I heard a muffled voice. “Look at this. Do you believe this?” An unseen hand jiggled the lug wrench and pushed it back into the trunk.
“Now we know why that asshole flipped us the bird back there,” a second voice said.
I pulled my shorts up.
Knuckles rapped on the trunk lid. “Hey, McKenzie. Do you hear me?”
“I hear you,” I said. What else was I going to do, pretend I wasn’t there?
“We’re going to pop the trunk. Don’t do anything stupid, okay? We don’t want to have to Taser you again.” Apparently he expected a reply, because he rapped on the trunk lid again and said, “Did you hear me?”
“I heard you.”
There was a popping sound, and the trunk opened. Harsh sunlight flooded the compartment. I brought my hands up to shield my eyes.
“Roll out of there.” The tall one was speaking. The short one was standing off to the side. He had a clear shot of me with his Taser.
“Who are you guys?” I said.
“C’mon, c’mon, we have a long way to go yet.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see when we get there.”
“Is it a secret?”
“Get out of the trunk.”
I managed to swing my legs over the edge and, as the man said, rolled out of there, using the back of the car to leverage myself more or less into a standing position—my legs were weak and uncertain. I looked around. We were in a small clearing surrounded by poplar trees. A dirt road led away from the clearing. There was another car, a Ford Taurus, parked ten yards away and facing the road. The car had South Dakota plates. There were no buildings and no sound of traffic.
“We expected you to be rolled up into a ball and weeping like a child by now,” the short man said. “We underestimated you.”
“I’ll say,” said the taller man. “Turn around, McKenzie. Go ’head.”
I turned.
The shorter man pressed the business end of the Taser against the small of my back. “Don’t even think of moving,” he said.
“What should I call you guys?”
“Lord and Master.”
“Which is which?”
“Hold your hands out,” the taller man said. I did what he told me. He reached across with a tool that reminded me of small wire cutters except it didn’t have any sharp edges. He hooked the cutter over the nylon straps and severed them. The cuffs fell away. “Put your hands behind your back.”
“What is this all about?” I asked.
“Hands behind your back.”
The shorter man nudged my spine with the Taser. “You heard him,” he said.
I did what the taller man told me, and he recuffed my wrists, properly this time. “C’mon,” he said.
The shorter man stepped backward, but didn’t lower the Taser, as the taller man spun me around. He pushed me toward the Taurus. I nearly stumbled but managed to keep my feet. When we reached the rear of the car, the taller man popped the trunk.
“Inside,” he said.
“Why are you taking me to South Dakota?” I said.
The two kidnappers exchanged surprised glances as if I had guessed a deep, dark secret.
“C’mon, fellas,” I said. “You can tell me. Why are you doing this?”
“For the money, why else?” said the smaller man.
“What money?”
“The reward.”
“Reward?”
“Five thousand dollars.”
“Plus expenses,” said the taller man.
“For what? What did I do?”
“We didn’t ask.”
There was about ten minutes of rough roads and me bouncing up and down, landing painfully on my hands and shoulders, before the ride smoothed out. I assumed we were on the freeway again heading God knew where at high speed. I felt the turns; they were wide and gradual.