The Detachment

father…what did he do? What the fuck?”
    “It doesn’t matter what he did. All you need to know is that he owes us something and we’re using you to get it. Do you understand?”
    She looked from my face to Larison’s and back, and I could see how scared she suddenly was. She didn’t answer. I realized there was no need to let her see the bodies of the men her father had sent. She was frightened enough as it was.
    “We’re going to take your picture now,” I said. “To show to your father.”
    Larison handed me a copy of that day’s Los Angeles Times, which we’d scooped up from a driveway on the way to the motel that morning. I propped it on her lap. Larison moved in close and snapped a few shots with her phone. We’d send Horton the proof from his daughter’s own phone. That would increase his sense of how thoroughly we controlled her, and keep our phones clean.
    I took the newspaper off her and tossed it aside. “We’re going to try to make this go smoothly. But there are two ways you could get hurt. One is, if your father doesn’t do what we want. Two is, if you don’t do what we want.”
    She was breathing hard now and I knew she was fighting panic. Fighting it well. I respected her for it. And with the respect came a sudden and surprising dose of self-loathing.
    I suppressed the feeling. I’d deal with the emotional fallout later. Like I always had before.
    I looked in her eyes. “You’re worried that we’re letting you see our faces, is that it?”
    She nodded. She was smart—smart enough to know that if a kidnapper lets you see his face, it means he’s not worried about you being a witness later. Meaning, probably, he’s not planning on letting you be alive later.
    “It doesn’t matter if you see us,” I told her. “Your father is going to know exactly who we are. And he’ll explain to you when this is done why you can’t go to the police. So we’re not worried about you seeing our faces. Does that make sense?”
    She nodded again.
    “All right,” I said. “I get the feeling you’re smart. So you probably know about secondary crime scenes, and how you should never let someone take you to one, because once you’re at the secondary crime scene, the criminal can do anything he wants to you. And that’s true. But the thing is, you’re already at the secondary crime scene. We’re alone in this van, we have total control of the environment, and total control of you. If we wanted to hurt you, we’d be hurting you right now. But we’re not. And we want to keep it that way. Are you with me so far?”
    “Yes,” she said, and I was glad she felt in control enough to trust herself to speak.
    “In a little while,” I said, “we’re going to transfer you. First to another car, then to a hotel room. We’re going to keep your wrists tied and before the transfer we’re going to blindfold you, but we don’t want to make you any more uncomfortable than that. We don’t want to gag you, for example. I don’t know if you’ve ever been gagged, but I can tell you, it’s a horrible way to spend a few days. Much worse than you’d guess. Mimi, are we going to have to gag you?”
    She shook her head. “No.”
    “Are you going to try to run away? Or fight us? Or in any way not do what we tell you to do?”
    “No.”
    “Look, for me, this is mostly just business.” I tipped my head toward Larison. “But for my associate here, it’s extremely personal. You don’t want to give him a reason, okay? Trust me, he’s looking for one.”
    She looked past me at Larison, and I could tell from her expression that she believed. Believed utterly.
    I let another moment go by, then said, “But I’m sure you’re going to be fine. Now, do you have any questions?”
    She nodded. “Where are you taking me?”
    “I can’t tell you that, other than to say it’s someplace where we can manage you, and where no one’s going to be able to find you until we let you go. Anything else?”
    “What did my father do?”
    “You’re going to have to ask him that. Anything else?”
    “Yeah. Why do you keep asking me if I want to ask you anything, when you know you’re not going to answer?”
    I smiled sadly, admiring how quickly she’d mastered herself, and liking the moxie she’d accessed even in the midst of shock and distress.
    “You ask good questions,” I said. “I’m sorry I can’t answer them all. I can tell you this, though. We’re going to change cars a couple times. You and I