The Justice Game

90

“You were supposed to go along with the program,” Andrew Lassiter said, the words clipped with emotion. “This wasn’t about you; it was about getting back at them. Sherwood took everything, Jason. He took my entire life’s work.”

Jason stared at Lassiter, trying to comprehend the man’s betrayal. He tried to ignore the jackhammer that seemed to be pounding away at the back of his head. There has to be some way out.

There were three men here, as far as Jason knew. Lassiter, a guy behind Jason holding a gun to his head, and a third man-larger and stronger than Lassiter-the man who had slapped Jason awake.

“Let’s get on with it,” that man said to Lassiter. It was a familiar voice. A New York accent. Hispanic. “He’s not your priest, and we don’t need your confession.”

Jason’s eyes were growing accustomed to the dark, and he could finally make out the big man’s features. It was the first time Jason could ever remember seeing him smile.

Rafael Johansen.

“That’s right, Boy Wonder,” Rafael said. “I guess I’m a mercenary. Although Sherwood never offered me a share of the profits like the mad professor here.” He inched a little closer, and Jason leaned back. “You sure screwed things up with your Johnny-Be-Good routine. Now things have gotten a little complicated.”

Jason was still processing his surroundings. He seemed to be in the first row of the second section of a movie theater, about ten rows or so away from the screen. They undoubtedly intended to kill him-why else would they be brazen enough to show their faces?

Unless Andrew Lassiter had a sudden change of heart, Jason was a dead man. And for some reason, coming to terms with that indisputable fact took away some of his terror. Courage comes when you have nothing left to lose.

He quickly decided things could only get worse. The one advantage he had right now might be the element of surprise.

Jason bolted up and twisted, swinging his handcuffed fists toward the gunman behind him. He whiffed. Rafael was instantly on him, pile-driving him into the cement floor. Rafael’s weight landed on Jason’s shoulder, and he screamed into the gag. He nearly blacked out a second time as Rafael hauled him to his feet and threw him back into the chair.

“You’re trying my patience, boy,” Rafael said, catching his breath.

The other man had moved in front of Jason now, a few feet away, pointing the gun at Jason’s forehead. He was another bodybuilder, a private security guard who worked with Rafael. Jason recognized the ponytail.

Toward the front of the auditorium, Jason thought he heard a muffled scream. They weren’t alone? His mind raced through the possibilities. The most likely scenario was also the one that Jason dreaded the most.

“We’ll deal with you in a minute,” Rafael yelled over his shoulder.