By reason of insanity

100

Billy Long steered Quinn down the narrow steps that led below deck; Boland stayed in the pilothouse area. Billy pushed Quinn into the guest suite, which had been converted into a small study with an ornate desk in the middle of the room and bookshelves along the wall behind it. While holding Quinn at gunpoint, Billy pushed a button on a remote, and a mirrored wall in front of the desk slid aside, exposing a solid wooden chair bolted to the floor. The chair had metal handcuffs built into the ends of both armrests and ankle shackles at the bottom of the chair legs, one thick leather strap for a seat belt, and another for a neck restraint.

"You guys are sick," Quinn said.

"Have a seat," Billy responded, shoving Quinn toward the chair.

Quinn considered his options-all bad-and reluctantly did as he was told.

"Slide your right wrist into the handcuff," Billy said.

Long had the gun trained on Quinn's forehead and stood just out of arm's reach. The man had an unstable look in his eyes that made him seem like a different person from the one Quinn had met at the airport just hours earlier. Quinn knew he couldn't make a play to escape right now, but if he put his wrist into the handcuff and cinched it down, the game would be over.

"Billy, you're in deep on this, but I know you're not the mastermind here. Work with me, and I'll take your case to the authorities-"

Whack!

In a movement too quick for Quinn to avoid, Billy pistol-whipped Quinn across the cheek, opening a gash with a blow that felt like it shattered the cheekbone. Shards of pain engulfed Quinn's face, spreading like the spiderweb pattern of a cracked windshield. Dazed, Quinn turned back toward Billy and felt warm blood dripping down his cheek. He touched the spot with his left hand.

"Put your wrist in the handcuff," Billy demanded.

Quinn did so, cinching down the handcuff with his free hand. Then, at Billy's order, Quinn placed his bloody left hand in the other handcuff, and Billy locked it down. After Billy had locked both ankles into the metal shackles, he pulled the leather straps around Quinn's waist and neck and cinched them tight. Quinn felt blood oozing in small rivulets down his neck and soaking into the collar of his shirt.

"Do I get a last cigarette?" Quinn asked.

"Always the comedian," said Billy. "The judge will be back soon. Let's see how good your sense of humor is then."

Quinn heard the engines on the big yacht begin to rumble. They would be leaving the dock soon. This might be Quinn's last chance.

"Hey!" he yelled at the top of his voice. The pain from his cheek intensified. "Down here! Somebody call the police! They're going to kill me!"

Billy shook his head and pulled a gag out of the closet, jamming it into Quinn's mouth as the lawyer yelled. Billy tied a bandanna tight around the back of Quinn's head, holding in the gag and putting more pressure on the cheekbone, while Quinn resisted with all his might.

"Nobody can hear you anyway, Quinn," Billy said after he had tied the gag tight. "This is more for my own peace of mind."

With the gag in his mouth, Quinn stopped trying to make noise. He could tell from the cold look in Billy's eyes that the man was determined to complete his task.

Billy checked Quinn's restraints one last time, surveyed his captive with something that approached disdain, and left the room. Quinn sensed movement beneath him, the maneuvering of the boat as it left the dock, and then the acceleration that signaled the beginning of the trip toward the wide expanse of the Chesapeake Bay, maybe even the Atlantic Ocean. His cheek and shoulder throbbed with pain. Soon, that would be the least of his worries.