him was dark, and no other cars were in sight in either direction when the youth grabbed the door handle and slipped into the seat next to Sam. The backpack, in reality a soggy, canvas duffel bag, found a place at his feet.
The youth was in his mid-twenties and spoke with an accent, Kentucky or Tennessee, one of the southern states, Sam guessed. His first impression had been correct; the boy couldn't have been more than 150 pounds, narrow-waisted and thin-framed. He had a dancer's body, but without the muscle. The clothes he wore were common, no expensive brands for this kid, just a pair of Levi's and a worn sweatshirt that had seen better days.
He took off his Red Sox cap and ran a hand through his wet, curly hair.
"Thanks man. I appreciate it. Been a long night," he said, looking at Sam for the first time.
Sam glanced away, ostensibly checking the traffic in the mirror, but really just hiding his face in the shadows. He was afraid his gleeful expression would give him away. "No problem. Buckle up, though." Sam waited until the youth had complied, then pulled back out into traffic. "Where you headed?"
"San Diego."
"Damn, that's a long way."
"Tell me about it. But it sure as shit beats Oklahoma City."
Sam nodded, doing what he could to put the boy at ease. He could feel his own heart pounding as his mind worked out all the angles in his head, knowing he had only one chance to get it right. If it went sour and the boy got away …
"I'm headed for Bellingham. I can take you that far at least, okay?"
The youth nodded. "Yeah, yeah, that would be great."
"What's your name?"
"Tony. Tony Romanto." He stuck out a hand and Sam shook it, noting at the same time the tentative way the other did so. It was a good sign.
Sam went on without offering his own name. "You got people waiting for you in San Diego?"
"Nah. Just headed for the coast. See the ocean and all that, ya know?"
Bingo. "Sure. Did it myself when I was your age."
Sam turned and smiled, as if in on the secret, letting the teenager get a clear look at his face for the first time. What the youth saw there must have been reassuring, for he smiled back, relaxed. When he did, Sam smashed him in the face without warning with a fist like bedrock, rocking the youth's head back against the glass of the door behind him with an audible crack.
Once was all it took. The kid slumped forward against the seatbelt, unconscious before he could utter another sound.
"Sorry, Tony. Looks like you ain't gonna make San Diego after all."
He got off at the nearest ramp and drove around until he found a small strip-mall. A liquor store, a Walgreens, a few other inconsequential places, the kind of place with minimal traffic at this hour of the night. Pulling around behind the buildings, Sam parked in a shadowed spot and stared out of the windows.
The rain drummed on the roof, keeping time with his pounding heart.
After ten minutes of watching, he was convinced they were alone and unobserved.
He reached up and made certain the interior light was set to off, then got out of the car.
Instantly his jacket and pants were soaked. He could feel the rain running down the sides of his uncovered head, but he ignored it and made his way back to the trunk. Opening it, he leaned inside, shielding himself partially from the rain by doing so, and searched through the bag of supplies he's just bought until he found the duct tape. He stuffed the tape in his pocket, freeing both hands so that he could grab the bags and move them to the back seat of the vehicle, leaving the trunk empty. Once he'd done so, he returned to the trunk and taped over the light, plunging the interior back into darkness.
Sam moved to the passenger door and carefully opened it, catching Tony's body as he did so. Swiftly, he dragged the unconscious youth over to the trunk and dumped him inside. Removing the tape from his pocket, he tore off several long sections and wrapped them around the boy's wrists and ankles, binding him
The youth was in his mid-twenties and spoke with an accent, Kentucky or Tennessee, one of the southern states, Sam guessed. His first impression had been correct; the boy couldn't have been more than 150 pounds, narrow-waisted and thin-framed. He had a dancer's body, but without the muscle. The clothes he wore were common, no expensive brands for this kid, just a pair of Levi's and a worn sweatshirt that had seen better days.
He took off his Red Sox cap and ran a hand through his wet, curly hair.
"Thanks man. I appreciate it. Been a long night," he said, looking at Sam for the first time.
Sam glanced away, ostensibly checking the traffic in the mirror, but really just hiding his face in the shadows. He was afraid his gleeful expression would give him away. "No problem. Buckle up, though." Sam waited until the youth had complied, then pulled back out into traffic. "Where you headed?"
"San Diego."
"Damn, that's a long way."
"Tell me about it. But it sure as shit beats Oklahoma City."
Sam nodded, doing what he could to put the boy at ease. He could feel his own heart pounding as his mind worked out all the angles in his head, knowing he had only one chance to get it right. If it went sour and the boy got away …
"I'm headed for Bellingham. I can take you that far at least, okay?"
The youth nodded. "Yeah, yeah, that would be great."
"What's your name?"
"Tony. Tony Romanto." He stuck out a hand and Sam shook it, noting at the same time the tentative way the other did so. It was a good sign.
Sam went on without offering his own name. "You got people waiting for you in San Diego?"
"Nah. Just headed for the coast. See the ocean and all that, ya know?"
Bingo. "Sure. Did it myself when I was your age."
Sam turned and smiled, as if in on the secret, letting the teenager get a clear look at his face for the first time. What the youth saw there must have been reassuring, for he smiled back, relaxed. When he did, Sam smashed him in the face without warning with a fist like bedrock, rocking the youth's head back against the glass of the door behind him with an audible crack.
Once was all it took. The kid slumped forward against the seatbelt, unconscious before he could utter another sound.
"Sorry, Tony. Looks like you ain't gonna make San Diego after all."
He got off at the nearest ramp and drove around until he found a small strip-mall. A liquor store, a Walgreens, a few other inconsequential places, the kind of place with minimal traffic at this hour of the night. Pulling around behind the buildings, Sam parked in a shadowed spot and stared out of the windows.
The rain drummed on the roof, keeping time with his pounding heart.
After ten minutes of watching, he was convinced they were alone and unobserved.
He reached up and made certain the interior light was set to off, then got out of the car.
Instantly his jacket and pants were soaked. He could feel the rain running down the sides of his uncovered head, but he ignored it and made his way back to the trunk. Opening it, he leaned inside, shielding himself partially from the rain by doing so, and searched through the bag of supplies he's just bought until he found the duct tape. He stuffed the tape in his pocket, freeing both hands so that he could grab the bags and move them to the back seat of the vehicle, leaving the trunk empty. Once he'd done so, he returned to the trunk and taped over the light, plunging the interior back into darkness.
Sam moved to the passenger door and carefully opened it, catching Tony's body as he did so. Swiftly, he dragged the unconscious youth over to the trunk and dumped him inside. Removing the tape from his pocket, he tore off several long sections and wrapped them around the boy's wrists and ankles, binding him
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