“We have to get you to a hospital,” I said.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I don’t even feel it.” He sniffed, took a couple of breaths, tried to compose himself. “I came over to say hi to Angie, and then this truck, this SUV pulls up.”

“Did you notice what kind it was?”

He blinked, tried to think. “One of those army kinds of ones. An Annihilator, I think.”

“Tinted windows?”

“Uh, I, I guess. I think so.”

“Okay, go on.”

“So it stops behind Angie’s car, they’ve got her blocked in, and they tell her to get out of the car, and she starts fighting with them.”

“Go on.”

For a moment, I thought maybe this wasn’t happening, that it was a dream. That I wasn’t here, in the middle of the night, on a street I rarely traveled, prying information out of some teenage stalker, whose motives I was still unsure of, about the whereabouts of my daughter. It simply couldn’t be happening.

“And one of them, he gets in the car, but he can’t get it to start, and he starts going nuts, banging on the steering wheel and swearing and everything. By now, there are people coming out, up there, on their balconies, and one of the other guys says they have to get out of there, they’re attracting too much attention.”

“Okay.”

“So another one says, he says, ‘Grab the girl, we’ll trade her for the car,’ and they drag Angie, right into the truck.”

Another flash. Angie, five years old, first day of kindergarten.

“But the one guy, I think the one who’d been driving, he comes up to me, he says, ‘You know the man owns this car?’ And I said yes, and he says, ‘Is this his daughter?’ and I said yes, and he says to tell you, he says, if you want your daughter back, get this car running and bring it to him, and he’ll give you Angie back.”

“Take it to him? Where am I supposed to take it?”

“He didn’t say.”

“He didn’t say?” Now I had my hands on him again, ready to shake him until his head fell off. “You didn’t ask him where I’m supposed to fucking take the car?”

“He said he’d be in touch! Jesus!” Trevor pushed me away. “He’d be in touch soon. And then he told me not to call the cops, to tell you not to call the cops, that they’ve got people in the force, that if you call the cops they’ll know. And then”-he put his hand back to his blood-soaked hair, touched it tentatively-“I guess, I think he hit me.”

“Why did they want the car?” I asked him. “Why do they want this car?”

“I don’t know!”

We were both quiet for a moment. I moved closer to Trevor, forced him up against the side of the Camry again. I leaned in.

“Trevor, I want you to be very straight with me. Did you have anything to do with this?”

“What?”

“Did you have anything to do with this? Because if you did, I swear to God…” I felt my fist forming again. “Do you know who took Angie away?”

“Are you kidding? Are you out of your fucking mind? Do you have any idea what Angie means to me?”

“No,” I said. “Suppose you tell me.”

Almost whispering. “I love her. It’s like I told you, about how certain people are meant to be together. That was supposed to be us. And I let them take her away! I wasn’t able to do anything about it!” And he began to weep.

I took in a few breaths of night air, looked at the cell phone in my hand. Could I really believe this story, that if I called 911, somehow Angie’s abductors would find out? Isn’t that what any crook might say to keep you from doing the sensible thing? Come up with a bullshit story like that?

But then, what if it was true?

Either way, I was gambling with Angie’s life. Wasn’t it better to gamble with the cops on your side? Didn’t that improve your odds?

“Don’t do it,” Trevor said, seeing me stare at the phone and reading my mind. “Don’t do it, Mr. Walker. They had me convinced. I don’t want them to kill Angie.”

I looked up at the stars, as if hoping for some sort of divine guidance. “Trevor, is there anything you’re not telling me? Anything else I need to know?”

“I could help you,” he said. “I could help you get the car to them. I could help you get Angie back.”

Somehow, I felt I’d benefit from more professional assistance.

“I don’t think so, Trevor. You need to get out of here, go home, get someone to take care of that head of yours. You need to-”

And the cell phone in my hand rang.

I pressed the Send button. “Yes?” I said.

“Hi, Daddy.” I could hear driving sounds in the background, tires humming on pavement.

“Angie! Angie, are you okay? Where are you?”

“Daddy, they want to talk to you.”

I heard the phone being moved about, then another voice.

“Mr. Walker,” a man said.

“Yeah.”

The man coughed, cleared his throat. “We need to arrange an exchange.”

28

“WHATEVER YOU WANT, IT’S YOURS,” I said. “I just want my daughter back.”

“That’s the spirit,” the man said. He coughed again, and hearing that, along with his voice, I was reminded of the man Stan had confronted at the auction.

“Looks like we can help each other out here,” he said. “I’m guessing, given that you don’t seem all that surprised to be hearing from me, that you’ve had a chance for that young lad to bring you up to speed.”

“I just got here, yeah. He’s been filling me in. And he’s hurt. His head is bleeding.”

“Gee, that’s awful. If you could get me his name and address, I’ll send him a card. I’m guessing he told you that calling the police would be a big mistake. Did he tell you that?”

“Yes.”

“And it looks to me like you took his advice, am I right?”

How could he know that, I wondered, unless it was true? That he did have contacts in the police?

“That’s right,” I said. “We don’t need to involve the police in this. Not if it means you’ll let go of my daughter.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Cooperation. It’s what makes the world go round. So, you know what it is we want?”

“You want the car.”

“That’s right. That’s one shitty car, I have to say. We could have been spared all this trouble if the fucking thing had only started.”

“It does that sometimes. I thought it was fixed.”

“You should have bought from a dealer. You’da got a warranty. Buying from these auctions, it’s not the way to go.”

“Evidently not.” So he was the guy. From the auction. And, I was willing to bet, the guy who had slammed Stan Wannaker’s head with a car door.

“If there hadn’t been so many people gawking from their balconies, maybe we could have figured out a way to tow the thing, or get a truck, but people, they’re awfully nosy, you know?”

“Sure. Can I talk to Angie?”

“Uh, no. You heard her a minute ago, you know she’s fine. And as long as you do what I ask, and don’t call the police-” he made a sickening throat-clearing noise that sounded like a toilet flushing “-she’ll stay that way.”

“What do you want with this car? I’m guessing it’s more than the gas mileage.”

“Hey, that’s funny. That’s good. Yeah, you’re right, that’s not the reason. Let’s say it’s carrying a shipment that we’d like to have. Shit, once we remove it, you can keep the fucking car. Only a candyass faggot would drive something like that around anyway.” He laughed, and then there was some other laughing in the background, and then he lapsed into a coughing fit.

“Hang on,” he said, almost apologetically. “I need a sip of something.” I heard him smack his lips. “I got kind of a tickly throat.”

I said, “Once I get the car started, where do you want me to bring it?”

“I’ll call you in an hour, let you know where. That should give you enough time to get that sucker running. Maybe it needs a jump.”

And he hung up.

“What did he say?” Trevor asked. “How’s Angie? Did you talk to Angie? Have they hurt Angie?”

“Shut up,” I said.

I got out my wallet, hunted for my auto club card, found it and punched in an 800 number.