Lock’s car bumped along the dusty desert track less than an hour outside Las Vegas. When he was content that no one would be able to see them from the freeway, he pulled over. He and Ty got out.
Ty walked around to the driver’s side. He opened the door, grabbed Hanger by the back of the neck and pulled him out. With his hands cuffed and unable to break his fall, he landed face down in the dirt.
Hanger twisted his head and looked up at them. He spat on the ground, narrowly missing Ty’s right boot. Ty drew a foot back and soccer kicked Hanger just below the ribs.
As Hanger started to ball up, bringing his knees to his chest, Ty reached down and pulled him up onto his feet. He gave him a hard shove in the back, propelling him forward.
The three men came to a gap in the barbed wire fence that ran along one side of the track. Ty shoved Hanger through it. He grumbled and held his side where Ty’s toe cap had landed.
Fifty yards ahead was a bank that led down to a dried out riverbed. Ty kept him moving towards it.
When they reached it, Lock called a halt. “This’ll do.”
Hanger turned around, so he was facing them. Lock and Ty stared at him.
“So, what? You’re gonna shoot me? That your plan?”
They didn’t say anything. It was better to let him do the talking and see where he went than try to force information from him. They could do that later if they needed to.
All three of them knew that killing Hanger and leaving him here was a dead end. It wouldn’t help them locate Kristin, but right this second that was beside the point.
“Look, I don’t have her,” said Hanger.
Lock maintained his silence. Ty drew his weapon.
“Turn around,” said Ty.
“Nah, man,” said Hanger. “You wanna shoot me, you can look at me while you do it.”
Ty glanced to Lock. Lock brought his hands up to cover his ears and took a few steps back.
“Fine by me,” said Ty, stepping in close to Hanger, just beyond arm’s length, raising his gun, taking careful aim and pulling the trigger.