Woke Up Lonely A Novel - By Fiona Maazel Page 0,144

of his life! He must be important.

“I wasn’t suggesting we waltz out the front door,” Bruce said, all casual, not wanting to betray the lusty and viselike grip he was prepared to exert on this man if he didn’t play along.

Norman seemed to perk up a little. “There’s the tunnels,” he said.

Good, good. The tunnels. They’d be found, of course, but not before Bruce was able to eke from their time together a little trust and the golden promise of exclusive rights and access.

“After you,” Bruce said. And then, “I’m Bruce, by the way. And if you’re wondering why I don’t just walk out of here without you, it’s because—” Though here he stopped. Norman was not listening, and this was fine. At least he’d gotten his name. Norman Sugg, chief of staff for Thurlow Dan, VP, second in command—jackpot.

They went to the basement, and as Norman was keying in a pass code, he said, “I guess I could live down here indefinitely. That wouldn’t be so bad.” He leaned his forehead into the metal of the door, which was more slab than door, and started to cry again, only without the purposed and cleansing intensity of before.

Bruce was beginning to see something of his wife in this man and was determined not to make the same mistakes. And so: whatever instinct tells you to say, say the opposite.

“Why don’t we just take a break here for a second. It might help if you talked about it.”

“Don’t make fun of me. I’ve been through enough.”

“I’m not making fun of you. What do you mean?”

Norman finished with the pass code—it was an incredibly long sequence; who could remember a sequence that long?—and waited for the door to open with obvious impatience because, where five seconds ago he was ready to languish and die, now he was energized with disdain for Bruce Bollinger.

“Here,” Norman said, and he gave Bruce a hard hat with a light and reflector strips. “I need for you to stay safe.”

Bruce nodded. Their dynamic seemed to redefine itself at a clip. It was hard to keep up. Maybe Norman thought he’d win points for good governance of the kidnapped? Bruce was running out of time. He imagined SWAT fanned out in the tunnels and waiting for them at every turn. He imagined Norman giving him the slip. He certainly seemed to know the tunnels well, never stopping at the forks or Ts. If only Bruce were half as confident. There were so many inroads into a man’s trust. Be innocent, friendly, unafraid, curious. Ask about his family. His history with the Helix. Keep it local: So, what are your dinner plans? Ask questions that imply faith in the subject’s good heart. He was still debating the right way in when they heard footsteps, or at least the suck-squish of feet in the mulch that passed for flooring in this place.

Bruce spun around to rake his light across the walls, looking for where to hide. Norman was unbothered. Bruce nipped his sleeve and tried to pull him from the center of the gangway. The suck-squish got closer, and with it the sound of two men who were, whatever they were, not SWAT. Bruce let out a whistle that died in fear because there were actually worse people to encounter in a tunnel than SWAT. The men were discussing oil revenue stymied by the Iraq war and laughing at this nonsense. They’d never been so rich.

Oh, right, naturally: The tunnels were witness to oil magnates in bathrobes and flip-flops.

Bruce could hear them chuckling well past seeing their lights retire. “Do I even want to know?” he said.

“You’ll catch on,” Norman said. And with that, they reached a door. A door back to the world where everyone wanted what Bruce had.

“No, wait,” he said, and he slapped Norman’s hand away from the intercom button and, for good measure, put himself in the way of the button, which had assumed for him the ruinous potential of the Red Button.

“Oh good,” Norman said, “I deserve this,” and he upturned his face and closed his eyes, waiting, it seemed, to be struck. So there it was. Strike a man and you own that man.

“Maybe I can level with you,” Bruce said. “Maybe that’s the best way to go here.”

Norman narrowed his eyes and pushed Bruce out of the way with a single have-at-him. This man was incredible. Good-bye sheep, hello wolf. The door swung open just long enough for Bruce to pick himself off