The Driver (30 page)

They had a radio on; it was a news channel, and the show was dominated by talk of the Governor’s death. They discussed it with animation and Milton quickly got the impression that they considered it a tragedy.

The four of them seemed pretty secure in themselves and their ability to keep Milton in line. He noticed that they didn’t blindfold him or do anything to prevent him from seeing where he was being taken. Not a good sign. They didn’t plan on him making a return trip and so, they reckoned, it made no difference what he found out. They were right about one thing: Milton wasn’t planning on going back to wherever it was they were going. There would be no need after he was through. He would be leaving, though, and he would be taking Eva with him. And if they thought he would be as pliant as this once they had him wherever they were taking him?

Well, if they thought that, then more fool them.

They drove out to Potrero Hill, the gritty industrial belt on the eastern boundary facing the bay and, on the other side of the water, Oakland. There were warehouses, some old, others cheaply and quickly assembled pre-fabs. They navigated the streets to the water’s edge, prickling with jetties and piers, and then drew up to a gate in a tall mesh wire fence. The compound contained a warehouse and Milton saw stacks of beer barrels and trucks with the logo of a local brewhouse that he thought he recognised.

There were four big motorcycles parked undercover next to the warehouse.

Dog hooted the horn and the gates parted for them.

They took him into the warehouse through a side door. He paid everything careful attention: ways in and out of the building, the number of windows, the internal lay-out. The place smelt powerfully of hops and old beer and sweat and marijuana. He watched the four men, assessing and re-assessing them, confirming again which were the most dangerous and which he could leave until last when it came time to take them out.

They followed a corridor to a door, opened it and pushed him inside.

It was empty, just a few bits and pieces. It looked like it was used as a basic kitchen and dining area. A trestle table with one broken leg. Rubbish strewn across the table. Three wooden chairs. Several trays with beer bottles stacked up against the wall. A dirty microwave oven on the floor next to a handful of ready meals. A metal bin, overflowing with empty food packaging. Breeze block walls painted white. A single naked light bulb overhead. A pin-up calendar from three years ago. No windows. No natural light. No other way in or out.

Eva was standing at the end of the room, as far away from the door as she could get. There was another woman with her.

The skinny guy stepped forwards and shoved Milton in the back so that he stumbled further into the room.

Eva stepped forwards.

“Are you alright?” Milton asked her.

“Yes,” she said.

He kept looking at her. “They haven’t hurt you?”

“No,” she said. She gestured to the other girl. “This is Karly.”

“Hello, Karly,” Milton said. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. There was no colour in her face. She was terrified.

“Don’t worry,” Milton told her. “We’ll be leaving soon.”

“That right?” Smokey said from behind him, his words edged by a braying laugh.

Milton turned back to him.

“Alright then, partner. We got a few questions for you.”

“You should let us leave.”

“You’ll go when I say you can go.”

“It’ll end badly for you otherwise.”

Smokey snorted. “You’re something, boy. You got some balls––but it’s time for you to pay attention.”

“Don’t worry. I am.”

“My questions, you gonna answer ‘em, one way or another. No doubt you’re gonna get slapped around some, don’t really matter if you co-operate or not. Only issue is whether we do it the hard way or the fucking hard way. Your choice.”

Milton glanced over. The three men were all inside the room. Smokey was just out of reach but the big guy, Tiny, was close. The stack of beer bottles was waist high. The cellophane wrapper on the top tray had been torn away, some of the bottles had been removed and the necks of those that remained were exposed.

“Who are you working for?” Milton asked.

“See, you say you’re paying attention but you ain’t. I’m asking, you’re answering.”

“Is it Crawford?”

Smokey spat at his feet. “You gonna have to learn. Tiny––give him a little something to think about.”

Tiny––the big man––balled his right hand into a fist and balanced his weight to fire out a punch. Milton saw and moved faster, reaching out and wrapping his fingers around a bottle, feeling it nestle in his palm, pulling it out of the tray and swinging it, striking the guy on the side of the head, just above his ear. He staggered a little, more from shock than from anything else, and Milton struck the bottle against the wall and smashed it apart, beer splashing up his arm, and then closed in and jabbed the jagged end of the bottle into the man’s shoulder, then stabbed it into his cheek, twisting it, chewing up the flesh. He dropped the bloodied shards, grabbed Tiny by the shoulders and pulled him in close, driving his knee into his groin, then dropped him down onto the floor.

Three seconds, start to finish.

“The fucking hard way, I guess,” he said. He wasn’t even breathing hard.

Smokey pulled a revolver from his waistband and brought it up.

“Get back. Over there. Against the wall.”

Milton knew he wouldn’t be able to take them all out but that wasn’t what he had in mind. He just wanted a moment alone with Eva. He knew they wouldn’t kill him, not yet. They needed some answers before they could think about that, and he wasn’t minded to give them any. He did as he was told and stepped back. The man waved the revolver and he kept going until he was at the rear of the room, next to Eva and Karly.

“Get him out of here,” Smokey said to the Orangutan and Dog, pointing at the stricken Tiny. They helped him up, blood running freely from the grisly rent in his cheek, and half-dragged him out into the corridor beyond.

“Last chance,” Milton said.

“For what?” Smokey yelled at him.

“To let us out.”

“Or?”

“I’ll make what just happened to him look like a love bite.”

His bravado seemed to confuse, and then amuse, the man. “Are you out of your fucking mind? Look at you––look where you are. You’re fucked, brother. You can have a couple of hours to think about that until a friend of ours gets here.”

“Mr. Crawford?”

“That’s right. Mr Crawford. He wants to speak to you. But then that’ll be the end of it after that. You’re done. Finished.”

43

MILTON TRIED THE DOOR. It was locked. He paused for a moment, thinking. He could hear the deep, muffled boom of the foghorns from outside. Eva came to him. “Jesus, John,” she said, “Look at you.” She pointed to a spot on his shirt. “Is that yours?”

He looked down. A patch of blood. “No. I’m fine. It’s his.”

She turned to the front of the room and the splatter of blood across the bare concrete floor. Her face whitened as she took it in and what it meant. He could read her mind: the horror at what he was capable of doing, the ease and efficiency with which he had maimed the man. How did someone like him, so quiet and closed-in, explode with such a terrifying eruption of violence? How did he even have it in him? Milton recognised the look that she was giving him. He had seen it before. He knew that it would presage a change in the way that she felt about him. She was going to have to see more of it, too, before the day was over. Worse things. It couldn’t possibly be the same afterwards. Tenderness and intimacy would be the first casualties of what he was going to have to do to get them out.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s fine. I’m going to get us out.”

“Don’t worry? John––?”

“Are you sure you’re alright? They didn’t hurt you?”

“No. They just threw me in here. They asked me a few questions about you but that was it.”

“What kind of questions?”

“Who you are, what you do, how long I’ve known you.”

He took her by the shoulders. “I’m very sorry,” he said, looking into her eyes. She flinched a little. “You should never have been involved. I don’t know how they found out about you. They must’ve been following me.”

“I don’t understand why, though? Why would they follow you? What have you done?”

“Nothing.”

“What you did to that man––Jesus, John, you fucked him up––are you some sort of criminal?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“It’s to do with the girls they’ve found.”

“Which girls? The ones on the beach?”

“I know who did it.”

“Who?”

“Governor Robinson,” the other girl, Karly, answered. “Right?”

“Do you know him?” Milton asked.

“I worked for him.”

“And you had a relationship with him?”

She nodded.

Milton asked her to explain what had happened and she did: how Robinson had discarded her, how she had gone to Crawford for help and how the bikers had abducted her and brought her here.

“You know he’s dead?”

“No,” Karly said, her mouth falling open.

“What do you mean?” Eva said.

“This morning. They found him in his hotel room. They’re saying suicide, but I don’t think it was that. Robinson was seeing the three girls they’ve found up on Headlands Lookout. I’m guessing the same thing happened with them as happened to you, Karly.”

“He killed them?”

“I doubt he knew anything about it. Crawford found out about them, maybe they threatened to expose Robinson, and he covered everything up. I spoke to Robinson yesterday afternoon and told him I knew about him and Madison. I said if he didn’t go to the police and tell them that he was seeing her then I’d do it for him. The names of the girls came out this morning. If I had to guess, I’d say he found out. It wouldn’t have been difficult to work out what had happened to them after that. He went to Crawford and confronted him and Crawford killed him.”

Eva listened and, as he explained more, her disbelief was replaced with incredulity. “So who are these men?”

“They’re working with Crawford.”

Eva’s brow clenched angrily. “None of this has anything to do with me.”

“I know it doesn’t. They took you to get my attention. They’ve got it now but they’re going to wish they hadn’t.”

“John––look around. We’re stuck.”

“No, we’re not. These boys aren’t the smartest. There are plenty of things we can use in here.”

She picked up a utensil from the table. “A plastic knife isn’t going to do us much use against a gun, and I doubt they’ll let you come at them with a bottle again.”

He picked up a roll of duct tape from the table. “I can do better than a plastic knife,” he said.

HE DIDN’T KNOW how long they had. Two hours, Smokey had said, but it might have been more or it might have been less, and he wasn’t sure how much time had already passed. He had to make his move now. Milton went to the stack of beer, tore away the rest of the cellophane wrapper on the top tray and took out three bottles. He took the duct tape and wrapped each bottle, running the tape around it tightly until they were completely sealed. He needed to make sure the caps didn’t pop off. A little resin would have been perfect but that was asking for too much. This should work well enough. It was the best he could do.

He opened the microwave and stood the bottles neatly inside.

“What are you doing?” Eva asked him.

“Creating a diversion.” He closed the microwave door. “I’ve seen four men. One of them won’t be a problem, so that makes three. Have you seen any more?”

“No.”

“Karly?”

“Four, I think.”

“Did you see any guns?”

“He had a gun.”

“I mean big guns––a shotgun, anything like that?”

“I didn’t see anything.”

“I think I saw one,” Karly said.

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure. Yes. I’m sure.”

They would be wary of him now. It wasn’t going to be easy.

“Both of you––get to the back of the room. In the corner. And when the time comes, look away.”

“What are you doing?”

“Trust me, okay? I’m getting us out.”

“‘When the times comes?’ What does that mean?”

“You’ll know.”

Milton set the microwave’s timer to fifteen minutes and hit the start button.

He hammered on the door.

Footsteps approached.

“What?”

“Alright,” he called out.

“What you want?” It was the red-haired biker, Orangutan.

“I’ll talk. Whatever you want.”

Footsteps going away.

There was a pause. Milton thought he could hear voices. They were muffled by the door.

Minutes passed.

The foghorns boomed out.

He watched the seconds tick down on the counter.

14.12.

13.33.

12.45.

Footsteps coming back again.

“Stand back,” Smokey called. “Right up against the far wall. I’m coming in with a shotgun. Don’t try and do anything stupid or I’ll empty both barrels into your face.”

Milton looked down at the microwave timer.

9.18.

9.16.

9.14.

It would be close. If they noticed it too quickly, it wouldn’t work and he didn’t have a Plan B. If the man did have a shotgun he would be hopelessly outmatched. Too late to worry about that. He stepped all the way back, putting himself between the microwave and the two women.

The door unlocked.

It opened.

Smokey did have a shotgun: a Remington. The room was narrow and not all that long. A spread couldn’t really miss him from that range and the man was careful now, wary, edging into the room, his eyes fixed on Milton.

Once bitten, twice shy. He knew Milton was dangerous. He would be careful now. No more mistakes.

That was what Milton wanted.

It was the reason for the demonstration earlier.

He wanted all of his attention on him.

“Change of heart?”

“What choice do I have?”

“That’s right, buddy. You ain’t got none.”

“What do you want to know?”

“The Governor––you tell anyone what you know about him and the girls?”