In a fit of panic, Jack repeatedly kicked the drainpipe as he’d done numerous times over the previous day and a half with the same result.
He stopped and listened again. The car was closer. Jack looked at the sink. Suddenly an idea occurred to him. The sink was a huge, old cast-iron monstrosity with a large bowl and expansive drainage area for dishes.
Jack imagined it weighed several hundred pounds. It was hung on the wall in addition to being supported by the heavy drain.
Getting his feet under him, Jack rested the underlip of the sink on his biceps and tried to pry the sink upward. It moved slightly and bits of mortar at the sink’s junction with the wall fell into the bowl.
Jack twisted like a contortionist to put his right foot against the sink’s lip. He could hear the car come to a halt the moment he pushed with his leg. There was a cracking sound. Jack positioned himself so that both his feet were under the edge of the sink. Straining with all his might, he exerted the maximum force he could muster.
With a snap and a grinding sound the sink detached from the wall. A bit of plaster rained down on Jack’s face. Unattached, the sink teetered on the drain.
With another thrust of his legs, Jack got the sink to fall forward. The copper water-supply pipes snapped off at their soldered ends and water began spraying. The drain remained intact until the lead seal gave away.
At that moment the brass pipe slipped out of the cast iron. The sink made an enormous crashing noise as it crushed a ladder-back chair before thumping heavily on the wooden floor.
Jack was soaked from the spraying water, but he was free! He scrambled to his feet as heavy footfalls sounded on the front porch. He knew the door was unlocked and that the Black Kings would be inside in a moment. They’d undoubtedly heard the crash of the sink.
With no time to look for the pistol Jack lunged for the back door. Frantically he fumbled with the deadbolt and threw the door open. In an instant he was outside, hurling himself down the few steps to the dew-covered grass.
Hunching down to stay out of view, Jack ran from the house as fast as he could manage with his hands still handcuffed. Ahead was a pond. It occupied the area he’d imagined was a field on his arrival the previous night. To the left of the pond and about a hundred feet from the house stood the barn. Jack ran to it. It was his only hope of a hiding place. The surrounding forest was barren and leafless.
With heart pounding, Jack reached the barn door. To his relief it was unlocked. He yanked it open, dashed inside, and pulled it closed behind him.
The interior of the barn was dark, dank, and uninviting. The only light came through a single, west-facing window. The rusted remains of an old tractor loomed in the half-light.
With utter panic Jack stumbled around in the darkness searching for a hiding place. His eyes began to adjust. He looked into several deserted animal stalls, but there was no way to conceal himself. There was a loft above, but it was devoid of hay.
Looking down at the plank flooring, Jack vainly looked for a trapdoor, but there wasn’t any. In the very back of the barn there was a small room filled with garden tools but still no place to hide. Jack was about to give up when he spotted a low wooden chest the size of a coffin. He ran to it and raised its hinged lid. Inside were malodorous bags of fertilizer.
Jack’s blood ran cold. Outside he heard a male voice yell: “Hey, man, around here! There’s tracks in the grass!”
With little other choice Jack emptied the chest of the bags of fertilizer.
Then he climbed in and lowered the lid.
Shivering from fear and the damp cold, Jack was still perspiring. His breaths were coming in short gasps. He tried to calm down. If the hiding place was to work, he’d have to be silent.