Divine Justice (36 page)
“Okay,” Annabelle said. “But how does that tie in with anything?”
“They start out about
two
a.m. I know that because I’ve seen ’em. It’s less than an hour drive each way, and it takes about a minute to get the pop. Anybody sees them and asks why so early, they tell ’em they can’t sleep, just go to the clinic and shoot the breeze. But I know for a fact that doesn’t happen. What happens is those boxes get driven a good ways from here and are dropped off at designated spots.”
“Okay, but where do they pick them up?”
Oliver might have found that out and gone there.
Shirley stood and stumbled down the blackened timbers to her car.
“Shirley, where are you going?”
“Where I’m going is getting the hell out of here. I’m done with Divine. Should’ve left a long time ago.”
Annabelle raced after her, grabbed her shoulder. “Please, Shirley, it’s my dad. Please. He’s all I’ve got left.”
“I already said way too much. Booze talking.”
“Can’t you tell me something? Anything? To at least point me the right way?”
Shirley hesitated and then looked at the ruined trailer and then back at Annabelle.
“Okay. But you’ll have to think about it real good.”
“All right.”
“When is a bottom changed into an ass?”
Annabelle immediately looked puzzled. “What?”
Shirley let out a drunken giggle. “Like I said, you think about it. When is a bottom changed into an ass? You want to find your daddy bad enough, you’ll come up with it.”
She staggered to her car and got in.
“Are you okay to drive?”
Shirley poked her head out the window. “Hell, honey, I been driving drunk since I was thirteen.”
Shirley peeled off and Annabelle raced to the van, which was hidden down the road and behind some trees. When she got there she found four men waiting for her instead of just two. And the new pair had guns.
D
INNER CAME
right at six-thirty; two trays pushed through the slots. Knox and Stone took them, sat down on their cots and started to eat.
Knox pointed at the carrots on the plate. A few moments later the toilet flushed and the vegetables spun down the metal bowl and out of sight.
Stone was cutting his meat, which was a little difficult considering he only had a flimsy spoon to work with, when his eye caught on the edge of white poking out from under his plate. He nudged Knox with his elbow as he slid the piece of paper out. He unfolded it and began to read, while Knox looked anxiously over his shoulder.
I was the guard at the door when the nurse finished with you. I was a friend of Josh Coombs. Tomorrow in the rec yard. Just follow my lead. Flush this note.
Knox and Stone glanced at each other. Knox took the note, read it once more and then sent it sailing down into the prison’s sewer to join the drug-laced carrots.
“What do you think?” Knox said in a low voice as they resumed eating. They both tapped their feet against the floor to cover their conversation.
“I saw him glance at me when he was at the door. And he nodded. Didn’t know exactly what was going on, but I was hoping.”
“Follow his lead?”
“He’ll have to cover himself. And we’ll do exactly as he says when the time comes.”
Twenty minutes later something hit their door. “Trays,” bellowed a voice.
They pushed them through and sat back on their cots.
“Why do you think they’re even keeping us alive?” Knox said. “They don’t know that folks won’t show up for me.”
“Anybody comes near this place, they’ll know long in advance. Then they either kill us or hide us. Plenty of places to do that here.”
“So why not kill us now? Not that I’m glad they’re not,” he added hastily.
Stone thought about being left in the mine with the snakes. He was certain now that had been Tyree’s handiwork. “Killing is fast, a second of pain and then it’s over. We’re free of this place. That’s apparently not good enough for Howard Tyree. He wants to control us, every second of our lives. I’m sure he’ll kill us at some point. But in the meantime he’s looking forward to making our lives as miserable as they can possibly be.”
“Guy sounds like a serial killer.”
“He is, only on the wrong side of the bars.”
Knox stretched out on his steel cot. “So now we wait?”
“I don’t see another option right now, do you?”
Their door was hit with a hard object. “Hands through the cuff door,” yelled a voice.
“Aw shit, what now!” moaned Knox.
Stone whispered, “Just remember that we’ve been drugged, so act punchy.”
“I’m so tired I won’t have to act.”
They were cuffed, stripped, searched and probed. This had quickly become almost as natural as taking a piss. Both men hung their heads and acted as listless as possible without overdoing it.
They were herded down the hall, guards and Tasers on either side while they shackle-shuffled along. They climbed stairs until there were no more stairs to climb. Stone figured they were in the west tower of the prison but he couldn’t be sure. His usually reliable internal compass wasn’t working all that well in here.
The room they were brought to was circular-shaped with a table and two chairs in the very center. Three-inch-wide slits in the wall revealed the dark outside. A fluorescent light bubbled overhead. They were placed in the chairs and the guards stood back, waiting.
So were Knox and Stone. With apprehension. They didn’t know what was coming, only that it would be painful.
The door opened and Tyree walked in followed by four more guards, including the one who’d grabbed Stone by the balls and Manson, the one-eye.
“Gentlemen,” said Tyree. “We need to talk.”
Stone stared up at him with a dull expression. Knox kept his gaze on the table as though he hadn’t understood the man.
One guard whispered into Tyree’s ear. He nodded. “Right. Of course. Give them a pop then, because I need their undivided attention.”
A guard pulled a syringe from a black bag he carried. Stone was swabbed and then injected in the upper arm. The needle was cleaned with alcohol and Knox was hit next.
Whatever they’d been given, the effect was immediate. Stone could feel his heart racing and every nerve he possessed was on overdrive. He glanced over at Knox and saw he was having the very same reaction.
“Good,” said Tyree. “Now get ’em hooked up.”
A duffel bag was opened and out of it came two thick leather belts with black wires attached. They were placed around each man’s middle and padlocked down. Tyree was handed a black box with buttons on it.
He depressed one of the buttons and a green light came on. He stood in front of the men and then turned his attention to Knox.
“All right, Mr. CIA. Does anyone know that you came to the town of Divine?”
“Yes.”
Tyree depressed the button and Knox stood straight up, screaming as the voltage entered him. Tyree released the button, and like a marionette that had lost its handler, Knox slumped back down in the chair, panting and swaying.
Tyree looked at Stone. “What is your real name?”
“Oliver Stone.”
A second later, Stone was involuntarily on his tiptoes, feeling like both his brain and his heart were going to explode.
Tyree removed his finger and Stone dropped back down, missed the chair and hit the floor. The guards grabbed him and slammed him back in his seat.
Tyree turned back to Knox. “Does anyone know that you came to the town of Divine?”
“NO!”
The blast hit him again. After he was slumped back in his chair, he barked, “What the hell answer do you want?”
“The truth.”
“Well, one of those answers
had
to be the truth, you dickhead!”
Tyree held the button down so long that Stone feared Knox would not come back. But he did, sweating and swearing.
Tyree turned to Stone. “Oliver Stone?”
Okay, buddy, let’s see if you can take it as well as you can dish it out.
Speaking as steadily as was possible after having his organs fried, he said, “My real name is John Carr. I used to be a government assassin, decades ago, tasked to a special division of the CIA so classified not even the president knew about it. I had a falling-out with my superiors. I’ve been on the run ever since. Agent Knox is one of the best men the intelligence community has. He was assigned by the president of the United States himself to hunt me down because they believed that I murdered Senator Roger Simpson and Carter Gray. I’m sure you heard about that. Well, Knox is as good as his rep, because he found me. Now we’re here at Dead Rock being beaten and tortured by a bunch of drug dealers masquerading as prison officials.” He glanced around at the guards. “But I’m sure you have nothing to worry about. The president will probably just forget the matter and do no follow-up. I doubt they care what happens to me. Or one of their best agents.”
Stone could now see just the reaction he was hoping for. Sweat. Sweat and nervous glances, particularly from the one-striper and Manson, who looked ready to piss all over their Gestapo boots.
The next instant Stone was on his feet, the current thundering through him. When Tyree released the button, Stone took a little while to recover, panting and gasping for air, his muscles twitching uncontrollably.
He gasped, “You can do a polygraph. I’m sure you’re set up to do that what with all the electronic gizmos you guys seem to enjoy so much. I can tell you enjoy the pain thing, but it’s not getting you what you want. So be smart about it, Warden. Ask me the question again.
Who am I
, while I’m strapped to the meter. Then you’ll see what the truth really is. But again I wouldn’t worry. I don’t see how sixteen intelligence agencies plus the Department of Homeland Security, with thousands of highly trained agents and collective budgets of about a hundred billion dollars, will ever find us here.”
Now, finally, Stone could see the twitch in the warden’s eyes too. Tyree fingered the box but did not push the button again. He also did not meet Stone’s gaze.
Later that night after their hearts and other organs had settled down from the pounding, they were both hooked to polygraphs. Questions were asked and answered. And results were read. The squiggly lines from the polygraph did not appear to please the warden. Stone could see that clearly from the man not looking at him as he ordered them back to their cell.
Let
him
sweat tonight.
They lay there on their cots staring up at the ceiling, recovering from their ordeal by electric shock and each no doubt daydreaming about their strong hands closing around the throat of one Howard Tyree and crushing the life out of him.
“Smart thinking, Oliver,” Knox said, finally breaking the silence. “I loved it when he followed your
order
about the polygraph. And you saw the guards’ expressions when you hit ’em with the facts?”
“I saw.”
“What do you think they’ll do now?”
“Snoop around and see if anything might be coming their way. That gives us the one thing we really need.”
“Time,” answered Knox.
“Time,” agreed Stone.
They heard a sound at the door and both men braced for another painful extraction. Yet the only thing coming in was a slip of paper through the cuff slot. It drifted down to the floor. Knox snagged it and passed the note to Stone.
Stone read it. “Next chow, watch out for Manson.”
Stone glanced up at Knox. “You thinking what I’m thinking?” he said.
“Absolutely, but they could kill us or at least mess up our chance with this guard.”
“Not if we do it the right way.”
“H
ARRY,
what are you doing here?” Annabelle looked from Harry Finn to Alex Ford as they sat crammed in the back of the van.
“Alex filled me in on what was going on. Sounded like you could use some help.”
Harry Finn, while perhaps not as lethal and skilled as Oliver Stone, was worth at least five ordinary men in his ability to fight and think at the same time.
“What did you get from old Shirley?” asked Reuben.
“A lot.” She quickly filled Alex and Harry in on all that they’d found out, including her conversation with Shirley.
“How does a bottom turn into an ass?” said Alex. “What the hell kind of clue is that?”
“It’s a very clear one,” answered Caleb, who was in the driver’s seat. Everyone turned to stare at him. “Nick Bottom is a character, a weaver actually, whose head is transformed into an ass’s head by Puck the Hobgoblin.”
They all stared at Caleb in befuddlement before Reuben said, “Are you on some kind of librarian crack?”
“No, it means that drunk Shirley is actually fairly well-read because that’s a scene from Shakespeare’s
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
.”
“Abby Riker’s place,” exclaimed Annabelle. “A Midsummer’s Farm.”
“Sounds like a plan,” began Alex, but he stopped talking when Harry held up a hand. They all listened.
“There’s someone out there,” hissed Caleb.
Harry and Alex pulled their weapons. Alex tossed a spare gun to Reuben, who took up position near one of the wide windows.
“Caleb, are you okay driving—”
They were nearly knocked over when Caleb rammed the accelerator and the van crashed through some bushes and hit the road even as bullets pinged against the sides of the vehicle.
Alex shoved Annabelle to the floorboard and then he ducked down.
Reuben slid open the window, took aim and fired behind them. Alex and Harry did the same from the other side.
Caleb hit a straightaway and pushed the van to its max.
“Eighty is all the juice this shit-can has,” he barked. “Next time give me a decent ride if you want me to outrun the suckers. I can’t make tomato sauce without tomatoes, for godsakes!”
Confused, Alex eyed Harry and then looked down at Annabelle.
She said wearily, “You don’t want to know.”
Over the next five minutes Caleb took hairpin turns barely on four wheels, cut down this road and that, and ran around one curve where the van’s left-side tires were nearly kissing air over a vertical drop. He finally slowed.
