The Kidnap Victim

by Michael P. King

“How long were you watching me?”

  “Ten minutes, maybe. Heard noise in the hall. At first I thought you were headed for the comfort of Denison’s bed, but then you started moving around like you thought you were somewhere else.”

  She leaned her elbows on the kitchen island, resting her face in her hands. “God, I’m a mess. I haven’t had a dream like that in years.”

  “Do you want to get into Denison’s bed?”

  “I don’t think I could stand to have another person touch me, even accidentally. And now I’m a little bit afraid to go to sleep.”

  “You wouldn’t have hurt him.”

  “You know that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s worse this time.”

  “Maybe. Always seems worse until it’s over. Put your robe on. There’s still another bottle of whiskey around here. We’ll sit in the den and watch the night until you’re ready to lay down.”

  She put her hand on his shoulder and tried to see into his eyes. “Do you really think I’m going to be okay?”

  “Yes. You’re going to be okay. Because we’re going to do whatever it takes to get you there. Right? It’s me and you. Always us.”

  He got the bottle of whiskey and two glasses and sat down on the sofa in the den. She came back wrapped in an oversize terrycloth robe. They watched the stars and the distant lights of the boats on the water and listened to the surf pound the beach. Neither said a word. In the early dim before true morning, just as they began to see the seagulls moving, she lay her head in his lap and closed her eyes. He stroked her hair and sipped his drink. As she drifted off she found herself back in the motel room, tied down on the bed, Mr. White’s hands around her throat as he raped her from behind. She started whimpering. Bryan lay his hand on her shoulder. She opened her eyes, shuddered and began to sob. Then she hugged his thigh with both her arms and bawled. He rubbed her back.

  Denison appeared in the doorway in his pajamas, still half-asleep, alarm spreading over his face.

  “It’s okay,” Bryan said. “Nothing to worry about.”

  When Nicole got up, it was already afternoon. Everyone was gathered around the kitchen island: Denison, Bryan, Bell, and her boyfriend, Bobby, a red-bearded bear of a man with gold, wire-rimmed glasses. They were all drinking champagne.

  “There you are,” Denison said. “We were just toasting Bell’s engagement.”

  “Well, congratulations,” Nicole said.

  Bell poured champagne into a flute and Bell and Bobby scooted over so that Nicole could sit next to Denison.

  “This is my boyfriend, Bobby. Or I guess I should say my fiancé.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” Nicole tried to smile, but she felt a claustrophobic desperation settling around her. She wasn’t sure she could be around so many people. She put her hand on top of Bryan’s. “Is there any whiskey left?”

  Bryan poured whiskey and passed it to her. She took a long drink. Everyone was watching her.

  “Feeling any better?” Denison asked.

  “Than yesterday? Yes. Sorry about this morning. I just—it just came out.”

  Bell squeezed her hand. “You’ve got nothing to feel sorry about.”

  Nicole could see Mr. White in her peripheral vision. She drank some more whiskey to push him away.

  “Would you like an omelet?” Denison asked.

  Nicole took a deep breath. The whiskey was doing its work. She began to feel more relaxed. “Yes. Please.”

  “What do you want in it?” Denison asked. “There’s cheese, olives, green peppers, ham.”

  “Everything. And a glass of milk.”

  Later, after dinner, Nicole wandered into Bryan’s room, a glass of whiskey in her hand. All day long, her ordeal had been flashing back in her mind, bowling her over emotionally, and she’d been struggling to contain the emotions, to take control of those nightmarish memories and pack them into a tiny bundle that she could push into a far corner of her mind until she felt strong enough to deal with them. The memories were still flashing out at her when she least expected, but she was feeling stronger and knew now what she had to do. She needed Bryan—needed the certainty that he provided that she had value, could create value. She needed him because he needed her, always needed her, and his need proved that her feelings of worthlessness were a lie.

  Bryan looked up from folding a shirt into his open suitcase. “Still hard drinking?”

  “’Til tomorrow. You leaving?”

  “Yeah. First thing in the morning. Now that this business is settled, I’m going back for the safe-deposit-box money and some payback.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  He stopped what he was doing. “Have you thought this through? You don’t get over what you’ve been through in just a day or two. The daughter’s your best girlfriend now. The son doesn’t stand a chance. This was supposed to be my gift to you. Your retirement package.”

  “You going corporate?”

  “I can’t promise you another deal like this.”

  “I’m not giving this up.”

  “Good.”

  “You just can’t admit that you need my help.”

  “Oh, I need you. I was unarmed, up to my chest in a creek, with guys coming to kill me needing you. Do you think those bastards would have been able to dog me if you were with me? Neither of us is one hundred percent without the other.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Then it’s settled.” She put her whiskey on the night table, hugged him tight, closed her eyes, and breathed in his scent.

  He stroked her hair. “I just want what’s best for you.”

  She kissed him with her eyes open. “Tomorrow, then.”

  She drifted down the hall past the kitchen and into the den, drinking as she went. Bell, Bobby, and Denison were on the sofa watching a news channel, Bell nestled against Bobby as if she were a little girl. She shifted over when she saw Nicole and patted the cushion between her and her father. “Come, sit.”

  Nicole plopped down between them. Denison turned off the TV. “How you doing?”

  “I’m okay. As long as I don’t feel too much I can keep moving forward.”

  “I know you need your space right now, but if you need anything or want to talk about anything…”

  “Jimmy, don’t worry. I know you’re here for me. I just can’t talk about it right now. It hurts too much.”

  No one spoke for a few minutes. Finally, Bell said, “So Bryan’s leaving in the morning?”

  “Yeah,” Nicole replied.

  “What do you want to do tomorrow?” Denison asked. “Bell and Bobby will be here a few more days.”

  “That’s what I need to talk to you about. I’m going with Bryan,” Nicole said.

  “Nicki, I want you to stay. What do I need to do to get you to stay?” Denison asked.

  “You need to stay at least until you get well,” Bell said.

  “I can’t. I need to go with Bryan. It’s the only way I’m going to heal.”

  “I remember,” Denison said. “You and Bryan. We’ve talked about this. He’s your center. He makes you stronger.”

  “Sitting out by the pool. That seems like such a long time ago.”

  “That’s why you could cry.” Denison’s face crumpled. “But what about us?”

  She tried to smile her old bright smile. “You haven’t gotten rid of me. I’ve got your cell number, so if you’re not here, I’ll be able to find you.”

  “Can I call you?” Denison asked.

  “Jimmy, of course you can call me.” She forced herself to kiss him. “You can always call me. You’re my guy.”

  “Sit with us awhile.”

  She shook her head. “I’m going to my room.”

  “I love you,” he said.

  “I love you too.”

  Bobby watched Nicole shuffle away. He turned to Bell and her father. “She’s a wreck. The woman you described over the phone and that woman—hard to believe they’re the same person.”

  Bell nodded. “Sh
e looks ten years older than she did when I came here.”

  “When you told me what happened to you—that you’d been kidnapped, that your dad was working with criminals instead of calling the police—I thought about how crazy dangerous the whole thing was and how lucky you were to be safe. I thought I understood what was at stake, what the worst could be, but I was wrong. I didn’t know at all. And now I can’t even express how grateful I am that what happened to her didn’t happen to you.”

  Bell hugged him.

  Denison’s eyes were wet. “You can’t even say the words, can you? It’s so bad you’ve got to talk in circles around it.”

  “Raped,” Bobby said.

  Bell shook her head. “That doesn’t begin to describe what happened to her. That’s just something that was done to her. It’s like she’s not in color anymore. She’s the black-and-white version of herself.”

  “God,” Denison said, “if she hadn’t chosen to push you out of the way. I want to help her so much. And now it looks like I’m going to lose her.”

  “No, Dad. She really loves you. She’ll be back.”

  “I can’t compete with Bryan.”

  “You don’t have to compete with Bryan. For her, you’re not the same.”

  14

  Tidying Up

  Bryan and Nicole flew into Indianapolis, rented a car, and took their time working their way back to Springville, switching cars twice before buying a black Cadillac. One evening, they stopped at a chain motel at a freeway interchange and went into the Play Ball! sports bar for supper. It appeared to be the local watering hole. The bar was crowded with a diverse group: suits, dress casual, and work clothes. Their server, a young woman in a black-and-white striped referee’s shirt, with her bleached-blonde hair pinned up on the top of her head, led them to a booth on the far wall.

  “Something to drink other than water?” she asked.

  “Gin martini, two olives, no rocks,” Nicole said.

  “Me too,” Bryan said.

  She left them with their menus. They sat for a few minutes without speaking while they slowly scanned the room. There was no one there for them to be afraid of.

  “How are you feeling?” Bryan asked.

  “Honestly? My throat feels a little tight. There’s too many people in here. I’ll feel better after I drink my martini.”

  “You’re of no use to either of us right now.”

  “I know.”

  “You’ve got to get back into the game. If you’re not ready, you can always go back to Denison. He’ll take care of you. But if you want to stay with me, you’ve got to be able to play your part.”

  “What have you got in mind?”

  “See the cowboy at the bar?”

  She glanced at the crowded bar. A big man with a grey mustache wearing a tan cowboy hat and highly polished cowboy boots sat at a stool about a quarter of the way down.

  “Think you can take his watch?”

  “I’m not in the mood.”

  “Not in the mood or not up to the challenge? You’ve got nothing to fear. We’re both armed. This is just a nice little test run.”

  “Doesn’t have to be that particular guy, does it? Let me drink my drink and eat something first.”

  Their server brought their martinis. “Ready to order?”

  “I’ll have the chicken burrito,” Nicole said.

  “The bacon cheeseburger for me,” Bryan said. “And let me sub a side salad for the fries.”

  They clicked glasses and sipped their martinis. Nicole sighed. “So you want me to do a grab and drop?”

  Bryan shrugged. “It’s not a wrist lift, but it’s a start. Breathe in, breathe out. You can do this. It’s just like falling off a log.”

  Nicole looked at the bar. There was a full-figured, middle-aged woman with a beauty salon hairdo sitting next to the cowboy. Her handbag was hanging off the back of her stool. Easy pickings. But Nicole heard Mr. White’s voice in her head. He was telling her she was worthless—second-rate, a whore, not a grifter. How else could he have caught her? She felt the hypervigilance creeping in. She saw the woman turning toward her just as she was reaching into the woman’s handbag, heard her yell, saw herself shifting to avoid being grabbed, rushing toward the door, being tackled by a bartender before she could push out into the parking lot.

  She gulped her martini. “Here goes.”

  Nicole’s heart was racing as she moved toward the full-figured woman at the bar. She bumped into her, apologized profusely, and walked away with her car keys, which she flashed at Bryan. She went into the ladies’ room and sat on the toilet. Her hands were shaking. She’d learned how to lift keys a long time ago, when she was just a kid. Bryan had showed her how. She thought she could do it in her sleep. But today, with Mr. White’s voice in her ear, she wasn’t sure of anything. She put her hand on her heart and took a slow, deep breath. She’d done the grab, now it was time for the drop. This had always been the easy part. She came out of the restroom, noted the gap between the middle-aged woman and the next bar stool, and crowded up into it. She held a hand up for the bartender. He had an expectant look on his face.

  “You sell cigarettes?”

  He shook his head. “Machine over by the door.”

  She turned to look, jostling the woman’s handbag, and dropped the car keys back in. Then she returned to Bryan at the booth. “Satisfied?”

  “Always a pleasure to watch you work. How did it feel?”

  “A little rocky.”

  He saw that her hand was trembling and put his hand on hers. “He can’t hurt you anymore.”

  “I know.”

  “You killed him.”

  “He’s still crowding into my mind.”

  “But you felt that good rush, didn’t you? When you dropped the keys and walked away?”

  “Yeah, I did. It felt good.”

  “We’re going to get you back on track. This isn’t about what you can do; it’s about pushing him out. You’ll see. He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t know what you’re capable of. We’ll pull a few more practice runs along the way, and you’ll be just fine.”

  A week and a half later, they sat in the Cadillac on the street half a block down from Neal Robertson’s law offices. They’d been surveilling the offices for three days. Bryan was still clean-shaven. Nicole wore a shoulder-length blonde wig. A white silk scarf wound around her throat hid what remained of the neck bruises. The day was already hot. They watched as the secretary and the new assistant left for lunch.

  “You ready for this?” Bryan asked.

  “Already getting a good feeling.”

  “You could wait in the car.”

  “No way. I need this.”

  “Then let’s do it.”

  They put on throwaway latex gloves, got out of the car, and crossed the street, two black suits with pistols holstered under their jackets. Robertson was in his office working at his desk when they walked in.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “we’re closed over the lunch hour. I’m just about to leave. Call later to make an appointment.”

  They kept moving toward him. “We know you’re closed,” Bryan said. “That’s why we’re here.”

  Robertson jerked open his top desk drawer. “Who are you?”

  Nicole pulled her Glock. “We’ve come for the safe-deposit-box key.”

  Bryan came around the desk and took the Colt .357 from the desk drawer.

  “Are you crazy?” Robertson said. “You take that key, you’ll be dead before nightfall.”

  “We’ll take our chances,” Bryan said.

  “Don’t you know that I’m protected?”

  “Molly was a friend of mine.”

  Robertson’s jaw dropped open. “You’re the guy they’ve been looking for. Hey, I’m sorry about Molly. Sorry as I can be.”

  “I saw her shot and dumped in a hole up in Coon River State Park. Fighting to keep from being raped. So, yeah, I know how sorry you are.”

  “I didn’t do that. I accidental
ly shot the boyfriend during the shakedown—”

  “I’m not interested in your excuses. I want the key.”

  “It’s in the safe.”

  “Where’s the safe?”

  “Over there, behind those books.” He pointed to the bookshelves next to the sofa.

  “Open it.”

  “Don’t shoot me.”

  Robertson pulled down a row of law books, revealing a small wall safe. While he input the combination, Bryan stood behind him with his Glock pointed into Robertson’s neck, and Nicole stood back to one side with her Glock pointed at the mass of Robertson’s body.

  “There’s no gun in here,” Robertson said.

  “There better not be,” Bryan replied.

  Robertson opened the safe. Bryan pushed him toward Nicole. He took out some files, which he tossed on the carpet, an envelope of cash, which he put in his jacket pocket without counting, and a key to a bank safe-deposit box.

  “Is this the key?”

  “Yes.”

  He gave Robertson a push. He stepped back. “Which bank?”

  “Milton.”

  He gave him another little push. “Molly still on the safe-deposit-box list?”

  “Yeah.” He looked from Bryan to Nicole and back again. “But how’s that going to help?”

  Bryan glanced at Nicole. “You believe him?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “Sit back down.”

  Robertson sat down behind his desk.

  “You know,” Bryan said, “You are one careless motherfucker. I wonder what Spanish Mike would say if he knew that list wasn’t updated? When I first started thinking about making this visit, I was going to leave you tied in that chair. Let you get a taste of what you did to Molly—a ride in a car trunk, a shaky walk to a shallow grave, three or four guys standing around laughing at you like you’re there for their personal amusement.”

  “Please,” Robertson said. “Please. I can get you money. Lots of money.”

  “But before you went on that ride, Spanish Mike would have an excellent description of us. The first little slap, and you’d be begging to tell what you know. The gratification is just not worth the risk. Molly would understand.” He glanced at Nicole. “What time is it?”