Hostage Zero

Jonathan turned toward the door as it opened and stepped aside to greet his guest. Jimmy Henry wore the shackle rig as before, with his hands cuffed to his waist and his ankles hobbled by a three-foot chain. The defiant swagger from earlier had been replaced with a pale, meek aura of fear.

“Put him in the chair,” Jonathan instructed. He gestured with an outstretched arm the way a maitre d’ would show a guest to his table. It was a presumptuous thing to do in the deputy’s own house, but nowhere near as rude as what was coming next.

He let the prisoner pass, and then, just as Shenton came into range, Jonathan launched an open-handed punch, nailing the deputy with the heel of his hand at the spot where his lower jaw hinged with his upper jaw. It was the sweet spot that every boxer aims for, and Shenton was out cold before Jonathan had even finished the punch. Jonathan caught him under the arms as he spiraled toward the floor.

“Holy shit!” Jimmy shouted, jumping back and then tumbling over his designated chair. “Holy fucking shit!”

“Shut up,” Jonathan hissed. He dragged the deputy to the bolted-down table and gently laid him on the floor in front of it. Moving smoothly, as if in one continuous motion, he produced a pair of handcuffs with a flourish and attached Shenton to the table leg.

“Did you kill him?” Jimmy said as he tried to find his feet again. “Jesus, he dropped like you killed him.”

“I didn’t kill anybody,” Jonathan said. He just hoped he hadn’t broken Shenton’s jaw. He stooped to go through his pockets.

“So what do we do now?” Jimmy asked. He darted to the door and leaned out, looking both ways down the hall.

“Get inside and close the door,” Jonathan commanded. He found a ring of keys in the deputy’s front pocket and shuffled through them. He saw a standard Schlage key, probably for his house, plus a Honda key and another for a Ford. None looked like it was made for a high-security lock. He did find a handcuff key, though, and that was enough of a reason to slip the ring into his suit-coat pocket.

“There!” Jimmy said, pointing. “You just had it. That was the key to these fucking things.” He raised his hands as best he could and rattled his chains.

Finished with the unconscious guard, Jonathan stood and thrust a forefinger at Jimmy Henry. “Listen to me,” he said. “This is my op, not yours. I don’t need suggestions, and I don’t need advice. My job is to get you out. Yours is to do exactly what you’re told. Tell me this isn’t too complicated for you.”

Jimmy reared back, clearly insulted. “Dude, there’s no reason to be hostile.”

Jonathan stepped forward until their noses were nearly touching. “I’m breaking you out of prison, shithead. There are armed guards everywhere, and I want very much to wake up alive tomorrow morning. There is every goddamn reason to be hostile.”

The prisoner jingled as he took a step backward. “Really, dude-”

Jonathan silenced him with a raised finger. “Remain silent, do exactly what you’re told, and don’t do anything I don’t tell you to do. Remember that, and we’ll be just fine.” He waited for the nod that confirmed that his words had penetrated. “Good. Now when we get into that hallway, we’re going to head left, and we’re going to keep going till we’re outside. Then we’re going to catch a ride out of here.”

The prisoner cocked his head. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

His earbud popped. “Scorpion,” Venice said, “we have a problem.”

CHAPTER FIVE

For not being hungry, Jeremy Schuler faked it well. The way he wolfed down the mac and cheese, he was lucky he didn’t lose a finger. Ditto the baked beans and the orange pound cake. Skinny thing that he was, he scarfed more calories in a single sitting than Harvey consumed in an entire day. Clearly, he was a kid who didn’t go wanting very often. In Harvey’s experience, people who understood scarcity ate with more appreciation.

“That was really good,” Jeremy said as he licked the last of the cake from his fingers.

“Glad you liked it.”

“Is there more?”

“Not tonight.” As he spoke the denial, Harvey was half prepared for an argument, and surprised when it didn’t come. The kid merely nodded, and put his plate on his lap.

Harvey picked up the plate and poured some boiling water onto it from the pot on the burner. With the water balanced in the center, he used a ratty dish towel to clean it off. Through it all, Jeremy said nothing. But he stared a lot, and that was annoying.

“You got something on your mind, son, it’s best to get it out,” Harvey said.

The observation seemed to startle the boy. “I want to go home,” he said.

“I imagine you do,” Harvey said. “Where is home?”

“I go to a school in Fisherman’s Cove. I live there. It’s called Resurrection House.”

Harvey had heard of the place. It was affiliated with St. Katherine’s parish, the very one that had given him tonight’s dinner. Except he’d always thought it was an orphanage. “Well, let’s take that on in the morning. It’s a long walk, and I don’t have a car. It’s even longer in the dark.”