Fatal Justice (Jack Lamburt #1)(15)
Twenty minutes later I pulled into my long driveway and up to my log cabin. I saw that Debbie’s car wasn’t there, and my heart sank.
16
Sammy decided he would play dead until the car stopped and then see what happened next. He remembered only one man from that wench waitress’s house, and he hadn’t heard any conversation in the SUV. Maybe he was lucky and there was only one prick he needed to take out.
His first order of business was to get his cable tie cuffs off without making any noise that would alert the driver. He’d learned a long time ago to be prepared to escape from all types of situations, especially handcuffs. Traditional, cable tie, and duct tape varieties being the most common.
For most situations, the little two-shot Derringer pistol inside his right boot would be enough to save his ass. He pressed his ankles together and felt the familiar bulge of the tiny weapon. His killer had missed it. His spirits picked up and he went to work on his handcuffs.
A few months ago he’d received the diamond-studded belt that he had on as a birthday gift from his wife, Sally. One of the first things he’d done was take a small eyeglass screwdriver and sharpen the tiny flat tip to make it razor sharp. He then cut an inch of the tip off and slid it into a hole he had drilled into the inside portion of his belt. The hole was located in the middle of his belt so that it would be against his lower back.
If he was ever going to need it, his hands would likely be restrained behind his back instead of in front of him, but just to be on the safe side, he’d sharpened a second eyeglass screwdriver, cut that tip off, and hid it in the front of his belt.
The two wire-thin one-inch pieces of metal were so small and so well hidden that his belt passed though airport security with no problem.
But he had a problem now. Retrieving it.
His belt was on so tight that he could hardly breathe, and unless he created some space between his belt and lower back, he’d never be able to slide his hands in and get his lock-picking tool out.
He turned to his side, timing his action to coincide with the bumps they hit as they went from well-maintained roads to ones that had plenty of potholes. No good. With his fat gut pushing against his belt, it was impossible for him to get his meaty hands in.
He tried lying on his back and raising his hips to free his hands. With the help of gravity pressing his fat into his spine, the belt was loose enough for him to slip his hands under it.
A few minutes later he’d located the screwdriver tip. He’d spent the rest of the trip finger-wrestling the tip from its sheath, and within seconds of removal, he shoved the flat tip portion down into the cable tie’s locking mechanism. The process was surgical and took some time, but he finally felt the cable tie loosen. Not enough to free his hands, but it was a good start.
He felt the SUV slow to a crawl and stop. He heard a door unlatch and recognized the door open chimes. Of all the insults, the bastard had stolen his car too. The door slammed closed. Shoot. This might be it. He worked at his cuffs with added incentive. He needed to free his hands before he was removed from his vehicle; otherwise he’d have no chance to retrieve the Derringer.
The door opened and shut again, and the SUV started up, maneuvered around, and came to a stop.
The door opened but didn’t close. He could feel the cold air invade the toasty cabin. His SUV hatch beeped its opening. He struggled with the lock pick, his fingers trembling. Come on, get these cuffs off. Somebody grabbed him by the feet and started to pull him out of the vehicle.
Oh. Shit. This was gonna hurt. He held his breath and gritted his teeth as he felt his body slide out and scrape on the rear edge of his vehicle as he was pulled cleared of it. Knees, hips, waist, elbows, chest, almost clear. THUNK.
The back of his head slammed against the SUV’s tow hitch so hard that he saw stars. Before the pain had time to register, his body hit the ground with a solid thud, the back of his neck taking most of the force. It took all of his willpower not to exhale with a scream.
He must have blacked out for a second, and when he came to, somebody had a grip on his ankles and was pulling him across the ground. He could hear the snow crunch underneath his weight as his plastic-covered body slid across it. He looked around but couldn’t see anything through the opaque plastic except an out-of-focus shadow in the moonlight. One person.
The movement stopped and his feet were tossed to the ground. His heart rate picked up and he started sweating inside the plastic. This was his last chance. He put all of his faith in a single captor turning his back on him. To go get a shovel, to dig a hole, take a leak, whatever. At some point soon, he would have his chance. His body weight was pinning his hands to the ground, making it difficult for him to work the lock pick. He was so close.
He heard the sound of rock sliding against rock. Like the opening of an old tomb in an Indiana Jones movie. What the?
He slowed his breathing, pushed all thoughts from his mind, and focused on the cable tie lock. He found the slot, worked the tip of the screwdriver in, and felt the cable tie loosen. He slid one hand out, then the other. Yes. Free! Now he just needed to reach into his boot and…
His feet were hoisted up, he was pulled across the snow, and before he could react, the ground dropped away from underneath him. No! He instinctively balled up inside the loosening plastic, covered his head with his hands, and held his breath.
He tumbled the whole way down, his elbows and knees bouncing and scraping against the rock wall that lined his descent. As soon as he hit the water, he realized what had happened. This wasn’t just a hole—he had been thrown into a well!