The Truth of the Matter Read Free

barrier between the trunk and the backseat. That gave me an idea. I struggled to get closer to the barrier. I managed to press my ear against it. I listened.
    Sure enough, I could hear what was going on inside the car. I could hear voices in there. At first, it was hard to make out the words through the barrier. The rumble of the car’s motion kept drowning them out too. But if I lay very still and kept my breathing shallow, I could hear some of what was being said.
    “We don’t have much choice. One way or another, we’ve got to act.”
    That last part came to me clearly. I was pretty sure it was Waterman speaking. I recognized the distinctive southern twang I’d heard in the alley.
    Somebody answered him, but the voice was muffled.
    Then Waterman said, “No. And it isn’t going to be pretty finding out. But I don’t see what other options we have. They’re close. Very close. We can’t just wait and hope for the best.”
    This time, the answering voice was clearer: “He may still be worth something to us as he is.” I guessed it was the guy in the Dodgers cap speaking.
    “It’s gone too far for that, Jim,” said Waterman. “As he is, he can only be a liability.”
    Again, there was an answer I couldn’t hear.
    I licked my dry lips, staring into the darkness of the car’s trunk. Were they talking about me? Were they deciding what to do with me? I thought they probably were.
    Then I heard Waterman say flatly, “Well, then we’ve got to get rid of him.”
    There was another jolt, another flash of pain through my skull.
    We’ve got to get rid of him .
    That didn’t sound good at all.
    Now I could feel the car changing direction, slowing. We were getting off the highway. I figured we must be approaching our destination. Was this the place where they were going to get rid of me?
    “I don’t know,” the second speaker—Jim—began. “Either way, I think we have some kind of responsibility—”
    “No,” said Waterman, cutting him off. “This was part of the deal. We knew it would be like this from the beginning.”
    After that, the voices stopped for a while. I shifted in the car again. I felt around me, trying to find some way to get the trunk open or maybe some weapon I might be able to use: a tire iron maybe. But there was nothing. The trunk’s latch was hidden inside the body of the car. And the only objects around me were those insulated wires, which I now realized were a pair of jumper cables. Not much help.
    I’d have to wait and take my chances. They might just open up the trunk and shoot me, but they might take me out first, take me somewhere secluded. Sensei Mike had trained me well in karate. I was a good fighter, a black belt. There might be a chance, a small chance, I could break away from these guys and run for it.
    So I said a prayer for calm and for courage and I waited and, while I waited, I tried to think.
    Who were they? Who was Waterman? Was he one of the Homelanders? I had no way of knowing. That time I’d been arrested, someone had whispered in my ear that I should “find Waterman,” but I didn’t know who the whisperer was—a friend or an enemy? If all Waterman wanted was to “get rid” of me, why hadn’t he just done it in the alley? Why hadn’t he just shot me for real and left me there?
    Maybe they need something , I thought. Maybe they think I have some important piece of information .
    It isn’t going to be pretty finding out .
    That didn’t sound so good either. Were they going to torture me? Did my life depend on the answers I gave them? Didn’t they understand? I didn’t know what had happened. I didn’t remember.
    The car went on and on. I felt another turn. The road grew bumpier. I was jostled back and forth roughly in the trunk. It felt like we were on a dirt road. We were heading away from traffic, away from people.
    Now I heard the voices in the car start up again. They were easier to hear than before because the car had slowed down to deal with the