Hell and Gone

17

Get it up or I’ll cut it off.

—Roberta Collins, The Big Doll House

HARDIE CAME UP with the plan: use Zero as a distraction. Victor could claim that some of Zero’s piss tubes were loose. Victor would summon X-Ray, leaving only Whiskey, who would be asleep—in turn leaving Hardie alone with Prisoner Two. For a few minutes, anyway.

He stood there now, waiting.

A soft voice spoke from behind the mask. “Come closer. I won’t bite.”

She was awake. She could see him. Outwardly, she gave no sign of being conscious or even alive, her body in some kind of ultrarelaxed yoga-style suspended animation, chest barely moving. Hardie stepped closer to her cell—cane, leg, cane, leg—until he was right up against the bars. He cleared his throat and told her he didn’t have much time.

“I want to hear everything, right now,” Hardie said. “Who you are, why Deke hired you, how you got here—”

“Help me take this off.”

With that, she stood up gracefully, made her way to the bars, and bowed her head.

Hardie paused momentarily, then put his right arm through the opening between two bars and reached around to the back of her head. She took his hand and guided it to the clasp in back, where it locked. Shit, the lock. All the masks were locked. Hardie started to tell her, “I don’t have a—” when she slipped her other hand into his pants pocket and removed a thin electronic key. She pressed it into Hardie’s left palm. Her fingertips were cold. Hardie had to lean against the bars for balance, but he managed to snap open the lock, then ease the mask—heavier than he thought—off the top of her head.

Prisoner Two touched her fingers to her lips, then puckered them. Pressed the fingers of both hands into her cheekbones. “Are you alone?” she murmured, her voice so quiet Hardie could barely hear it.

“Yeah, I’m alone.”

“No one else on the floor?”

Hardie shook his head and was about to say no when she turned, narrowed her eyes, then spit something hard and phlegmy into his face. Some of the wet blast was blocked by the bars, but not enough.

“Been saving that for you,” she said, louder.

“What? Seriously?”

Her expression changed slightly; some of the fury softened. “Hurt me,” she whispered. “Pull me in close to the bars. Now, do it.”

“What do you want?”

Under her breath: “Someone is probably watching or listening. You don’t hurt me, we’re all dead. Do it now, fucking hurt me.”

In his previous life Charlie Hardie would never have hit a woman, ever. Recent events, however, had caused him to abandon that code. He’d punched Mann in the eye and didn’t feel an ounce of guilt about it. So he reached inside the bars and pulled the prisoner forward, banging her head on the bars. She cried out, and seemed to lose her balance.

What the hell am I doing? Hardie thought, his stomach suddenly sick.

The prisoner rolled her eyes up to glare at him, a sardonic smile on her face. “Is that all you’ve got?”

“Enough of this hurt me shit. Who are you, and how do you know me?”

She whispered,

“The name’s Eve Bell and I was hired to find you, you stupid asshole.”

This disappointed Hardie on at least three levels.

For starters, the name Eve Bell sounded about as made-up as you can get. What—were Modesty Blaise and Pussy Galore already taken?

Also, it was disappointing that she didn’t identify herself as a member of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. That would have meant a battalion of Kansas farm boys with heavy artillery was waiting outside for a signal, a raid would ensue, and he’d be plucked out of this nightmare.

And finally—stupid asshole? Really? Was this Catholic grade school all over again?

“Well, you found me,” Hardie said. “Congratulations.”

“Yeah.”

“How did you get here?”

Eve smiled, then slammed a fist into Hardie’s right ear. A tiny explosion went off in his skull. The moment he lowered his head to recoil, Eve’s other hand was grabbing his shirt collar, yanking him closer, throwing him off balance. Hardie pulled Eve’s head forward, pressing it against the bars, pinning it there. Both of them slid down the bars until they were on the floor.

“One night I went to bed in a chain motel in Grand Island, Nebraska, and I woke up in this place.”

It took Hardie a minute to realize that Eve was answering his question.

“Why were you in Nebraska?”

“Looking for you.”

“Why did you think I was in Nebraska?”

Hardie had never been to Nebraska—at least, not that he knew of. And he’d never heard of Grand Island before. How could there be an island in the middle of a landlocked state? Briefly he considered the possibility that the prisoner here, this “Eve,” was making shit up off the top of her head.

But if so…how did she know Deke’s name?

“I was following a lead,” she whispered. “There was a rumor you were there. Turned out to be a trap, and it was a pretty good one, too. Usually I can detect a grab site from a hundred miles away.”

“And you say Deke Clark hired you.”

“Yeah. Which is why I was pretty shocked to find you popping up out of the drain in the shower room. Kind of thought I’d botched the case, being kidnapped and thrown into a secret prison and all. But with you standing here—gee whiz, I can finally call Deke and collect my final check.”

Hardie blinked. “You’re in contact with him?”

Eve gave him a squinty-eyed duh look, then said,

“Hit me again.”

“What is wrong with you?”

“Somebody’s watching. If you don’t brutalize the prisoners, it looks suspicious. Especially with you being so new. So hit me. Later you can explain it away as punishing me for the shower-room incident.”

“No.”

“I can take it, believe me.”

“No.”

“Charlie, it’s vital you stay the warden if we’re going to get out of this, and if you want to stay warden, you need to fucking hit me now.”

Hardie removed his hands from her head, slid backward, then searched for his cane.

Eve sighed. “Then we’re done talking. Come back when you find your balls and your brains. But whatever you do—stay the warden. It’s our only chance.”

“What do you mean, stay the warden?”

“Keep your fucking job,” she hissed. “The guards are the bad guys. We’re the real guards, trapped in these cells.”

Victor turned the corner and appeared at Hardie’s side, as if he’d materialized out of thin air. “What did she just say?”