Arnie started to cry.
Smoke closed the lid of the case and fastened the latches. He walked calmly across the room to where Arnie was sprawled on the floor. He picked up the small table and set it upright where it belonged, then lifted at his pants legs and crouched down to face Arnie. He reached out and Arnie flinched, but Smoke merely wiped at the tears on Arnie’s cheek with his thumbs.
“Don’t cry, stupid American. Not yet. Let me tell you something that will make you laugh instead. A joke, I suppose. Is that okay, Arnold? To tell you a joke? Shake your head okay, Arnold.”
Arnie did.
“Do you know how Fenn and I found you so quickly?”
Arnie didn’t say anything. He didn’t even look up to meet Smoke’s eyes.
“We never even had to look, dummy. We never lost you. All the way from that farm. There were other people on you, too. Some Mexicans. More Americans. Everybody angry. But you lost them all by the time you got to the airport. Not us, though. And get this, Arnie. We were sitting behind you on the plane, too. All the way from Atlanta. Isn’t that funny?”
Arnie looked up and used the back of his hand to wipe at his eyes.
“Yes, that’s right. We planned to kill you in the airport parking lot, but there were too many people around, so we followed you inside. You’d already checked the suitcase before we could scoop you up, so we had to buy shitty tickets on the same shitty plane you did so we could wait for you to claim the bag here in the Sunshine State.” Smoke looked up at Fenn. “We thought you were going to run away when that guard stopped you at the airport, didn’t we, Fenn?”
“Yes, we did,” Fenn said with a calm and almost feminine-sounding voice.
“You gave us a pretty good scare there, Arnold, but you did good. We were proud of you. Right, Fenn?”
“Yes. Real proud.”
“So here we are, giving you a good scare, too. You know, to even things out. Are you scared, Arnold?”
Arnie didn’t move. Smoke grabbed his face and squeezed his jaw. Blood leaked from the broken lip and stained the neck of the white T-shirt. “I asked you a question, Arnold. Are you scared?”
“Yes.”
“Good. So now we are almost done here, and everything is as it should be. You are scared and stupid and I am smart and lucky. You see the difference, now?” Arnie cradled his head in his hands. He did see the difference. He’d been seeing it his whole life.
Smoke let go of Arnie and stood up. “Now tell me who else has the rest of our money.”
Arnie was barely aware of the question. All he knew was that everything he’d done had been in vain. The whole year. All the practice. The escape route to the airport. All the small details. All the months of planning. All the risks. Mailing himself a gun. It was all for nothing. It always was. This was never going to end up any other way than this. Just like everything else he’d ever done in his whole miserable life. He should’ve known better.
“If you don’t start answering my questions the first time I ask you, Arnold, I’m going to let Fenn start asking them. Is that what you want?”
Arnie looked up at the thick Filipino man behind Smoke. “Please, Smoke, I’ll do whatever you want. Take the money. Just please don’t hurt me. Don’t hurt my friends. I’m begging you.”
Smoke rubbed at his baby-smooth, hairless chin as if he was seriously taking the request under consideration. “That’s a good start, Arnold.” He narrowed his eyes at Arnie. “Be clear and precise with your next words, Arnold. If you are honest with me, no lies, then I give you my word that no one else needs to get hurt. Are you ready to be honest with me, Arnold?”
“Yes,” Arnie said, but he knew Smoke was lying. Arnie knew this man’s word meant nothing. In this game involving life-changing amounts of money, no one’s did. They were going to kill him. He’d already said they were going to kill him at the airport back home. They’d kill Bobby, too. Arnie knew that. He hoped it would be quick, but he knew that was a fantasy, too. He’s seen what a baston could do. He knew it wouldn’t be a quick or painless death for either of them, but he also knew they didn’t know anything about William and he wasn’t going to give him up. He’d at least get that much right. He offered up one last defiant stare at Smoke as the small Asian man repeated himself for a final time. “Where is my damn money?”
Arnie opened his mouth to speak right before he was interrupted by the sound of Billy Idol singing “Rebel Yell” from somewhere behind them. All three men looked toward the bathroom. It was Arnie’s cell phone. His favorite song played as its ringtone. “Ooh,” Smoke said, almost giddy, as he crossed the room and entered the bathroom again. “Maybe I don’t need your help, Arnold. Maybe I can simply ask whoever this is for the information I need. Now,” he said as he scooped up the phone from the counter. “Who could this be?” He looked at the display, grinned, and then held it out for Arnie to see. “William Blackwell?” Smoke said with mild surprise. That is your last name, too, yes, Arnold? Is this your family calling? Is the rest of my money with someone who shares your blood? Maybe this William doesn’t share your stupid as well.”
Arnie’s heart raced as he found enough of a second wind to sit up and beg again. “He’s my little brother, Smoke. He’s not involved. He’s just a kid—and he’s retarded, too. He doesn’t know shit about any of this. I swear to you.”
“Oh, yeah?” Smoke tapped the phone and held it to his ear. “Hello? William?”
There was a brief pause as Smoke listened to the voice of a child ask for his brother. “No,” Smoke said. “I’m a friend of Arnie’s. He can’t come to the phone right now.” He squatted back down to face Arnie. The left side of Arnie’s face was now all swollen and puffy, matching his lip, from the hit he’d taken. Vomit mixed in with the blood and formed an elastic string from his broken mouth to his belly. He pleaded in a whisper. “Please, Smoke, just hang it up. He’s a kid. He won’t understand.”
Smoke nodded but ignored him. “Yes,” he said into the phone. “Your brother is here, William. It is William, right? Good. Now tell me where you are and I’ll come get you. I’ll bring you to your brother. Yes—that is what he wants you to do.”
Arnie squeezed his eyes shut and straightened up against the wall. He knew he’d be punished for what he was about to do, but he had no choice. It was William. He wouldn’t sell out the kid—but Bobby would, Arnie thought in a panic. If he gave them Bobby, then they would get to William. Unless he did something right now. Arnie yelled. He yelled loud enough for his brother to hear him clearly through the phone in Smoke’s hand. “Hang up, Willie! He’s lying! Hang up right now, and go to our safe place. Forget what I told you before and get out of there. Wait at our safe place. You hang up right this minute and wait—” That was all he was able to get out before Fenn swung the bamboo baston and hit Arnie hard enough to almost disconnect his jaw completely from his skull.
Arnie saw nothing but white bursts of light—fireworks in his peripheral vision—just seconds before the pain set in, and when the force of the blow did begin to manifest as pain, he nearly blacked out again. He didn’t try to stop it. He invited it. He wanted everything to go black before the next hit came. His lower jaw gaped open and hung from the right of his face only by the skin of his cheek. Bright red blood filled his mouth and poured down his throat like a river of salted motor oil. The choking kept him awake. Blood splattered onto the carpet, speckling the pool of vomit with shiny red pearls. Arnie’s blood peppered Smoke’s face as well, leaving him covered with red freckles, but the sudden burst of blood didn’t bother him at all. He barely reacted to it, as if having another man’s blood hitting his face was part of his daily routine—like brushing his teeth. Smoke only seemed to show disappointment when he took the phone away from his ear and realized that Arnie’s brother had heard the outburst and ended the call. That bothered him, and his annoyance turned to a slow-burning rage as he tucked the phone in his pocket and glared up at Fenn. “You broke his jaw. How is he supposed to talk now, you idiot?”