Man of Wax Read Online Free PDF Page A

 
    “Hold on a second,” I said, then switched over. Simon didn’t even wait for me to say hello or anything. He started right up, his voice angry and petulant.  
    “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Goddamn it, Ben, are you an idiot? What did I tell you before? You talk to nobody .”  
    “Where’s my family?” My body was beginning to tremble again, though I managed to keep it hidden from my voice—or at least I hoped I did. Stay in control, I kept telling myself, stay in fucking control. “I want to talk to them.”  
    “You don’t get shit, Ben.” Simon paused, took a calming breath. “Now switch back over and tell your friend Marshall that you’re away on vacation, or something to that effect. Make it good.”  
    “How did you know I was using the phone?”  
    “My God, you really are an idiot, aren’t you? I see everything you see. I hear everything you hear. I know everything you goddamn know. So quit screwing around or you can kiss your family goodbye.”  
    “Okay, okay,” I said, a bit too quickly. My body was still trembling. My eyes kept darting from the highway and the cars to the glove compartment. While in McDonald’s I’d managed to forget what was inside, now it came back at me, slapping me across the face. “Hold on,” I told Simon, and switched over, said, “Marshall, you still there?”  
    “Yeah, I’m here. So what’s up? I heard you canceled on the Johnsons today. You feeling sick or something?”  
    And just like back in the motel room—room number six, with those four letters in blood on the bathroom door, which I doubted were advertised in the brochure—time stopped again. Of course, nothing actually stopped—the cars around me continued driving, the Dodge maintained its speed, and my body continued to shake, but that internal sense of time had stopped. I was to start on William and Cassandra Johnson’s Tudor house today. They were having the entire second floor remodeled, had commissioned me to do the walls and ceiling. And supposedly I’d canceled. Son of a bitch.  
    Then, just as quickly, time started up again and I said, “Yeah, I actually am feeling sick. I probably won’t be around for the next couple days.”  
    “Shit. Well start feeling better, man.”  
    “Thanks, Marshall. I’ll talk to you later.”  
    I switched back over to Simon.  
    He said, “That’s going to cost you, you know. Otherwise how are you going to learn that rules are rules?”  
    I was silent. I’d put my window back up when I left McDonald’s and the car now reeked of French fries and oil.  
    Simon said, “Your wife or your daughter.”  
    “What?”  
    “Your wife or your daughter. Which one do you love more?”  
    “You fucking son of a bitch.”  
    “No, Ben, my name is Simon. I’d asked you to remember that. Because from now on, every time you call me something else, either Jennifer or young Casey will lose a body part. Do I make myself clear?”  
    I felt a tear push itself from the corner of my eye, start rolling down my cheek. I blinked it away, tried to remain cool, calm, as if I was in control. What a fucking joke.  
    “Now, Ben, answer the question. Between Jennifer and Casey, which one do you love more?”  
    “I—” But I couldn’t go on. I couldn’t continue with what I wanted to say, which was that I wouldn’t tell him what he wanted to hear. I wasn’t going to choose between my wife and daughter like that.  
    “I understand, Ben,” Simon said. “You need time to think about it. It’s a tough question. In the meantime though, it appears as if you’re getting quite low on gas.”  
    My eyes, instead of darting from the highway to the glove compartment, now darted to the gas gauge. It was hovering right above E.  
    “There’s a gas station coming up,” Simon said, “which means the first part of the game is very close.”  
    “What ... what are you talking about?”  
    “Shoplifting, Ben. Don’t tell me