“Dex, please show our high rollers to their room.” René holstered his gun. “Bidding will begin in the morning,” he said again on his way out.

50. Making His Preparations

50

Making His Preparations

Night.

Evan crouched at the side of the bed in the surveillance camera’s blind spot, making his preparations. He folded the plastic trash-can liner over itself again and again, forming a one-inch band of polyethylene. This time it would have to fit perfectly beneath the shock collar, hidden from view. He slid it between the contact points of the inner rim and his skin, then used his fingertips to tuck it in. If the slightest edge peeked up into view, his chance would be blown.

And he’d wind up crucified or skinned or razor-bladed to pieces.

And Alison Siegler would be delivered to the man who had purchased her from Hector Contrell like a piece of exercise equipment.

And the boy who’d called Evan would languish in his own private hell, trying the RoamZone again and again. And again and again getting no answer.

Still crouching, Evan retrieved the piano wire from where he’d stashed it beneath the boot insole and crossed to the distressed leather chair that was bolted to the floor.

He removed his socks and used them to wrap his hands, then slid the wire around one of the chair’s wooden legs. He coiled either end of the wire around his padded hands and started sawing.

Even through the cotton, the wire bit into his palms, but he kept at it. After about five minutes, he’d made a few centimeters of progress. But it was enough to give him some leverage.

Firming his grip around the wire, he jammed it deep into the tiny notch and yanked down. It took three tries but at last a wedge of wood chipped off the leg.

He stopped to catch his breath and flex his aching hands. His feet were freezing, so he slid his socks back on.

Then he picked up the wedge of wood. Eight inches long, two wide, a few centimeters thick.

With some force he was able to break it in half over his knee.

Now he had two pieces that fit snugly in his fists when he curled his fingers around them.

Handles.

He looped either end of the piano wire around a chunk of wood, twisting it tight, testing it and testing it again until there was no give.

A garrote.

He wrapped it up tightly, slid it into his sock, and pulled down the leg of his jeans to cover the bulge.

Then he pulled the spare pair of high-top hiking boots into his lap, tugged free the laces, and fashioned them into a double-strand noose. This he stuffed in his front pocket on top of the RoamZone.