Jonathan shoved the truck back into gear and started backing out.
“So who was she?” he asked.
“Just some chick lost in the desert,” I told him. “Her boyfriend, or whatever, was an asshole and dropped her off on the road when they were fighting. She didn’t have anywhere to go and it was getting late, so she spent the night riding my cock. That’s it.”
“Custom.”
“Worked for me.” I leaned back and let the smoke from his cigarette waft around me. I didn’t indulge anymore myself, but I liked getting some second-hand every once in a while. As much as Jon lit up, I probably smoked a couple cigarettes worth any given hour I was with him.
“How was she?”
“Fucking fine!” I responded.
We both had a good laugh until Def Leppard started playing, and Jonathan quickly turned up the volume and started air jammin’ at red lights. I stared out the window at the line of people waiting for Garrett’s Popcorn and tried not to let thoughts of Lia invade my head too much. If I did, I’d start regretting shit, and I tried not to do that.
Jon followed me up to my apartment, and we immediately started researching Brad Ashton. There was so much shit on him, it was hard to separate the real stuff from the gossipy crap, but we started with the basics.
He was twenty-nine years old, born in Australia, six feet tall, blond hair, and grey eyes. Though he made himself famous with action films, he had his start in the porn industry, and I had to admit some of the footage made me feel a little uncomfortable.
Maybe it was because Jon was watching it with me.
“Do you really have to play more of that?” I asked as he flipped from a scene with one pair of writhing bodies on a bed to a video with two pairs.
“It’s pretty good,” Jonathan said. “Might have to download a full copy of this one.”
I shook my head a little, but my mind was wondering about the possibility of Bridgett spending the night again. I must not have hated the porn too much. I was going to have to take a little trip later.
I’m going to kill a guy I’ve watched fuck two sorority chicks and a frat boy.
Shaking my head again didn’t seem to completely rid my mind of the thought, so I headed to the kitchen and popped open a couple of beers.
“Here’s his schedule of appearances,” Jon said as he yanked a piece of paper from my printer. “He’ll be here in the city three times between now and February.”
“Not gonna kill him here,” I said. I silently berated myself for saying gonna. The nuns would have smacked my mouth for such abuse of the English language. I blamed Jonathan’s influence. The “Midwest meets southern twang” of his was addictive. “I think away from here will be better. There are ties to Rinaldo with anything done in Chicago, and I want nothing to look suspicious. Where else is he going to be?”
We went over all the various options and finally decided Atlanta was the place. He’d be there the first week of January, and that was when he was going to die.
Jonathan headed out, and I fed Odin and tossed his rubber bone around for a while. He actually got tired of the game before I did, which reminded me that he wasn’t a young pup anymore. He’d be nine in the spring, which was getting up there for a good-sized dog like him.
I rubbed my eyes; it was getting late, and I was tired. After I tossed the beer bottles in the recycling bin and drank one of those protein shakes, I headed off to bed. Odin followed, whining slightly. I gave his head a rub, but he just kept looking at me.
I peeled off my shirt, dropped my jeans, and tossed all of it into the hamper next to the dresser. My watch and keys went in one of those little ceramic bowls for such things, which made them clang against the set of dog tags on a chain coiled up at the bottom of the dish. With a heavy sigh, I lay down in the bed and stared at the ceiling until my eyes couldn’t stay open any longer.
On my stomach…unable to bring my knees to my chest to try and right myself. There’s something cutting into my wrists – wire or those plastic ties – I’m not sure which. It’s pitch black, and I can’t even hear anything around me. The sand below me is cold, and I think I might be underground.
Minutes. Hours. Days.
I can’t tell the difference. I try to swallow, but I don’t even have enough saliva left to do that. I’m going to die of dehydration, and I wonder if it’s a blessing.
Footsteps. Loud voices speaking in Arabic. I can’t make out enough of the words to make any sense of it. I hear and feel a presence beside me just before I’m grabbed by the neck and forced into a kneeling position. Water is poured over my face, and my mouth opens to receive it before it can choke me…
Sweat was pouring into my eyes as I woke with a start. My breath was coming in short, staccato gulps, and my hands were shaking. Odin was there beside the bed, whining slightly. I should have reached down to him, but I couldn’t move.
Why? Why now? I had barely thought about any of it in over a year.
I wiped sweat from my forehead before I shuffled over to the bathroom to wash my face. I stared at myself in the mirror and kind of hated what I saw looking back at me. I was pale, and it made my dark blue eyes stand out in my face like I was in shock or something.
Maybe I was.