False Witness by Randy Singer Page B

wired into my account immediately,” Clark said.
    â€œWe’ll pay you at his next court appearance, Mr. Shealy. That’s the way it works.”
    â€œI need an advance.”
    â€œWe’re a bonding company, not a bank.”
    Clark demanded to talk with Mr. Russo, the owner of the company. Clark explained to Russo that he had blown out Chin’s kneecap. “If I turn him over to the authorities, it could be trouble,” Clark explained. “Lots of questions about reasonable force, how much Chin resisted—you know the routine.
    â€œIf I just let him go, it would take care of a big headache for me,” Clark continued, “though you might stand to lose one and a half million if somebody else doesn’t pick him up.”
    By the end of the phone call, Russo Bonding Company had agreed to wire half the bounty—seventy-five thousand—as a refundable deposit for capturing Chin. Clark still wasn’t close to a million, but he had quickly accumulated enough money to at least entice Hargrove into a meeting. Even if Harry the banker didn’t come through with the three hundred thousand Clark had requested, Clark would have enough money to get his foot in the door. Brute force or a loaded Glock should do the rest.
    In the passenger seat, Chin’s breathing had become more irregular and strained. He gagged a few times and fell silent. Clark immediately pulled over, checked for a pulse, and removed Chin’s gag. The hit man was alive and breathing, but he was out cold.
    Clark pulled back onto the highway and drove like a madman, powering the Caddy through turns and around Vegas traffic. With one eye on the road, Clark reached over and programmed the GPS system for the nearest hospital.
    He would dump his captive off at the emergency room exit, flash a badge, explain that Chin had violated his bond, and tell the hospital security guard to keep an eye on Chin until the feds arrived. Clark would immediately call Magdalena and tell her there had been a change in plans. She could pick Chin up at the hospital. But Clark wouldn’t stick around to meet with her—rescuing Jessica would be a one-man show once again. The feds would only mess things up, panic Huang Xu, and maybe get Jessica killed.
    Clark couldn’t afford to get bogged down in hours of questioning and mind-numbing federal procedures right now. He had turned to the feds as a last resort. But with the call from Hargrove, everything had changed. Kumari was in the backseat of Hargrove’s car less than forty-five minutes away.
    When he called, Hargrove had demanded that Clark wire a million into Hargrove’s account before they met. But Clark had calmly refused. “You don’t get a penny until I confirm that it’s Kumari,” he said. “Standard operating procedure.”
    Reluctantly, Hargrove agreed. He selected the turf—a paved parking lot across the street from the Green Valley Ranch Casino, an upscale resort in Henderson.
    Time still ticked by unmercifully fast, but Clark suddenly felt energized. This wasn’t the caffeine-laced fear he had been living on for the last twenty-four hours; it was something more substantial now. Adrenaline. And a twinge of hope. He wasn’t in control—far from it—but he had drawn a few aces.
    Yet he still needed a few more. His stopwatch read 24:47:36. And the minutes continued to disappear, as if on fire.

17
    Waiting was never Clark’s strong suit. But now, with every second potentially meaning the difference between torture or release for Jessica, he was going insane. He sat in the driver’s seat of the Cadillac, engine running, his loaded gun next to him. His leg bounced with nervous energy.
    He was parked in the lot across the street from the Green Valley Ranch Casino, just as Hargrove had instructed. From the northwest corner of the lot, he could still see the city of Las Vegas, its skyline barely visible on the hazy