Color of Blood(103)

But the maid would have to get the man to answer the door or the plan would not work.

She knocked louder. “Room Service, do you need fresh towels?”

“No,” the man yelled. “No towels. Just go away.”

She hesitated a little at his gruff tone, and Dennis prayed she wouldn’t stop.

Finally she knocked a third time and said timorously, “Room Service?”

This time the man stood up off the bed, and Dennis could feel him walk heavily to the door. As the man opened the hall door, Dennis turned the key and pulled the adjoining door open, holding the pistol in his right hand.

“Please, no towels,” the man said.

“Sorry, sir,” she said.

Dennis swooned as he glanced at the bed; Judy lay motionless on her back. She was fully clothed with her ankles and wrists bound by plastic ties. Her mouth was covered with gray duct tape; her eyes were closed.

The man shut the door and turned to see Dennis pointing the gun at him. Dennis noticed a pistol tucked into the man’s belt at the front.

“Drop the gun,” Dennis said. “Use your thumb and forefinger of your left hand to pull it out. Then drop it.”

The man stood looking at Dennis, his gray eyes intensely focused first on the pistol and then at Dennis’s eyes. He was no match for this agent, but Dennis knew that if he acted quickly and decisively to keep the agent off-kilter, he might just win this confrontation. He prayed the agent would not try to resist, because Dennis was certain he could kill this man.

To Dennis’s relief, the man dropped his weapon as directed.

“Kick it over here,” Dennis said.

“Kick it yourself,” the man said.

“Fine,” Dennis said, aiming the pistol at the man’s thigh. “This is going to sting a little.”

“Asshole,” the man said and kicked the pistol half the distance between them. Dennis knew that if he bent down, he could easily be reached by the agent’s foot.

“My friends at the Bureau say that if you want to stop someone with a bullet but not kill them, you put a round in their shin. Do you know why? Because the thigh is too close to the femoral artery, which could easily kill a man. The shin, though, is all bone and it hurts like hell when it splinters.”

For the first time since their brief encounter, the man’s eyes twitched.

“You are so far off the reservation, my friend,” he said. “They said you were crazy, and I can see what they mean.”

“You want to see crazy?” Dennis said, pointing the pistol at the man’s groin.

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Then tell me what you did to her.”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t f*ck around! What did you do to her? Kill her?”

“No, we can’t do that. You, on the other hand, we’ve been authorized to do whatever it takes to stop you.”

“Then what did you do to her?”

“I said, nothing.”

Dennis lowered the pistol barrel and pulled the trigger. The small silencer did its job surprisingly well, filling the small hallway with a flash, pop, and the smell of chemicals.

The man fell back on the seat of his pants, clutching his right shin below the knee.

“You f*cker!” he yelled. “You crazy f*cker.”

Dennis quickly bent down and grabbed the agent’s pistol off the ground and stuffed it down the front of his pants.

“I’ll try this just once more,” Dennis said, trembling with rage. “What did you do to her?”

“Drugged,” the man said, rocking back and forth. “She’s OK. She’ll wake in a while.”

“Where are your ties?”

“My back pocket.”

“Get one out.”

“You f*cking get it out.”

Dennis took a step forward and pointed the pistol at the center of the man’s forehead.

“Fuck you,” the agent said, reaching to his back pocket with a blood-splattered hand. He held one up.

“Put it on your wrists and pull it tight with your teeth.”

The man did it slowly, glaring at Dennis all the way.

“Turn over and lie on your stomach.”

He lay face down, and Dennis reached into the man’s back pocket and pulled out another plastic binding. With a foot pressing into the small of the agent’s back, Dennis bound his ankles, and then reached into the bathroom and pulled out a hand towel.

“Turn over and sit up,” he said.

The man turned and grabbed his shin with his bound hands. His pants were soaked in bright-red blood.

Dennis threw him the towel. “Here, stop the bleeding,” he said. “I can’t stand the sight of blood. And crawl into the closet there.”

“I’m not going in that closet.”

Dennis stepped forward again and aimed at his forehead.

“Jesus, take it easy, you crazy f*ck,” the agent said. He scooted the several feet to the small closet and squeezed into it sideways, his knees nearly up to his chin.

“I’m going to close the door, and then I’m going to jam that chair over there underneath the knob. I’m going to try to wake her up, and if you’re telling the truth, I’ll leave you here to get out after we’re gone. If you’re lying, then I’m going to come back and empty this clip through the door.”