game. Hank was twenty years younger and had a gun.

Finally feeling more like himself, he had a look around the garage he was in. One other car shared the space, an identically bland sedan. Clyde’s car, Joe figured. A door led out of the garage area. He had heard it open and close and footsteps on stairs that faded after a few seconds. He grabbed the tire iron, the best he could do under the circumstances, and walked towards the door.

“Sorry, Hank, really funny story, got stuck in your trunk…” he considered as a good opening line when he found Hank and the passenger.

He opened the door and was surprised to see the stairs go down, not up. The ramp into the garage had definitely been downward as well. He removed his shoes and as gently as his bulk would allow, crept down the stairs. His biggest positive was surprise. The longer it was until Hank knew he was there, preferably right up to the moment the tire iron was hitting his skull, the better.

He stepped off the last step. A corridor ran for about sixty feet. A few doorways were visible every few feet, equally spaced just like a hotel corridor. A bone curdling scream from further down the corridor instantly killed the hotel comparison. Joe remembered the call earlier in the car. The mysterious voice had ordered him to ‘shut down any leads he gives you,’ so it would appear the leads weren’t being given voluntarily.

Joe put his shoes back on and made his way along the corridor. The man’s screams would more than cover his footsteps. He reached the doorway. Joe had no idea what was beyond it. A buzzing sound gave him all he needed to know. The moment he heard it, he lost all control and flew through the door in a rage he didn’t know he possessed.

The tire iron was, as Joe had hoped, about to hit Hank before he realized what was happening.

Unfortunately, Hank moved as the tire iron descended to where his skull had been. It would have split it in two had it landed, such was the force of Joe’s swing. Joe stumbled into a void where expected resistance should have been. Hank appeared at his right. He was fast, really fast. A jab from Hank caught him on the chin, though fortunately Joe had managed to turn as it hit, making it a glancing blow. Joe let himself go with the momentum, it was the quickest move. He fell deliberately to the floor and swept his leg out to catch Hank. He missed, catching Daryl’s chair leg crashing him unceremoniously to the floor.

Hank had his gun in his belt holster. Worryingly, he wasn’t reaching for it. Instead, he smiled.

“I knew there was something off about you,” he wagged his finger. “I told Amy you weren’t the sweet old down and out she thought you were.”

“Was that while she was climbing onto that monster of a hubby of hers? What is it? Is size her thing? You not enough?” goaded Joe.

“Don’t be ridiculous, she’s not into fat guys.”

“I wasn’t meaning his weight.” Joe grinned and stood up to face off Hank, who was three inches shorter, leaner and lighter. Joe had a good fifty pounds on him and far more muscle.

Joe’s head snapped back. He hadn’t even seen the jab coming. That was not good.

Hank winked, rolled his shoulders, and bounced on the spot.

“Okay, old man. How’d you do it? How’d you kill Gary and get back to Washington? Amy’s convinced you genuinely collapsed while ill and you’re innocent.”

Joe crunched his shoulders—their rolling days were long gone—and got ready for the fight of his life.

“Tell me where the girl is and I’ll tell you everything you want to know,” Joe countered. He bounced once on the spot, looking more like a halfhearted jump than an ‘I’m ready for you’ move like the gently bouncing Hank.

“What girl?”

“You know what girl. If you don’t, I’m in the wrong place,” said Joe, dropping his hands.

“What about me, man?” asked Daryl, still tied to the chair and lying on the floor by the wall.

“I don’t know who you are. I don’t give a shit about you.”

Hank looked disappointed. The fight had left Joe.

Hank smiled. “Oh that girl.”

Joe rushed him, head down and arms spread wide. He caught him, although barely. Hank almost made it outside of Joe’s huge reach. Joe pulled him in, receiving a punch to the back of the head for his trouble. He kept pulling as he powered towards the wall. Hank pummeled him twice. Joe kept moving, the momentum carrying them both into the wall.

“Ooooph!” Hank expelled every ounce of air as his body crumpled. Joe felt at least three of Hank’s ribs crack in the collision as they both fell to the floor.

Joe was up first. He had experienced more pain than most men would experience in ten lifetimes. His ability to soak it up and continue was all thanks to the most despicable human being he’d ever met, Uday Hussein. It was the one thing Hank hadn’t considered. He may have been faster, smarter, and a far better fighter than Joe, but could he take the pain and keep going that Joe could? There were many great boxers in the world, and some of the best had never won a title because they couldn’t take the hits. Joe could take them all night long. After what Uday had done to him a few punches were like a bee stinging an elephant.

Joe bounced, still nowhere near as impressive as Hank’s, though far better than his previous attempt.

Hank’s breathing was labored yet he climbed to his feet.

“So tell me then,” said Hank.

“Not until you tell me where the girl is?”

“I don’t know what girl you’re talking about.”

Joe threw a jab with his left.

Hank was already half out its way before Joe had thrown it. However, Joe was faking. Hank had moved too quickly. Joe’s right smashed him in the face, a powerful punch. Joe was playing to Hank’s superior speed and using it against him.

Hank was knocked back, spitting out two teeth as he steadied himself.

“Very good.” His perfect smile was ruined. He repositioned himself in a classic martial art stance.

“Son, I was kicking ass before you were a glint in your father’s eye,” said Joe. “Real fighting, none of your martial art nonsense.
Mano a mano
, slugging it out. I get the impression you’ve never had your ass kicked. We only learn from a good ass kickin’. In the first few years in the Marines, men far older and slower than you kick your ass every day.”

Hank spun and caught Joe with a roundhouse kick. Although Joe managed to deflect some of the power, it was still a good hit, sending Joe crashing back against the far wall.

He stood straight back up. “Do you know why?”

Joe flicked the tire iron from his hand as Hank asked why. “Because we’re thinking two moves ahead while you’re still contemplating the next one.”

Joe rushed forward while Hank avoided being hit by the tire iron. Joe was on top of him, powering him into the floor, ensuring every ounce of his weight fell on the already broken ribs.

Joe delivered a crushing punch that ended the fight and grabbed the pistol that Hank had been too arrogant to use. He tied Hank to the chair that he’d freed Daryl from.

“You let me kick you across the room?” queried Hank. Joe grinned. “I needed to get the tire iron.”

Joe untied Hank’s prisoner, “What’s your name?”

“Daryl.”

“Daryl, you and me need to talk. Before that I need to speak to this young man and get some information. This ain’t gonna be pretty. The man that showed me what to do was the most twisted, sick individual that has ever walked the Earth. However, I know what he did works, ‘cos it worked on me.”

Daryl nodded, reveling in the fact that Hank was about to receive some punishment for what he had done to him.

“Son, trust me, what I’m saying is you’re gonna want to wait in the hallway.”

“No, no, I’m fine.”

Joe shrugged. He prepared his implements. Thirty seconds after starting, Daryl left the room, a pile of vomit on the floor suggesting he was anything but fine.

Twenty minutes later, Joe burst out of the room.

“Can you drive?”

Daryl nodded.

“I’ve no idea how you’re mixed up in this, but you’re going to tell me everything you know between here and my apartment.”

Daryl looked over Joe’s shoulder. Hank’s lifeless eyes stared back.

“Absolutely,” Daryl replied eagerly. “So what’s it all about?”

“However bad you think it is, double it, multiply it by ten and still you’re not even close.”

“Where are we going?” asked Daryl when they reached the car.

“To try and save our way of life,” said Joe. “Come on, we need to get to my apartment.”

“Wait here!” Joe instructed when they pulled to a halt outside the house. The second he got out of the car he knew he’d made another mistake.
Jesus, Joe, enough with the amateur hour,
he scolded himself. He rushed into the apartment, whistling unnecessarily for Sandy, who was already by his side as he grabbed the bag under his bed.

“Come on, girl!”

They could hear shouts from outside.

“Who are you?” shouted Amy, banging on the driver’s window. Daryl wasn’t engaging.

“I said who are you? Why are you in this car?” she demanded.

Joe grabbed her from behind and whisked her up into her house.

“Quiet,” he commanded.

“Who the…”

Joe clamped a hand over her mouth. She tried to bite him, he held her tighter and she stopped struggling.

“Stop shouting.”

“Who’s that in Hank’s car?”

Amy had once again shown herself not to be the ditzy Amy she claimed, and after hearing what Hank had told him, Joe was in no mood to treat her any differently from Hank. He told her the truth.

“The guy Hank was torturing when I found them.”

“Hank was
what
?” ditzy Amy, all innocent, was back.

“Yeah right before Hank told me everything he knows.”

She pulled the innocent face. Joe could see the panic deep in her eyes, her mind racing as to how she could manipulate her way out of the situation.

“You’re joking. Where’s Hank? Is he hiding in the back of the car?” she laughed.

“He’s dead. I killed him.”

She looked at him, waiting for him to smile, laugh, tell her he was joking. Joe stood pan faced.

The light bulb moment came. Her face contorted “You fuc—”

Joe punched her, once, straight in the mouth. He was sure it was probably the first time she’d ever been hit. Certainly the first time she’d been punched in the face by a man. The shock turned to pain and she collapsed, gasping for air. Her nose was shattered. He had to remember not to hit girls quite as hard. One of those life lessons he’d taught Hank, although too late for him. Hopefully Joe would last long enough to learn from his mistake. He picked her and threw her into the back of the car.

“I believe Lloyd’s got a lakeside house up north, you’re going to take us there,” he said, climbing in beside her. Sandy jumped in the front, next to Daryl.

The realization that Hank must have told him that hit Amy hard. Hank really was dead. “Or what, you’re going to kill me?” She spat a mouthful of blood across the car at him.

Joe wiped it away. “No, I’ll wait until, like Hank, you beg me to kill you.”

“You are one sick dude,” Daryl said from the driver’s seat.

“Which way?” asked Joe.

Amy, nursing her nose, refused to answer.

“Head north, Daryl. I’ll get you directions as we drive,” instructed Joe.

“If you’re going to do any of that same shit to her as you did to the other guy, can we stop and I’ll get out?”

Amy’s face was a picture as she looked at Daryl’s reaction in the mirror.

“What stuff?”

“Don’t,” Daryl said. “I’ll get sick even thinking about it!”

“They’ll kill me if I talk,” Amy said.

“They might kill you, though they have to find you first. I, on the other hand, have you, and I will definitely kill you if you don’t give me the directions. Trust me, it will take some time and I will take no pleasure in it. I really do know what I’m doing. Personal experience is an exceptional learning tool. It’s a shame Hank didn’t live to learn from his experience.”

Daryl kept his eyes on the road, desperately avoiding whatever was happening in the back of the car.

Joe was sure Amy was a coward the same as Hank had been. Cornered and helpless, the removal of one nail, which had sent Daryl running from the room, had been enough for Hank to sing like a canary. He had told Joe how helpless the situation was, how he was too late, and how no matter what transpired they had won. The president would be dead soon and they’d have complete control of the country. Hank hadn’t literally begged to die; his attitude and beliefs forbade it. But unlike many of Hank’s victims, of whom Joe reckoned there were many, not many would have had as peaceful a death as him—a silenced round to the back of the head.

Joe wasn’t a monster, he simply knew how to act like one.

His acting worked. Amy, looking deep into his eyes, saw nothing other than truth in every word Joe uttered. She sang just as her lover had.

The lakeside lodge was only thirty miles north in a small town called Boyds on the shores of Little Seneca Lake.

“It’s only a fishing lodge, there’s nothing there!”

“So you’re saying the girl’s not here?”

Her hesitation gave her away. “What girl?”

“Let’s not break our trust now, I really don’t want to hurt you, be warned though I have little patience.”

“How do you know about the girl? Shit, you do know him don’t you!”

“Yes, he’s a friend and nobody screws with my friends. Her mother was a friend of mine also, so I’m really not in the mood to offer you any leeway here. Is the girl there or not?!”

He reached out and took her hand in his, selecting a finger.

“Oh God,” murmured Daryl, his eyes trying desperately not to look in the mirror as he drove.

Without a moment’s hesitation he snapped it back, the finger broke cleanly. Amy’s eyes almost bulged out of her head with the pain.

“Yes, she’s there!” she gasped.

Joe grabbed the hand again, Amy fought but the pain was impeding her and Joe was far too strong for her. He selected another finger. “How many men?”

“Three, there are three men.”

“If there are more, I will break every finger after I kill the men. Do you understand?”

She nodded emphatically.

“You have one chance to change your answer.”

“There are three.”

“You’d better hope a friend isn’t visiting.”

“There won’t be,” she said confidently. “They wouldn’t dare.”

“So Amy, we have thirty minutes or so together in the car. You’re going to tell me, Daryl, and Sandy everything you know. Particularly who you have working with you near the president.”

Daryl looked back at them, the car swerved wildly on the road, and he barely managed to avoid an oncoming truck.

“What the hell are you talking about?” asked Daryl. “What’s the president got to do with this?”

“Daryl, if we live through this, trust me, son, you’re going to win every award known to journalism from what you’re going to hear and see tonight.”

Joe moved as though to grab Amy’s hand and smiled when she snatched it away. “Talk!” he commanded.

By the time they neared Boyds, Daryl’s elation at the size and scale of the story had effectively disappeared. There was no way they were going to survive. Not one chance in hell, and neither was the president.