Free Home by Harlan Coben Page B

bastard—”
    “Quiet, Lester.” Fat Gandhi turned back toward Myron. “So?”
    “So the phone wasn’t jammed when I arrived. My people know I’m here. They’ll be waiting outside. You send the two boys out; they’ll pick them up. Easy, right?”
    Myron gave them all Smile 19: The “We’re All Friends Here” deluxe.
    Fat Gandhi stuck his hand out. “Give me the bag, please.”
    “Give me the kids.”
    He waved his chubby hand, his bracelet tight on his wrist, and the big flat-screen on the wall lit up.
    “Happy?”
    It was the cell again. The two boys were seated on the floor, their knees up, their heads down.
    “Where are they?”
    Fat Gandhi’s smile felt like a dozen snakes running down your back.
    “I’ll show you. Wait here, please.”
    Fat Gandhi pressed a code into the door’s keypad, making sure that Myron couldn’t see him. He stepped out of the room. Two more camouflaged guys stepped in as he left.
    Hmm, why?
    The room grew quiet. The typing came to a stop. Myron tried to read their faces.
    Something wasn’t right.
    Two minutes later, Myron heard Fat Gandhi’s voice say, “Mr. Bolitar?”
    He was on the big flat-screen now.
    In the cell with the two boys.
    Win had gotten it right. They were being held right here in the arcade.
    “Bring them out,” Myron said.
    Fat Gandhi just smiled into the camera. “Derek?”
    One of the guys said, “I’m here.”
    “Any movements on the surveillance cameras?” Fat Gandhi asked.
    “None.”
    Fat Gandhi waved his finger. “No cavalry on their way to rescue you, Mr. Bolitar.”
    Uh-oh.
    “Rescue me from what?”
    “You killed three of my men.”
    The temperature in the room changed, not in a good way. Everyone started moving slowly.
    “I didn’t have anything to do with that.”
    “Please, Mr. Bolitar. Lying is beneath you.”
    Pants One took out a large knife. So did Pants Two.
    “Do you see my dilemma, Mr. Bolitar? It would have been one thing if you and your partners had approached me in a respectful manner.”
    A third guy rose from behind his computer. He also had a knife.
    Myron tried to work it through.
Grab Pants One’s knife, then go after the guy on the right . . .
    “You could have come to us. Like businessmen. You could have asked for a fair exchange. An arrangement. We could have worked with you . . .”
    No, that wouldn’t work. Too much distance between them. And the door is locked . . .
    “But you didn’t do that, Mr. Bolitar. Instead you slaughtered three of my men.”
    Derek took a knife out. Jimmy too.
    Then the skinny kid produced a machete.
    Six guys, all armed, in a small room.
    “How can I let you just walk out of here after that? How would it look? How could my men ever trust me to take care of them?”
    Maybe duck down, throw a back kick . . . but no. Have to get the machete first. But he’s farther away. Too many of them, the space too tight.
    “I would stay in the room and observe the outcome, but in this suit? It’s new and rather lovely.”
    There was no chance. They started coming closer.
    “Articulate!” Myron shouted.
    Everyone stopped for a second. Myron dropped to the floor and braced himself.
    That was when the wall exploded.
    The sound was deafening. The wall gave way as though the Incredible Hulk had burst through from the street. The others were caught off guard, Myron not so much. He knew that Win would come up with something. He had figured that Win would find a way past the cameras. He hadn’t. He said he had cased the place last night. He had found the exterior wall to this room. He had probably placed a strong listening device on it, so he would know when to make a move.
    Had he used some sort of dynamite or rocket-propelled grenade?
    Myron didn’t know.
    Shock and awe, baby. Win’s forte.
    The guys in the room didn’t know what hit them. But they would.
    Myron moved fast. From his position on the floor, he snaked his leg out and took one of the guys down. It was Pants Two.