43

Milton tried the door. It was locked. He paused for a moment, thinking. He could hear the deep, muffled boom of the foghorns from outside. Eva came to him. “Jesus, John,” she said, “Look at you.” She pointed to a spot on his shirt. “Is that yours?”

He looked down. A patch of blood. “No. I’m fine. It’s his.”

She turned to the front of the room and the splatter of blood across the bare concrete floor. Her face whitened as she took it in and what it meant. He could read her mind: the horror at what he was capable of doing, the ease and efficiency with which he had maimed the man. How did someone like him, so quiet and closed-in, explode with such a terrifying eruption of violence? How did he even have it in him? Milton recognised the look that she was giving him. He had seen it before. He knew that it would presage a change in the way that she felt about him. She was going to have to see more of it, too, before the day was over. Worse things. It couldn’t possibly be the same afterwards. Tenderness and intimacy would be the first casualties of what he was going to have to do to get them out.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s fine. I’m going to get us out.”

“Don’t worry? John —?”

“Are you sure you’re alright? They didn’t hurt you?”

“No. They just threw me in here. They asked me a few questions about you but that was it.”

“What kind of questions?”

“Who you are, what you do, how long I’ve known you.”

He took her by the shoulders. “I’m very sorry,” he said, looking into her eyes. She flinched a little. “You should never have been involved. I don’t know how they found out about you. They must’ve been following me.”

“I don’t understand why, though? Why would they follow you? What have you done?”

“Nothing.”

“What you did to that man — Jesus, John, you fucked him up — are you some sort of criminal?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“It’s to do with the girls they’ve found.”

“Which girls? The ones on the beach?”

“I know who did it.”

“Who?”

“Governor Robinson,” the other girl, Karly, answered. “Right?”

“Do you know him?” Milton asked.

“I worked for him.”

“And you had a relationship with him?”

She nodded.

Milton asked her to explain what had happened and she did: how Robinson had discarded her, how she had gone to Crawford for help and how the bikers had abducted her and brought her here.

“You know he’s dead?”

“No,” Karly said, her mouth falling open.

“What do you mean?” Eva said.

“This morning. They found him in his hotel room. They’re saying suicide, but I don’t think it was that. Robinson was seeing the three girls they’ve found up on Headlands Lookout. I’m guessing the same thing happened with them as happened to you, Karly.”

“He killed them?”

“I doubt he knew anything about it. Crawford found out about them, maybe they threatened to expose Robinson, and he covered everything up. I spoke to Robinson yesterday afternoon and told him I knew about him and Madison. I said if he didn’t go to the police and tell them that he was seeing her then I’d do it for him. The names of the girls came out this morning. If I had to guess, I’d say he found out. It wouldn’t have been difficult to work out what had happened to them after that. He went to Crawford and confronted him and Crawford killed him.”

Eva listened and, as he explained more, her disbelief was replaced with incredulity. “So who are these men?”

“They’re working with Crawford.”

Eva’s brow clenched angrily. “None of this has anything to do with me.”

“I know it doesn’t. They took you to get my attention. They’ve got it now but they’re going to wish they hadn’t.”

“John — look around. We’re stuck.”

“No, we’re not. These boys aren’t the smartest. There are plenty of things we can use in here.”

She picked up a utensil from the table. “A plastic knife isn’t going to do us much use against a gun, and I doubt they’ll let you come at them with a bottle again.”

He picked up a roll of duct tape from the table. “I can do better than a plastic knife,” he said.

* * *

He didn’t know how long they had. Two hours, Smokey had said, but it might have been more or it might have been less, and he wasn’t sure how much time had already passed. He had to make his move now. Milton went to the stack of beer, tore away the rest of the cellophane wrapper on the top tray and took out three bottles. He took the duct tape and wrapped each bottle, running the tape around it tightly until they were completely sealed. He needed to make sure the caps didn’t pop off. A little resin would have been perfect but that was asking for too much. This should work well enough. It was the best he could do.

He opened the microwave and stood the bottles neatly inside.

“What are you doing?” Eva asked him.

“Creating a diversion.” He closed the microwave door. “I’ve seen four men. One of them won’t be a problem, so that makes three. Have you seen any more?”

“No.”

“Karly?”

“Four, I think.”

“Did you see any guns?”

“He had a gun.”

“I mean big guns — a shotgun, anything like that?”

“I didn’t see anything.”

“I think I saw one,” Karly said.

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure. Yes. I’m sure.”

They would be wary of him now. It wasn’t going to be easy.

“Both of you — get to the back of the room. In the corner. And when the time comes, look away.”

“What are you doing?”

“Trust me, okay? I’m getting us out.”

“‘When the times comes?’ What does that mean?”

“You’ll know.”

Milton set the microwave’s timer to fifteen minutes and hit the start button.

He hammered on the door.

Footsteps approached.

“What?”

“Alright,” he called out.

“What you want?” It was the red-haired biker, Orangutan.

“I’ll talk. Whatever you want.”

Footsteps going away.

There was a pause. Milton thought he could hear voices. They were muffled by the door.

Minutes passed.

The foghorns boomed out.

He watched the seconds tick down on the counter.

14.12.

13.33.

12.45.

Footsteps coming back again.

“Stand back,” Smokey called. “Right up against the far wall. I’m coming in with a shotgun. Don’t try and do anything stupid or I’ll empty both barrels into your face.”

Milton looked down at the microwave timer.

9.18.

9.16.

9.14.

It would be close. If they noticed it too quickly, it wouldn’t work and he didn’t have a Plan B. If the man did have a shotgun he would be hopelessly outmatched. Too late to worry about that. He stepped all the way back, putting himself between the microwave and the two women.

The door unlocked.

It opened.

Smokey did have a shotgun: a Remington. The room was narrow and not all that long. A spread couldn’t really miss him from that range and the man was careful now, wary, edging into the room, his eyes fixed on Milton.

Once bitten, twice shy. He knew Milton was dangerous. He would be careful now. No more mistakes.

That was what Milton wanted.

It was the reason for the demonstration earlier.

He wanted all of his attention on him.

“Change of heart?”

“What choice do I have?”

“That’s right, buddy. You ain’t got none.”

“What do you want to know?”

“The Governor — you tell anyone what you know about him and the girls?”

“The dead ones?”

“Them, that one behind you, any others.”

“No,” he said.

“No police?”

“No police.”

“What about her?” he said, chin-nodding towards Eva. “You tell her?”

“No,” he said. “She doesn’t know anything.”

“You tell anyone else?”

“I told you — no-one knows but me.”

“Alright, then. That’s good. How’d you find out?”