Hellbent

“As long as this is in him, Van Sciver has our location.”

Joey’s wild eyes found Evan.

His hands went to his shirt buttons, but the magnets wouldn’t be strong enough; they were designed to give way readily. He said, “Think.”

Joey snapped her fingers. “Hang on.” She reached for the purloined Herschel backpack and whipped a silver laptop out of the padded sleeve in the back. She smashed it on the lip of the fountain, dug around in its entrails, and tore out the hard drive. Gripping the drive in both hands, she hammered it against the concrete until it split open. She yanked out the spindle, revealing a shiny top disk, and then dug out a metal nugget to the side. With some effort she pried apart its two halves, which Evan was surprised to see weren’t screwed together.

“Wa-la,” she said. “Magnets.”

Evan checked on the cops. The nearest pair were now thirty yards away, temporarily hung up with a sobbing mother. He reached into his front pocket for his Strider, raking it out so the shark-fin hook riding the blade snared the pocket’s hem and snapped the knife open. He spun the blade around his hand, caught it with the tanto tip angled down.

David said, “Is this gonna—”

Evan slipped the knife beneath the sutures. With an artful flick of his wrist, he laid the four-inch cut open. David gaped down at it.

Evan held out his hand. “Magnet.”

Joey slapped it onto his palm with a surgical nurse’s panache.

Evan laid the magnet over the bulge in David’s elbow and tracked down to the incision.

Joey’s head flicked up. “Cops’re almost here.”

The transmitter followed the magnet down the forearm, tugging the skin up, and popped out through the wound, snicking neatly onto the magnet.

David expelled a clump of air.

One of the black ducks hopped up onto the concrete ledge, bobbing its head, its pebble eyes locked on a stray rind of bread by Evan’s shoe.

From the far side of the fountain, a young cop shouted, “Stand up! Lemme see your hands!”

Evan peered across the fountain at the cop and his partner. The park was dense with officers. Two SWAT units rolled up in front of the high school, new cruisers screeching to block the intersections in every direction.

“Too late,” Joey said under her breath.

Evan rose slowly, hands held wide, and stared into two drawn Berettas.

57 What He Thought He Knew

David stood on shaky legs between Evan and Joey. Across the dancing water, both cops aimed at Evan’s head.

The entire block was now locked down by backup officers and SWAT.

Evan gauged his next move. The young cop stood in front of his partner, taking lead. He seemed capable, more confident than nervous.

Evan could work with that, play to the cop’s ego. He let a worried breath rattle out of him. “Thank God. Is it clear, Officer? I was picking up my daughter, and… my son, he got knocked over. His arm’s cut open, and—”

“Calm down. Sir? Calm down.”

David cupped his hand over the wound, red showing in the seams between his fingers.

The officer’s elbows stayed locked, but he swung the gun down and to the side. “Does he require medical attention?”

“I can take him to urgent care,” Evan said. He put his arm around Joey’s shoulders, gathered her in. “I just want to get my kids out of here. I wasn’t sure it was safe to come out yet.”

The cop’s partner, a tough-looking woman, said, “Where’s your car?”

Evan pointed. “Minivan over there.”

“Come with us.”

The cops gave them an armed escort across the park, passing by dozens of officers, none of whom took notice.

They reached the curb, and the young cop gestured at the SWAT trucks to allow the minivan to pull out.

Evan rushed the kids into the van. “Thank you so much, Officer.”

The cop nodded, and he and his partner jogged off to resume the search.

Evan pulled out of the spot, driving past the rows of police cruisers with flashing lights. Two units at the intersection, parked nose to nose, reversed like a parting gate to let the minivan through.

At the next street, Evan signaled responsibly and then turned. The flashing blue and red lights slid out of his rearview mirror.

Joey tilted her head back and shot a breath at the roof.

* * *

Evan waited until they’d cleared city limits to pit-stop. He parked behind a liquor store and wrapped David’s forearm using gauze pads and an Ace bandage he’d pulled from the first-aid kit lodged beside the spare tire.

The alley behind them gave off the sickly-sweet odor of spilled beer. Flies swayed above an open Dumpster. Broken glass littered the asphalt around it; somebody had practiced empty-bottle free throws with a twelve-pack, showing all the accuracy one would expect from somebody who’d drunk a twelve-pack.

The hatch was raised, David sitting at the edge of the cargo space, his legs dangling past the rear bumper. Crouched before him, Evan smoothed down the bandage and snared the fabric with the metal clips to secure it.

Joey came around to check on their progress. “All good?”

David turned his arm this way and that. “Yeah. Can this be stitched once we get there?”