Max - Bey Deckard Page 0,47
got involved with someone like that.
Pacing back and forth in front of the bathroom door, Crane thought about how they could raise ten thousand dollars in two days. He was almost completely broke, but he had good credit—if Max couldn’t get the money from his parents, Crane could take out a small bank loan.
He stopped in his tracks, his head cocked towards the door, his face slack with disbelief. Max was singing. Again he had that small tingle at the back of his mind, a whisper of premonition that not all was what it seemed. He rubbed his face, his stomach in knots.
I need a drink.
In the living room, Crane poured himself some whisky and sat down on the couch, confused and most likely suffering from shock. He sipped at his drink and waited for Max to finish his shower.
The room was dark when Crane woke up, his head full of cotton and his mouth foul. His glass was on its side on the couch cushion, whisky puddled in a depression in the white leather.
“What the hell?” he muttered, wincing as he sat up. “Max?” There was no response, and when he got up to look around, he found he was alone. What happened? Had Vinny’s men come back? Where was Max? What was going on?
Suddenly the room lit up in blue, then pink, and he heard the rat-a-tat-tat boom… BOOM of fireworks from outside. At least it meant that it was still Sunday—the fireworks marked the end of some exhibit at the science centre, and Max and he had planned on watching them from the roof.
He stood up and walked to the huge windows facing the water and squinted as three huge white spheres bloomed high above, fading to a crackling orange that fell like willow boughs towards the water. It was only when he turned around to avoid an even brighter flash he realized the living room carpet was missing. Brow furrowed, he turned on the light and noticed Max’s laptop and big monitors were also gone. Bewildered, he walked over to the bedroom corner and saw that Max’s clothes were gone from the mess on the floor.
What… the… hell… Crane felt sick to his stomach, panic setting in. He stumbled through the living room and out the door, running towards the stairs at the end of the hall. When he got to the roof, there were a few people sitting on lawn chairs, watching the fireworks, but none of them was Max. Pulse speeding, he raced back downstairs and looked around for his cellphone. As soon as he found it, he called Max’s number. It rang once and an automated message informed him both in French and English that the number had been disconnected.
He sat down heavily on the bed, staring at the cellphone in his hand. It didn’t make any fucking sense. Why would Vinny’s men take his clothes if they kidnapped him?
Unless, of course, that wasn’t what happened.
Slowly, he made his way through the apartment, looking for signs of Max. There was nothing. Not even his toothbrush remained in the bathroom. It was as if Max had packed up all of his belongings and simply… left. That couldn’t be it, could it?
Then a yellow square on the wall next to the projector switch stopped him in his tracks. The Post-it had “watch me” scrawled on it. With an unsteady hand, he reached out and flicked the switch. Instantly, the projector started playing something, and Crane stared wide-eyed at the brightening picture on the wall.
Max stared into the camera, his forehead wrinkled, and cleared his throat a few times. The image was slightly out of focus, and it was murky, like it had been shot in low resolution on a phone. Around Max, the background lightened a bit, then went dark and grainy.
“I said I would protect you,” Max said, hunching towards the camera. He spoke in a quiet, tense voice and kept glancing behind him, one hand smoothing back his hair in a nervous sort of way. He seemed odd and twitchy. “This… This is your chance,” Max continued in a hoarse whisper. The background went bright again in big pixelated squares, and then the video cut to a shocking few seconds of Crane on his knees with a laughing man thrusting into him from behind in choppy slow motion. The man wore a devil’s mask, but even though the image was janky and out of focus, Crane could see the black and white ouroborus