I didn’t recognize either of the men waiting for me outside the Examiner building—didn’t even see them until one clubbed me with the butt of his pistol. They were trying to force me to ask Caitlin via text to come outside when she obligingly ran out on her own. I half wish she’d gone back inside when I told her to—but if she had, I’d be dead.
I can’t see our abductors clearly; a dense wire partition divides the cab of the van from its cargo area. I remember two thugs: one older with long hair, one younger with a crew cut. Flexing my wrists and ankles as hard as I can, I quickly learn this duct tape doesn’t give. As silver steel girders continue flashing through the long horizontal windows above me, I realize we’re crossing the Mississippi River Bridge, heading into Louisiana. For a few moments I consider waking Caitlin, but Royal’s men will do that soon enough, and the prospect of being delivered to the psychos who forced one female employee to kill another is something I’d like to spare her for as long as possible.
Brody Royal. How smoothly that old man played me. The consummate deal maker, he told me exactly what I wanted to hear, buying just enough time to arrange a permanent solution to the threat picture I’d painted for him. I briefly wonder whether Royal might have some subtler plan than killing us in mind, but the pragmatist in me knows the truth. If Brody has his way, after tonight, no one will ever see Penn Cage or Caitlin Masters again—alive or dead. We’ll disappear into the same void that Pooky Wilson and Jimmy Revels did.
Despite my intent to leave her unconscious, after a couple of miles, Caitlin’s eyelids flutter, then pop open. As full comprehension dawns, she glances at me, then closes them tight again, expressing tears from their corners.
Very softly, I lean close and whisper, “Do you have your phone?”
She opens her eyes and shakes her head, then mouths, You?
“They took it.”
“Gun?”
“Same.”
I watch her absorb what this means for our chances of survival. Looking toward her feet, she whispers, “Is that the cop who was guarding the parking lot?”
I nod.
“Is he dead?”
“I think so. I kicked off one shoe and touched his throat. I couldn’t feel a pulse. And I felt something wet.”
She looks back at me, her face bereft.
“I’m sorry, Cait. I should never have pushed Royal that hard.”
She looks at the dark roof of the van. “I’m the one who went after Katy and made the tape.”
We stare into each other’s eyes, painfully, yet thankfully, aware that we share responsibility for our fate. As I try to think of some way to comfort her, her lips part, and her face brightens with hope.
“They can’t kill us, right? I mean—you’re the mayor, for God’s sake. I’m the publisher of the newspaper. Royal can’t imagine he could get away with that. The outcry would be huge. The investigation would never stop.”
This is the logic of a woman raised with privilege. If they’ve killed a cop to get us, and they know we know that, how can they possibly let us go? But I see no profit in pointing this out to Caitlin, who’s desperately searching for any hope of life.
“Royal’s a businessman,” she says, biting her bottom lip. “You said that back in my office. He’s doing this to make sure you hold up your end of the deal. He knows if he doesn’t, we could destroy him as soon as your father is safe. That’s only logical, right?”
“Yes,” I say.
“If he believes we’ll protect him, why take the risk of killing us?”
“He wants that witness dead. Pooky’s friend. ‘Huggy Bear.’ That’s what Brody wants from us. His real name.”
Her eyes narrow. “We don’t have it.”
“That’s right. And if he figures that out … we’re dead.”
Her eyes widen, then close. “We screwed ourselves,” she whispers. “By keeping what we knew about Royal secret, we made this happen.”
“We have one chance. Walker Dennis knows Royal is dirty, and it bothered him to keep what he knew from Kaiser. After what happened to Henry, he may tell Kaiser about it tonight. Just pray these bastards didn’t switch off our cell phones. Kaiser can track the pings.”
Caitlin puts on a brave face, but we both know the likelihood of this sort of luck is almost nil. With a glance up at the wire mesh, she says, “Tell me you left the Katy Royal tape in your car, at least?”
I shake my head. “It was in my coat pocket. They got it.”
With this, we fall silent. Further conversation seems pointless. Even the argument we had in her office, while shattering at the time, now seems trivial. If we could embrace, the essential redundancy of all words would be manifest. But we can’t. All we can do is look into each other’s eyes like condemned prisoners riding a cart to the guillotine.
“Will you kiss me?” she asks. “Before we get where we’re going?”
Glancing up at the wire screen, I scoot carefully across the metal floor, trying to bring our bodies into contact. As I do, something jabs my behind. I try to raise my butt over it, but the hard object keeps jabbing me. Lowering myself again, I rock softly from side to side, trying to tell what’s beneath me. When I finally understand, my heart begins to pound.
“What is it?” Caitlin hisses. “What’s the matter?”
“Pithy’s straight razor is in my back pocket. They missed it when they patted me down. It’s lying along the bottom seam of my jeans.”
Her eyes widen. “Can you get it out?”
“Not with my hands taped in front. But you can.”
She nods quickly.
As quietly as possible, I flex my body until I’ve turned my back to her. Twenty seconds later, I feel her fingers fishing in my pocket. Almost before I’m aware of it, the razor is gone.
Her lips touch the shell of my ear. “I think I should try to cut the tape on your wrists. You’ve got the best chance of fighting them. You can free mine after you cut your feet loose.”
“Get some while you can, bro!” shouts one of the men up front, laughing wildly. “We’re almost there!”