Eleven Hours (15 page)

Didi got in the car.

The man walked around the vehicle, wrote something down, and then disappeared inside the shop. Lyle smiled falsely at her, waved, and went back inside himself. A few minutes later, he came out of the pawnshop and headed toward her. His face was dark. Oh, God, Didi thought, what now?

When he got in the car, he sat there for a second not saying anything.

“Everything okay?” Didi asked him.

He said, “No. Everything is not okay. It's not okay at all. Why did you get out?”

“My legs were numb from sitting. I wanted to stretch them a bit. I'm so hot, Lyle. Does Smokey have a drink machine?”

“No,” he said. “Do you want to know why everything is not okay?”

Why did she fear whatever it was that wasn't okay had something to do with her? “Because you kidnapped a pregnant woman?” she offered.

He hit the steering wheel, gritting his teeth. “No, that's not it,” he said quietly. “Everything is not okay because when I tried to sell your goddamn cell phone, do you know what the guy behind the counter said to me?”

“Uh,” Didi said, her breath catching. “That he wasn't going to buy it because you could get them so cheap in the stores?”

“How did you know that? How did you know that?” he said loudly.

“I didn't for sure. Just a hunch.”

“Well, you should have told me about your hunch before I went in there looking like a real idiot with that thing.”

“Sorry. You didn't ask. I thought you just wanted to make a phone call.”

“To call who? Who would I have to call?”

“I don't know,” replied Didi. “My husband. Your wife.”

“Oh, shut up with the wife shit, all right? Well, the guy pushed some numbers and said, hey, is everything all right, and I said, sure, and he said, because I see here you dialed nine-one-one.”

Didi stopped breathing. She moved slightly away from him, toward the partly open door. Thinking quickly, she said, “That was the last call I made. I dialed nine-one-one when I was at the mall. In Warner Brothers.”

“Did you indeed?” Lyle said. “Why did you do that?”

“Because I thought you might have been following me and I didn't like it.”

“Why would you think I was following you?” he asked.

“Because you went after me into the store. I thought it was strange.” She moved a little closer to the door.

“You thought it was strange, did you?” Lyle grimaced. “What, do you think the whole world revolves around you? A thousand people in the mall, and just because two people happen to be in the same store, you think I was following you?”

His words made Didi shudder.
What do you think, the universe revolves around you?
was what her husband Rich had said to her yesterday when they had fought.

“No, I don't think so,” she answered, thinking she had been right, right, right. And she was right now. The whole world did revolve around her. Certainly the world in the last few hours. “You just looked suspicious to me.”

“Suspicious, did I? Why?” Lyle was kneading the wheel with tense hands, his teeth gnashing against each other.

“Because you were wearing a jacket, that's why,” said Didi, moving farther away from him, her dress wrapped around her wounded fingers.

“So what's so suspicious about that?”

“Nothing normally,” replied Didi. “Except it's the middle of July and it's a hundred and five degrees outside. No one wears a jacket. It's like seeing someone in a tank top in the middle of winter. It looks out of place. Peculiar.” Now she knew why he needed to wear the jacket, of course. Without the jacket, there would be nowhere to stash the gun.

Didi sneaked a peek at Lyle's face. His expression didn't read anger at her anymore. It read anger at himself for slipping up, for not thinking of everything.

“Just a mistake on my part,” he said slowly, not looking at Didi.

Didi thought, with other people a mistake, yes, an oversight. With you, Lyle, it's a character flaw.

He broke out of his short reverie. “Okay, get out of the car,” he said. Instantly Didi thought maybe he would let her out and drive off himself.

She was obviously suffering from heat exhaustion, because Lyle said only, “We can't travel in this car anymore. It's too dangerous.”

Maybe the police are on to him, maybe Rich is looking for me.

“So about this little detour. Don't worry. We're still on schedule. I know this area like the back of my hand. We just have to be a bit more careful. No more getting out to get drinks. Okay, go on now, and I'll take your bags.”

Didi got out and then looked back inside, feeling a tiny measure of happiness at seeing her blood all over the seat. She was almost happy he had cut her. Someone—maybe Smokey, maybe prospective buyers—would see the blood.

“I traded my car for a truck,” he said, smiling crookedly at her. “Got some cash for your ring. Good thing, too. Otherwise we'd be taking the bus.”

What could be better, she thought bitterly, slamming the car door.

As Lyle came around, Didi asked, “Where's the other car?”

“Out back.” He looked her over. “Listen, it's too hot for you to walk. Get back in, will you? I'll drive us to the truck.”

Didi hoped the truck would at least smell better than the station wagon.

It didn't.

It smelled different, but not better. It smelled of old sweat and sausage. Or old socks and tortilla chips. She didn't want to examine the smell too closely. Lyle now owned an old blue Toyota two-seater pickup, with a little bit of space behind the seats for her shopping bags. The backyard of the pawnshop was densely covered with trees; it looked like an overgrown forest. Trees provided shade, and in the shade it was a bit cooler. Didi lingered near the open door of the Toyota, gulping the hot air. Her thirst went unabated. “Lyle,” she said. “You didn't by any chance get anything for us to drink?”

“I did,” he said. “At the gas station. But I told you Johnny was not a nice man and I had to leave the drinks with him.”

Didi looked around for a water hose. She saw Lyle was doing that too, but probably for a different reason. Most likely he wanted to hose down the bloody station wagon. They were both disappointed.

When they got inside the truck, Didi asked, “Don't you have to switch the plates or something?”

Pursing his lips together, Lyle said, “Tell you what. Try not to worry about my end of this, all right?”

“Fine,” said Didi. “Doesn't matter to me.” But it did matter to her, quite a bit. If he didn't switch the plates, then how could the police trace them?

They got back on the road. She rolled her window down two inches, for a little fresh air. The truck, unlike the station wagon, did have air-conditioning.

However, it was broken.

Cheap piece of junk, thought Didi. “You didn't trade
way up
with this one, did you? Hope you didn't spend too much.”

“No, not too much.” Lyle smiled. “I'll be ditching this soon anyway. This is just to get us where we need to get to.”

And where's that? Didi wanted to ask him, but she didn't want that nonsensical response coming at her again.

“How much did you pawn my ring for?” she asked Lyle.

“Well, Arizona, nowhere near what you said it was worth. But I didn't pawn it. I sold it. I won't be coming back for it, and I knew that. He gave me a little more for a straight sale. A few thou to keep us honest. So we're flush. We can go anywhere. Where would you like to go?”

“Home,” Didi said instantly. “To my husband and kids.”

“Oh, that's nice. Wish I could go home, too.”

“Why can't you?”

“Oh, you know. Not everybody's home is nice, pretty Didi.”

“Your home wasn't nice?” she asked, trying to stir him into a conversation.

“Not particularly,” he said, falling silent.

“Is your wife at home now, Lyle?”

Lyle didn't answer her. He seemed to have drifted to a place where she couldn't reach him.

Didi fell silent herself. There was no sound in the truck except for her heavy breathing. Who needs Lamaze, she thought. I'm doing well without the lessons.

Didi had no idea where they were. They were on a two-lane local road. She looked for a route number, then lost interest, perking up when she saw a sign for Route 84. She was somewhere on the Texas map. Didi asked to turn on the radio, and Lyle grunted in reply. Didi saw he was sweating profusely. All his power was in that blue nylon jacket. Without that jacket Samson would be cooler but powerless.

Yeah, jacket or no jacket, he's still stronger than you. So protect the Belly and pray to God to give you some strength real soon, pretty Didi.

They listened to country music.

Didi stopped thinking about her kids and about Rich and about being in a truck with Lyle. She was so thirsty.

All she could think about was ice-cold water. Or warm water. Water out of a revolting bathroom. Water out of the toilet bowl. Water in a dirty pond. Rainwater. Ocean water. She wiped off her sweat and licked her hands again. She knew it would make her feel worse in five minutes but she couldn't help herself—her thirst was the fourth live presence in the Toyota.

At six, the news came on, and the first thing out of the announcer's mouth was, “The FBI has stepped up the search for a man whose name they now know is Lyle Luft and his hostage, thirty-two-year-old Desdemona or Didi Wood—”

Lyle slammed down the power button on the radio and they rode in silence.

Didi tightened all her muscles so as not to show him her excitement—but … they knew about him! Lyle Luft. And they knew her—Desdemona. They knew. It's only a matter of time now, she thought. They would find her. The cell phone at the pawnshop, the phone call she'd made to 911. The bloodstained car. She lifted up her throbbing fingers to her mouth and kissed them. They would find them. They
had
to find them before Lyle drove over the border on his way to—she recalled the name.

Mazatlán.

6:11 P.M.

Scott received a call from a trooper who had stopped a tan Ford Taurus station wagon with Lyle Luft's license plates in Willow Grove, ten miles northwest of Waco. Only Lyle Luft and Didi weren't in the car; a black couple in their fifties were. They said they had bought the car at Smokey's pawnshop near a small town called Valley Mills, about five miles farther west.

When Rich heard that, he said, “Doesn't sound like Luft is headed to Mexico. Mexico is
south.
”

Scott said, “For all we know he went off course to trade cars. Why don't we go and talk to Mr. Smokey?”

They planned to fly, but the chopper wasn't back from refueling, so they drove from Waco in a siren-blaring police car. By 6:33 they were at Smokey's.

Mr. Smokey was closing up. He was a brown-haired burly man of about fifty, and his name wasn't Mr. Smokey, but Charlie Rello. He said he'd thought Smokey's would be a good name for the store. Charlie told Scott and Rich that around five-thirty a young man had stepped into his shop with several items he wanted to sell. One of them, Charlie said, was his car. Another was a cellular phone, and another was an engagement ring.

“Did you buy the cellular phone?” asked Scott.

“I took it from him. Didn't give him nothing for it.”

“Didn't key the numbers into the computer either, to see if it was stolen,” Scott said. “As required by law.”

“I was gonna do that now,” hastened Charlie, flushing.

“Of course you were,” Scott said.

“Engagement ring?” Rich asked. “Can I see it?”

“Sure,” said Charlie, glad to be changing the subject. “It's a beaut.”

It certainly was. Didi's ring was the nicest ring Rich had been able to find. “That's hers,” he said weakly, taking out his American Express card.

Charlie laughed. “Was hers. It's mine now, pal.”

“Don't you pal him, sir,” Scott said. “His wife has been kidnapped by the man who gave you the phone and that ring. I am now going to confiscate both items as exhibits one and two in the U.S. government's case against Lyle Luft.”

“You can't confiscate that ring!” Charlie Rello cried plaintively. “Where's your search warrant?”

Scott flipped open his cellular phone. “Do you have a fax machine? I will fax the warrant here in two minutes. I'm warning you, though, with a warrant, I will take a lot more than just that ring. And there will be a nice federal investigation into the legitimacy of your business, I can assure you.”

Cursing under his breath, Charlie Rello motioned to Scott to put down his phone. “Come on, man, you can't take that ring. I just paid ten grand for it.”

Scott laughed. “Now, I know you didn't buy that ring for ten grand.”

“For that ring? Are you kidding me? Look what a beaut it is. He wanted fifteen for it. Said that's what he paid.”

“Bullshit. I don't think you ever in your life had a ten-thousand-dollar transaction go through your doors.” Scott smirked. “Certainly not out your pocket and into his. Sorry, Charlie, the ring is ours.”

Rich intervened. “I will be glad to give you what you paid for it.”

“Ten thousand dollars,” said Charlie.

Rich took out his checkbook. Scott covered it with his hand.

“The man has offered you something for the ring. You will either give it to him for the pennies you paid for it, or you will give it to him for nothing. What will it be? A search warrant or a sale, Charlie?”

Gritting his teeth, Charlie Rello muttered, “Fifteen hundred.” Rich wrote out a check; Charlie reluctantly took it. Rich stretched out his hand for the ring. Scott moved Rich's hand away, shaking his head, no. “Give it here,” he said to Charlie.

“Can I have it?” said Rich sharply.

“No,” said Scott, asking Charlie for a tissue.