Back Spin (Myron Bolitar 4)

Myron said, “You mind telling us what’s going on?”

“Sure thing. See that car behind you?”

Myron used the passenger-side mirror. “The one with the two goons?”

“Yep. They’re with me. And they are bad men, Myron. Young. Far too violent. You know how the kids are today. Bam, bam, no talk. The three of us are supposed to escort you to an unknown destination. In fact, I’m supposed to be holding a gun on you now. But hell, we’re all friends here, right? No need, the way I see it. So just start heading straight. The goons will follow.”

“Before we take off,” Myron said, “do you mind if we let Esperanza go?”

Carl chuckled. “Kinda sexist, don’t you think?”

“Excuse me?”

“If Esperanza were a man—like, say, your buddy Win—would you be making this gallant gesture?”

“I might,” he said. But even Esperanza was shaking her head.

“Me thinks not, Myron. And trust me here: It would be the wrong move. The young goons back there, they’d want to know what’s up. They’d see her get out of the car and they got those itchy fingers and those crazy eyes and they like hurting people. Especially women. And maybe, just maybe, Esperanza here is an insurance policy. Alone, you might try something dumb; with Esperanza right there, you might not be so inclined.”

Esperanza glanced at Myron. Myron nodded. She started the car.

“Make a left at the third light,” Carl said.

“Tell me something,” Myron said. “Is Reginald Squires as big a nut-job as I hear?”

Still leaning forward, Carl turned to Esperanza. “Am I supposed to be wowed by his sharp deductive reasoning skills?”

“Yes,” Esperanza replied. “He’ll be terribly disappointed if you aren’t.”

“Figured that. And to answer your question, Squires is not that big a nut-job—when he stays on his medication.”

“Very comforting,” Myron said.

The young goons stayed right on their tail for the entire fifteen-minute drive. Myron was not surprised when Carl told Esperanza to turn down Green Acres Road. When they approached the ornate front entrance, the iron gates swung open like on the closing credits of Get Smart. They continued up a windy driveway through the heavily wooded property. After about a half mile, they hit a clearing with a building. The building was big and plain and rectangular, like a high school gym.

The only entrance Myron could see was a garage door. As if on cue, the door slid open. Carl told Esperanza to pull into it. Once far enough inside, he told her to park and kill the engine. The goon car came in behind them and did likewise.

The garage door came back down, slowly slicing out the sun. No lights were on inside; the room was submerged in total darkness.

“This is just like the haunted house at Six Flags,” Myron said.

“Give me your gun, Myron.”

Carl had his game face on. Myron handed him the gun.

“Step out of the car.”

“But I’m afraid of the dark,” Myron said.

“You too, Esperanza.”

They all stepped out of the car. So did the two goons behind them. Their movements echoed off the cement floor, hinting to Myron that they were in a very large room. The interior car lights provided a modicum of illumination, but that didn’t last long. Myron made out nothing before the doors were closed.

Absolute blackness.

Myron made his way around the car and found Esperanza. She took his hand in hers. They remained still and waited.

A beacon, the kind used at a lighthouse or a movie premiere, snapped on in their faces. Myron’s eyes slammed shut. He shaded them with his hand and slowly squinted them open. A man stepped in front of the bright light. His body cast a giant shadow on the wall behind Myron. The effect reminded Myron of the Bat Signal.

“No one will hear your screams,” the man said.

“Isn’t that a line from a movie?” Myron asked. “But I think the line was, ‘No one will hear you scream.’ I could be wrong about that.”

“People have died in this room,” the voice boomed. “My name is Reginald Squires. You will tell me everything I want to know. Or you and your friend will be next.”

Oh, boy. Myron looked at Carl. Carl’s face remained stoic. Myron turned back toward the light. “You’re rich, right?”

“Very rich,” Squires corrected.

“Then maybe you could afford a better scriptwriter.”

Myron glanced back at Carl. Carl slowly shook his head no. One of the two young goons stepped forward. In the harsh light, Myron could see the man’s psychotic, happy smile. Myron tensed, waited.

The goon cocked a fist and threw it at Myron’s head. Myron ducked, and the punch missed. As the fist flew by him, Myron grabbed the goon’s wrist. He put his forearm against the back of the man’s elbow and pulled the joint back in a way it was never intended to bend. The goon had no choice. He dropped to the ground. Myron added a bit more pressure. The goon tried to squirm free. Myron snapped his knee straight into the goon’s nose. Something splattered. Myron could actually feel the nose cartilage give way and fan out.

The second goon took out his gun and pointed it at Myron.

“Stop,” Squires shouted.

Myron let the goon go. He slid to the floor like wet sand through a torn bag.

“You will pay for that, Mr. Bolitar.” Squires liked to project his voice. “Robert?”

The goon with the gun said, “Yes, Mr. Squires.”

“Hit the girl. Hard.”

“Yes, Mr. Squires.”

Myron said, “Hey, hit me. I’m the one who smarted off.”

“And this is your punishment,” Squires said calmly. “Hit the girl, Robert. Now.”

Goon Robert moved toward Esperanza.

“Mr. Squires?” It was Carl.

“Yes, Carl.”

Carl stepped into the light. “Allow me to do it.”

“I did not think you were the type, Carl.”

“I’m not, Mr. Squires. But Robert might do serious damage to her.”

“But that’s my intent.”

“No, I mean, he’ll leave bruising or break something. You want her to feel pain. That’s my area of expertise.”

“I realize that, Carl. It’s why I pay you what I do.”

“So then let me do my job. I can hit her without leaving a mark or permanent injury. I know control. I know the right spots.”

The shadowy Mr. Squires considered this a moment. “Will you make it painful?” he asked. “Very painful?”