The Planck Factor

Cyn turned toward me, looking put out. “Why all the questions?”

“They’re easy ones. Or should be.”

She shook her head. “I’m not allowed to be concerned about you?”

I sighed and turned away. What did I just ask? Why aren’t you answering?

That’s when I noticed the door was ajar.

I grabbed Cyn from behind, jamming the serrated edge of the knife against her throat. She emitted an audible gasp and swept a coffee cup to the floor. Coffee seeped out, its dark stain spreading out across the carpet.

“The door’s unlocked. Why?” I snarled.

“Please!” Her voice came out in ragged gasps. “I didn’t mean to do it.”

“Really?” My voice took on a mock saccharine tone. “You’re so concerned for me, you follow me across the country, but you leave my hotel room unlocked. That does not compute.”

“Okay, okay,” Cyn said. “I can explain.”

“Then start explaining.” I pressed the knife harder. “Now!”

Cyn caught her breath. “Can you take that knife away from my throat first?”

“Sorry. Given the past few days events, my faith in human nature is wavering a bit.”

Cyn seemed to consider this. “All right, then. It’s like this.”

In an instant, she grabbed my wrist, pulled it from her throat and twisted my arm behind my back.

As I struggled, two men came in and grabbed me. Once they had me in their grasp, Cyn stood before me. She hauled back and slapped my face.

“Bitch!” I said, spit flying with my words. “Did you kill Fred?”

“I don’t think you’re in a position to ask questions, dear.” Cyn’s voice fairly dripped with sarcasm. Gone was the whole bubble-headed blonde act. Her expression had turned glacial. There was clearly much more to her than met the eye.

I kicked out at her, but she stepped out of reach. My captors clamped onto my arms like pit bulls.

“Keep hold of her,” Cyn said. “And watch her fucking feet.” She turned and left the room.

For a moment, no one said anything. The two men still dug their fingers into my arms.

“Now what?” I asked. I tried to sound tough, but my voice was shaking. I wasn’t sure if it was because of fear or anger.

“Now, we make you talk.” One of the men smiled at me the way a shark might smile at a minnow.

“That’s nice. What shall we talk about?”

The man’s smile morphed into a scowl. He leaned in so his face was an inch from mine. I could smell the mints he used in a lame attempt to cover his coffee-and-cigarette breath.

“What . . . did . . . he . . . tell . . . you?” He enunciated the words slowly, as if I were a child or an idiot. Or someone who’d just learned English. Each word brought another mint-laced blast of stink breath.

My first thought was, “Who? Fred or Selby?” But since neither had told me anything, I said, “Nobody has told me anything!”

The man smiled again. He looked me up and down. His eyes brightened and his nostrils flared.

“We’ll see how much you know, baby.” He leaned in as his buddy grabbed my other arm and held both behind my back. Then, he jammed his stinky-breathed mouth against mine. He forced his tongue inside my mouth and down to my tonsils. It took everything I had to keep from gagging, not only from his breath but also from his ridiculously long tongue.

He started moaning and grinding his pelvis against me. There was no mistaking his intentions now.