Final Stroke (51 page)

She took the pressure off by turning into Legless, and by straight
ening her hands out behind her back in the empty space on Jimmy’s side of the seat. Jimmy had moved against the door, facing the win
dow and every now and then repeating, “I don’t need this shit.”

She hoped Jimmy would not turn and see what she was doing with her hands. Even though the adhesive on the tape tore at her skin with each twisting motion, she worked her arms back and forth. Now, be
sides the chatter of the police scanner mounted on the dash of the car, and the panting of Legless, and the occasional comment from Jimmy, all was silent.

She had gotten the tape down onto her palms, just above her thumbs. She released the trapped finger, its main joint still in pain from having done its work. She realized she had begun breathing heavily through her nose and tried to calm herself, taking long, deep breaths.

“I don’t need this shit,” said Jimmy again.

It was working. Her finger had loosened the tape, working her hands back and forth had lessened the grip of the adhesive. She had managed to get the tape down onto her knuckles. Only a little way to go. Yes, only a little way to go. Then what?

No time to think about that. One thing at a time. For now, get the tape off.

As Legless pushed his face into her lap and lowered her slacks and gripped her underwear with his teeth, Jan pulled her thumbs from be
neath the tape. Once this was done the pressure was released and she was able to pull her hands free.

While Legless bit at her underwear and Jimmy repeated his re
frain, she moved her right hand from behind her back, carefully bring
ing it up her side in such a way that Legless would not see her arm in profile against the dim backlighting outside the window. She gently lifted the lower portion of the tape on her mouth. Just enough to scream when it was time, not so much that they’d see the tape has been loosened.

When she had loosened the tape below and at the corners of her mouth, she moved her hand slowly back down and put it behind her back. While doing this she was tempted to grab Legless by what little hair he had and push him away. But she overcame the temptation, and was glad she had because, the moment she put her hand back behind her, the sliding door on the van opened, Legless sat up quickly, closing her raincoat, and there was a figure at the window.

“All right, we’re gettin’ the fuck out of here.”

“Where?” asked Legless.

“Somewhere we can have a more serious business meeting without being constantly interrupted. You stay back there with her. Jimmy’ll drive the car.”

“Who’s gonna drive my van?”

“I will. We want to keep talkin’ with Babe while we drive. Don’t worry. I know how to use your hand controls.”

It had been Dino, not as rough-sounding as Max. When Dino was back inside the van, Jimmy got out, went around the front of the
car and got into the driver’s seat.

Legless reached over and buttoned the single button on her rain
coat. Then he sat back and draped one arm around her shoulder as if they were old pals. After a few seconds, he said, “Start ‘er up, why don’t you?”

“No,” said the driver. “I see headlights in the mirror. I think Dino’s waiting.”

“Aw, start ‘er up and put on the heat at least. We need some heat back here.”

When Steve made a U-turn in the front lot, he’d seen in the reflec
tion in the shiny back end of an SUV that not only was the Lincoln’s left headlight out, but also the parking light. So he tried the Lincoln’s brights and this illuminated both sides.

As he again drove neither too fast nor too slowly down the narrow access road to the back parking lot, Steve pressed his right arm to his side. He had wedged his gun between his right arm and his side so he could quickly get to it with his left hand. He was surprised his right arm was able to perform this function, acting as a kind of holster, and wondered if, of all times, he was beginning to see the next stage of his physical therapy paying off. He had lowered his window and a cool damp breeze buffeted his cheek.

The Lincoln’s brights lit up the way ahead. He focused on the spot in the back lot where the van and the two Crown Vics were parked. He went over his plan again and again, trying to make it an integral part of whatever brain cells were available, just like he’d been taught in therapy.

Out in the main lot, as he drove around trying to figure out what
he should do, he recalled a detail. On the surface, it might have seemed a trivial detail, but the more he thought about it, the more he became convinced he was doing the right thing. He’d once been a man of detail, a Sergeant-Joe-Friday-kind-of-guy who turns over stones one at a time until all the pieces to the puzzle are there on a table in the rehab center.

The detail was something he’d seen when he passed by the back of the van. The detail consisted of a thin line coming off the shoulder of the person in the left rear seat of the van, a thin line leading toward the side wall of the van, a thin line he concluded must be a shoulder belt. The head of the person wearing the shoulder belt had been much lower than the head of the other person on the rear seat. Although the shape of the head was vague, there did seem to be more of an outline of hair than on the person on the right of the seat, and the shoulders seemed less prominent. It could be a man slumped down in the seat, or it could be a woman. This was the only detail he had to go on. And, more than anything else, he needed something to go on.

If someone was kidnapped by men using two cars and a van, he as
sumed they would use the van to hold that person. Despite his aware
ness that holding Jan in the van meant they might be abusing her in order to get what they wanted, he had to make this assumption. Being here at Hell in the Woods further deepened his conviction. If they wanted to get information from Jan, what better place to bring her? And if Jan was inside the van, he had to do something.

Rather than drawing attention to himself by driving by twice, as he had done earlier, he headed straight for the aisle behind the car with the two men in the front seat. He recalled that the parking spots be
hind and across from the van had been empty, and since no one else had gone into the lot since he’d come out, he assumed this was still true. He also recalled that the parking spots ahead of the van had been empty.

Overhead, through the open side window of the Lincoln, he heard the beginning rumblings of a jet on takeoff as he drove not too fast but not too slowly to the parking spot directly behind the van. When he glanced up and back toward the sound he could see it was a big one, perhaps a 747, and that its trajectory would take it directly over Hell in the Woods. One of those takeoffs that rattled medication trays at the nurses’ station.

The plan was simple. Dangerous but simple. Jan was in danger, terrible danger. The only solution was to get her away from her cap
tors, to get her far enough away so she might be able to get into the Lincoln with him. He had to count on her being able to do that. They would not kill her during an escape attempt because they assumed she knew something they needed to know. At least they would not kill her until they either got what they needed, or until they were finished with her.

He would get her and the van as far away as possible from the two cars, both probably with men inside. He would get her away from them and, at the same time, cause enough commotion to make who
ever was in the van with her get out in order to either escape or con
front him. The sounds of the jet on takeoff would enhance the confu
sion. He knew he was taking a terrible chance, but there was nothing else to do. As Marjorie Gianetti might have said, “You just make waves, Mr. Babe. You just fuck the Pope and make waves.”

He turned into the parking spot two back from the van, then rolled slowly ahead like someone deciding to move ahead to the empty spot in front in order to have a more convenient exit. But he did not stop the Lincoln there. Instead, he continued rolling ahead across the aisle. Halfway across the aisle, with about six feet to go before contact, he braced himself against the wheel with his left hand while clamping down tightly on his gun with his right forearm, and floored the Lincoln.

The Lincoln was more powerful than he expected, its tires moan
ing as they spun, getting more and more grip as they dried the damp asphalt. The moan of the tires and the collision with the rear bumper of the van joined in with the rumble of the jet on takeoff, creating a wonderful moment of chaos.

The van lurched forward, moving not inch-by-inch but foot-by
foot. The van’s tires chattered, transmission trying to hold the van in place, but failing because the pavement was still wet and the van’s tires were not molten like the Lincoln’s tires.

It was like going backward in time, coming out of his stroke for the first time. The silence of night exploded, not simply into a babble of sounds, but into a chaotic din into which he and Jan might escape. The organic brain was alive, while the non-organic rubber and as
phalt and plastic and metal and glass of the world protested violently at being torn apart.

He shouted, “Jan!” through his open side window and steered the sliding van ahead, keeping it in a straight line between parked cars, aiming it toward the loading dock.

He screamed, “Jan!” and saw the van’s side door slide open and a man look out, lurching from side to side while hanging on precari
ously to the doorframe.

He wailed imploringly, “Jan!”

If he was in pain, he was not aware of it.

When she heard the crash and saw the van parked next to the car being pushed forward, Jan tore the tape from her mouth. Legless and Jimmy opened their doors, Jimmy got out, and she heard a voice amidst the commotion and noise, but did not have time to listen. She braced her
self as best she could against the back of the seat and kicked out her good leg, shoving Legless out the rear door. As Legless rolled out onto the asphalt, she saw him reach into his jacket. He was still on his side on the pavement when the pistol came out.

No time to think. Just do it. Despite the pain in her ankle she jumped from the car and kicked out at the hand holding the pistol. The pistol skittered across the asphalt and she limped after it. But Leg
less was upright and after her, using arms and hands like legs and feet.

It was grotesque. Legless had hold of her bad ankle, but he did not look like a legless man. He looked like a man buried in the earth nearly to his waist. He looked like he had come from hell to get on with an eternity of torture.

Some distance away Jimmy ran after the car that was pushing the van. Not really running, stopping and starting like a man in a silent movie. But it was not silent. All during this the wheels of the car and the van gave off a piercing howl while overhead a jet was taking off. Behind her, she could see that another car had started up. Its lights were on and it turned and began driving down the parking lot aisle as if looking for another parking spot, as if nothing at all was unusual in this place. Yes, it was grotesque.