Max - Bey Deckard Page 0,58
It was the huge man with the burn scars. Matty started to place the cover over the bin and paused, a smile on his face. “Good luck, Doc. Sorry ’bout the thing with the fingers earlier. I wouldn’a done it. Just sayin’.” Without another word, he sealed Crane into the coffin-like space, and a moment later, Crane felt himself lift off the ground, the bin swaying as the two men grappled with it. There was a long sliding noise followed by a thump… then absolute silence. It was cold and pitch dark, and Crane was half out of his mind with hope and fear. He began to wonder if “Eddie” had orchestrated this, unbeknownst to Max, to keep his promise of safety.
Yeah, and maybe I’m completely insane. He clutched the blanket, barely able to move in the confined space, and started to recite the list of philias he’d memorized back in school under his breath to keep himself calm.
When at last the truck started up with a grumbly roar that startled him, he knew he’d lost all concept of time. How long had he been waiting? Ten minutes? An hour? Two? He let out a slow breath, shivering, and then had to keep himself from panicking again when he thought about how little air he probably had left.
The truck bumped along the road, taking a turn here and there, stopping occasionally. Every stop that lasted longer than a traffic light sent Crane’s heart racing, wondering if he was at his destination. Finally, there was a thump and a loud creak, and the storage bin was slid out from wherever it was in the truck, tipping Crane on his head for a second before it dropped to the ground, forcing the air from Crane’s lungs. At least a minute passed when nothing happened, and Crane wondered what he was supposed to do. Then a car horn sounded, spurring him into motion. Startled, he pushed on the lid and sat up.
In a daze, he looked around. He was in a dimly lit warehouse, judging by the piles of wooden crates at one end of it, and there was a bright-yellow car, a Mustang, he guessed, parked nearby. Seated in the driver’s side was a woman with long reddish hair and big smoky-tinted glasses. She smiled at him and waved.
“Come on, sweetheart. We really should be off.”
Frowning, Crane stood carefully, his legs numb from the long cold trip in the dark, and took a step towards the car.
“Do… I know you?” he asked, but then he let out a choked groan when the woman lifted her glasses and gave Crane a saucy wink.
“Come on, Doc,” Max said with an eye roll. “We’ve got things to do, places to see.” He was clean shaven and wore subtle smoky makeup around his eyes and no colour on his lips. Though his brows were still the thick dark slashes they’d always been, they looked nothing but sophisticated beneath the sweep of smooth auburn across his forehead.
As Crane approached, speechless, he saw that Max wore a simple form-fitting charcoal-grey dress with short sleeves and a turtleneck collar, and that he had made no attempt to give the illusion of breasts. It made him look like an elegant if rather flat-chested young model.
“Get in the car, Dennis,” Max purred, dropping his glasses back on his nose.
“I’m not going with you,” breathed Crane, surprising himself. He retreated a few steps, his fists balled at his sides, holding his ground.
“Of course you are, silly. You’ve just escaped from prison, you haven’t a penny to your name, and you have no idea where you are. What do you think they’re going to do to you if they find you? You’re a kidnapper and rapist and a murderer, Doc. And you’ve flown the coop! Hurray! Now get in the fucking car.” Max started the Mustang and revved the engine impatiently.
Disheartened, Crane knew Max was right. Eyes averted, he slid into the passenger’s seat. Max reached over and Crane flinched, but Max simply deposited a plastic bag in his lap, then dropped his shades into the centre console, threw the car in reverse, and spun out of the warehouse. As they raced along the empty highway, Crane looked in the bag. There was a black and white bowling shirt, a peaked tweed cap, long black cargo shorts, and a pair of grey boat shoes.
“Put them on,” instructed Max, checking his rear-view. “Then put your prison gear in the bag.”
It was awkward to get