WHILE I feel guilty admitting this, the simple truth is that I’m a darn good liar. Now, Helen does tend to catch me on occasion, and I know I’m caught when I’m treated to The Gaze, but when my spouse isn’t involved, I can fib with the best of them. I am certainly not proud of this, and if I could change my ways I would, but the fact remains that I’m a good liar, and Daniel was buying my story.

Well, he acted like he was buying it, anyway. But he also made no secret of the fact that he still had a gun, as did Foster in the back. Even if I could wrestle the gun away from Daniel, which I probably couldn’t, I’d end up taking a few rounds of semi-automatic fire from Foster. Some might say that it would serve me right for all that lying, but that’s beside the point.

As Daniel drove, I explained how everything I’d become famous for was really a distortion of the truth. Yeah, I’d stopped the snuff film creators and distributors, but only because they tried to screw me out of my share of the profits. Nobody left alive knew the truth, not my wife, and especially not Roger. And I told them all about Ned Markstein, my second identity in Manhattan, complete with four (count ‘em, four!) girlfriends. Then I told them about the murders. I’d spent three days quizzing Thomas, so the details weren’t difficult to recall, though getting the attitude right was tough. I basically just tried to sound very proud of my accomplishments, as if I were talking about the time I caught sixty-three pieces of popcorn that were tossed across the room in my mouth, and really only missed the sixty-fourth because of a bad throw on Roger’s part.

Roger remained silent in the back of the van. I sincerely hoped he knew I was making up the story to help us both get out of this, and not to save my own butt. He wasn’t trying to sabotage my web of lies, so I assumed that he knew. I still felt like a total bastard.

“So why didn’t you tell me who you were beforehand?” asked Daniel. “You almost got yourself shot!”

“I love surprises. Besides, you had something special planned for me, you weren’t just going to shoot me.”

“Yeah, but what if my hatred for Andrew Mayhem was greater than my admiration for the Headhunter?”

“Then I’d end up slicing your head off and might feel bad about it the next day.”

“You don’t have your scimitar.”

“I have my ways.”

Daniel chuckled. “I think we’ll get along fine.”

WE ENDED up driving for three hours. I was exhausted, and a bit worried about blabbing my story in that state…I could make a continuity error and give myself away. So I reclined the seat and pretended to doze. Every so often I would steal a quick peek at Daniel, but unfortunately at no time was his gun resting on the dashboard with a little sign saying, “Take Me, Andrew!”

When we finally stopped, it was at a small, deserted-looking airport. I could barely even call it an airport, since it wasn’t much more than a runway and a building the size of a shed. I continued to avoid looking at Roger while we got out of the van. I wanted to give him some kind of signal that I had things under control (even if the signal would continue with the current tradition of ridiculous lies), but it wasn’t worth the risk.

There was only one small jet on the runway. “What do you think?” asked Daniel.

“It’s nice,” I replied, not sure how enthusiastic I was supposed to be.

“I own it.”

“Really?”

Daniel nodded with pride. “I own a lot of stuff. You’ll see it soon.”

The door to the building opened, and three people exited. The first, a woman, rushed across the runway, ran the hundred or so feet over to us, and threw herself into Daniel’s arms. They kissed passionately. I thought they were going to start chewing each other’s faces off. It probably would have been a good opportunity to catch Daniel by surprise, but Foster had his gun out and pressed against Roger’s back.

Daniel pulled away from the woman. She had black curly hair, wore blood-red lipstick, and was just a bit pudgy. She wore an orange halter-top and shorts.

“Andrew, meet my wife, Josie,” said Daniel.

Josie regarded me closely. “Isn’t that-?”

“Yeah. He’ll explain everything later.”

“Pleased to meet you,” I said. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Better than being hot.”

The other two men walked over to us. The first was wearing a parka, had long, greasy hair, and looked like he’d shaved recently but missed quite a few spots. He wore a nicotine patch and had a carrot stick sticking out of the side of his mouth. He nodded at me. “Ain’t that-?”

“Yeah. He’ll explain everything later.”

“Oh.”

“Andrew, this is Stan Tringet. He’s kind of let himself go over the past couple years, but he’s still a good guy. How many hours without a cigarette, Stan?”

Stan gave him a lopsided smile. “We’re back to minutes.”

The second man was also in a parka, but also wore a hat, scarf, earmuffs, and heavy mittens. His wide face was red from the cold. “I’m Samuel Striker,” he told me.

“Don’t be a dick,” said Daniel. “Give him your real name.”

“How do I know he’s not working for the cops?”

“If he’s working for the cops, we kill him.”

“Ooooh, that’s your solution to everything,” said Josie, slipping her hand seductively inside Daniel’s jacket.

“Fine, fine. I’m Mortimer. Can we get on the plane now?”

“Are the other prisoners on board?” Daniel asked.

“Of course they are. Locked down and ready to get out of this place. So let’s go!”

“Okay, then, let’s go.”

We walked toward the jet. Foster shoved Roger a lot more roughly than I appreciated, but I didn’t let my anger show. “So now can I ask where we’re going?”

“ Seattle,” said Daniel. “First.”

“Then where?”

“ Alaska.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. We’re on our way to the Last Frontier. And that’s where the real fun’s gonna start.”

“WELCOME to Rankin Airlines,” said Daniel into the microphone. “Before we take off, I’d like you to observe some safety precautions. One, please contain all firearms, knives, bludgeoning devices, and electric chairs in the overhead bins until we’ve reached our cruising altitude. Two, in the unlikely event of a water landing, your seat cushion functions as a floatation device. However, your seat cushion also has the scent of blood, so expect to be devoured by sharks shortly after impact. If you are seated next to one of the emergency doors, you will be required to assist the other passengers. Since I can see that Stan is seated next to one, it’s fairly obvious that we’re all screwed. Thank you, and enjoy your flight.”

ROGER HAD been taken down below, with the luggage. Daniel and Josie sat across from me, making out, while Mortimer leaned back and listened to his headphones as he slept. Foster was flying the plane, none too smoothly. Stan sat in front of me, holding his carrot stick between his index and middle finger while he stared out the window.

So, I was going to Alaska. Wonderful. I had nothing against Alaska, never having been there, but any control I had over the situation was pretty much gone. What could I do? Maybe I could swipe Daniel’s gun while he was distracted, except that it was now inside his jacket and he’d most likely notice a third hand squirming around in there next to his wife’s. I didn’t know if Mortimer had a weapon, but I wouldn’t exactly have time to do a thorough search before a few dozen bullets ripped through my face. And for all I knew, there was somebody else down below guarding the prisoners. Maybe several somebodies.

Of course, there was nothing stopping me from gathering more information.

“Hey, Daniel?”

Daniel spat out a mouthful of cleavage. “What’s up?”

“How many prisoners have you got down there?”

“A few.”