Beach Wedding(66)

It was the suppressor at the end of a rifle. A gloved hand rose above it and gave a little wave.

I was about to ask what he wanted me to do when he texted again.

Walk to the front of the house. Contact no one or I’ll kill your family.
“Finn,” I said, my head swimming. “I’m going to be sick.”

“Shut up, Terry. Stop joking.”

“I’m not kidding. Cover for me,” I said, running down the stairs across the lawn toward the front of the house.

My phone rang the second I was through the porte cochere.

I picked it up.

“Now walk out up to the gate,” said a man’s voice.

“I’m at the end of the driveway.”

“Go left.”

I did. I walked south down Meadow Lane.

“Do you see all the party buses parked along the road there?”

“Yes.”

“Go to the third one on the left. That’s the one. The door’s open. Get on it.”

I walked over to the bus and pushed the half-open door and got on.

It seemed to be empty.

What the hell was this? I thought. Bad was the only conclusion my reeling mind could come up with.

Incredibly, incredibly, incredibly bad.

“I’m here.”

“Okay. Go to the fridge.”

“Yep.”

“Inside of it is a red Solo cup.”

I opened the fridge. The red cup had a Post-it note on it.

DRINK ME


“Just like Alice in Wonderland, right, Terry? And guess who the confused little girl gets to be?”

I lifted it out. It smelled like beer but also slightly medicinal.

“What is it?”

“Don’t worry. It won’t kill you, Terry, but it will knock you out. You want your family safe, you knock yourself out. Now, bottoms up.”

I held the cup in my hand, my heart beating in my ears like a grand finale symphony drum. I didn’t know what I should do. Go back and somehow try to get the drop on this son of a bitch? Or was there more than one? Would he kill my family anyway?

God help me, I prayed. I don’t know what to do.

If he wanted us dead, he would have killed us, I finally decided. He wanted me alive. For now at least. I’d do anything to get him away from my family.

“I can see you on candid camera, dumbass, so don’t try anything. Now drink it!” he yelled.

I lifted the cup and drank it. It tasted awful.

“Have a seat,” he said. “I’ll be there directly.”

The drug in the drink didn’t work quickly. It worked fricking immediately. I could feel a head rush along with a tired feeling. A warm flush came over my face. In a minute, I felt completely doped.

I suddenly felt nauseous as something rushed over me like a tide of black water and I went out.



92

When I came to, I wasn’t on the floor anymore. I was sitting back in something. Sort of reclined back. I would have guessed it was a La-Z-Boy except it was almost painfully hard backed.

“You were pretty slick, Terry,” said a voice. There was a little bit of a twang in it. Texas maybe, I thought.

I opened my eyes with effort.

I was still in the bus and there was some superfit-looking fiftyish guy sitting across from me. I saw he was wearing the same gray uniform as the rest of the caterers. When he took off his chef’s skullcap, he had a bristled steel-colored high and tight flattop. His muscular face looked like it was doing a push-up when he smiled. He could have been a drill sergeant.

Glancing outside the window behind him, I could tell we weren’t parked on Meadow Lane anymore. Instead of a beach road, there was a thick forest beyond the bus’s windshield.

When I finally looked down at myself, I saw I was bound at my ankles and wrists in a seat bolted to a rolling triwheeled hand truck. The chair was tilted back forty-five degrees, and there was a strap above my eyes pulled tight so that I couldn’t even turn my head left or right. I felt like an upended turtle.

The device was a safety restraint chair, I realized. I knew about them because they were what the Philly prison system used to transport violent prisoners.

Dear God, help me, I thought, trying to move and failing completely.

“You were pretty slick, losing me those few times,” the drill sergeant guy said in his Texas twang.

He was chewing gum, and he paused for a second as he blew out a bubble.

“I admire someone who can play the game, even an amateur like you. And tuning up Tapley. I mean, I’ve seen some cauliflower ears before, but dang! You shattered his eardrum. You deafened that big old boy. Must have some pop in that right hand. Or maybe you hit him with an aluminum baseball bat? Either way shows you’re serious about going about your business. I admire that. I tip my hat.”

“You know where Tapley is?” I said, my mouth dry.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, nodding as he continued to chew his gum. “Same place you’re going if you don’t start playing ball, son. But again, I admire your spirit. They said you’d take the money, but I knew better. I know a man on a mission when I see one. That’s what really separates the men from the boys in the end. These rich folks don’t get that. But that’s all it is. To go all in. Do or die. Every time. So few of us old-schoolers left, son. You and me, we’re a dying breed.”