his fingers and counts it in the same jerky way he does everything else.
“I'm a bit of a businessman myself”, River confesses, by way of an explanation. “I've got a parcel of land up north and I breed horses. Some for steer, some for racing. All of it pretty lucrative.”
“I can see”, the assistant says, holding up the money.
He wraps up the wig, with more care than he's given a client's purchase for years, and hands the parcel over to River.
“You make sure she enjoys that now”, he says to him.
“I will”, River says. “This is going to change her life, I promise you that.”
With a smile, he's on his way back outside, and the old assistant is sat back down again, the TV up on the stand behind him for company.
Before River returns to the motel, he gets a haircut and a cut-throat razor shave, that makes him look even younger and more handsome than he does already, and he buys new boots, new shirts and new jeans. It isn't much of a new look, more of a smartening up of the old one, but the patterns are different enough at least to the clothes he was wearing during the raid to throw somebody off a scent if they ever get one. It's enough of an effort River figures to cover his back and make absolutely sure. Their main focus is Maddy, so as long as she looks nothing like the woman he took hostage from the bank, nobody's likely to give them a second look.
When River finally gets back to his current home, he's absolutely starving, a hunger which not even rolled up cigarettes will cut through.
Arms loaded down with bags, including Maddy's handbag and the bag of stolen money from the bank, he enters the motel room once more, immediately relieved to see that Maddy hasn't managed to escape.
“I'm hungry”, she says when she sees him, relieved he's finally come back home.
It's only when she speaks, does River realise that she's somehow managed to undo the pillowcase gag. What he doesn't know however, is whether she's already screamed.
Chapter 9
B uck Tavern, alive and well, suns himself on a pool side lounger, while he slurps lazily from a tall glass filled with whiskey and soda, and eats peanuts from a ceramic dish balanced carefully on his oversized, pinkish belly.
Next to him, his plastic surgery enhanced wife, a mud brown from head to toe, and wrinkled in parts the surgeon couldn't quite reach, pretends to read a mildly engaging romance novel, while instead, she keeps her eyes on the athletic pool boy, built like a Greek god, who endlessly sweeps non-existent leaves out of the pool.
Another member of staff calmly approaches them from the house, this one fully dressed and much less attractive than the boy hovering around the pool, who has been employed purely as eye candy for Alicia Tavern. He stands in front of Buck, and blocks out the sun, while he waits for him to notice.
“Well”, Buck says without looking up, in an accent tinged with a southern drawl, and difficult to place specifically.
“They are all dead”, the man says in a matter of fact way as though he were informing Buck of the weather.
“Who's dead?” Alicia Tavern says, never once taking her eyes off the curves of the pool boy's chest and arms, and his tight little butt.
Now Buck sits up. “Alex is dead? Dead, dead?” he says and takes off his sunglasses as though in doing so he'll somehow be able to gauge the veracity of the information.
“Alex, Jack, Carlos, the only one that isn't, is River Woods. It seems that the boy you sent, somehow made it out of their alive. Perhaps aided by the hostage he took with him.”
“What the fuck, how did that happen?” Buck says.
“Apparently it's all over the news. I have the channel feed if you would like to see it? There is mobile phone footage of River taking his hostage, stealing a car and making good his escape, and then real footage of Carlos and Peters being shot dead by the police. It's pretty categorical.”
“You're having me on”, Buck says, his voice now sharp with
“I'm a bit of a businessman myself”, River confesses, by way of an explanation. “I've got a parcel of land up north and I breed horses. Some for steer, some for racing. All of it pretty lucrative.”
“I can see”, the assistant says, holding up the money.
He wraps up the wig, with more care than he's given a client's purchase for years, and hands the parcel over to River.
“You make sure she enjoys that now”, he says to him.
“I will”, River says. “This is going to change her life, I promise you that.”
With a smile, he's on his way back outside, and the old assistant is sat back down again, the TV up on the stand behind him for company.
Before River returns to the motel, he gets a haircut and a cut-throat razor shave, that makes him look even younger and more handsome than he does already, and he buys new boots, new shirts and new jeans. It isn't much of a new look, more of a smartening up of the old one, but the patterns are different enough at least to the clothes he was wearing during the raid to throw somebody off a scent if they ever get one. It's enough of an effort River figures to cover his back and make absolutely sure. Their main focus is Maddy, so as long as she looks nothing like the woman he took hostage from the bank, nobody's likely to give them a second look.
When River finally gets back to his current home, he's absolutely starving, a hunger which not even rolled up cigarettes will cut through.
Arms loaded down with bags, including Maddy's handbag and the bag of stolen money from the bank, he enters the motel room once more, immediately relieved to see that Maddy hasn't managed to escape.
“I'm hungry”, she says when she sees him, relieved he's finally come back home.
It's only when she speaks, does River realise that she's somehow managed to undo the pillowcase gag. What he doesn't know however, is whether she's already screamed.
Chapter 9
B uck Tavern, alive and well, suns himself on a pool side lounger, while he slurps lazily from a tall glass filled with whiskey and soda, and eats peanuts from a ceramic dish balanced carefully on his oversized, pinkish belly.
Next to him, his plastic surgery enhanced wife, a mud brown from head to toe, and wrinkled in parts the surgeon couldn't quite reach, pretends to read a mildly engaging romance novel, while instead, she keeps her eyes on the athletic pool boy, built like a Greek god, who endlessly sweeps non-existent leaves out of the pool.
Another member of staff calmly approaches them from the house, this one fully dressed and much less attractive than the boy hovering around the pool, who has been employed purely as eye candy for Alicia Tavern. He stands in front of Buck, and blocks out the sun, while he waits for him to notice.
“Well”, Buck says without looking up, in an accent tinged with a southern drawl, and difficult to place specifically.
“They are all dead”, the man says in a matter of fact way as though he were informing Buck of the weather.
“Who's dead?” Alicia Tavern says, never once taking her eyes off the curves of the pool boy's chest and arms, and his tight little butt.
Now Buck sits up. “Alex is dead? Dead, dead?” he says and takes off his sunglasses as though in doing so he'll somehow be able to gauge the veracity of the information.
“Alex, Jack, Carlos, the only one that isn't, is River Woods. It seems that the boy you sent, somehow made it out of their alive. Perhaps aided by the hostage he took with him.”
“What the fuck, how did that happen?” Buck says.
“Apparently it's all over the news. I have the channel feed if you would like to see it? There is mobile phone footage of River taking his hostage, stealing a car and making good his escape, and then real footage of Carlos and Peters being shot dead by the police. It's pretty categorical.”
“You're having me on”, Buck says, his voice now sharp with
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