Page 57 of To Die For

Perry Rollins had been born in the Midwest and then moved around some. He had been married once, no kids, his ex’s whereabouts unknown. He had a sporadic employment history and his tax filings were just as random. In fact, he had an IRS garnishment on his bank account, which had only a little over a hundred bucks in it. No car was registered to him.

There wasn’t much here, it seemed, but he had to go over it in detail, and so he did, reading some parts several times so the information would sink in better.

When Devine looked up a while later, he found the dark streets had totally emptied.

And that was when someone tapped on his window.

CHAPTER

25

AS SOON AS DEVINE LOOKEDthat way, he knew he’d let his guard down and was about to pay the price, as a second man on the other side of his truck opened the passenger door and pointed a pistol at him.

Devine checked his rearview again. The cop car was gone; indeed the whole town looked deserted in the chilly darkness.

The man climbed in while his window-tapping partner opened the driver’s side passenger door and got in the backseat.

The first man said, “Drive. I’ll give directions.”

“If you want to carjack me, I don’t have to go along for the ride,” said Devine. “I actually have another appointment.”

That got him a hard smack on the back of the head with the pistol held by the guy in the rear seat.

“Drive,” the man said again.

His head ringing from the blow, Devine drove while the fellow fed him directions. They were quickly swallowed by the blackness of an overcast evening, with not a glimmer of natural light, or apparent hope, in the vicinity.

Devine could smell the foul breath coming from the man in the back, who hovered over him. He could also smell the stink of both men’s sweat. That actually told him a lot—they were as nervous as they probably assumed he was.

Only Devine wasn’t. He was the calm before, during, and after the storm. For better or worse, this was when Devine was in his element, and at his best.

“Can I ask about the agenda for our trip?” Devine asked.

“Sure, you canask,” said the man next to him.

Devine had cast his gaze over the fellow and his gun, and used the rearview mirror to do the same with his garlic-breathed partner in the rear seat.

In his head, Devine ran various simulations to counter his current predicament and settled on one, based solely on the men having made a single critical mistake.

Well, two if I count them taking me on in the first place.

“Turn right up ahead,” said the man in the front seat as he glanced out the window.

Devine made the turn.

“Slow down,” said the same man as they headed down a dirt road with thick woods on either side.

Devine eased off the gas.

“Stop up ahead.”

Devine said, “I’ll give you one more chance to tell me. Are you friend or foe? Because it will matter to me, which means it will matter to you.”

“What are you, some kind’a comedian? Your ass is grass, maggot,” said the man in the backseat. Devine saw him raise the gun again, probably to either drill a hole in his head or give him a matching bruise; it really didn’t matter now.

“All I needed to know. And here’s the punch line.”

He slammed down the gas and the 4Runner rocketed ahead, catapulting wildly over the bumpy road; the resulting g’s from the sudden acceleration threw the two men flat against their seats.

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