Traffic (Complete two-hundred pages) (Moving to Kindle Vella in 30 Days! )

32

RIDE

"EMPTY YOUR POCKETS," said the man with the gun.

Jack thankfully was sitting on his passport and wallet. He had no phone. He pulled out the sharp rock he had and the men smiled as they closed the doors.

"You won't be needing that." The man with the gun rolled down the window and tossed the rock out. The car rolled on. Jack felt squished.

How the hell did Pat fall into bed with this group of people? Jack wondered. The woman in the white summer sundress did her makeup while the driver looked at him in the rearview mirror. He said nothing.

The man with the gun pointed at Jack's hip started to whistle a tune and the guy on Jack's other side started to drum his fingers on the passenger chair in front of him. The gunman's tune and the other guy's drumming sounded an awful lot like Under Pressure by Queen. An appropriate tune for the moment.

"I was beginning to think you were never going to show up, Pat," said the woman in the front seat. She ruffled her hair as though adjusting an extension. "What took you so long?"

Jack didn't know what to say to that. How exactly did Pat know to grab the note from Penelope's palm? Who stashed the address in her hand in the first place?

"You haven't called me in 24 hours what's up with that?" added the woman. "I always had the feeling you were lying to me about not being married, Pat. A rich guy like you from California, how could you not be married?"

Rich? Is that what Pat told these people? He held back a laugh but was obviously entertained. At that instant everyone in the car shot him a look. He calmed down. Better say something. "I'm not married. I'll never get married."

The two guys on each side of him started to whistle and drum again and the driver returned his eyes to the road.

The woman laughed at Jack's comment. "You say that now but just wait until we get to the hotel. You'll never want to leave." She vainly doubled up on her lipstick in the mirror.

Jack tried to imagine the relationship Pat must have had with this strange woman. Then again he didn't want to know. Then a second thought crossed his mind: Why did she say they were going to another hotel when they were just at a hotel? "We were just at the hotel."

"No, dumbass," said the woman, "the other hotel. We're driving over to the Four Seasons remember? Your stuff's there."

Pat's stuff was there? What the hell was going on? "I forgot."

"You're lucky you have a pretty face," said the woman. "If I hadn't heard you had such a pretty face, I would have let them kill you when they had the chance."

Let them kill Pat? What is happening in Pat's life? And to think Jack thought Pat was just a mediocre cyber security salesman who loved his women overseas. What did he plan to do with this woman anyway? And what did these men, in particular the man with the gun pointed at his hip, plan to do with him?

In twelve minutes they arrived at an even larger hotel, The Four Seasons.

"Park the car and meet us upstairs," the woman said to the driver before giving herself one last touch of her hair and exiting the car. The drummer boy exited as well and held the door for Jack who exited like a freed zoo gorilla.

The man with the gun followed closely behind Jack and kept the gun pressed to his back as they entered the hotel. They passed through the lobby and Jack had trouble enjoying the lavish teal and orange fire colors of the floor rooms. Passing the lounge and the surrealist golden oil paintings on the walls, they made their way up the empty staircase.

"Let's take the elevator from here," said the woman as they reached the second floor. They entered the elevator and some bossa nova music by Gil Mendes played as they ascended. Jack couldn't enjoy the music much either thanks to the thought of the man behind him accidentally pulling the trigger.

"Lighten up there on the brass," said Jack, trying to step away from the pistol. The gunman merely pressed it harder against Jack's spine and Jack made a slight squeal.

"Come on, Raúl," said the woman, sending a naughty smile the gunman's way. "Quit playing with him. He's my toy. Get your own."

Raúl rolled his eyes at her.

"I'm serious," she said.

Raúl sighed and relieved the pressure off Jack's back. Jack felt his lungs fill with oxygen again. The bossa nova sounded much better now. The woman gave Jack a wink.

Suddenly the doors opened to the 8th floor and the woman led them to the presidential suite to the farthest end of the hall. The rain sounded like marbles hitting the roof and somehow this wasn't very calming to Jack. They seemed to walk in single file, first the woman, then the man that had sat behind her in the car, then Jack, then lastly Raúl with the gun to his back. When they approached the door, the man behind the woman pulled out the hotel key and put it the door. He opened it and the woman nodded graciously before she entered. Jack stepped inside, following Raúl, then the man with the door key. The door locked behind them and the room was black.

"Hit the lights, Juan," said the woman.

And just like that, the man with the key flicked on the lights and the executive suite lit up.