Tommy-Lee lifted his head off the pillow. He’d picked up the faint sound of a vehicle approaching. It was no more than a distant hum, but out here in these flat lands any man-made noise could travel for miles without hindrance. And this one was getting closer. Since noon he’d heard only three other vehicles, all beaten-up trucks or pickups that had gone by without stopping.
He dropped the battered copy of Universal Hunter magazine he’d found in the van on the way here and checked his watch. It had stopped. Must be the dirt-cheap battery he’d bought from a street trader a week ago. Thieving bastard. He wondered if it was Paul and his goons on the way in. He had no idea where they disappeared to every time, but it couldn’t be far. They always seemed fed and watered, so he figured they must have a base not far away, probably in some cheap motel off the nearest highway.
He rolled off the bed. Went to the strip window where he could see a section of the road bordered by a line of buffalo grass about a quarter of a mile away, travelling arrow-straight from east to west. If a vehicle was going to pass by, he’d see it soon enough.
He heard a grunt from the man on the bed, and went over and gave him a trickle of water. It set off another bout of coughing, so he stopped pouring and slapped the man’s shoulder a few times until it was over. It wasn’t that he cared for the man’s health one bit; he simply didn’t want a corpse on his hands.
Earlier on he’d unlocked the cuffs and told the man to take off his soiled clothes and clean himself off. The smell had got pretty ripe and it was already bad enough in the enclosed and over-heated space without making it worse. He’d dropped the bag containing the change of cheap work pants, shirt and underclothes on the bed, then turned his back while the man got busy with a water bottle and a cloth in the corner.
He had an uneasy feeling about the three men; he didn’t like the way they seemed to communicate with each other through shifty looks and slick movements of their hands. Even when they went into a huddle and he couldn’t understand a word they said, but it was better than all the silent stuff.
He especially didn’t like the butt of a semi-automatic he’d seen tucked into the waistband of the one called Paul or whatever the hell his real name might be. Truth was, he was beginning to realise that he’d been suckered into this situation by the promise of easy money and his own desperation. He’d taken the guy at face value, but hadn’t given a thought to what the hell was going on or why he was being paid so much to do so little.
As for the other two, they never so much as looked him in the eye, much less talked to him. It was like he didn’t exist and it was starting to get to him. Fricking ragheads – even Paul, who now he thought about it actually looked just like so many guys he’d seen in Iraq. They weren’t all dark skinned, in fact some of the men and kids were almost white and he’d seen some with blue eyes, which was really freakish. Even the women, who he’d admired at a distance whenever he could. Cute, some of them, with flashing eyes that carried a world or promise… if you wanted to be gutted like a fish and dumped in some back-alley along with the trash.
Still, he was here now, so best get on with it. Maybe he could get out of here in one piece and be on his way, richer and happier than he’d ever been.
‘You better get your shit together, you know?’ he muttered, when the coughing had ceased and the prisoner indicated he wanted more water.
‘What… what do you want with me?’ The words were hoarse, squeezed out through a throat as dry as the sun-baked earth outside this hut. Tommy-Lee could tell the man was educated even without the expensive clothes and the soft hands, but he wasn’t curious enough to want to know more. Curiosity, his old man had often said, was a short cut to trouble and pain.
‘Ain’t me that wants you, pal. It’s the three camel jockeys who brought you here. I’m just playing warden, is all.’
‘Why?’ The man’s eyes were filled with fear and lined with the salty crust of dried tears. His cheeks were sunken and he needed a bath and a shave, which Tommy-Lee figured were both about three days overdue.
‘Why what?’ The noise of the motor was closer now, bumping along the connecting track leading from the road, and he got ready to stand up and meet the three men. Might as well show willing even if he didn’t like what they stood for.
Fact is, he didn’t know what they stood for, only that it couldn’t be for this guy’s health and wellbeing. Maybe he’d pissed one of them off at some stage and this was payback time. Wouldn’t be the first time a guy had upset the wrong person. But since they were paying him good money to follow instructions and mind his own, he figured he could put up with it.
‘Why are you helping them? Ragheads, you called them.’
‘Yeah. But don’t let them hear you say that. I don’t think they’re the kind of folks with a sense of humour.’
‘So why?’
‘Money. Why else? Man’s got to make a living, right? You do it your way, I do it mine. I bet you don’t like all the people you work with. Same here, only my options are more limited.’
‘Do you even know what they want from me?’
‘No. And I don’t want to. Ain’t none of my business, neither.’ He hesitated, then said, ‘Are you saying you don’t know?’ He wondered if this guy was trying to play him. He’d figured that most people kidnapped and kept cuffed to a bed in the middle of nowhere would have trawled back through their life and worked out from what they’d done, who they owed money or who they’d hurt, stuff like that, and knew what the deal was. Maybe he was dressed nice but really just as dumb as nuts.
‘No.’
He was lying. Tommy had an eye and an ear for lies, learned while interrogating insurgents in Iraq. You couldn’t hide a lie completely, no matter who you were, what language you spoke. Once a lie was out there it was just waiting to be seen by anyone with the right skills.
‘You sure about that?’
‘Yes. Listen, you’ve got to help me.’ The man tried to sit up and winced when he was brought up short by the handcuffs. He sank back, his eyes on Tommy-Lee. ‘My name’s James, by the way—’
‘I don’t give a shit what your name is, so stop right there!’ He didn’t want to know names, didn’t care what the hell the guy was called. One thing he’d learned in Iraq was that knowing a prisoner’s name was a short cut to being drawn in and suckered. Some of those detainees could sweet-talk information out of you without you knowing, all under the guise of being friendly. As far as he was concerned a prisoner was just a number and nothing else. Names just got in the way.
But the man on the bed wasn’t hearing him. ‘You’re doing this for money – I understand that. But I could pay you more. Double… treble what they’re offering. I have a wife and boy. Do this for me, for God’s sa—’
Tommy-Lee slapped his hand over the prisoner’s mouth. ‘Enough, you idiot!’ he hissed. ‘Shut the fuck up or we’ll both end up dead.’
The vehicle had stopped outside, right behind the workshop where it would be invisible from the road. Two doors opened and slammed shut again, angry and tinny. That would be Bill and Donny. A brief pause, then the engine was cut. He waited. The third door opened and closed with an almost gentle thump. Like someone who respected his ride.
Paul.
He was the thinker, Tommy-Lee knew; the quiet ones usually were. He always moved carefully, too, like he was in control. Not like the other two who seemed generally pissed at the world and stomped around like they wanted to break something or somebody. They’d be standing there now waiting for Paul’s signal to move, while he studied the area around the old airfield. He did it every time they came here; Tommy-Lee had caught a glimpse through the window one time and was accustomed to the sounds of their movements even if he couldn’t see them. The two goons just waited like they knew their place. It was like a ritual, as if their boss was sniffing the air, sensing trouble and getting ready to react.
When he was through doing that they’d go into a huddle before Paul would stick his head inside the box to make sure everything was okay. Then the other two would disappear off towards the large hangar. Tommy-Lee had seen them the last time they were here, and the geek, Donny, was carrying a toolbox.
He had no idea why they did that every time; it was only an old hangar, for God’s sake. Maybe it had something to do with the sealed cardboard boxes he’d seen in the van coming down here that first night. He hadn’t seen them since and he knew they hadn’t contained food or water.
‘Please help me.’ The prisoner rolled closer with a pained grunt, breathing sour air into Tommy-Lee’s face.
‘Not a chance,’ Tommy-Lee said firmly, with no hint of regret. This was his one opportunity to make some money and he wasn’t going to screw it up. Not for this guy, not for anybody. He didn’t trust Paul or his two pals any further than he could spit, but he figured if he played it right, he might just come out of this the right way up and be on his way.
Still, he did wonder what was so interesting about that hangar. And the boxes he guessed they’d taken over there.