Palindrome by Stuart Woods Page B

breathe again. He sucked in air, and, when he was about to yell, the arm tightened around his neck. "Not a sound," a voice said, close to his ear. "You make a noise, and I'll break your neck." Al scrambled for a toehold, but there was nothing under him but air. He wedged his hands between the arm and his neck and tried to pull it away, but he couldn't budge it.
    "Where is she?" the voice said.
    "What?" Al managedz to reply. The arm tightened again, and the hand went over his mouth and nose. Half a minute passed as he struggled, then he was allowed to breathe again.
    "I'm going to ask you just once more, and unless I like the answer..."
    "What do you want to know?" Al managed. He was becoming very frightened; he tried to think of a way to stall. Jesus, he was in a busy hotel; somebody had to come.
    "Where is the bitch? Tell me where she is, and I'll let you go. Otherwise.. ." He put the hand over Al's mouth and nose again. Al, in spite of his terror, was beginning to think; he had enough air to hold his breath for a few seconds. This guy had a hundred pounds on him, but there was one place he might be vulnerable. Al couldn't get to his crotch the way he was being held, but there was one place. He felt backward with his feet, ran his heels up the other man's legs. Then he brought his right knee up nearly to his chest and drove his heel down hard into Ramsey's knee. This time, it was Ramsey who made the noise, an angry grunt, followed by a low, continuous growl. Al became a little tiger, squirming, reaching back for his captor's eyes, driving elbows backward, anything he could do to hurt the man. The hand left his face, and he was able to get a breath. Then, suddenly, the arm went from around his neck, and Al tried desperately to run, but a hand grabbed his suit collar and spun him around. He was facing Ramsey now, and he went for the eyes again. Then Ramsey hit him. Al took the punch in the upper abdomen, just below the solar plexus. He folded in half and fell to the tile poolside, clutching his belly, gasping for air. He might have been paralyzed, so difficult was it for him to move. Ramsey stood, looking down at him. "Now, you're going to tell me where she is," he said, and he was smiling. Al had just managed to get a tiny breath, when he found himself hoisted by his feet, facing Ramsey. He tried to shout, tried to move, but the pain in his middle was too much. Now he was being carried toward the pool. Knowing what was coming, he struggled wildly; then he was in the pool to his waist, upside down. He had precious little air in his lungs, and, with his failing strength, he tried to stop himself from inhaling water. He was ten years old again, drowning at the neighborhood pool, held under by two bigger boys. It was his worst nightmare. Then he was out of the pool, hanging upside down, just over the water. "One last time," Ramsey said. "Tell me." 
    Al was terrified, but his response to fear was to fight. "Fuck you," he sputtered. Ramsey wouldn't kill him here, not in this place. "Fuck you," he repeated. "You don't have the guts to kill me, you muscle freak faggot!"
    Then Baker Ramsey put Al Schaefer back into the pool.

CHAPTER 13
    Liz was driving through the woods south of Lake Whitney when the road crossed an earthen dike, and something caught her eye. She stopped the Jeep and walked quietly, slowly, back onto the dike. The creatures had not moved. On a mud bank below the dike were arrayed at least a dozen baby alligators, none longer than about fifteen inches, she reckoned.
    She returned to the Jeep and started unloading equipment. She chose the 4 X 5 Deardorff field camera and a heavy, wooden tripod, then grabbed her big bag, full of lenses and sheet film. She practically tiptoed back onto the dike and started looking for the best vantage point, which involved edging slowly down the bank of the dike toward the water. She stopped. A large log floated in the water a few feet from where she stood. Where there are little