Headhunters

Chapter Three

Claude Boon was taken from his cell at seven that morning. He was transferred to a room by two guards. They were big men, both well over six feet tall and fifty pounds heavier than he was, yet they were visibly bothered by the prospect of being in a confined space with him. His reputation was well known. They all knew what he was capable of doing.

The guards told him to strip, and he did.

“Bend over,” one of the men ordered.

“Seriously?”

“Just do it, Boon.”

It was an imposition, and one for which he would not normally have stood, but he was happy to play along. There wouldn’t be much more of this to put up with. He smiled at them both, a cold expression that left them in no doubt as to the length of his memory, but he did as he was told. They conducted a cursory body search and, quickly satisfied, tossed him a clean set of orange prison scrubs.

“Put them on,” the man said.

He did. When he was finished, they cuffed his hands in front of him and then fastened a chain around his waist. The cuffs were looped through the chain to prevent him from moving his hands too far. The black box, with a padlock, was applied last. It prevented access to the keyholes of the handcuffs.

“When are we leaving?”

“Shut up, Boon.”

He was taken to a loading facility. It was a large garage space, with several vehicles slotted side by side. One side was open, and Boon gazed out as rain slammed down against the asphalt. He could see a sliver of the horizon between the concrete ceiling and the wall that delineated the enclosed courtyard outside, and the sky was as black as pitch. Thunder boomed as the guards impelled him down a flight of steps to the floor of the garage.

He was to be transported to the courthouse in a van. There was a sedan waiting ahead of the van, the engine running and exhaust fumes drifting upwards. Boon counted four sheriff’s deputies. They were all armed with handguns. He expected that they would also have at least one long gun per vehicle, either a shotgun or a rifle.

The two big corrections officers manoeuvred Boon around to the back of the van and helped him climb up inside it. He had wondered whether he might be transported with other prisoners, but it appeared that his status had won him the luxury of travelling alone. There were two doors to the rear: the main door and, inside that, a further metal door. The interior was simple, with a metal bench running along each side of the vehicle. The deputies up front were protected by a metal shield that divided the van into two portions. There was a grille in the shield that allowed light to enter.

Both rear doors were closed and locked.

Boon sat on the metal bench.

He heard one of the corrections officers speaking. “What do you know about him?”

“That he’s a badass.”

“Wouldn’t guess from looking at him.”

“I know, but he is. Killed an inmate the week he got here.”

“We’ll be careful.”

Boon heard a third voice. “There’s four of us and one of him.”

“Believe me, you don’t wanna take him lightly, buddy.”

“Sure, but dude ain’t Hannibal Lecter, is he?”

Nervous laughter followed that.

“You wanna know how he killed the man? Shanked him in the throat. Straight up. Did it like he was shelling peas. No emotion. No nothing. So when I say you need to take him seriously, that’s what I mean. Don’t give him a chance. He’ll kill you just as soon as look at you.”

The deputy laughed. “Relax, man. It’s gonna be fine. A nice little drive, that’s all. We’ll have him back here again before you know it.”