The Stolen - Jason Pinter [62]
good enough for the fighting men and women of this
country was good enough for him."
The man stepped into the light, and I finally got a better
look at him.
His graying hair was full, skin worn and weatherbeaten.
The crow's-feet at his eyes actually made him look
handsome, like one of those blue-jeaned cowboys who
spent their days on oil rigs, the kind that actually needed
a Chevy flatbed. He was lean, about five foot eleven,
wearing a dark green T-shirt and jeans. There was a thin
scar about an inch long that ran down his right cheek. It
The Stolen
177
was a faint line, slightly jagged, as though it hadn't been
stitched up right. He took another pull, let the ash hang on
the end for a long while smoldering before tapping it onto
the floor.
My heart hammered in my chest. My wrists ached, and
the pins and needles in my feet let me know they wouldn't
be much help.
"Where is she?" I said.
"You need to be more trusting," the man said. "I told
you she's fine. So you should believe that she is fine. I'm
not gonna lie to you, Henry. You do me the same courtesy,
and things are gonna work out just splendid for Ms.
Davies. But let's just focus on the here and now. You and
me. Got it?"
"Who are you?" I said.
"Who I am isn't as important as what I have to offer,"
he said.
"I don't want anything from you," I spat. "People know
I'm here. That door's gonna get busted in any second and
I'm gonna laugh as they haul your ass away."
"Really...they're coming for you, huh? Who, the CIA?
FBI? Batman? Guess you wouldn't mind then if I leave
your girl alone for a few weeks. She won't need food or
water since, you know, they're coming for her."
"You're making a mistake," I said. "She doesn't
belong here."
"Well, she's here. No changing that now. Anyway, back
to what I was saying. I have something to offer you, Henry,
and if you're as smart as I think you are you'll take this
offer."
"What is it?" I said.
"It's simple, really," the man said, taking another puff.
"I need you to tell me everything the good doctor told you
178
Jason Pinter
and everything you know about the kids. Spare no detail.
It's very important you lay all your cards on the table. And
if you do just that, and I believe you, behind door number
one will be your girlfriend's life. You spill, she lives. You
don't spill, her blood does. Simple as that."
"I'll take the offer," I said, "because we don't know
anything. Petrovsky didn't say a word to us. Now, let us
go."
"Oh, come on, Henry, you think it's that easy? You
think that's it? Nah, we can get some more out of you."
He took the cigarette from his mouth. Looked at the
filtered end.
"Chesterfields," he said. "Just about heaven. Can't find
the unfiltered bastards anywhere nowadays, but smoke
enough of these and they do the trick."
"Hope that lung cancer acts mighty quick," I said.
"If it gets me, it gets me," he said. "But I'll go out
with a smile."
A spark fell off the end of the butt. I watched it flutter
to the ground. I moved my wrists around, tried to feel the
pipe where my hands were tied, sliding my fingers back
and forth out of view until my thumb caught on something.
A piece of metal. Something jutting out from the pipe.
The man reached into his pocket, brought out his wallet.
He pulled out a one-dollar bill. Held it up in front of me.
Then he took the lit cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. Slowly he brought the cigarette to the bill. There
was a crackling sound as the lit end burned a perfect circle
through the paper.
When the cigarette had passed through, he held up the bill,
looked at me through the hole, smiled. "Peekaboo, I see
you."
He walked toward me, still holding the lit cigarette. As
The Stolen
179
he got closer, the light illuminated the man more. I began
to shiver, my bare torso shaking. Then I noticed something
that nearly made me gag. Covering the man's arms were
a road map of small, white marks. Scars.