Time passed, yet in my panic I couldn’t say how much. Finally—Stop it, my inner voice told me. Just stop it. I rested against the trunk floor; the vibration and noise of the moving car became a rumble in my stomach. Think it through.
I started with Why. Why was this happening to me? I couldn’t answer that question without knowing Who. Who were these men who so efficiently snatched me from my bed? Professionals, obviously. Yet who hired them? I had many enemies, acquired back in my days as a cop and more recently as a kind of knight-errant doing favors for friends. Plenty of them would be happy to see me dead. Except, if that was the case, why the Taser? Why not a twelve-gauge sawed-off? Maybe it was a kidnapping for ransom—I had enough money to make it worthwhile. However, I had no family, no friends with access to my funds. There was no one to pay a ransom. Which brought me to What. I had been kidnapped, manacled, and locked in the trunk of a speeding car with no one to help me, that’s what.
So, what are you going to do about it?
I tried to calm myself, slow my respiration, slow my pulse. It became easier when I realized that the kidnappers had made a mistake. They cuffed my hands in front of me instead of behind. That allowed me to work my fingers along the edge of the trunk lid, frantically searching for a release catch. There wasn’t any, but if I could find something to slip between the lid and the base … The compartment was large enough for me to roll over, and I began searching for a tire iron or jack. I found neither. Nor was there a spare.
I lay in the darkness. My thoughts were slanting toward despair.
There’s no way out, I told myself.
There is always a way, my inner voice said.
“There’s no way out,” I said aloud.
Quitters never win and winners never quit.
“This isn’t a goddamn hockey game.”
Think it through.
“Goddamn, sonuvabitch … Hey.”
Taillights. A car has taillights. How do you gain access to the taillights should a bulb burn out? Through the trunk.
I reached in darkness for the wall of the trunk and eagerly followed it to the corner. I continued to explore with my fingers until I located a small plastic panel. I felt a recessed tab. I dug my fingers into it and pried the panel off. Suddenly there was light. It came in the color red and filtered through the taillight lens. It allowed me to see a metal bracket and the hard plastic assembly that it held in place. Wires led to the back of the assembly and gave juice to the lightbulbs. I grabbed hold of the wires, considered yanking them out, and then thought better of it. If I damaged the taillights, the driver would know the first time he used his turn signal. Instead, I took a firm grip on the back of the light assembly and twisted counterclockwise. It was hard work at that angle, yet I finally managed to give it a half turn, popped the assembly free, and dropped it inside the trunk. I was so pleased with what I had done, I maneuvered my body around in the cramped space so that I could get at the other taillight. This one was more difficult—I was forced to use my left hand—but I eventually removed the assembly. For practical purposes, the car no longer had taillights or signal lights. Maybe a county cop or highway patrolman would notice—the car was moving at a steady pace that seemed fast to me, so I guessed we were on a highway or freeway. The lack of lights might even cause an accident. I had no real desire to be in a trunk during a rear-end collision, yet at that moment I would have settled for anything.
Now what?
I decided it would be nice if I could bust off the taillight lens, ease my hand through the opening, and wave it about. Certainly that would attract the attention of other drivers—the morning rush hour should begin soon, I reminded myself. Except I couldn’t reach the lens; the metal bracket was in the way. I yanked hard; it was welded firmly to the frame of the car. If I had a tire iron I could punch the lens out through the hole in the bracket, only that took me back to where I started.