The Passenger by Jack Ketchum Page A

you understand
me? Do you see the problem here?”
    Emil nodded toward Marion.
    “Sir, this one in particular. Have
somebody try her out, that’s all I’m asking. She’s a little crazy, see? She’ll
do anything. You don’t think you can use her? Fine, no car. We’ll figure out
something in the morning.”
    “Hey, Emil,” Marion said, “screw you!”
    “That’s all I’m asking, sir.”
    “Fuck you ,
Emil!”
    She turned on her heel and went for the
door, turned the knob. Twisted it. Shook the door and pounded it. “What have
you got to lose, sir?” Emil said.
    “You fucking prick! Open the fucking
door!” she yelled to the guard outside. She turned to Emil. ‘Tell him to open
the fucking door! ”
    Thaw leaned back in his chair and sighed.
Marion twisted at the knob one last time and then she was moving fast across
the room to the glass double doors to the widow’s walk beyond, and to Janet it
looked like she just might kick the damn things in in order to get out of there. Thaw stood up from his chair and shouted.
    “ Big !”
    The glass doors parted and Marion stopped
dead in her tracks. The man standing in front of her was big all right—as big
as a goddamn bear and looked easily as dangerous. She recognized the long
square jaw and scraggly beard. The arms beneath the cutoff sleeves of his faded
denim shirt were easily as wide as her thigh. A massive chest tapered down to
an almost graceful waist. Six-foot-six,
320 pounds , she remembered. “Big ”
Micah Harpe. In person.
    He didn’t move.
    He didn’t have to.
    And seeing him there finally after having
searched for him ever since arriving scared the hell out of her and made her
heart leap all at once. With Micah Harpe it would be all or nothing. She’d
known that from the very start.
    Thaw sat down again and leaned back in
his chair.
    “You heard?” he said.
    “I heard a talking asshole, sure. How
about you?”
    Harpe’s voice had a Kentucky twang to it
that surprisingly was not at all unpleasant.
    “About the same, Big. About the same. I’m
wondering, though. Is Mr. Harrison still here?”
    “Downstairs, I think.”
    “Downstairs?”
    “Think he was planning to stay awhile.”
    “You might try him, then. If he’s happy,
perhaps we can accommodate these gentlemen. If not...”
    “Will do.”
    He took a single step toward Marion,
reached out and wrapped his huge hand in her hair and pulled her toward him. Then
he turned to Emil, released her hair and shoved her at him like a kid would
pass a basketball and with no more effort.
    “You’re the one trading here,” he said.
“You handle her.”
     
    * * *
     
    The waiting was making Alan crazy. He
guessed it wasn’t doing Frommer a lot of good either. The man kept lighting one
cigarette after another. A couple of puffs and he’d stub it out and a couple
minutes later light another. It was as though he wanted to smoke but was determined to be smokeless if and when any
news came through. The roadblock was one of dozens throughout the area but
standing at this one felt like being all alone in the world, cut off from
everybody and everything, waiting for a train that was never going to pull on
in.
    “I don’t get it,” Frommer said. “Homes
are pretty few and far between around here and we’ve pretty much covered them
all. We’ve got the roadblocks set and we’ve checked the access roads for miles
damn near to the state line. We’ve got enough highway patrol units working
these mountains to flush out a jackrabbit. They can hide overnight in the woods
but the car sure can’t. So how come I’m doing everything right and they’re
still not showing?” He lit another smoke. “You maybe thinking what I’m
thinking?”
    He
was.
    “Hole-in-the-Wall,” Alan said.
    “We’ll need a warrant. Know any judges
who are early risers?”
    “As a matter of fact I do,” he said.
    A year ago he’d slept with her. Janet
never knew.
     
    * * *
     
    Now , she thought, it’s got to be