The Kidnap Victim

by Michael P. King

  “Why would he do that?” Denison asked.

  “Because he wants the money.”

  Bell started toward the hall. “I can’t listen to any more of this. I’m going to my bedroom.”

  Bryan speed-dialed Nicole’s phone. It rang and rang. Just as he thought it was about to go to voice mail, a man’s voice said, “Yeah?”

  “You ready to deal?”

  “Guessed you were looking for me. I pulled the chip from this phone to make it a little more interesting.”

  “And now you put the chip back in, so you must want to talk. Arithmetic is working in your favor. You went from a four-way split to a no-way split.”

  “Lost my partners, though. And maybe I want to be spiteful, teach you a lesson.”

  “I thought this was business.”

  “There’s some of that too. So you finally got the money?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m going to be on safe ground this time.”

  “Bring Nicole, unharmed, we’ll bring the hundred grand.”

  “Unharmed? It’s a little late for that. I’ll call back at midnight.”

  The phone went dead. Denison and Cohen were looking at him. “We’re in business.”

  “How’s Nicole?” Denison asked.

  “Don’t know. I’m not going to lie, James. I’m sure Nicole told you this. Crazy people act crazy. There’s nothing we can do except play our hand the best way we can. Now for the other guys.”

  In a rundown motel room, Nicole was naked, tied spread-eagle face down on the unmade bed, the sheets and bedspread in a tangle on the floor. Her mouth was gagged with a washcloth and duct tape, and her nose was swollen, making every breath difficult. All her tender places hurt. She was afraid and in pain and uncertain that she would escape with her life, but she was working her plan. Every time Mr. White came at her, she increased her advantage by acting more fearful, more broken, more beat down, as if he were more and more in control, but she was watching him, studying him, waiting for her chance. She didn’t really believe her chance would ever come. She was more or less certain that she would die violated and battered. But her plan was all she had, so she couldn’t give it up. And now, finally, Bryan was in the mix, shaping the details that would lead Mr. White to his death. At least she could count on that.

  She watched Mr. White in the narrow line of light peeking through the curtains as he sat in his boxer shorts at the table by the window. He pulled the chip from her phone and set the phone and the chip down on the table. He looked over at her as if he were puzzling something out before he dragged his chair over to the bed. “That wasn’t Denison. And it didn’t sound like that big bastard.” He poked her shoulder. “You didn’t tell me about this guy, which pisses me off a little. He wants to trade you for the money. I’m going to take off your gag. If you yell, I’m going to hurt you.”

  He pulled the duct tape off her mouth. She spat out the washcloth.

  “You’re doing good. You keep on being good, and I’ll give you a drink of water. Now then, who is this guy and how will he come at me?”

  “He’s my partner. He can be hard to figure.”

  “I bet. But you know all his moves.”

  “I do.”

  “So?”

  She didn’t reply.

  “We’ve been over this. That big bastard killed my friends. You’re lucky to be alive. You’ve got a lot of bruises. Do you want some fresh ones?”

  She made her expression completely submissive. “He won’t be choosing the ground, so he’ll make the trade. If you don’t blink, you’ll leave with the money.”

  “But?”

  “Tracker in the bag. After you think you’re safe, he’ll come to get the money back.”

  He ran his hand down her back. She trembled. “Let me get you that drink of water.”

  She watched him walk across the room to the bathroom. She’d done everything she could to misdirect him. He was as overconfident as possible. Now it was up to Bryan to spring his trap. She smiled to herself. Mr. White was a walking dead man.

  Bryan sat on a stool at the kitchen island, the bottle of beer in front of him and his phone at his ear. Denison and Cohen sat watching him. “Connect me with room 179, please.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re chasing a grifter.”

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  “We’re trailing his partner. We’ll sell him to you for ten grand.”

  “That is so much bullshit. You’re just cops.”

  “Not the cops. Just looking to sell some good information.”

  “Why should we pay?”

  “’Cause he’s a pain in the ass that your boss wanted dead yesterday. You don’t know where he is, do you? You’ve just got the car tag. But we’re following his partner. You scoop him up, he tells you where to find the grifter, you kill him, and you all go back to doing your thing.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You better get on this train, brother. He leaves town; the trail will be ice cold again.”

  “We’ll think about it.”

  “I’ll call back with a time and place.”

  Bryan set his phone down on the granite counter and took a drink of beer.

  “They actually buy it?” Cohen asked.

  “He’s thinking. I’m lucky about this sort of thing. Just wait and see.”

  Denison looked at him as if he were trying to understand a math problem that was just a little too complicated. “So your plan, if I understand correctly, is to use a gang of drug criminals who are hunting you to kill the psycho who has Nicole?”

  “That’s exactly what I plan to do—if I can pull it off.”

  “I understand how this helps you—some of the drug criminals might be killed—but how does it help Nicole?”

  “This asshole is expecting us. He’s expecting to have the advantage because we don’t want him to kill Nicole. So the drug thugs with their demands—he won’t have the slightest idea what they’re talking about—will throw him off guard.”

  “But he might kill Nicole.”

  “James, he’s going to kill Nicole. There’s no doubt about that. His plan is to get the money, kill her, and kill us, if he can. Because otherwise that sick fuck knows I’m hunting him down. Our task is to save Nicole before he can kill her. So he can’t have the money, but he has to believe he’s going to get it.”

  “But what will you do if the drug criminals won’t go for it?”

  “Think of something else. In the meantime, get the money. We’ll need it with us when we go to the meet.”

  The gangster stood by the window of room 179 looking out into the parking lot. His guys were sitting around this shithole motel drinking beer and playing cards, when they should have been at home earning. Hunting for the grifter was taking too much time, cutting into his income. And the junky who’d seen the grifter at the airport was completely worthless. Her description could’ve been any old white man. And there wasn’t any future in killing white men around here. There were the customers. He took out his burner phone. “Spanish? I got a lead. Guy says he can finger your boy’s partner.”

  “He’s not a cop?”

  “No.”

  “Then what’s holding you up?”

  “When we catch your boy, how messy do you want it? How big a message you want to send?”

  “No civilians. But the grifter and his people? I want the world to know what happens if you fuck with me.”

  “You got it.”

  Bell woke up in a fog, the sleeping pill she’d taken dragging her down. She stood in her bedroom looking out the window at the sand and ocean and sky. She needed to get dressed, but she just couldn’t seem to think through what she should wear. She glanced at the face of her smartphone. Three o’clock. She’d slept through lunch. The last forty-eight hours were—she couldn’t even think of words to express what she felt. Bobby would be back in his office by now. He’d left two messages on her voice mail. She deleted them without listening to them, and then spe
ed-dialed his number.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he said. “I was beginning to wonder what happened to you. Things must be going pretty well for you to not have time to call me back.”

  She sat down on the edge of the bed. “Are you alone?”

  “Yeah.”

  She told him about her abduction and rescue.

  “Jesus Christ. Your dad should have called me.”

  “He didn’t tell anyone.”

  “But you’re okay?”

  “Yeah.” Her voice was flat.

  “I mean, crazy trauma, but physically—”

  “Yeah.”

  “And Nicole’s partner is there?”

  “Bryan got here late last night. He and Cohen, they’re like wolves. He’s concocting a scheme to get Nicole back, talking to the last kidnapper on the phone. I just couldn’t listen anymore.”

  “So Nicole and the other guy—Cohen—killed three of those guys. Why didn’t your dad just pay?”

  “Nicole said they were going to kill us after they got the money.”

  “Do you think that’s true?”

  “I don’t know. That doesn’t matter now. Nicole saved me. Dad’s not going to turn on her. Besides, Nicole is Bryan’s partner. I get the impression that’s more than just business. So he’s calling the shots.”

  “So your dad is helping killers. Does Skip know about any of this?”

  “No. Dad’s not going to tell him anything until it’s all over. He doesn’t want him to interfere.”

  “But you’re really okay?”

  “I’m doing better. After they rescued me, I felt so guilty about feeling relieved. God knows what that crazy guy is doing to Nicole.”

  “I’m coming out there. I’m going to get on the first plane.”

  “I need you so bad. I want you here with me, but you should wait. The next twenty-four hours are going to be insane.”

  “I’m coming out.”

  “Just stay on the phone with me until it’s all over. If you’re on the plane, I won’t be able to hear your voice if I need you.”

  “Okay. If that’s what you want. But I’m flying out tomorrow.”

  “Just wait, honey. I’ll keep you in the loop on everything.”

  “Switch over to Facetime. I have to see you.”

  “I’m a mess. I just got up from a nap. I’ve got bedhead.”

  “I have to see how banged up you are.”

  “Okay.” They switched over to Facetime. She could see his spectacled face and most of his reddish-blond beard. “Satisfied?”

  “Show me your arms.”

  She moved her phone down her arms. “See? No bruises. I’m okay.”

  “You’re going to answer the phone when I call.”

  “I know.”

  “No matter what’s happening.”

  “I will.” She air kissed him. “I love you.”

  “I love you.”

  13

  The Travel Ace

  At midnight Bryan’s phone rang. He opened his eyes. Moonlight angled into the den from the east windows. He sat up in the chair where he’d been dozing, rubbed his face, and tried to shake off the dream he’d been in—a dream where he was running down a tunnel and couldn’t reach the end. “Yeah?”

  “That woman of yours has got some spirit. There’s a Travel Ace truck stop at the freeway interchange on the east side of town. We meet back by the highway sign. Two hours. I’m leaving her there, alive or dead. It’s up to you. You want her alive you bring the money.”

  Cohen was standing next to him in the dark. “Is it a go?”

  Bryan got to his feet. “I’ve got to see how many pieces are going to be on the board.”

  They walked into the kitchen and turned on the light. Cohen got two beers out of the refrigerator, opened them, and passed one to Bryan. Bryan took a long, slow pull. Then he looked down at the counter and rubbed his hands together. He had to get this just right. There was no room for error. Nicole was as much a part of him as his hand or his heart. He had to get her back. He dialed the Weekender Motel. “Room 179, please.”

  The telephone rang over and over. Finally a sleepy voice said, “You’re a dead man.”

  “You like sleeping in that shitty bed? You’re lucky you don’t have bedbugs.”

  “You’re going to suffer first.”

  He heard a voice in the background, but it wasn’t loud enough for him to tell if it was male or female. “You want to go home? I know where the grifter’s partner is going to be in two hours. All you have to do is scoop him up, have a chat, and you’ll know where the grifter is.”

  “I’m not paying you ten thousand dollars.”

  “How about five thousand?”

  “Huh-uh.”

  “How about I get to keep his car, his wallet, and his gun?”

  “Why do you hate this guy so much?”

  “Do I have to have a reason?”

  The man laughed.

  “The grifter screwed me over. I was going to kill him myself, but then I saw you guys were on it. Decided to get out of the way.”

  “In two hours?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You want him gone; you should tell me for free.”

  Bryan paused, counted silently to ten, and then said, “Really? I can’t have anything?”

  “You can keep your life.”

  “There’s a Travel Ace truck stop at the freeway interchange over on the east side of town. He’ll be back by the highway sign. He’ll have a woman with him. He thinks he’s collecting a ransom.”

  “Your woman?”

  “Yes.”

  “She better stay out of the way.”

  Bryan turned to Cohen as he slipped his phone into his pocket. “Let’s gear up.”

  The Travel Ace truck stop was quiet except for the idling of the dozen or so tractor-trailer rigs parked in the back lot by the highway sign, and the quiet bartering of the prostitutes and drug dealers. Bryan and Cohen, dark clothes and Kevlar vests, stood in the shadow between two rigs, watching the base of the highway sign, which was lit up by parking-lot lights. There was no one in sight.

  “Got here first,” Cohen said.

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s your thinking?”

  “This is not the best situation for us.”

  “Too much open ground around that sign.”

  “We can’t have them talking to one another too long, so if they don’t start shooting, we’re going to have to help them along,” Bryan said.

  “I’ll leave that to you. Once you start, I’ll open up.”

  “Nobody’s getting out of here alive, except Nicole.”

  “Got you. I’m going to set up next to that shed over to the right. It’s a little distant, but the cover is good.” Cohen pointed at a sheet-metal building with an outdoor light above the door. A row of evergreen bushes ran along the left side.

  “I’m going to stay on the move.”

  Cohen nodded.

  “And Cohen,” Bryan said, “if the gangbangers don’t kill him, he’s mine.”

  Cohen smiled. “As long as he doesn’t get in my way.”

  At 1:00 a.m. the jeep drove into the halo of strong light at the base of the Travel Ace sign. Bryan could see two people in the gloom of the front seat, but he couldn’t tell who they were. He glanced around. Most of the prostitutes and drug slingers were gone. The only noise was the idling of the diesel engines. He looked over at the sheet-metal shed. He couldn’t see Cohen in the bushes, but he knew he was over there, waiting.

  At 2:00 a.m. the yellow Lincoln came rolling across the parking lot. Bryan snuck among the parked semitrucks until he was crouching behind a wheel of the closest truck. Mr. White, wearing Nicole’s Kevlar and carrying her MP5K submachine gun, pushed open the door to the Jeep and shoved Nicole out in front of him. She fell to the pavement. He pulled her to her feet and kept behind her. Her wrists and her knees were duct-taped. She was too far away for Bryan to see anything else. But she was alive, and tha
t was all that mattered.

  Four Latinos in work clothes climbed out of the Lincoln. Mr. White gripped Nicole around her waist with his free arm and pressed the submachine gun into her side. One of the men from the Lincoln shouted and gestured at Mr. White. He shouted something back.

  The scene shifted into slow motion. A man wearing a black ball cap pulled a pistol from under his shirt. As he raised it up, Mr. White swung the submachine gun around and fired. Ball cap went down, his pistol firing wild. Nicole kicked free, rolled across the asphalt, and started crawling away. The other three men pulled pistols from their clothes and opened up on Mr. White, running forward as they fired. Bryan rolled under the truck to improve his position and started shooting. Another gangster went down.

  Bryan heard firing from the right. Cohen was in the open, running at a crouch, firing the MP5K in bursts. Another gangster fell, then Mr. White, then the final gangster. Bryan scrambled out from under the truck and ran to Nicole. Cohen moved cautiously, scanning the fallen men for movement. When he got to Mr. White, he prodded him with his boot. Mr. White’s head rocked back and forth. Cohen whistled to Bryan and then pointed down at Mr. White. Bryan gave a quick wave. He turned back to Nicole, who was still crawling away, flopping along like fish on dry land.

  “Hey,” Bryan said. He flipped her onto her back. “I’ve got you.”

  She was panting, out of breath, but still struggling. “Hey, it’s me. I’ve got you,” he said.

  Her expression shifted. “Bryan.”

  “I’m right here. I’m cutting you free. Just give me a second.” He put his Glock into her hands, pulled his lock-back knife, and cut through the duct tape. She sat up.

  “Take it easy,” he said. He put his arms around her and held her. “Sorry I took so long. You look pretty banged up.”

  “I’m not talking about it.”

  Bryan studied her face. Her cheek was bruised, and her lip was bloody, but the emptiness in her eyes told him what she’d been through. “That bad?”