Chapter Four

Jennifer Wu felt as though she'd been hit over the head with a fifty-pound weight. Every inch of her skull was racked with a pulsating pain. Staved in by a ... what? A gun barrel? No, something bigger than that. A big iron pole of some kind? Maybe, but that would make a huge lump, and as she raised her left hand and felt around her head, there was no lump, on either temple or anywhere else.

So she was wrong. There wasn't any pole used on her.

But why the terrible pulsating headache? Like with a migraine, her skull seemed to expand and contract with every beat of her heart.

Maybe . . . maybe she'd been drugged.

She felt herself waking up a little more. She blinked her eyes and saw a deep blackness in front of her.

God, she wanted to scream, and nearly did, but then she thought about it for a second. No, she wouldn't scream for help. Because it was obvious that she'd been kidnapped, and whoever had taken her had probably used drugs.

She realized that she was in some kind of cell. What else could it be? (Even though she could see nothing at all in front of her.) She had free use of her arms and legs. She could move around, and she didn't seem to be beaten anywhere on her body. So whoever had taken her hadn't hurt her, except for her head.

But why then? Why had they grabbed her out of the Indian pueblo and brought her here?

It didn't make any sense at all.

It wasn't as though she was a rich person whom they could ransom for big money.

Unless they thought that her sister would pay for her. She wasn't sure if Michelle was all that rich. Nobody quite knew how much money her sister had.

But maybe whoever had snatched her had thought Michelle was rich and would pay a ransom for her return.

She sat up and blinked. Gradually, her eyes got used to the darkness. Now she could see she was on a bed, that there was a toilet in the corner with a shelf where things had been laid out for her. Toothpaste, a toothbrush. A washrag, soap, a towel.

Yes, and toilet paper. How thoughtful.

But over on the other side of the room . . . just as she had suspected . . . prison bars. She was in a cell, somewhere.

Jesus, now she could see a hallway. She got up, and on shaky feet walked over to the cell bars. There was a small blue light down there somewhere, like a night-light.

Again, such a thoughtful touch. She almost laughed.

Then she had another thought, a weirder one. If she was in a cell block, then there might be other prisoners in here as well.

Which meant. . . which meant what?

That some lunatics or—or terrorists, yes, it could be terrorists—had picked up a group of normal Americans and were holding them for ransom.

But what kind of terrorists? Certainly not al-Qaeda. Not in an Indian pueblo. No, the weird thing was that the most logical terrorists would be the Indians themselves. Did Indian nationalist groups do this kind of thing?

She had never heard of anything like that before.

It made no sense whatsoever. But there were fights over Indian casinos. Maybe it had something to do with that. Because there was a big casino, the River Rock Casino, just three miles away from Taos. She didn't think it was Indian-owned though . . . wasn't it partially owned by a consortium of business people who merely used the Indians as a front? She wasn't at all sure. Could this be some kind of crazy part of a war between the whites and the Indians?

But as soon as she thought of such a thing the notion seemed even more absurd.

Native Americans weren't into kidnapping people.

But who was? One thing for sure was that she'd never be able to figure this out by herself.

She was dying to yell down the hall and see if someone else was here. But there had to be guards. And if she called out they'd come running and maybe they'd beat her.

Yeah, maybe this time they really would split her brain open with a club.

There had to be some way to find out where she was, and who else was down here.

Jennifer crept over to the left side of the cell and whispered around the corner, “Is there anyone over there? Can you hear me?”

There was no answer.

Okay. It was night (she thought) and they were asleep.

She tried again, a little louder. “Anyone? Anyone there?”

She jumped as she heard a voice whisper back to her.

“Yeah, girlfriend. Who are you?”

A woman with some kind of an accent. What was it? New York? The Bronx maybe?

“My name is Jennifer,” she whispered. “Who are you?”

“Gerri. Gerri Maxwell. From the Bronx. Where you from?”

“I'm from Los Angeles. I'm just visiting here with my sister and we were touring the Indian pueblo in Taos, and somebody came up behind me and—”

“And shot you full of some kind of sleeping shit, and here you are.”

“Yes, I guess so. I don't remember how it happened. I have the worst headache.”

“Yeah, I know ‘bout that, too. It lasts maybe three, four hours, then it goes away.”

“But what the hell is going on?” Jennifer asked. “Why are we here?”

“I don't know. There was another person down here, too. Woman named Mary. But now she's gone.”

“Gone? What do you mean?”

“I mean that this guy came down today and said they were letting her out.”

“They did?”

“Yeah, that's right. They said she was getting sprung.”

“Did they say why she was getting out?”

“No. He just said it was time for her to go.”

Jennifer felt a cold chill up her back.

“Did he say exactly that?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what were the exact words the guy said?”

“Jesus, girl, how the fuck should I know? Does it matter?”

“Yes, it could. It could matter very much. Try to remember, won't you?”

“All right. . . The mother came in here . . . said, ‘It's your turn.’ Yeah, that was it, he said, ‘It's your turn, sweetheart.’”

“Oh, Jesus,” Jennifer said. “What did the guy look like?”

“Big guy, looks like a ... what. . . like one of them bugs. A praying mantis. Dressed all in leather. With a mask. Scary son of a bitch! Man's a fucking hyena. He likes to punch you in the . . . inna private parts, if you get my drift. Anyway, when they come to get Mary, she changed her mind. All of a sudden she dint want to get out no more. Put up one hell of a fight, hanging onto her jail bars. The son of a bitch had to kick her around a little to get her loose. Then they had to use the needle on her.”

Jennifer felt the chill coming again.

“The needle. Christ. Why, why do you think she had that kind of reaction?”

“Well, she told me she was real worried that wherever they took you next was going to be a lot worse than here.”

“Like what?” Jennifer asked.

“Like nothing. She didn't itemize it, baby. Just ‘worse.’ But that don't make no sense. Look, the way I see it, we were put in here like for ransom or something. You know? The mantis-baby even joked about it once to me. Last week.”

“How long have you been in here?”

“I don't know, you lose track of time. Maybe a week.”

“A week?” The thought made her want to cry. She could barely stand another minute, much less a week.

“Well, I don't know about you, but I ain't lived a perfect life, so maybe they're having a hard time finding anyone who would want to go my bail.”

Jennifer felt her knees weaken and her breath get short.

Hey, Jennifer. Yes?

“Don't worry. You seem like a nice girl. Somebody will pay to bail you out pretty soon. I'm sure of it.”

“Yeah, thanks, Gerri.”

“I'm going to sleep now,” Gerri said. “We can talk more tomorrow.”

“Yeah, good night, Gerri,” Jennifer said, scarcely believing her own voice. This couldn't be happening. Not to her.

Jesus, what was Michelle doing?

Was anyone looking for her?

And what would happen when that hyena, Mr. Mantis, came to take her away?