Page 102 of The Accomplice
I blew into my numb hands and walked back to the car, got into the passenger seat.
‘You okay, kid ?’ asked Wings.
‘No, but I think this time tomorrow I will be. How would you like to make ten grand ?’
‘Sounds good.’
‘You got a different car to this one that’s just as fast ?’
‘I got one that’s faster, a new Camaro. It won’t do a quarter mile drag under ten, but it’ll corner faster and tighter than most.’
‘Bring it tomorrow. We’ll need it.’
‘Someone putting the squeeze on you ? You want me to do something ?’
‘It’s fine, Wings. You heard of Bloch ? She’s got a handle on it.’
His eyes widened and he said, ‘That’s one tough cookie. Don’t sweat it, kid. Whoever she’s going after, they’re the ones who should be worried.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
THE SANDMAN
The Sandman had followed the car through the Holland Tunnel, and eventually lost it in Jersey City. It was crucial that he kept his distance as the FBI were also following, and he didn’t want them to make him as a pursuit car. The chances of that were slim. He’d calculated them of course. In a pursuit situation, the feds are only interested in the target cars, not who is on their tail. All their attention is thrown forward. If he kept his distance, kept them in sight, he had a chance.
The target car, a Dodge Hellcat, started doing loops. The feds kept on it, and it made no real attempt to lose them. The Sandman pulled up. Turned off the engine. He sat for a while thumping the steering wheel. He should’ve known Flynn would pull some kind of switch. No way would Carrie hide out in New Jersey. This car was a decoy. Somewhere along the way, Flynn had switched vehicles.
He had been so focused on following the feds that he had not given much thought to the likely destination.
He turned around, came back through the city and across the bridge to Coney Island. In his rage he had bent the steering wheel, and he noticed the odd angle and contour with every corner. This did nothing to abate his rage. Anger sometimes felt like a pressure in his head. It needed to be released. If it was held at bay for too long his thinking would become clouded, his mind overtaken by the stresses of the fury.
By the time he got there, it was late and he was tired. The adrenaline from the chase and the anger at losing the chance to grab Carrie had not subsided. If anything, his fatigue had amplified his emotions. He thew open the door to the old bus depot and shone his flashlight inside.
The tool trolley had moved. Only one wheel remained on the steel plate covering the pit. He shone the light on the plate, saw a gap of an inch. Around that gap were fresh splinters of wood.
Clever girl.
‘Kate, there is no way out,’ he said.
He listened and heard her breathing hard. Either through fear, or more likely, the effort of trying to move the plate. It was clear Kate had removed the wooden back support from the chair, and had been working it into that gap, using whatever leverage she could generate to try and rock the plate up at the corner. It was working. The trolley was almost off the plate.
He turned and walked past the sandbags, into the small office in the back of the building that he used as a store. In here he had two passports – one for him and one for Carrie. Both in different names. Two hundred grand in cash, another two-fifty in gold bars. There was a refrigerator in this store too. In this one he kept his trophies in pickling jars. Seventeen jars.
Seventeen pairs of eyes.
Ignoring these items, he lifted his pack and hoisted it onto his shoulders. In the corner of the office were four jerry cans, each holding five gallons of gas. He picked up one in each hand and carried them out of the office to the pit. The gas sloshed around in the can, and they made a deep, but hollow, metalliccloinkas he placed them on the concrete floor.
‘You hear that ? Recognize that sound ?’
He took the steel bar in his hand, levered open the pit about a foot. He unscrewed the cap of the first can, opened his pack and found the plastic spout, which he clipped and then tightened in place at the mouth of the can.
‘Can you smell it yet ?’ he asked.
Tipping up the jerry can, he poured the gasoline into the pit.
‘You smell it now ?’
The scream that came first was pure pleasure. As the gasglugged, glugged,into the pit, and the aroma filled his nose, and Kate’s screams filled his ears, it felt like he was taking a hit from a powerful drug. The more he poured, the louder she screamed.
