Knock Out
Page 101
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Savich said nothing; what was there to say? He opened the apartment-building front door and stepped into a tiny lobby that held one palm tree and six mailboxes, painted white. The temperature dropped at least thirty degrees.
“It’s like I’ve died and gone to an ice locker,” she said. She flapped her arms, enjoying it.
They looked at the mailboxes even though they knew Victor lived in apartment 403, but why was there a number like that in a two-story apartment building?
“Let’s take the stairs,” he said. “Stay alert.”
They didn’t meet anyone on the stairs. Savich imagined a lot of people were inside, eating dinner. They heard children arguing over whether to watch an old Star Trek episode or Batman, but no adult voices.
The hallway was wide and dark, all the apartment doors painted different colors. Victor Nesser’s apartment was at the very end of the second-floor hall. His front door was painted bright green, with big brass numbers—403.
Sherlock stepped forward, knocked on the door, and waited a moment, her SIG ready. “Mr. Nesser? It’s Clorie Smith, from the Winnett Herald Weekly. I’m here to offer you a full month’s free subscription, four free issues.”
No answer.
She knocked again. “Mr. Nesser?”
No sound, nothing from inside the apartment.
Savich pressed his ear to the door.
He didn’t hear anything at first, pressed his ear closer. He heard a muffled sound—a person’s voice? He didn’t wait, motioned for Sherlock to step back, and he kicked the door in. It flew open, banging against the wall. They went in, fanning their SIGs, and found themselves in a small entry hall, a living room to the right connected to a small dining area and kitchen.
Empty.
A muffled voice yelled, “In here!”
The voice was coming from the bedroom. Savich stepped toward it when the man shouted again, “No! Don’t come in! There’s a bomb and a trip wire!”
58
SAVICH FROZE, Sherlock behind him. He called out, “Okay, we’re not moving. Cully, is that you? What bomb?”
“Just a second, got to get this duct tape off my mouth. Damn, it’s hard to talk without any lips. Okay, listen, the young guy—Victor Nesser—I saw him string a wire across the bedroom doorway, floor level. I guess he didn’t mind I saw him, figured I would see you coming and not be able to do a thing about it. Thank God I finally managed to get the tape off my mouth or we’d all be dead.”
Savich knelt down and saw the wire, maybe a quarter inch off the floor, stretched taut. He called out, “We’re stepping over it. Are you all right?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay, just humiliated. I’m here, on the other side of the bed. Like I said, I finally got the tape off my mouth, but I’m still tied up. Victor’s got me connected to a wire, too.”
“Okay, don’t move,” Savich said and walked slowly over to the bed.
Cully said, “I can see the bomb from here. It’s by the dresser.”
“Got it,” Sherlock said. “You just don’t move, Cully. Dillon and I are going to check it out.”
Cully said, “The girl—Lissy Smiley—she was laughing, really enjoying it, crowing that the instant some stupid fed tripped the wire the whole building would go boom—a hundred feet up, burn up the air, maybe all the way to heaven, she said. Then she hooted, doing a Madonna bump and grind, and said something about sending you, Savich, to heaven.” Cully sucked in a breath. “I usually don’t remember exactly what people say, but she was over the top.”
Sherlock said, “Hey, we’re really glad you got the duct tape off your mouth. No heaven for any of us yet.”
Cully Gwyn, amazingly, laughed. “I knew you guys would come here when you didn’t see me at the Chevron station and I didn’t answer my cell. Please tell me you’ve spoken to Bernie.”
“No, we haven’t,” Savich said. “We don’t have his cell number. Okay, Cully, I won’t try to get you free until we see what’s going on with this bomb.”
Sherlock dropped to her knees beside an ancient pine dresser, vintage Goodwill. “Okay, just eyeballing it first. What we’ve got is a large black metal box about the size and shape of a small suitcase. There’s a wire running from inside it across the floor over to the bedroom door and another to you, Cully, so don’t move a whisker.”
Cully said, “There’s no bomb squad in Winnett, no surprise there. Please tell me you guys know about bombs.”
“It’s like I’ve died and gone to an ice locker,” she said. She flapped her arms, enjoying it.
They looked at the mailboxes even though they knew Victor lived in apartment 403, but why was there a number like that in a two-story apartment building?
“Let’s take the stairs,” he said. “Stay alert.”
They didn’t meet anyone on the stairs. Savich imagined a lot of people were inside, eating dinner. They heard children arguing over whether to watch an old Star Trek episode or Batman, but no adult voices.
The hallway was wide and dark, all the apartment doors painted different colors. Victor Nesser’s apartment was at the very end of the second-floor hall. His front door was painted bright green, with big brass numbers—403.
Sherlock stepped forward, knocked on the door, and waited a moment, her SIG ready. “Mr. Nesser? It’s Clorie Smith, from the Winnett Herald Weekly. I’m here to offer you a full month’s free subscription, four free issues.”
No answer.
She knocked again. “Mr. Nesser?”
No sound, nothing from inside the apartment.
Savich pressed his ear to the door.
He didn’t hear anything at first, pressed his ear closer. He heard a muffled sound—a person’s voice? He didn’t wait, motioned for Sherlock to step back, and he kicked the door in. It flew open, banging against the wall. They went in, fanning their SIGs, and found themselves in a small entry hall, a living room to the right connected to a small dining area and kitchen.
Empty.
A muffled voice yelled, “In here!”
The voice was coming from the bedroom. Savich stepped toward it when the man shouted again, “No! Don’t come in! There’s a bomb and a trip wire!”
58
SAVICH FROZE, Sherlock behind him. He called out, “Okay, we’re not moving. Cully, is that you? What bomb?”
“Just a second, got to get this duct tape off my mouth. Damn, it’s hard to talk without any lips. Okay, listen, the young guy—Victor Nesser—I saw him string a wire across the bedroom doorway, floor level. I guess he didn’t mind I saw him, figured I would see you coming and not be able to do a thing about it. Thank God I finally managed to get the tape off my mouth or we’d all be dead.”
Savich knelt down and saw the wire, maybe a quarter inch off the floor, stretched taut. He called out, “We’re stepping over it. Are you all right?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay, just humiliated. I’m here, on the other side of the bed. Like I said, I finally got the tape off my mouth, but I’m still tied up. Victor’s got me connected to a wire, too.”
“Okay, don’t move,” Savich said and walked slowly over to the bed.
Cully said, “I can see the bomb from here. It’s by the dresser.”
“Got it,” Sherlock said. “You just don’t move, Cully. Dillon and I are going to check it out.”
Cully said, “The girl—Lissy Smiley—she was laughing, really enjoying it, crowing that the instant some stupid fed tripped the wire the whole building would go boom—a hundred feet up, burn up the air, maybe all the way to heaven, she said. Then she hooted, doing a Madonna bump and grind, and said something about sending you, Savich, to heaven.” Cully sucked in a breath. “I usually don’t remember exactly what people say, but she was over the top.”
Sherlock said, “Hey, we’re really glad you got the duct tape off your mouth. No heaven for any of us yet.”
Cully Gwyn, amazingly, laughed. “I knew you guys would come here when you didn’t see me at the Chevron station and I didn’t answer my cell. Please tell me you’ve spoken to Bernie.”
“No, we haven’t,” Savich said. “We don’t have his cell number. Okay, Cully, I won’t try to get you free until we see what’s going on with this bomb.”
Sherlock dropped to her knees beside an ancient pine dresser, vintage Goodwill. “Okay, just eyeballing it first. What we’ve got is a large black metal box about the size and shape of a small suitcase. There’s a wire running from inside it across the floor over to the bedroom door and another to you, Cully, so don’t move a whisker.”
Cully said, “There’s no bomb squad in Winnett, no surprise there. Please tell me you guys know about bombs.”
