The Blonde

4:38 a.m.

Sybian Lounge

The dial tone, then ten digits, punched rapid-fire. The cell phone pressed to his ear. Ring tone. “Tell her, ‘Hi, honey, it’s me.

Ring tone. Ring tone. Ring tone.

“Okay, you’ve proved your point, stop it. …”

“Hello?” Theresa’s voice sounded weird. Maybe it was dry from sleeping with her mouth open.

The cell phone was shoved into the side of his head. His ear started to throb.

Tell her, the curly-haired man pantomimed.

“Hi, honey,” Jack said. “It’s me.”

“What? Who is this?”

The curly-haired guy took the phone away and put it to his own face. “Hey there, Mrs. Eisley. How are you doing this morning? Hope I didn’t wake you. Look, I’ve been hanging out with your husband, Jack, and I have the most amazing thing to tell you.”

“Don’t do this, ”Jack whispered between gritted teeth.

Curly Head glanced in his direction, then rolled his eyes and started walking across the room. He put his palm up to Jack, as if to say, Quiet, boy- I’m talking to your wife.

The Aryan rotated the wing nuts, removed them from the metal clamps around Jack’s wrist and elbow. “Hold still,” he warned. Once he was free of the apparatus, Jack wriggled the fingers of his right hand. Pins and needles.

“Hey”

Jack looked up at the Aryan. The Aryan launched a jackham-mer blow to his stomach. Jack folded in half, dropped to his knees.

The Aryan grabbed Jack by his shirt collar and started dragging him across the concrete floor.

At least he isn’t leaving me alone in the room, Jack thought, and then he coughed, and he swore he tasted blood.