“Race-car drivers aren’t supposed to run over people. You don’t lose points, but you could get a big fine and community ser vice.”

“But it’s okay to kidnap them at gunpoint?”

“The rule book doesn’t actually cover kidnapping.”

Hooker cruised down the lane and stopped behind the Taurus. “Can you do something to their car so it won’t start?”

“Sure.”

I got out and tried the door on the Taurus. Not locked. I popped the hood and disconnected a hose and some wires. I got back in the SUV, and Hooker drove one lane over and parked.

“This is part of your plan, right? Disable their car so they can’t get away?” I asked him.

“Darlin’, I don’t have a plan. I just wanted to mess with them.”

Thirty minutes later, Rodriguez and Lucca sauntered back down the car lane. They were talking, and they each had a soft-drink cup. Lucca was carrying a pizza box. They got in the car and a couple minutes passed. Hooker smiling the whole time.

“I can’t believe you’re getting off on this,” I said. “We’re wanted by the police. We’re about to abduct a couple killers. And you’re having fun with them.”

“You have to take fun where you find it,” Hooker said. “Anyway, this throws them off their game a little. Gives them something to think about besides us.”

The car doors opened and Rodriguez and Lucca got out. They popped the hood and took a look.

“Probably don’t know a gasket from a water pump,” Hooker said.

They slammed the hood down and looked around, hands on hips, pissed off.

Now I was starting to enjoy it. “We have them wondering.”

Rodriguez took out his cell phone and made a call. There was a lot of head nodding. He looked at his watch and wasn’t happy. I’m not proficient at reading lips, but it was obvious what he said into the phone.

“Bad move,” Hooker said. “Not only is that physically impossible, it’s also not going to get the road-ser vice crew out here anytime soon.”

Rodriguez flipped his phone closed and looked around some more. He stared directly at us, and my heart skipped a couple beats before his gaze moved on.

“He didn’t spot us,” I said.

“Might not be at the top of the charts as far as hit men go.”

“Yeah, and they’ve killed two men. Probably three. Imagine how many people they could have killed if they were really good.”

“At least three more,” Hooker said.

Rodriguez ran his hand over his bald head and looked at his watch again. There was a discussion, and Rodriguez got behind the wheel and horse-wanger Lucca returned to the mall.

“Divide and conquer,” Hooker said. “It’ll be easier to snag just one of them. Let’s move.”

We got out and walked over to the Taurus. Hooker had his gun in one hand and his other hand on the Taurus door handle. He yanked the door open and pointed the gun at Rodriguez.

“Get out,” Hooker said.

Rodriguez looked at Hooker, and then he looked at the gun.

“No,” Rodriguez said.

“What do you mean, no?”

“I’m not getting out.”

“If you don’t get out, I’ll shoot you.”

Rodriguez stared Hooker down. “I don’t think so. You’re not a shooter. I bet you never shot anything.”

“I hunt,” Hooker said.

“Oh yeah? What do you hunt, bunnies?”

“Sometimes.”

I tried not to grimace. “That’s disgusting.”

“Women don’t understand about hunting,” Rodriguez said to Hooker. “You gotta have cojones to hunt.”

I did an eye roll. “Now that you two big-game hunters have bonded, how about getting out of the car.”

“Forget it,” Rodriguez said.

“Okay,” I said to Hooker. “Shoot him.”

Hooker’s eyes opened wide. “Now? Here?”

“Now! Just friggin’ shoot him.”

Hooker looked around the lot. “There are people…”

“For crying out loud,” I said. “Give me the gun.”

“No!” Rodriguez said. “Don’t give her the gun. I’ll get out. Christ, she almost killed Lucca with that six-pack.”

Hooker and I took a step back and Rodriguez got out.

“Hands on the car,” Hooker said.

Rodriguez turned and put his hands on the car, and I did a pat down. I took a gun from a side holster and a gun from an ankle holster and his cell phone.

Hooker’s phone rang. “Yeah?” Hooker said. “Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh.” He shifted from side to side. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. No problem. I’ll be there. I’m ready to get on the plane.”

“Who was that?” I asked Hooker when he disconnected.

“Skippy. He wanted to make sure I remembered about the banquet. He said murder charges wouldn’t exempt me.”

It was Sunday, and Skippy was probably already in New York preparing for an entire week of NASCAR promotion with the top-ten winning drivers. And he was justifiably worried that he’d have only nine guys safely tucked away in their rooms at the Waldorf. Probably at this very moment his thumbs were flying over his BlackBerry, composing a damage-control article on Hooker and me that could be shipped out to the media at a moment’s notice.

Hooker reached into the car and popped the trunk. “Get in,” he said to Rodriguez.

Rodriguez paled. “You’re kidding.”

Rodriguez was thinking about Bernie Miller. Thinking about how easy it was to shoot a guy in a trunk. And I was thinking I liked seeing Rodriguez coming to terms with it. This wasn’t the movies. This was real life. And shooting people in real life wasn’t nice. Especially when you were the guy getting shot.

“I could shoot you now,” I said. “Be easy to get you in the trunk with a couple bullets in your head.”

I couldn’t believe I was saying this. I had to get somebody else to kill a spider. And I hated spiders. Not only was I saying all these dumb tough-cookie things…I was almost believing them.

Rodriguez looked into the trunk. “I’ve never climbed into a trunk before. I’m gonna feel like an idiot.”

Guess this was one of those situations where having cojones doesn’t do you a lot of good, eh?

Hooker made an impatient sound and raised his gun, and Rodriguez went into the trunk headfirst. He had his ass up in the air, looking like Pooh Bear going into the rabbit hole, and I almost burst out laughing. Not because it was all that funny, but because I was borderline hysterical.

A bunch of high school kids walked by on their way to the mall.

“Hey, it’s Sam Hooker,” one of them said. “Dude!”

“Hey, man, can I have your autograph?”

“Sure,” Hooker said, handing me the gun. “You got a pen?” he asked the kid.

“What’s with the guy in the trunk?” one of the kids wanted to know.

“We’re kidnapping him,” Hooker said.

“Way to go,” the kid said.

The kids left, and we closed the lid on Rodriguez.

“You drive the SUV, and I’ll take the Taurus,” Hooker said. “We’ll take him to the factory.”

I reattached the hose and wires on the Taurus, jogged to the SUV, Hooker backed the Taurus out, and we took off.

It was late afternoon. We’d stopped at a grocery store, and I’d done some shopping while Hooker walked Beans. After the grocery store, we drove to the deserted factory and parked the two cars deep in the cavernous interior. Now we were standing behind the Taurus, wondering what the heck we were supposed to do next.

“How about this,” Hooker said. “We haul him out of the trunk, and we chain him to that pipe over there. We can wrap the chain around his ankle and lock it. He’ll be able to move around a little, but he won’t be able to get away.”

It sounded like an okay plan to me, so I held the flashlight and Hooker felt around for the trunk latch. He got the lid up, looked in at Rodriguez, and Rodriguez kicked out with both feet, catching Hooker square in the chest, knocking him on his ass. Rodriguez rocketed out of the trunk and hit the ground running. He tried to push past me. I whacked him hard in the knee with the flashlight and he went down like a sack of sand.