Off the Clock (3 page)

•  •  •

“Hey! Hey! Help! I need help!”

The asshole’s screams meant he’d finally regained consciousness.

“Help!” Nick yelled again, repeating it over and over.

Quinn waited for the last item to finish printing from the computer, then carried the small stack of papers through the house to the central bathroom.

Nick was right where Quinn had left him—standing in the shower, his hands bound together with duct tape and secured over the top of the shower nozzle. Quinn had stripped him down to his underwear and wrapped his ankles together, too.  

As soon as Nick saw Quinn, he stopped yelling and squirmed against the wall as if he were trying to push himself through the tiles.

“How you doing, Nicky?” Quinn said.

“What do you want?” Nick asked, terror oozing out of every pore. “Money? I don’t have a lot of cash in the house, but you can have my ATM card. I’ll give you the code. Or take anything you want. Okay? I won’t call the police, I swear.”

Quinn stared at him blankly for a moment. “Are you done?”

“What do you want?”

Quinn turned away from him and set the stack of papers on the sink counter, then one by one began taping them to the mirror. These were the ten best shots—if you could call them that—of Nick’s trophy photos. The eleventh printout was a photo of Nick and his wife.

“Does Dr. Meyers know about your hobby?”

The shock in the man’s eyes confirmed that she didn’t.

“Well,” Quinn said, “she’s going to now.”

“No,” Nick blurted out. “Please. I promise…I promise I won’t do it again.”

“Save your breath. I know you won’t.”

Nick looked confused. “Okay, um, then, uh, then there’s no problem, right? You’ll just let me go, and won’t tell my wife. Yes?”

“Sure, Nick. That sounds like a great idea. Then in a couple weeks you’ll convince yourself that I was just here to scare you, and won’t be coming back. You’ll start up again right where you left off. The problem with that is, I would come back. And I would be as mad at myself for giving you a break as I would be at you. So, I figure, why not do now what I would have to do then?”

“What do you mean, ‘have to do then’?”

Quinn smiled sympathetically. “I’m not here to scare you. I’m here to take care of the problem.”

He walked out of the room.

“Wait!” Nick called out. “What does
that
mean?”

Quinn didn’t answer.

“Hey! What does that mean?”

Back in the den, Quinn printed out the last item, then removed the thumb drive and slipped it into his pocket. In the kitchen, he helped himself to a bottle of water, and leaned against the counter, waiting.

Forty-two minutes later, just a little over an hour after he’d made his calls, his phone buzzed with a text.

2 minutes away

He took another sip of the water, then headed for the front door. The first thing he’d done after Nick had fallen unconscious on the den floor was to completely disable the alarm. So opening the front door now was not an issue.

He crossed the yard to the Mercedes and used Nick’s keys to unlock it. Inside he found a remote, pushed the button, then watched as the gate across the driveway swung open.

Thirty-seconds later a van pulled in. There were no windows along the sides, only a large logo advertising a local plumber who didn’t exist.

Steve Howard and Ivan Donahue climbed out of the front. Quinn had worked with both of them several times in the past. When he’d called to tell them he had a little off-the-clock work for them, neither had even hesitated to say they were in.

They nodded their hellos, but everyone remained quiet until they were inside.

“Hey! You can’t leave me like this!” Nick yelled from the back as Quinn closed the front door.

“I take it that’s the package,” Howard said.

Quinn nodded. “You have the stuff?”

Howard pulled a plastic box from his pocket, and handed it to Quinn.

“Come on. I’ll introduce you,” Quinn said. He led them to the bathroom. “Gentlemen, this is Nick Meyers.”

“What the hell?” Nick said, his eyes growing as wide as they could go at the sight of the two new arrivals. “Jesus. Please, just let me go.”

Howard and Donahue took a quick look, and both noticed the pictures on the bathroom mirror.

“Whoa, dude,” Donahue said. “Not your best angle.”

“I take it his visits to these places were not exactly welcome,” Howard said.

“No, they weren’t,” Quinn confirmed. “And these aren’t all of them.”

Howard looked back at Nick. “You’re a sick son of a bitch, aren’t you?”

“What are you guys going to do to me?” Nick asked.

“Go ahead and cut him down,” Quinn said to Howard. “I’ll be right back.”

He returned to the den, grabbed a pen off the desk, and retrieved the final printout from the printer. When he got back to the bathroom, Nick was sitting on the closed toilet lid, his wrists and ankles still restrained.

Quinn set the printout on the counter. “You’re going to sign this,” he told Nick, then held the pen out to him.

“What is it?” Nick asked.

“Does it matter?”

Nick’s gaze flicked from Quinn to the other men and back, then he took the pen awkwardly in his hand. “I don’t know if I can write like this,” he said. “Maybe if you take this tape off.”

“I think you’ll do just fine.”

Donahue heaved Nick to his feet and helped him get to the counter. The printout was a letter to Nick’s wife.

Carol,

By now you’ve seen the pictures, so there is no need to explain why I left. You don’t have to worry about me coming back, either. I won’t. The only thing I’m taking with me is some clothes. I’m sorry. I’m very sick, and can no longer pretend that I am not.  The last thing I want is to hurt you any further.  You will never hear from me again. I promise you that.

Nick read the letter, then looked at Quinn. “You’re going to show her the pictures?”

“No,” Quinn said. “You are. I was never here. Now sign it.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m not going to—”

Quinn pulled Nick’s gun out of his jacket pocket. “Sign it.”

Looking like he was about to cry, Nick signed the letter.

“Good,” Quinn said.

He took a piece of tape from the dispenser he’d brought in for the pictures, and hung the letter on the mirror below the gallery of Nick’s exploits. He then removed the picture of Nick and his wife, folded it, and put it in his pocket. The doctor probably wouldn’t want a visual reminder of her mistake hanging there with the other shots.

“Time to go,” Quinn said.

“Go where? Where are you taking me?” Nick asked.

“Away.”

Quinn opened the box Howard had given him. Inside was a preloaded hypodermic.

Nick seemed to be stunned into silence.

“This is a little something we call IRBD,” Quinn said.

“No. Please. I’ll do whatever—”

“That’s short for ‘I’d Rather Be Dead,’ ” Quinn went on. “See, this is going to paralyze you for the next thirty-six hours. During that time, you’ll be aware of everything that’s going on, but unable to do anything about it. The unfortunate side effect is, you’ll permanently lose your voice.”

“Oh God! Why?”

“It’ll make traveling a little easier for you.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“Someplace where others will deal with you.”

Before Nick could say another word, Quinn plunged the needle into his arm. After that, it was only a few seconds before the drug took effect.

•  •  •

For the second night in a row, Quinn went to Taste of Siam for dinner. This time, when he came in, Natt eyed him warily from the bar.

“
Sawadee khrap
,” he said to her as he sat down.

“
Sawadee ka
,” she replied somewhat reluctantly.

“Singha, please. And I’ll go for the
pad kee mao
tonight. Extra spicy.”

“Okay, Khun Jonathan. Whatever you want.”

As she retreated to the kitchen, Quinn looked around the restaurant. It was a little earlier in the evening than it had been the previous night, so there were fewer customers. The karaoke hadn’t started up, and he didn’t see Ice anywhere. For a few minutes he wondered if maybe she had the night off or had decided not to come in at all, worried that Nick might return. Then he heard the restroom door open at the back of the other half of the restaurant, and a few seconds later, she walked down the aisle to the karaoke machine.

He watched as she started setting everything up. When she finally noticed him, she froze, a worried look on her face. Apparently Natt had told her about their conversation outside the kitchen. He waved her to come over, but she stayed where she was.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Just for a minute.”

Natt came out of the kitchen, grabbed a beer out of the cooler and carried it over to Quinn. Seeing her friend behind the bar seemed to break Ice’s resistance, and she came over and joined them.

He looked at Ice. “You can go back to your apartment now.”

“No,” she said. “Cannot. He might—”

“He won’t.”

She stared at him, her look telling him she wanted to believe what he said, but unsure if she could.

“Never?” Natt asked.

“Never. Neither of you will ever see him again.”

“He move away?” Ice asked, still confused.

“Yes. He moved away.”

Finally, he could feel some of Ice’s tension dissipate.

“You sure?” she asked.

“One hundred percent.”

The corner of her mouth curled up just a bit. “Okay,” she said, her tone still cautious. “I believe you.”

He glanced at Natt. She looked relieved. No doubt she’d been worried about whether she should have talked to him at all. “I believe you, too,” she said.

Later, when Ice was back at the karaoke machine, singing and smiling and laughing, Natt leaned across the bar and whispered, “You not just say that to make Ice happy, are you?”

“No. I said it because it’s true.”

She was silent for a moment. “What kind of man are you?”

He shrugged.

She locked eyes with his, her gaze boring deep into him. Finally, the trace of smile began to form on her face. “I know answer. You good man,” she said, then wandered off.

Once he’d finished eating and drained the last of his beer, Quinn said, “Check, please.”

“No check,” Natt said.

He looked at her, confused. “What do you mean?”

“You no pay.”

“That’s not necessary. I want to.”

“Nick really gone?”

“He’s gone.”

“Then you no pay.”

Knowing he would never change her mind, he pulled a twenty out of his pocket and put it by his plate.

“I tell you, you no pay,” Natt said, picking up the twenty and holding it out to him.

“Tip,” he said.

She frowned for a moment. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay,” she said, her frown turning playful. “
Khob khun ka.
”

A curious thing happened as he stood up. The two other waitresses ran over, put their hands together and bowed their heads in a traditional
wai
, and said, “Thank you for coming.”

As this was going on, Ice handed the karaoke mic to a customer and hurried over.

“You leaving?” she asked.

“Yes,” he told her.

“Come back soon, okay?”

 “I will,” he said.

She gave him a deep, respectful
wai
. “
Khob khun ka,
Khun Jonathan.”

He retuned the
wai,
then headed outside. If his mentor Durrie had still been around and known what he’d just done, he would have been shaking his head. “Didn’t you listen to anything I taught you?” he would have said. “Never use your training to help someone on the outside! What do you say to that?”

But as much as Durrie had taught him, there were some rules Quinn discovered he could only use as guidelines. This one, it turned out, was one of those.

“Khun Jonathan.”

Quinn looked back. Natt had just come out the front door.

“I told you it’s a tip,” he said.

“I know is tip. I keep tip, no problem.”

He waited, seeing there was something else she wanted to say.

“Where he go?” she asked. “Where he go that he not come back?”

Quinn looked west down Sunset Boulevard. By the time Natt and Ice got off work at four in the morning, Nick would be at his destination. It seemed fitting that Quinn had sent him to Thailand. An hour after Nick was set up in a hotel room in Bangkok, just about the time his paralysis would begin to wear off, the police would come knocking at his door.

Well, not knocking. Barging in. That’s what they did when they got a tip that a major foreign drug smuggler was in town. In Nick’s luggage, they’d find the drugs planted by Quinn’s contacts in Thailand, more than enough to put Nick in a Thai prison for the rest of his life. Which seemed like a fair trade-off for the life he had been leading.

Quinn looked back at Natt, gave her a smile and a
wai
, then walked down the street toward his car.