large man in a Hawaiian shirt Wil couldn’t bear to wake. At first, the restroom had appeared closed for cleaning, but the janitor had removed the sign and Wil had jagged toward it gratefully. He had reached the urinal, unzipped, experienced relief.
The door had opened. A tall man in a beige coat had come in. There were half a dozen free urinals, Wil at one end, but the man chose the one beside him. Moments passed and the tall man did not pee. Wil, emptying at high velocity, felt a twinge of compassion. He had been there. The door had opened again. A second man entered and locked the door.
Wil had put himself back in his pants. He had looked at the man beside him, thinking—this was funny, in retrospect—that whatever was happening here, whatever specific danger was implied by a man entering a public restroom and fucking locking it, at least Wil and the tall man were in it together. At least it was two against one. Then he had realized Shy Bladder Guy’s eyes were calm and deep and kind of beautiful, actually, but the key point being calm as in unsurprised, and Shy Bladder Guy had seized his head and propelled him into the wall.
Then the pain, and questions.
“Have to get this blood out of his hair,” said the short man. He attacked Wil’s face with paper towels. “His eye looks terrible.”
“If they get close enough to see his eyes, we have bigger problems.” The tall man was wiping his hands with a small white cloth, giving attention to each finger. He was thin and dark-skinned and Wil was no longer finding his eyes quite so beautiful. He was getting more of a cold, soulless kind of vibe. Like those eyes could watch terrible things and not look away. “So, Wil, you with us? You can walk and talk?”
“Fuck,” he said, “orrffff.” It didn’t come out like he meant. His head felt loose.
“Good,” said the tall man. “So here’s the deal. We need to get out of this airport in minimum time with minimum fuss. I want your cooperation with that. If I fail to receive it, I’m going to make things bad for you. Not because I have anything against you, particularly, but I need you motivated. Do you understand?”
“I’m not . . .” He searched for the word. Rich? Kidnappable? “Anybody. I’m a carpenter. I make decks. Balconies. Gazebos.”
“Yes, that’s why we’re here, your inimitable work with gazebos. You can forget the act. We know who you are. And they know who you are, and they’re here, so let’s get the fuck out while we can.”
He took a moment to choose his words, because he had the feeling he would get only one more shot at this. “My name is Wil Parke. I’m a carpenter. I have a girlfriend and she’s waiting out front to pick me up. I don’t know who you think I am, or why you stuck a . . . a thing in my eye, but I’m nobody. I promise you I’m nobody.”
The short man had been packing equipment into a brown satchel, and now he slung it around one shoulder and peered into Wil’s face. He had thinning hair and anxious brows. Wil might have pegged him for an accountant, ordinarily.
“I tell you what,” Wil said. “I’ll go into a stall and close the door. Twenty minutes. I’ll wait twenty minutes. It’ll be like we never met.”
The short man glanced at the tall man.
“I’m not the guy,” Wil said. “I am not the guy.”
“The problem with that little plan, Wil,” said the tall man, “is that if you stay here, in twenty minutes you’ll be dead. If you go to your girlfriend, who I’m sorry to say you can no longer trust, you’ll also be dead. If you do anything other than come with us now, quickly and cooperatively, again, I’m afraid, dead. It may not seem like it, but we are the only people who can save you from that.” His eyes searched Wil’s. “I can see, though, that you’re not finding this very persuasive, so let me switch to a more direct method.” He held open his coat. Nestled against his side, nose