I awoke the next morning to a shaft of sunlight across my eyes. I wasn't quite sure how Brad had arranged for that to happen, but for a moment I felt like I was in a movie, and that the lighting had been arranged specifically for the "early morning awakened by a shaft of sunlight" shot. I blinked a few times and sat up to get out of the harsh glare.
I ran my hands up my face and back through my hair, breathing noisily through my dry, clogged nose. I didn't remember any dreams, fortunately, so I must have slept solidly through the night. I didn't want to remember any dreams. My real life was surreal enough at the moment, thank you very much, and I didn't need any more weird-ass imagery to complement it.
I stood and stretched, then stepped over to the front window to adjust the curtain and eliminate the pesky shaft of sunlight. I paused for a moment to look out the window before pulling the curtain fully closed. The street was quiet, but the sight of the car sitting across the street made my pulse quicken a bit. The car was fairly innocuous looking, a simple gray sedan that looked to be of the Ford or Mercury persuasion, but the fact that two men sat in the front seat made me swallow hard. They both wore dark suits and ties.
I stepped to the side slowly and smoothly, to avoid any sudden jerky movements that might cause the men to look more closely. I decided to forgo adjusting the curtain. I stood to the side of the window, my back against the wall, breathing heavily, mind racing.
As quietly and stealthily as I could, I dropped to the floor and crawled on my hands and knees towards Brad's room. There were no windows in the hallway, so I stood again when I reached it and tiptoed along its length to the bedroom. The door was partially open, so I rolled my head around the doorframe to see where the window was situated. It looked like my position would be unseen from outside, but I didn't want to take any chances.
"Brad," I said, trying to be heard without raising my voice.
Brad was a sound sleeper. I would have to be more assertive than that.
"Brad," I repeated, louder this time. Still no response.
I crouched, crept a couple of feet into the room, grabbed one of Brad's sneakers, and backed out again. I stood again, just outside the doorway, and hurled the sneaker at Brad's head.
The projectile struck its mark, and Brad sat up straight, arms whirling about his head like he'd been attacked by a swarm of bees.
"What the fuck—?" he shouted.
"Shhhhh…" I hissed at him. "Be quiet."
He finally regained his sense of place and looked at me. "Jesus, Jack. What the fuck are you doing?"
"Shhhhh…" I repeated. "Come out to the living room. I need to show you something."
"Go away," he replied, and slumped back down on the bed.
"Brad, this is important."
"It's always important with you, isn't it?"
His voice was muffled by the bedclothes he'd pulled over his head.
"They're back," I said.
"Who's back?"
"The guys in the suits."
He rolled over and glared at me. "Are you kidding me? Are we back on this bullshit again?"
I clenched my jaw. "I want you to see this for yourself. You're never going to believe me if you don't see it for yourself."
He let out a long sigh through his nose and threw off the bedclothes. "Fine. Show me, so I can go back to bed."
I led him down the hall towards the living room, gesturing for him to stay behind me. When reached the end of the hall, I poked my head around the corner and looked towards the window.
"You can't see them from this angle, so you're going to have to crouch down and—"
Brad pushed past me and walked towards the living room window.
"Brad," I said, panicked. "Don't let them see you."
I put my hands to my face as Brad pulled the curtains open and looked out into the street. He struck a stunning figure, bathed in sunlight, his blond hair sticking up on one side, stubble across his chin, and his underwear bunched up into the crack of his ass. I would have laughed if hadn't been so terrified.
After a moment, Brad pulled the curtains closed and turned around. "Couple of dudes in a gray car. Big fucking deal. I'm going back to bed."
"They've seen you now," I said as he passed me and headed back to the bedroom.
"I live here. Anybody who looks up is going to see me if they time it right."
I followed him back to his room. "Yeah, but they're not just anybody."
He flopped back down on his bed and looked at me. "Couple of dudes in a gray car. That's all. Stop being so fucking paranoid." He pulled the covers back over his head and rolled away from me.
I stood there for a moment breathing heavily, my fists in tight balls.
"I'm not into guys, Jack," Brad said in his sheet muffled voice. "If you get your jollies from watching guys sleep, I don't want to know about it. Just go jack off in the other room."
"You're not taking this seriously," I said.
"Fucking right, I'm not," he replied.
I turned away from him and closed my eyes for a moment. I couldn't believe what was happening. Even with hard evidence right outside the building, Brad still would not accept what had happened to me, what was likely to happen again. I could only hope that the men in the car hadn't spotted me.
They were probably staking out all my friends, family, and acquaintances. I realized now that it had been stupid of me to stay here last night. I was putting Brad in danger.
I turned back to the bedroom.
"Jesus, will you get out of the doorway?" Brad said.
"Brad, I'm sorry."
"Well, then, show it. Get out of the doorway."
"No, I'm not talking about that."
He turned over and pulled the covers off his face. "What?"
"I'm sorry for getting you into this. I shouldn't have stayed here last night. I should have taken a hotel room or something."
"Don't be stupid. You don't have money for a hotel. You work in a fucking bookstore. What am I going to do, turn you out on the street?"
"I appreciate that. I really do. You have no idea. But I've put your life in danger by staying here. I have to find a way to get out of here without them seeing me. So they'll stop watching you."
He sat up and rubbed his eyes. "First off, that's very touching. I had no idea you were concerened for anyone's welfare but your own."
"That's not funny, Brad. I'm trying to be serious here."
"Yeah. Whatever. Secondly, let's say your delusion is actually true. In theory. Personally, I think it's bullshit, but let's say for the sake of argument that there's really a bunch of guys in suits after you. If they were, and if they were watching all your friends' places, and all your families, they wouldn't just do it for one night or one day, and then say, 'Okay, we're done here. Let's go on to the next one.' If they know that you and I hang out, then they're going to watch my place until you show up."
He was right. They weren't watching Brad's apartment thinking I was here. They were watching thinking that at some point or other I would come here.
My knees wobbled for a second, and I sank to the floor. My head began to spin anew. Without even knowing what I'd done or how I'd done it, I'd put the lives of everyone I knew and cared about in danger. My coworkers, my uncle, my bandmates—
"Oh, my God. Lydia."
I struggled to my feet. "Brad, you have to call Lydia. I need to know she's okay."
"What, are your fingers broken? Call her yourself." He pulled the covers over his head again.
"I can't. They probably have your phone line tapped. If call, they'll know I'm here."
"Jesus Murphy," Brad mumbled from within his cocoon.
I watched the shape of his stomach rise and fall under the sheets a few time. After a minute or so, he stirred. The sheets flew to the side, and he sat up again.
"You're seriously pissing me off, my man," he said as he swung his legs off the bed and stood again.
He marched down the hall to the living room, sat down on the sofa, and picked up the phone. "If she's rags at me for waking her up, I'm going to kick you in the balls," he muttered.
He dialed Lydia's number and put the receiver to his ear. I stood in the hall, trying to keep out of the living room window's line of sight, and watched him. His eyes roamed the room as he waited for someone on the other end to answer. I couldn't hear anything, but it must have rung five or six times since he'd dialled.
"She's not there," he said.
"Give it another few rings," I said.
He rolled his eyes and sat back on the sofa. We waited for another thirty seconds or so, and then he hung up the phone.
"She's not there."
"That's really weird. She's not normally an early riser."
"Well, maybe she unplugged it."
"Why would she do that?"
Brad snorted and gave me an odd look. "Why would you unplug the phone, dude?"
"What?"
He rolled his head back. "Jesus, you're dense, man. You've been treating her like shit. Would you really be surprised if she hooked up with someone else?"
I nearly stepped full into the room, but managed to remember at the last second that I was trying to hide.
"First of all, Lydia and I are not in a relationship. We're friends. Okay? End of story. Second of all, Lydia's not like that. She doesn't just hook up with random guys. She has standards."
Brad raised his head and looked at me. "Well then why the fuck did she hook up with you?"
"This is not the discussion I want to have right now. I want to find Lydia. She's in danger. Just like you are."
"Where is this coming from, all of a sudden? This concern for your fellow human? Did you get a visit from the Christmas ghosts or something last night?"
"Look, I may be a selfish prick sometimes—"
"Sometimes?"
"Will you let me finish? I may be like that sometimes, but that doesn't mean I don't care about my friends. I'm not a heartless bastard, you know. I'm not made of granite."
"You do a damn fine impersonation."
I balled my fists and raised them to my shoulders. "Will you stop it? I'm trying to be serious here."
"Well, there's a first time for everything."
I let my hands drop to my sides. "Try her cell number, will you?"
"I don't know her cell number."
I reached into my mental address book, but when I came to Lydia's page, I found the cell number entry to be blurry.
"Ah, Jesus," I said. "I can't remember it."
"Well, there's not much we can do, then, is there? I mean, since you left your cell phone in an alternate universe and all."
"Don't you have a phone book?"
"They don't list people's cell numbers in the phone book, dude. It's just home numbers and business numbers."
I was suddenly struck with an idea. I turned to look at Brad again. "Then call my place. Maybe she's gone there to grab some stuff for me."
Brad laughed. "Are you serious, dude? After the way she barrelled out of here last night? You'll be lucky if you ever catch site of the back of one of her boots again."
My whole body sagged. He was right.
"Besides, she gave you back her keys. Remember?"
Again he was right.
"Damn it. I'm worried about her."
"Too little, too late, man. That train has sailed."
I scrunched up my face. "You're a writer's worst nightmare, you know that?"
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about your unfortunate tendency to mix metaphors. And awkwardly, too, I might add."
He stood up and took a step towards me. "One second you tell me you're worried about Lydia, and the next you're complaining about me mixing my fucking metaphors? How screwed are you, man? How seriously gone in the head are you?"
"Well you figure it out, Doctor Freud. You think I'm hallucinating. You also think I'm an uncaring, selfish prick. You also think I'm an anal-rententive language Nazi. So you do the math. How fucked up am I?"
Brad moved past me again, shoving me with his shoulder this time. "I'm taking a shower," he said.
I watched him step into the bathroom. Slowly, I turned to face the living room again. The window was still there, wide, glowing, impertinent. It laughed at me, knowing it held something I dreaded to see, but needed to see. I had to know if they were still watching.
I dropped to a crouch and began crawling towards the section of wall to the right of the window. When I reached it, I rose up again and flattened myself against it. I inched towards the window and peered around the frame.
The car was gone.
I had a bad feeling about this, for some reason. I'd have thought that seeing the grey car gone would have been a relief. It should have allowed me some room for doubt that the men were actually agents of the organization that had taken me before. But it didn't do any such thing. I felt an odd sense of panic, like I had lost some measure of control. If they were out there, I knew they weren't doing anything to any of my friends. If they were gone, then I had no idea what they were doing.
I walked to the bathroom. I could hear the shower spray over the atonal mumblings of a man who couldn't sing to save his life. Strangely, I recognized what Brad what trying to sing. It was the aborted fetus of Bruce Springsteen's "Born to Run". Ignoring the unpleasant sounds, I stepped into the bathroom, waving my hand back and forth amidst the dense fog the shower was putting forth. Brad liked his showers hot.
"Brad," I said.
I was greeted with a thump as something fell to the tub floor.
"Jesus," Brad said. "Give me some kind of warning, will you? You scared the living shit out of me."
"Sorry," I said. "Listen, Brad. The grey car is gone."
"Hallelujah! Now get the fuck out of my bathroom before I starting thinking you really do like watching guys."
"Brad, I don't feel good about this."
"Neither do I. I'm trying to take a shower, here, and you're out there practically gawking at me."
"That's not what I'm talking about. Besides, you have an opaque shower curtain."
"What does the friggin' design pattern have to do with anything?"
I rolled my eyes. "Opaque means you can't see through it."
"Oh. Right. Well, whatever. You're still standing there while I'm showering. You're creeping me out."
"I meant that I have a bad feeling about the car being gone."
"Oh, Jesus. First you're freaked out because it's there, and now you're freaked out because it's gone. Make up your fucking mind, will you?"
"Will you listen to me?"
"No. No, I will not listen to. Not until I am clean and dry and with no goddamned fucking audience. Capice?"
I turned towards the door. "Yeah. All right." I moved back down the hall and sat on the living room couch.
Brad took easily another fifteen minutes in the shower. Evidently he liked his showers long and hot. I was sure that if I were to say that to him, he would make some kind of inappropriate comment about his manly equipment, so I tried very hard to erase the phrase from my mind and move on to other things.
I was beginning to panic. I didn't know how many agents the shadowy organization had watching my friends and family, but I knew now that two of them were no longer watching Brad. What that meant was, at the moment, a mystery, but it brought all kinds of unsavory scenarios into my already overworked brain.
I just wanted some peace and quiet. Some rest and relaxation. I didn't envision that happening any time soon.
Brad sauntered down the hall in his bathrobe, rubbing his head with a towel, and stepped into the room.
"All right," he said, sitting down in one of the wicker chairs. "What was so all fired important that you had to interrupt my shower time."
"I told you," I said. "The car's gone, and I have a bad feeling about it."
"It just means it wasn't what you thought it was."
"What it means is that it was most definitely what I thought it was, and they've changed their tactics. It bodes ill."
Brad stopped his head rubbing and pulled the towel aside. "It bodes ill? What the fuck kind of sentence is that? Are you going to start talking in Icelandic Pento Meter now?"
I hung my head. "It's not Icelandic. It's iambic. And it's not Pento Meter. It's pentameter."
Brad tugged the towel off his head and plunked it in his lap. "See? There you go again. Being all snotty and superior. I can't say a goddamned word around you without getting lecture about proper grammar or pronounciation or something."
I sighed. "It's not pro-noun-ciation. It's pro-nun-ciation."
Brad threw the towel at me. It fell short, landing on my feet. "Why can't you just have a conversation like a normal person? Why do have to go all English professor on my ass every time I say something."
I threw up my hands. "I'm sorry. I can't help it."
"Jesus. You really are a fucking grammar Nazi. You're not a lot of fun to be around at the best of times, dude, and this language thing just makes it ten times worse. You're lucky I don't kick your ass down the stairs."
"I said I was sorry, okay? Geez."
"Yeah. Whatever." He stepped out the chair to retrieve his errant towel, and then reseated himself. "So, what were you saying before you started getting all Shakespearean?"
"I was saying that these people�the guys in the suits�have changed their tactics. I don't know what they're doing now, but they're not watching your place anymore, and it's making me antsy."
"I still say you're imagining things."
"And I say I'm not. There's something going on, and I'm almost afraid to find out what it is."
Brad finished drying his hair and hung the towel around his neck. "Man, we need to get you some drugs. Or get you laid or something. You're wound up way to tight."
I leaned forward and put my head in my hands, my elbows on my knees. "It was drugs that got me into this in the first place."
"What? What are you talking about?"
I raised my head and looked at him. "The drugs I took. You know. To try and 'off' myself, as you so colorfully put it."
"Oh. I actually didn't know what you did. I just knew you tried to, well, you know…"
"It was Gravol, Sleep-Eze-D, and Captain Morgan."
Brad rolled his eyes back and gargled a hiss in the back of this throat. "Fuck, man, what are you, some kind of pussy? That'd never kill anyone. Just give you a nice, long sleep, that's all. Jesus. You can't do anything right, can you?"
"That was pretty much the reason I was trying to do it. You know? Major failure in all areas of life?"
Brad straightened up and furrowed his brows slightly. "Geez, man. I'm sorry. I�I didn't realize that was…"
I waved the comment away. "No, you didn't realize. So, let's forget about it. I did what I did, and I think it affected my brain in an unexpected way."
"You mean you started hallucinating."
"No, I mean I started seeing things that no one else could see."
"Right. Hallucinating."
"No. Not hallucinating. I was seeing this woman, Irene. I told you about her. No one else could see her, but she was actually there. Well, she was kind of there. But she was real, and I was the only one who could see her."
"That sounds a lot like hallucinating to me."
"No. It's not. It's this other world thing I was talking about."
Brad put his hands to his forehead. "Yeah, and I don't want to fucking hear about it again. Okay? It's crazy talk, dude. And the more you talk about it, the more I think you ought to be locked up in a padded room somewhere."
"Oh, thanks a lot. You're such a big help."
"I think I'd be a help if I took you back to that hospital."
"Look, Brad. I have my moments, too. Sometimes I think my brain made the whole thing up and I'm just wandering around in one big dream state. But then something like this happens…" I gestured towards the window. "…and it convinces me all over again that it's all real. Every last bit of it."
Brad stood up and tightened the belt on his robe. "I still think we need to get you checked out."
I slumped back on the sofa. Not even hard evidence seemed enough to convince him.
Brad turned towards the hall, but stopped short as the phone started to ring.
"Pick it up," he said. "Maybe it's Lydia."
I shook my head. "No, I told you. They might have the line bugged."
Brad shook his head and turned back into the room. He stepped to the phone and picked it up.
"Hello?"
I watched his face as he listened. His expression slowly changed from annoyance to perplexity, then to confusion, then to apprehension, and finally to anger.
"Who the fuck is this?" he demanded.
His frown deepened as he listened again. After a moment, he pulled the receiver away from his ear and stared at it. Then he slammed it down on the cradle and stepped back like it was about to explode.
"What?" I said. I could feel the panic rising in my chest again.
Brad glared at me. "You fucking bastard," he said. "How could you let this happen?"
"What are you talking about?"
"They've got Lydia, you fuck. That was your friend from the spooky agency. Telling me that if I saw Mister Richmond, would I please tell him that if he ever wants to see his girlfriend again, he'll be at the container pier at six o'clock."
I could feel the blood draining from my face. "Oh, my God," I said as I stood up.
"What is all this, man?" Brad was nearly shaking now.
"So you believe me now, do you?" I asked, sarcacm dripping off my every syllable.
Brad's mouth quivered as he fought back whatever new harsh retort he'd come up with. "Yeah," he said at length. "About the guys in the suits, anyway." His voice was raspy, quiet. "I don't know what sort of shit you're caught up in, man, but if I find out you've gotten involved with drug dealers or some other bullshit like that, God help me, I'll tear your balls off and feed them to the neighbor's dog. You understand me?"
I swallowed. "Yeah. I get it. But believe me, it's nothing even close to what you're thinking. If you get even a glimpse of what I've seen, it's going to blow your mind right out of your skull."
"I hope you're right, Jack. Because I'm this close…" he put his thumb and forefinger close together and held them up. "…to giving up on you for good."
I knew he meant it. I'd never before heard him speak in such a tone, and, frankly, it scared the shit out of me.
"I'm getting dressed," Brad said. "Then we're going to figure out what to do about this."
"I think it's pretty obvious what we're going to do," I said. "We're going to go to the container pier at six o'clock."
"No. You're going to the container pier at six o'clock. I'll drive you part way, but I'm not going anywhere near the place. If you've got business to settle with these people, then you do it, you get Lydia out of there, and you leave me the fuck out of it."
He turned on his heel and stomped down the hall to the bedroom. I reached up to touch my forehead. I was sweating profusely. I stared blankly at the space Brad had just occupied. Then, after a moment, I sank back onto the sofa.
This was all my fault, I knew. Everything. All of it. Every last bit of it. All my fault. There was no way I could have known any of this would happen, no way I could have predicted even tenth of it. But it had happened, and if I hadn't been such a stupid, selfish, idiot, none of it would have come to pass.
And now Lydia was in danger. I doubted I could ever forgive myself for that.
——————–
Brad stopped on Hollis Street, well before the Westin Hotel, and put the car in park.
"You get out here," he said, looking straight ahead. "You go and fix this. I want to see Lydia alive and well. You got that?"
I took off my seat belt and glowered at him. "Thanks a lot. You're a big help."
He turned his head to look at me. His eyes were empty, emotionless. "You fix this."
"And what if I can't."
"Then if they don't kill you, I will."
"I didn't even think you liked Lydia that much."
"Get out of the car. Now. Before I make sure you can't."
I opened the car door and hauled myself up and out. Brad immediately put the car in gear and pulled away. I thought it was odd that he wouldn't stick around to see if Lydia got back okay, but at this point, I was just glad not to be talking to him anymore. I'd never seen him so intense, so angry. This situation was getting to him, big time.
I checked my watch as I headed up the remainder of Hollis Street. It was twenty minutes to six, which means I needed to walk faster if was going to reach my destination by six. I still had to go behind the Westin, through the parking lots in front of Pier 21, and practically all the way over to Point Pleasant Park. I wasn't going to make it by strolling.
I didn't even know exactly where I was supposed to be. All they'd said was 'the container pier'. They'd said nothing more specific to Brad on the phone. So I would go to the container pier and hope that whoever was supposed to see me would see me.
As I neared the end of Hollis Street, I could see the hotel. Just before it, I came to the intersection with Terminal Road. I turned left and headed down the hill. At the bottom, Terminal Road curved to the left and became Marginal Road. This would be the long part. I checked my watch again and picked up the pace.
I passed the Cultural Associations Building on my left and a couple of warehouses on the right before coming to Pier 21 proper, the place where all the cruise ships docked during tourist season. I had a sudden flashback to the dozens of times I had told American tourists that, yes, we do take U.S. dollars, and, no we cannot give you U.S. change because we don't keep a supply of U.S. dollars in the till. And no, we can't sell you the book for the U.S. price, not even if you pay in U.S. dollars, because it costs more to print books in Canada, and it also costs more to ship goods in a country with a smaller population and a larger geographic area. So suck it up, you stupid American pricks, and while you're at it, why don't you convert your money to Canuck Bucks when you get here, for God's sake, and help keep a poor underpaid book jockey from pulling out a sharp object and shanking your ass.
Would that I could have said such a thing even once. But no, even that would have gotten me fired. Paige was a great gal and a wonderful manager, but even she would have had to kick my ass to the curb if I'd done something like that. So I was left to fantasize about it.
I continued on past Pier 21, shaking off the ghosts of customers past, and headed into the much less attractive part of the dockyards. It was all warehouses and grain silos from here, with the occasional rusty vehicle to punctuate the otherwise drab environs.
This was not a part of town I frequented.
I checked my watch again. It was almost five minutes to six. I was walking briskly now, the entrance to the container pier still a good distance ahead.
Panting, I reached the chain link fence at the entrance to the container pier with just over a minute to spare. I was glad for the sprint, because if my body hadn't been sweating and shaking from exertion, it would been doing it from sheer terror.
I had no idea what I was in for here.
I stopped and looked around. There was not much activity in the area. Regular business hours were over, and most of the staff in the surrounding buildings had gone home for the day. I checked my watch again. Six o'clock on the nose. My mouth was dry, my forehead dripping with persperation. I wondered if they would keep me waiting, just so they could watch me sweat. They wouldn't be disappointed. It was nearly running down my face at this point.
I stepped up to the gate and looked through. Nothing was happening. I could see nothing except stacks and stacks of containers and silent loading cranes in the distance.
After what seemed like hours, but was probably not more than a few minutes, I heard a sound. I turned to my right to see a vehicle coming towards me. It was a grey sedan, probably a Ford or Mercury, exactly like the one I'd seen outside Brad's window. It slowed as it approached. About ten feet from me, it stopped.
I stood looking at it. I couldn't see the occupants through the glare on the windshield, but I assumed it contained the same two men I'd seen earlier.
I didn't dare move. I didn't dare do anything. I didn't want to piss them off, and I sure as hell didn't want to endanger Lydia any further. So I waited.
Eventually, the engine shut off, and the passenger door opened. A man emerged, stood beside the car for a moment, and then shut the door. He took a few steps towards me.
"Mister Richmond," he said. The face and voice were the same. It was the man who had been in the interrogation room. "I'm glad you finally came to your senses."
"What do you mean 'finally'?" I asked. "I didn't know you were looking for me."
"Oh, come, now," he said, his tone almost conversational. "After your disappearance from the accommodations we provided for you�a neat trick, by the way�you didn't imagine we'd just let the matter drop, did you?"
"A man lives in hope," I said, sounding braver than I felt.
He chuckled. "You're a gutsy one, Mister Richmond. I'm growing to like you quite a bit."
"You have a funny way of showing it."
"Oh, I'm just doing my job. This is nothing personal."
"You made it personal when you took my friend," I said.
"Oh. Is that all she is to you? Just a friend."
"She's a dear friend, if you want to be ridiculously specific about it."
"Oh, I assure you, Mister Richmond. There's not a shred of ridiculousness in anything I do. I'm deadly serious about my work."
"I don't like the way you phrased that."
"I didn't imagine you would. Now let's get down to business, shall we?"
"Fine. Where's Lydia?"
He half turned back towards the car and made a vague gesture with his arm. "Oh, she's in the back seat. She's fine. We've been taking good care of her."
"Yes. I'm sure you gave her a lovely room. Just like mine."
He chuckled again. "Such bravado. You're either a brave man, or a very foolish one. I suppose time will tell which it is."
"I want to see her."
He put his hands in his trouser pockets and took another step towards me. "Look, Mister Richmond. I need to explain something to you." He looked down and absently kicked a loose piece of asphalt. "You're in no position to make demands." He looked up at me again, his expression harder. "I'm running the show here. I call the shots. Do you understand that? Because if you don't, then we have a serious problem."
"You mean I have a serious problem."
He nodded slightly and looked off into space for a moment. "Yes, I think you've pretty much got the picture."
"So, what now?"
He pulled his hands out of his pockets and dusted them off. "Good. Back to business." He turned around and stepped back to the car. "What happens is this: You go to the opposite side of the car. I open the back door on this side and bring your friend out. I will not allow her to say anything, but you will be able to see that she is unharmed. You will have a maximum of five seconds to observe her condition, at which point you will get into the back seat from your side and close the door. I will tell your friend to start walking away without looking back, and I will close the back door on this side. I will then get into the passenger seat, and we will be on our way."
"To where?"
"Ah, yes. I forgot one part. Once you are in the back seat, you will put on the blindfold that is there waiting for you."
I snorted. "Yeah. I thought so."
"Are you clear on the proceedings, Mister Richmond? Is there any part that you don't understand?"
"Yeah. Where's the part where I get to kick your face in?"
He chuckled again. "Now, now, Mister Richmond. Let's not get carried away. I have nothing against you personally, and I'm attempting to treat you with all the respect the situation allows. I only ask that you cooperate and treat me similarly."
"That's asking a lot, considering," I said.
"Yes, well, be that as it may. I've explained what's going to happen here, and I suggest you go along with it. It's in everyone's best interests. I think you know that."
I squinted into the glare on the windshield, but I could not make out any shapes. I could see neither the driver nor Lydia. I wiped my brow again and gave the man my best glare.
"Fine," I said. "Let's do this."
