The Christian Bale guy is leaning over, his hands on his knees, taking deep breaths.
Everything suddenly seems displaced, subtle gradations erase borders, but it's more forceful than that.
"Palakon?" I ask, slowly. "Why was that hat so important?"
No answer.
"Why did Lauren Hynde give me that hat?" I ask. "Why is the hat so important, Palakon?"
"Who says it is?" Palakon asks, distracted, harassed, still pacing.
"Palakon," I sigh. "I may be a lot of things, but stupid is not one of them." Finally I'm so scared that I start breaking down. "I need help. You've got to get me out of here. I don't care about the money anymore. They'll kill me. I mean it, Palakon. They will kill me." Panicking, doubled over on the bed, I envision my corpse on a beach, someone's idea of a "flourish," and there's a breeze, it's midday, a figure disappears into a cove. "I shouldn't even be here-oh f**king god-I shouldn't even be here."
"You weren't followed," Palakon says. "Please Mr. Ward, calm down."
"I can't," I'm whining, still doubled over, clutching myself "I can't, I cannot, I-"
"Mr. Ward, is there anyone who can help you?" Palakon asks. "Anyone you can put us in touch with?"
"No no no, there's no one-"
"What about family? What about your parents? Maybe something can be arranged. Something monetary. Do they know where you are?"
"No." I breathe in. "My mother's dead. My father-I can't, I can't bring my father into this."
Palakon suddenly stops pacing.
"Why not?" Palakon asks. "Maybe if you put us in touch with your father he could come over here and we could make an arrangement to somehow extract you from this mess-"
"But, Palakon, what mess? What do you mean, a mess? And I can't can 't get my father involved." I'm shaking my head, weeping. "No, no, I can't, no-"
"Victor, why can't you get your father involved?"
"Palakon, you don't understand," I'm whispering.
"Mr. Ward, I'm trying to help you-"
"I can't I can't I-"
"Mr. Ward-" Palakon shouts.
"My father is a U.S. senator," I scream, glaring up at him. "My father is a f**king U.S. senator. That is why he can't get involved, Palakon," I scream. "Okay? Okay?"
Palakon swallows grimly, taking this in. Visibly alarmed, he closes his eyes, concentrating. Waves lap at the body on the beach and behind it hard brown surfers ride buoyantly over green swells below a burning sun high above the horizon and beyond them there's an island-boulders, woods, an old granite quarry, the smell of salt-and on that island another figure disappears into a cove and then it's night.
"Your father is Samuel Johnson?" Palakon asks.
"Yes," I hiss, still glaring at him. "Didn't you know this when you first contacted me?"
"No, we didn't," Palakon says quietly, humbled. "But now I"-he clears his throat-"see."
"No you don't," I'm saying mindlessly, moving my head back and forth like a child. "No you don't."
"Victor, you don't need to explain to me who your father is," Palakon says. "I think I understand." He pauses again. "And because of this I also understand why this makes the situation more... delicate."
I start giggling. "Delicate? The situation is delicate?" I stop giggling, gasp in a sob.
"Victor, we can help you, I think-"
"I'm trapped, I'm trapped, I'm trapped, and they'll kill me-"
"Mr. Ward," Palakon says, kneeling, leaning in to where I'm sitting on the edge of the bed. "Please, we will help you but-"
When I try to hug him he pushes me gently away.
"-you have got to act as if nothing has happened. You have got to pretend that you don't know anything. You've got to play along until I can figure something out."
"No, no, no-"
Palakon motions for the Christian Bale guy. I feel a pair of hands on my shoulders. Someone's whispering.
"I'm afraid, Palakon," I sob.
"Don't be, Mr. Ward," Palakon says. "We know where you are. In the meantime I have to figure some things out. We'll contact you-"
"You've got to be careful," I say. "Everything's bugged. Everything's wired. Everything's being filmed."