Max - Bey Deckard Page 0,48

tattoo on his chest. Max’s face flickered back onto the screen. “Go. Now. Go now. Quick. Yeah. I said I would protect you. This is me protecting you.” Max stopped talking and blinked rapidly a few times, looking off to the right for a moment. “You’d better go. He’s not what you think he is. It’s not right what he’s going to—” Then the video went dark.

Crane stared at the blank wall for a few seconds, the blood singing in his ears. Then he calmly turned the switch off and back on again, hoping to trigger the video, but all that happened was a loud pop followed by some acrid black smoke pouring from the projector. Hurriedly, he cut the power to it and ran to the kitchen to find the fire extinguisher.

When he was sure that nothing was left smouldering, he rescued the one blanket that was mostly dry, and dragged it to the living room where he wrapped it around himself. He sat down on the couch and noticed the empty glass again. He’d been drugged… He was sure of it now. How, it wasn’t clear. Had Max done it?

Why? Why? Why? went the chorus in his mind.

And who was the young man in the video if the “he” he was referring to was Max? Was that Eddie? Crane curled up on his side on the cold leather and pulled the blanket up over his head. Outside, the firework display was concluding with the customary ebullient finale, and Crane covered his ears and squeezed his eyes shut.

The young man in the video had said to go… but go where? Where was there to go? Crane had nothing left—nothing except for Max.

He’ll be back, Crane thought. He has to come back. There’s got to be an explanation.

Monday, November 14th

Crane woke in a panic. A bright light shone in his eyes, and there were voices jabbering all around him. For a moment, he thought Vinny’s men had come back, but then he noticed the flack vests and guns and realized he was surrounded by police. One man barked something at him in French, and when Crane didn’t react, not understanding the order, the man grabbed him by the arm and wrenched him off the couch to the floor.

Terrified and confused, Crane lay on his stomach and put his hands behind his head, just like in the movies. He was so lightheaded, he thought he would pass out. “Anglais!” he yelled. “Anglais! English! Please… Someone tell me what’s going on?”

“Dennis Crane, you’re under arrest,” said what sounded like an older man. He spoke English with only a trace of an accent.

“But… for what? I don’t understand.”

There was a momentary pause, as if the man couldn’t believe Crane didn’t know. “You’re under arrest for the kidnap, torture, and repeated sexual assault of Édouard Duvernay.” The man gave a brusque order in French, and Crane was handcuffed and hauled to his feet. He stared dazedly at the man arresting him, convinced this was some crazy nightmare.

“I… don’t know who that is…” he stammered, but he did.

Of course he did.

13

The Long Game

Monday, November 14th

Crane groaned quietly and closed his eyes. His head throbbed from a combination of hangover, stress, hunger, and the too-bright fluorescents overhead. He’d been at the police station for over nine hours now, but only two people had spoken to him so far, and neither had been forthcoming about why he was being held. He was handcuffed but not attached to the metal table in any way—he could get up and walk around the small room if he wanted to, but every time he did, the men and women milling around in the offices beyond stopped to stare at him. He couldn’t even close the blinds if he wanted to—they were on the other side of the glass.

“Édouard Duvernay,” he whispered, getting a feel for the name. Not Max. He wondered whether Édouard Duvernay had a middle name. Was it Max? Maximus? Maxwell? Probably something more French. He glanced up at the big window and saw the man who had arrested him was deep in conversation with three other men in suits, a big blue file folder open between them. As one, they suddenly turned to look at him. Crane’s heart sank. Their expressions were anything but friendly. The older police officer nodded to the others and closed the folder before picking up his cup of coffee and walking towards the brightly lit room where Crane was being held.

“Do you need