Page 51 of In the Nick of Time
There was a shuffle sound as probably the passenger turned in his seat to check on Nick. “Nothing.”
“You sure he’s not awake?”
“No way is that guy awake.”
Nick was a tad groggy, but he was definitely awake. Whatever they’d given him had worn off for the most part. Not a surprise, considering his metabolism. But it would be a surprise for the bad guys if he could make it work in his favor.
He wished he knew where they were going. How long would it be before Doug realized Nick was missing? And what about Tim? Would he be okay out in the dusty parking lot?
Tim originated from an African desert region, Nick reminded himself. He would be fine.
It seemed like forever before the car finally slowed, turned, then stopped. He had no idea how far they’d driven, but he didn’t think he’d been out that long.
The Undertaker. What kind of name was that anyway?
One that didn’t bode well for Nick. Even before the bad guys wrestled him out of the car while Nick pretended he was still unconscious, he’d suspected he’d already met The Undertaker. The image of an odd man who wore a dated suit and porkpie hat popped into his head.
The assholes were not gentle with him. It took everything he had not to tense and cry out when they banged his head against immoveable objects, first the car doorframe and then possibly a doorjamb.
“Put him there,” a third voice said.
They laid him down on his back. Nick’s shoulders rubbed against something unforgiving on either side of him, and his feet bumped against something too, as if whatever he was on—in—wasn’t quite large enough to hold all of him. Already creeped out by being drugged and kidnapped, this additional information was extra-creepy. Nick had the horrible feeling he was lying in a coffin and it took literally everything he had not to scream.
“How much did you give him?”
“Exactly what you told us to.”
“Take the covering off his head.”
It was impossible for Nick to fake being unconscious any longer. The sack was dragged off his head. Nick blinked and shook his head, doing his best to pretend that he’d only just woken.
“You are awake,” said a familiar-looking man.
“Um, I guess so?” He didn’t have to pretend that his voice was raspy.
Nick really wanted to squeeze his eyes shut again. He was, in fact, inside a coffin. A bubble of hysterical laughter tried to escape him as he briefly imagined his Aunt Kat admonishing him for being late to his own funeral—he was early, and she would never believe him.
“Who are you?” the strange man asked.
“Who am I?” Nick retorted, his anger rising and giving him energy, “Who are you? And why did you go to all this trouble to grab me? You could have just called or sent me an email.” Nick struggled to sit up, but one of the muscle-bound henchmen placed a meaty hand on his chest, forcing him to lie back down.
Recognition dawned. “You’re the creep who was in the bathroom at The Ace of Clubs. I didn’t recognize you at first. Where’s the hat?” Nick probably shouldn’t call the guy a creep, but for crying out loud, he’d been abducted, and before he’d had a chance to get a cup of coffee.
This was turning out to be a Very Bad Morning indeed.
“Doug is going to be worried about where I’ve gotten to. He’ll be here any second.”
Porkpie Man glanced around himself and bent down. When he stood back up, he had his signature hat firmly placed on his head. “I am not worried about Agent Swanson.”
“Okay, that’s fair.” Especially since Doug had no idea where Nick was. Nick didn’t even know where he was. And the guy knew Doug was an agent. Interesting. “Where am I and why did you kidnap me?” he demanded.
Admittedly, it was hard to demand information when he was lying in a coffin, but he did his best. The two henchmen had moved away from the death box when The Undertaker moved closer to it. Maybe they didn’t like their boss either.
“I couldn’t feel how you die.”
Nick stared at him, replaying what he’d said in his mind.
Just. No.
