The Dinosaur Club Read online

  Bennett felt a tremor course through his body. It was insane. They couldn’t be doing this. He heard footsteps and turned his head again. Valasquez was coming toward him, and there was a long-bladed hunting knife in his hand.

  Bennett cringed as Valasquez knelt beside him and slipped the blade under the duct tape that held his ankles. “Turn over,” he snapped. When Carter obliged, he did the same to his hands.

  “Please don’t cut his throat,” Annie said. “Not in here, anyway. The blood will never come out of the carpet.”

  “I’d love to take him outside and do just that,” George said. “But Jack has first dibs.”

  “Screw Jack,” Hartman said. “I wanna see the sonofabitch bleed.”

  Bennett turned back and stared at the man. He knew his eyes held all the fear he felt, but he couldn’t help it. He turned quickly back to George. “Can I go now?” he croaked.

  “You can piss, if that’s what you mean.” Valasquez raised his chin, indicating the rear of the cabin. He turned to Wally. “You better go with him.” He grinned. “You can blow his kneecaps off if he tries to climb out the window.”

  “Where’s he gonna go?” Hartman asked. “If he goes in the right direction there’s a couple hundred acres of woods before he hits the road. If he goes in the wrong direction there’s a couple of thousand.”

  “Yeah, that’s true,” Wally said. “But Jack will be very upset if he hurts himself.” He let out another cackle.

  “I hope he tries,” Constantini said. “Then we can hunt the sonofabitch like a goddamned jackrabbit.”

  Bennett turned to Wally. His legs were shaking so badly he doubted he could stand, let alone run. “Where’s Fallon?” he asked.

  “That’s Mister Fallon to you, creep.” Wally began to indicate the others in the room with an elevation of his chin. “And this is Mister Valasquez, and Mister Hartman, and Mister Constantini, and Mizzz Schwartz.” He jabbed a finger against his chest. “I’m Mister Green. We’re a bunch of useless old dinosaurs. Remember? So show a little respect for our age.”

  Bennett licked his lips, fighting the dry taste in his mouth. “Where’s Mr. Fallon?” he asked.

  Wally shrugged. “Who knows? Outside someplace, I guess. You want him to watch you pee, I’ll go get him.”

  Bennett shook his head, more in despair than as an answer. He struggled to his feet, then turned and shuffled toward the bathroom. His legs still felt numb. He flexed them, then his hands and wrists, trying to restore some circulation.

  Wally stood against the open door as Bennett relieved himself. The butt of the shotgun was on his hip. He turned back to the room, where the others stood watching. He extended his free hand, his thumb and index finger only inches apart. “Hey, our hero’s got a wing-wang that’s only about this big,” he said. “It is truly a pathetic thing to see.”

  “Aw, don’t say that,” Annie pleaded. “All the girls fantasize about Carter. About what a stud he is.” She let out a giggle. “When nobody’s around to hear us, we call him old donkey dick.”

  Wally let loose with another cackle and Bennett ground his teeth against the sound. The humiliation wasn’t necessary. They didn’t have to do that.

  He spun around and faced Green, forced every bit of bravado he could muster. “I want to see Fallon,” he snapped. “Mister Fallon.” He added the last with heavy sarcasm.

  Wally stared into his face, and Carter’s resolve dipped.

  “We don’t care what you want, donkey dick.” Wally jerked his head toward the large open living area. “Get back in there, and sit down, and shut up.”

  Fallon sat on the steps of the front porch. His arms were draped on his knees and he held a cup of coffee in both hands. Samantha sat next to him watching the first faint glimmer of sunrise through the trees.

  “I can hear them cackling inside,” Fallon said. “Carter must be awake.”

  Samantha started to speak, hesitated, then forced herself to continue. “Jack … why don’t we change the plan? We could just sit him in a chair and intimidate him; keep after him until he tells us what we want to know.” She listened to his silence. “The man’s terrified. You could see it in his eyes last night. It might work.”

  Fallon smiled. “You mean beat it out of him?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  Fallon nodded. “We’ll just reason with him?”

  Samantha remained silent.

  Fallon sipped his coffee. “I’m not making fun of you. It’s just that it’s not enough,” he said. “Not for any of us.”

  “Why? What difference does it make, so long as you get what you want?”

  “It matters.” He turned to her. “We’ve come this far. I think we need to finish it.”

  “But what if he gets hurt?”

  “I’ll do everything I can to see that doesn’t happen.” He smiled at her again, a bit regretfully this time, she thought. “No one has live ammunition in their weapons. Just blanks,” he said. “The pellets have been removed from the shotgun shells. They’ll make a helluva lot of noise, but they won’t hurt anyone.”

  “But something could still happen.”

  He let out a breath and stared into his coffee.

  “What if you’re hurt?”

  He shook his head, kept his eyes averted. “I can do this. I’ve done it before.”

  “Jack … that was … a long time ago.”

  Fallon let out a soft laugh and looked at her again.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I thought you were going to say it was a quarter of a century ago.” His face broke into another smile. “Actually, it was closer to thirty years.”

  “This isn’t a machismo thing, Jack. You don’t have anything to prove.”

  Fallon nodded—slowly, faintly. “Yes. I do.” He turned to the waxing sunrise. “We all do. Otherwise we still lose. Even if we get what we want.”

  “I don’t see it, Jack. I just don’t. And the risks are too great.”

  Fallon nodded again. He continued to watch the clearing in front of the cabin. More of it gradually became distinct as the sun continued to rise. His father had been a great admirer of sunrise, preferring it to the sunsets that captivated most people. He had told Fallon as a boy that a sunrise was life, the start of something new and exciting and unknown. Later, Fallon had decided that preference had been related to his father’s own life, which had always seemed in perpetual sunset.

  “You’ve gone this far,” Fallon said. “A lot farther than I ever expected. But now I need you to go the rest of the way. I don’t think it will work without you.”

  Samantha surrendered to it. She wasn’t certain why; questioned if it was the wrong choice. But he was right. She had come this far. Backing away now would only confuse things; perhaps even make everything more dangerous. “When are you going to start?” she asked.

  Fallon pushed himself up. “We might as well do it now,” he said.

  Bennett’s eyes snapped from Samantha to Fallon as they entered the cabin, then settled on Samantha again.

  “Thank God you’re here,” he said. “Will you please talk to these people, explain that they’re breaking the law?” The words tumbled out, filled with fear and uncertainty.

  Samantha looked away, feigning disgust. She actually felt some pity for Bennett. Sitting on the floor in his orange Princeton T-shirt, his running shorts and shoes, he looked very frightened; almost ridiculous. And he seemed to comprehend—perhaps for the first time in his life—how vulnerable he was to forces outside himself.

  “They’ve already broken the law, Carter.” She looked back at him. “But no one will ever know that they have.”

  Bennett’s eyes widened, and he seemed to take in her own camouflage attire for the first time. “What do you mean?” he finally asked.

  Fallon stepped forward and squatted in front of him. “What she means, Carter, is if you survive this—if you do—you’ll never want to tell anyone about it.”

  Bennett’s face twisted; a nerv
ous tic hit the corner of his right eye. He glanced about. The others had crowded in on every side. “Why? Why won’t I?” he asked.

  Fallon stared at him for several long moments. “Because to survive, Carter, you’re going to have to kill me. And if you do—if you get that lucky—and if you then decide to go to the police, there are six witnesses who already have a story worked out that will put you in jail.”

  Samantha moved up and squatted next to Fallon. “And if the authorities don’t buy that, Carter, they will buy your insider-trading scheme.” She patted some folded papers protruding from her shirt pocket. “We have all the evidence we need to prove that part of it.”

  Bennett stared at her. Everything was slipping away. Everything. And now, if Fallon was telling the truth, they even wanted to kill him. He felt his legs, then his arms, quiver. “Then why this?” The croak was back in his voice, and he fought to control it. “Why this?” he demanded. “You already have what you need to destroy me.” His mind was racing, searching for a way out. Any way out.

  Fallon smiled at him. “Because we want to see if you’re as good as you say you are. We know all about you, Carter. We know you’re a tough, hard businessman. We know you like to grind people down. Right into the dirt. And we know you’re a paintball champ.” He paused and withdrew a knife from a sheath in his boot. It was a double-edged K-bar combat knife with a four-and-a-half-inch blade; razor sharp. “Now I want to see if you can do it all for real. With one of these.”

  Bennett stared at the knife, then at Fallon. “You’re insane,” he said.

  “That’s right,” Fallon said. “Just a crazy old dinosaur who hasn’t done anything like this for almost thirty years.” His smile returned, then hardened. “But I did do it, Carter. And I still remember how.” He inclined his head to one side. “But maybe you’ll be too quick. Too young. And too clever. We’ll just have to see.”

  “You can’t make me do this.” Bennett’s eyes had grown wild, and he was struggling past the fear, struggling for defiance.

  Fallon kept his voice soft, almost soothing. It was more frightening than a shout. “Yes, we can,” he said. “We can’t make you stay alive, but we can make you do this.” He leaned in closer, still squatting, the combat knife still in his hand. “We’re going to take you out in this forest. You’ll have camouflage clothing, and you’ll have a knife just like this one. You’ll have an area of thirty acres to work in.” Fallon raised his chin, indicating the other dinosaurs. “These people know those thirty acres. They’ve been up here all weekend learning it. And they’ll be stationed at strategic points around its circumference. They’ll also be armed with shotguns, and if you try to slip past them, they’re going to blow you to hell. If you stay in the area, you won’t have to worry about anything but me. And I’ll only have a knife. Just … like … you.”

  Fallon slipped the knife back into his boot, and his voice became light, almost nonchalant. “If you kill me, you walk away. No one will touch you. If you don’t …” He finished the sentence with a shrug.

  Bennett stared at him. His face was slack, and his eyes were filled with wondrous incredulity. “Why? This is madness. Why?”

  “Because you killed Jim Malloy.” Fallon let the words sit momentarily. “Oh, you had help. Charlie helped you. So did Willis Chambers and your other lackeys. Just like I’m going to have help now. To keep you under my thumb, just like you kept Jim under yours. Except we’ll be a bit kinder. You won’t be helpless.”

  “But it was an accident.” Bennett’s voice had a whine to it now. He seemed to sense it, and stopped himself.

  Fallon shook his head. “No, it wasn’t, Carter. Jim killed himself. He sent his suicide note to me, and no one else will ever see it.” Fallon lowered his eyes, then raised them slowly. Now they held all the fierce anger he felt. “You see, he wanted to make sure his family got all the benefits he was sure you planned to take away from him. He was scared to death, Carter. He had worked his whole life, and then, in just a few weeks, you and your boys turned him into a failure. But his only failure was living to be fifty-one.”

  Bennett sat on the floor, his knees drawn up, arms wrapped about them. The others hovered over him as Fallon spoke. They kept a tight circle around him. Bennett looked up toward Samantha, but she had turned her head away. He wanted to say something, but the words refused to form. Fallon’s voice broke the silence.

  “After Jim killed himself, I sat with his wife. Her name is Betty, in case you’re interested. I’ve known her a long time, so she asked me a question. She asked me why the people who killed her husband hadn’t just sent someone with a gun. She said it would have been kinder.”

  Fallon stood and looked down at Bennett. “So I’m coming after you, Carter. The way Betty would have preferred it. It won’t be with a gun, because I want to be real close to you. And that’s when I’ll decide whether to kill you, or just cripple you. But before I do, I want to watch you run. Because, either way, before it happens, you’re going to feel everything that Jim Malloy felt. And you’re going to know what a sorry piece of shit you really are.”

  Fallon turned to Wally. “Get him dressed and bring him outside.”

  Wally came out ten minutes later. The Indian blanket was still wrapped around his waist, and with the camouflage shirt above, the combat boots peeking out below, he looked totally bizarre.

  “Couldn’t you find another pair of pants?” Fallon asked.

  Samantha turned away, trying to hide the smile that filled her face. Wally eyed her, then Fallon. “Nothing fits,” he said. He caught the amused look in Fallon’s eyes. “Hey, is it my fault?” he asked. “Did I put the dog shit there? Did I decide to commit the crime of the century in a place every dog in New York uses to poop?”

  Fallon raised a hand Indian style and said, “Ugh.”

  “Very funny, Jack.”

  “I think you look terrific, Wally.” Samantha had turned back to face him.

  “You think I look good. Wait until you see Carter-baby. He looks like a poster boy for the Montana Militia.”

  “Is he ready?” Fallon asked.

  “Just about. He’s shaking like a leaf in a bad wind.” Wally grinned. “It’s nice to see after all these weeks of taking his crap.” Fallon thought he detected a hint of sympathy beneath the bravado. “Anyway, I wanted to check with you one last time before we brought him out,” he added.

  “We could still try to make him talk now,” Samantha said.

  She was still hanging on to a final hope of altering their plan. Fallon touched her arm lightly. “It won’t work if we do,” he said. “He’ll know it’s a game and he’ll button up, and we’ll never get a second shot at him.”

  “You sure you can force him to move in the direction you want?” Wally asked.

  Fallon nodded. “The terrain will take care of it. And if I let him see me at certain points, he won’t be left with many choices. Just remember that I’ll whistle when he’s getting close to any of your positions, so you’ll have to be ready to drive him back. And remind everyone that as soon as they hear the first shot, they start moving in, tightening the circle. If we play it that way, he’ll end up right where we planned.” He turned to Samantha again. “That means he should be right in front of you and Wally and Annie, when we finish it.”

  Samantha felt a chill, the final words disturbing her. “Please be careful,” she said.

  Bennett was brought out a few minutes later. He was dressed in the same fatigues and boots as the others, but his eyes were blindfolded. Yet, even with the blindfold, he did resemble some outlandish militia model. But if the tremors in his arms and legs were to be believed, a very terrified one.

  They led him along one of the logging trails. Everyone remained silent, as agreed. Fallon had insisted on it. He claimed it would further unnerve Bennett; keep him on edge, ready to panic. With equal quiet, the dinosaurs began dropping off after the first two hundred yards—first Samantha, then Wally, then Annie Schwartz. Six hundred yards into the fores
t, they reached a small clearing, and Constantini, Hartman, and Valasquez moved off silently in separate directions. All the positions had been chosen carefully the previous weekend. They would each be several hundred yards out from the clearing, but less than a hundred from each other. It was a large circle, but hardly the huge area they had described to Bennett, and there were clear lines of sight between each position. Bennett would have no chance to slip through unseen or unchallenged.

  Now Fallon stood alone with him in the clearing. He could see a slight tremor in Bennett’s hands, and he felt momentary regret at what they were doing. He forced himself to think of Malloy, and pushed it away. “Just stand here until I tell you to take off the blindfold,” he said. “If you take if off before that, I’ll cut your throat. And remember, if you try to leave the killing zone, someone will blow your head off. Understand what I’m saying. Don’t doubt it for a minute. But if you get lucky, and manage to kill me, they’ll let you walk away.”

  Bennett twisted nervously, ready to run but afraid to try. “How do I know that? How do I know they won’t kill me anyway?” he demanded.

  There was a flutter in his voice, and Fallon ignored the questions. Just worry about it, he thought. He removed a sheathed K-bar knife from his webbed belt and dropped it at Bennett’s feet, then moved silently back into the thick, heavy foliage.

  Bennett stood in the center of the clearing listening to every sound; expecting to feel Fallon’s knife slice his flesh at any moment. His arms and legs were trembling, and he suddenly felt the need to urinate.

  “You can take off the blindfold.”

  The words swirled in on him, seeming to come from several directions at once. Bennett pulled the blindfold free. His head snapped left and right, and he turned quickly to look behind him. He could see no one, only the forest rising above a waist-high ground mist.