"Why did you let Byrne stay in the bike tour if you knew we were close to him?"
Jonathan sighed and shook his head. "We fought that but he's a stubborn son-of-a-bitch-a fanatic about this biking business. He insisted. And," he added, "we underestimated you-he'd changed names so much we didn't think you'd ever find him."
"I'm insisting on something too," said Dean coldly. "I want to talk to your Jeffrey Byrne."
"Out of the question," snapped Winston.
"I might not be able to prove your involvement in this little charade but I bet I can ask some embarrassing questions."
Jonathan looked at him for several moments, recognizing Dean was serious. "Let me take a pee and think about it," he answered. He crossed to the bathroom and shut the door.
In a few minutes, Dean heard the toilet flush and Winston emerged. He was behind Dean and before Dean could realize what was happening, Winston grabbed his right arm and with a quick metallic click Dean was securely fastened to the brass bedpost by a steel handcuff.
"There," he said. "Isn't that cozy?"
"What the hell are you doing?" Dean growled.
Jonathan dangled a second pair of handcuffs in front of Dean. "If you agree to let me fasten your other arm and drop this pillow case over your head so you can't see, I'll let you chat with our friend, but that's the only way."
"What's the difference if I see him?"
"Maybe no difference, but I'm setting the rules. This way you could never swear in a court of law you saw him. You'd only be guessing he's alive and a lawyer would beat you to death."
Dean knew Winston was right. Winston had made sure there was no factual proof Byrne was alive. He held out his left hand. "Do it," he said.
Jonathan secured his wrist, shook a pillow from its case and pulled the cloth over Dean's head. "It might be a while before I round him up but you look pretty comfy. Make the most of your chit-chat. This is the only shot you'll get." He patted Dean on the back. "See you back east, fella. I'm flying out in the morning." The light was extinguished and Dean heard the door close to silence.
Dean remained in his cramped position, his injured leg going numb, as daylight sank into evening. At last, when he was about to begin rapping his head on the wall for attention, he heard a click at the lock and the sound of the door opening.
"Byrne?" He called as he could feel the presence of someone in the room.