Brock and Ziv walked side by side down the claustrophobic tunnel.
First at a rapid pace, but then Brock felt his feet start to slow the closer they got to his dad’s room. He saw it just up ahead—he could make out the illuminated number twenty-one.
Then he just stopped walking and leaned his back up against the wall of the tunnel.
Lowered his head and put his right hand over his left chest.
Ziv gently squeezed the actor’s shoulder. “Brock, are you okay?”
Brock nodded. He could feel sharp little pains in his chest, but he’d had those before. Usually every time he had to make a public appearance.
Performing in front of the camera never bothered him, but making speeches and enduring the formalities of Hollywood always caused him stress. And performing live theater usually made him retch.
It was just anxiety and, in the absence of drugs, he knew how to deal with it. Deep breaths and slow exhales.
He lifted his head and stood up as straight as he could. Then breathed in through his nose, held it for a few seconds and let it out slowly through his mouth. Brock did several repetitions of this until he started to feel better.
The chest pains finally subsided and his breathing returned to normal.
“I’m okay, Ziv. Just an anxiety attack.”
“Boy, I never would have figured you for those.”
“Yeah, I know. The big, confident movie star persona, huh? Believe it or not, a lot of us have this problem. That’s why there’s so much of a drug culture in Hollywood. Chases the anxiety away.
“If I wasn’t in this place right now, I probably would have just snorted some cocaine to make it all better. But—this deep breathing is a much healthier way, and I’m going to try to fucking get used to this from now on, instead.”
“Are you nervous about seeing your father?”
“Yep. It’s been years, Ziv. I can’t even recall how many. He’s been in this shithole for four years and I haven’t seen him since he’s been here.
“And he was in that Georgia prison for ten years before that. I only saw him a couple of times when he was there, I’m ashamed to say. It was selfish of me—it made me sad to see him locked up like that. I didn’t consider that it would make him happy to see me. I only cared about how depressed it made me feel.”
Ziv patted him on the back. “I think that’s a normal reaction. Don’t beat yourself up over it. I’m betting he understands.”
Brock nodded. “I hope so.”
“Ready to do this?”
Brock pushed himself off the wall. “Yeah, let’s do it.”
They finished the walk together, the remaining few steps even slower than before. When they reached room number twenty-one Ziv stopped and wrapped his arm around Brock’s shoulders.
“You go in alone. I’ll wait out here. When you’re ready, come get me.”
Brock placed his big hand around the back of Ziv’s neck and squeezed gently. “Thanks, man.”
He raised his fist and knocked on the door.
A familiar voice answered, in a gruff tone. “Come in. It’s open.”
Brock opened the door and entered, quickly closing it behind him.
His father was sitting hunched over a little table in the corner, playing solitaire. The music on his radio was playing softly and he didn’t even raise his head when he spoke.
“I’m not gonna do dinner tonight, Cliff. Go on without me.”
Brock smiled. “I’ve gone to dinner far too often without you, old man. Time to change that.”
Hal looked up and aimed his piercing blue eyes into Brock’s piercing blue eyes. He didn’t say another word. He jumped out of his chair like a spry thirty-year-old, and rushed at him.
They embraced for the longest time without uttering a sound. Brock actually lifted his father into the air at one point; he could tell that he’d lost a lot of weight.
But—he looked good, so darn good he couldn’t believe it.
They pulled back from each other. Hal planted a big kiss on Brock’s cheek, and cupped his face in his still strong hands.
“What on earth are you doing here? Did they agree to let you visit me?”
“No, I’m a prisoner just like you now.”
Brock walked over to his dad’s little radio and turned up the volume.
He then explained what was going on, how the arrests had been faked by Sean Russell to get him and Ziv into the twisted world of Emerald City. And that Sean had some kind of escape plan that he hadn’t told them about yet.
Hal backed up a few paces, and held his arms out wide.
“Let me look at you. My, you look grand! My boy, the famous movie star!”
Brock laughed, and held his arms out wide, too.
“My dad, the famous killer!”
They both laughed together and hugged again. Brock’s big, tough dad started to cry. He raised his hand and wiped the tears away from Hal’s cheek with the knuckle of his index finger.
“Don’t cry, Dad. Everything’s okay now.”
Hal sniffed and wiped his sleeve across his face.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. Thought I was going to just die in here. I tried to escape a while ago, but as you can tell, it didn’t work.”
“I heard. Not surprised that you would try. Well, you’re gonna try again, Dad, and this time you’ll have us to help.”
“How are your mom and the boys?”
“Oh, they’re okay. We don’t talk very often.”
Hal nodded. “And your career?”
“Goin’ good—but it’s kind of an empty life. I’m rich, but who cares. No one cares about me, so it doesn’t seem worth it.”
“I care about you, son. And, someday, someone else will, too. Give it time. Hang out with the right people.”
“Yeah, but first we have to get you outta here.”
Hal smiled warmly. “I can’t believe I’m looking at you—right here, right now.”
Brock hugged his dad again, and started crying himself.
“I…had…an…attack…out in the hallway.”
“I know you did. I had one myself just before you walked in. Thought you were getting on stage or something in Los Angeles. I felt your pain.”
Brock smiled. “We’re still soulmates, aren’t we?”
“Always will be, son. Just one of those nice things in life. And there ain’t many nice things left.”
“We’ll change that.”
Hal frowned. “Brock, I love that you’re here, but this is so damn dangerous. Whatever Sean’s plan is, it’s bound to have some risk to it. I’m used to that, but you’re not.”
“I don’t care, Dad. I have to help get you out of this place. And someone has to break this thing wide open. They can’t get away with this abomination—and that’s what this is, a cruel abomination.”
“It is.” Hal shook his head, as if trying to shake the thought away. “So, when do I meet your friend?”
“Right now—he’s waiting out in the tunnel.”
Brock opened the door and waved Ziv in.
He walked right up to Hal with no hesitation, and held out his hand. “Pleased to finally meet the legend. I’m Ziv Dayan.”
Hal shook his hand and smiled warmly.
“I know who you are. Mossad. The bastards killed your wife, but you tracked them down and got them. Good for you—I applauded that day.”
Ziv nodded. “Wow, you are tapped in. Yes. That was a long time ago, but it’s one of those things you never really forget.”
“Thanks for teaming up with my son. Much appreciated.”
Brock was standing off to the side while Hal and Ziv talked. He took a real good look at his dad for the first time since he’d opened that door.
Hal looked older than he remembered, but that was to be expected after all these years. But, he also looked a lot better than he’d expected, which warmed his heart.
Hal had kept himself in tremendous shape—not an ounce of fat, shoulders still wide and strong, with arms and hands that looked like they could still tear a crocodile to pieces.
But what he noticed the most was contained within his dad’s face—lines that weren’t there before, and eyes that seemed to have lost their fire. Still blue as the sky, but they lacked the spark Brock remembered so fondly. Maybe he’d get that wonderful spark back once they were out of this shit-hole.
Suddenly, the door opened and two uniformed officers walked in. Hal scowled at them.
“Don’t you fuckers ever knock?”
The lead soldier ignored the comment.
“The three of you must come with us. Right now, please.”