Along Came a Spider

Fishenauer suddenly screamed at his fellow guards. He was scared, all right. Soneji had the gun pressed hard against his temple. “He killed Volpi upstairs.”
    It took less than five seconds for an older guard — Stephen Kessler — to make his decision. He turned the key that opened the security door. Kessler was a friend of Robert Fishenauer’s, and Soneji had counted on that. Soneji had thought of everything. He’d known that Robert Fishenauer was a “lifer” at the prison; that he was trapped there just like the inmates. He’d talked about Fishenauer’s anger and frustrations, and he’d been spot on. He was the smartest fucker Robert Fishenauer had ever met. He was going to make Fishenauer a millionaire.
    The two of them headed for Fishenauer’s car. The Firebird was parked close to the front gate. Fishenauer had left the sports-car door unlocked.
    They were inside the car in a flash.
    “Very nice wheels, Bobby,” said Gary Soneji/Murphy. “Now you’ll be able to buy a Lamborghini. Two or three, if you want to make a
statement
.”
    Soneji lay down across the backseat. He slid under a blanket that Fishenauer’s collie usually slept on. It smelled strongly of dog.
    “Now let’s get out of this rattrap,” Soneji/Murphy said from the back. Robert Fishenauer started up the Firebird.
    Less than a mile from the prison, they changed cars. A Bronco was parked on the street and they quickly jumped inside.
    A few minutes later, they were on the highway. Light traffic, but more than enough for them to get lost in.
    A little less than ninety minutes later, the Bronco turned onto the overgrown driveway of the old farm in rural Maryland. During the ride, Soneji/Murphy had allowed himself the small, but exquisite, pleasure of savoring his original master plan. He loved the idea that two years before, he’d actually thought to leave some cash hidden in the garage. Not the ransom money, of course.
Just for this moment in time
. How prescient of him.
    “Are we there yet?” Gary Soneji/Murphy finally spoke up from under the blanket.
    Fishenauer didn’t answer right away, but Gary knew that they were there by the bumps in the road. He sat up in the cramped backseat of the Bronco. He was almost home free home. He was invincible.
    “It’s time to get rich,” he said and laughed out loud. “Do you plan to take off these matching cuffs at some point?”
    Robert Fishenauer didn’t bother to turn around. As far as he was concerned, this was still a keeper/keepee relationship. “Just as soon as I have my part of the ransom money,” he spoke out of the corner of his mouth. “Then, and only then, you’re free!”
    Soneji/Murphy talked to the back of Fishenauer’s head. “You sure you have the keys to these cuffs, Robert?”
    “Don’t worry about it. You sure you know where the rest of the ransom money is hidden?”
    “I’m sure.”
    Soneji/Murphy was also sure that Fishenauer had the keys on him. Gary had been extremely claustrophobic during the past hour and a half. That was one of the reasons he’d put his mind elsewhere: into his master plan. Memories of the basement back home had been flashing before him during the whole trip. He’d seen his stepmother. Seen her two spoiled bastard kids. He’d played himself as a boy again — the glorious adventure of the Bad Boy. His fantasy life had taken over for a while.
    As the Bronco very slowly bumped along down memory lane, Gary Soneji/Murphy brought both his hands down over Fishenauer’s head and viciously around his throat. Element of surprise in that. He forced the metal of the cuffs straight back into the prison guard’s Adam’s apple.
    “What can I tell you, Bobby — I
am
a psychopathic liar, after all.”
    Fishenauer began to thrash and struggle fiercely. He couldn’t breathe. It was as if he were drowning.
    His knees cracked up hard under the dashboard and the steering wheel. The night was filled with the loud, animalistic growls coming from both men.
    Fishenauer managed to get his legs all the way over to the passenger side of the front seat. His work boot kicked the ceiling of the Bronco. His torso was twisted sideways, as if it were hinged. He gasped, and made the strangest noise. It sounded like metal burning, crackling on a stove.
    Fishenauer’s struggling eased off and finally stopped, except for some twitching of his limbs.
    Gary was free. Just as he had known from the very beginning he would be — Gary Soneji/Murphy was on the loose