He ran his hand over the surface and suddenly, he knew what it was. The butt of a rifle or shotgun. He got a good grip on the stock and twisted it, to free the barrel from any obstruction; he swung the weapon and shortly, the barrel was in the foot well, and he had a firm grip on the stock. He worked the barrel along until it was touching the rear door, then he tightened his grip on the stock and pulled it into the trunk. A couple more pulls and he had possession of a police riot gun, the kind with an eighteen-and-a-quarter-inch barrel. He slid the action back far enough to reveal a shell in the chamber, then let it close.

He got a good grip on the seat back and pulled it closed. All was dark again. He arranged his body so as to be comfortable, with the shotgun lying along his right side, so that it wouldn’t be seen when the trunk opened, then he relaxed and waited for developments.

The car seemed to leave a limited-access highway, perhaps an interstate, and made a right turn. A couple of minutes later, they made another right turn onto a road that was noisier and a little rougher, probably gravel or dirt. The road wound left and right and finally made another right turn onto crunchier gravel, then it pulled up.

Ed heard the two front doors slam and footsteps on both sides of the car. He closed his eyes and made an effort to relax and let his mouth hang open. The trunk door opened.

“Let’s get him inside,” one of the men said. Somebody grabbed his left arm and pulled, and he used the opportunity to bring the barrel around and rap the knuckles sharply, raising a cry of pain.

“Oh, shit, Manny, he’s got your shotgun,” one of them said.

“That’s right, I’ve got your shotgun,” Ed said. “You should know that it’s loaded and the safety is off, and my finger is on the trigger. Take one big step back, both of you.”

The two men obeyed. While keeping the shotgun trained on them, Ed got an elbow under his body and pushed himself upright. He swung his legs over the threshold of the trunk and pushed until he could rest his feet on the ground.

“Now,” Ed said, “you’re going to do exactly as I say, and the punishment for not doing what I say is going to be a shotgun blast to the knee. You’ll survive, if your buddy can get a tourniquet on you fast enough, but you’ll likely lose the leg when you get to a hospital. Everybody got that?”

“Yes, sir,” both men said simultaneously.

“Now, put your hands on top of your head and interlink your fingers.”

Both men complied.