by Lee Stone
As he got further away from the others, he could hear the call better. Someone was talking in the background, but not to Lockhart. It was like he was eavesdropping on someone else’s conversation. A woman’s voice. Probably someone’s phone accidentally redialed at the bottom of their purse. Lockhart waited for the scrunching of car keys and mascara.
He was about to hang up but curiosity got the better of him. He closed over the door between him and the others. Shut out the noise. Then voices started to emerge, like people emerging from the fog. Bit by bit as his ear tuned in. A gruff sounding man. More focus. A woman talking quickly. Demanding. Scratches and scrabbles. The man closer to the phone. Questioning. Lockhart heard the word Fearless. The sounds of a struggle and a second female voice. A voice he recognized. It was Rachel White. Rachel white, whose last dialed number had not been Neilson. It had been Lockhart.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Lucky bar, Pine Bluff.
“She was practiced at the art of deception,
Well I could tell by her blood-stained hands”
– Rolling Stones, You Can’t Always Get What You Want.
Rachel was forcing herself not to look at the glow of light emanating from behind the freezer unit on the far side of the room. While Raven Tyler had gone to investigate the noise out in the bar, Rachel had grabbed her phone from her pocket and hit redial. She knew there wouldn’t be time to speak to whoever picked up. Instead, she had slid her phone across the rough concrete floor as far away from her as she could, and it had come to rest behind the freezer. In the dark cellar it was a tiny pearl of hope. Every second the glow continued, she could imagine Neilson on the end of the phone. He would know what to do. He was a smart guy.
Suddenly there were two silhouettes in the doorway. The waitress had returned and behind her was a huge man. It had to be Tyler. Rachel knew she was in big trouble. They were both looking at her, as though they were trying to decide what to do with her.
In the corner of her eye Rachel could see her cell phone glowing gently on the other side of the room. Still connected then. Still hope. Neilson was a patient man; Rachel silently prayed that he wouldn’t hang up too soon.
Raven seemed relaxed. It was her husband Tyler who was now holding the shotgun loosely by his side. He looked at Rachel like she was a problem he could do without.
“Why are you looking for Lucy Barr?” he asked as he stepped into the room.
Rachel told the truth. She was a radio host from Los Angeles. Barr had killed himself on her show, and she felt compelled to meet his family. She wanted to know why he jumped. As Rachel explained her story to Tyler, his wife patted her down. She checked her pockets and took her purse.
“The LAPD wouldn’t give me her address, so I figured I’d ask a few questions here at Lucky Bar, being as you soldiers hang out here.”
She said the name of the bar as clearly as she dared. She could still see the glow of her cell phone in the far corner. The waitress turned to her husband and shrugged. She hadn’t found anything dangerous in the woman’s purse.
Tyler made a decision. He spoke to his wife as though Rachel wasn’t there.
“The easiest thing is to put her in the freezer until it’s over.”
Raven looked like she was mulling it over, subconsciously rubbing her pregnant stomach. Then she nodded casually and headed back round behind her husband. She heaved open the lid of the freezer and a cloud of frozen air escaped as the seals gave way. It was lit from inside, and the hard light accentuated the angles of Raven’s face. Her nose looked more prominent, and it struck Rachel that maybe she’d had it broken a few times.
“I saw you on the news today,” Tyler said. “You said that you didn’t think David Barr jumped. You said he was pushed.”
Rachel was feeling numb.
“You want to put me in the freezer?” she asked.
It was too surreal to frighten her.
Tyler ignored her question. He fixed her with a hard glare and said, “You think I pushed him, don’t you?”
That was exactly what Rachel thought. She was sure of it. The way he was planning to put her in the freezer didn’t exactly convince her he was innocent either. She thought about her phone call with Charlie Lockhart yesterday. He had warned her about Tyler. Christ, she’d mentioned Lockhart on the TV report.
Lucky Bar didn’t have a kitchen, but it had a microwave on the back shelf and a freezer full of pre-cooked meals which could be blasted for a few seconds and then served to the drunks. Raven was making space in the freezer by removing some boxes and tin foil covered plates. The ice clouds continued to steam out into the light behind Tyler as the waitress went about her work. He leaned closer to Rachel so she could feel his breath on her face.
“You spoke to Charlie Lockhart yesterday. Where is he now?”
“England,” Rachel replied. There didn’t seem much point in lying. “A place called Woodridge is all I know. He said it was in the middle of nowhere. Why the hell would you put me in a freezer? You don’t even know me.”
Rachel was good with fear. Good with control. She was working hard to keep her voice low and reasonable. She knew that most people needed to get angry before they could kill someone. They need a trigger to start the violence. Something which they can use afterwards to justify their rage to themselves. Rachel stayed calm and tried not to give the big man a trigger. It was a good strategy. Very few people can kill in cold blood. Sadly for Rachel, Tyler and his wife could.
Like all good tacticians, Tyler had the ability to think simply. The girl in front of him was a problem. She would fit in the freezer. He could put her in the freezer, and the problem would disappear. Simple.
“I saved Barr’s life.”
Rachel looked at the giant guy in front of her. He wasn’t making sense, but he was talking. Talking was good. It was better than being locked in the freezer.
“He’s dead,” she said. “How did you save his life?”
“In Iraq,” Tyler replied. “I saved his life in Iraq. There were four of us on patrol. He got one of us blown up and one of us shot. He got his own foot blown off. I was the only one who walked away, and I walked away with Barr on my back.”
“So, let me get this right,” Rachel stared at him. Anger was boiling up inside her. All she could think about was the blood-smeared picture of Lucy Barr and their daughter. “You’re telling me that because you saved him in Iraq, you had the right to kill him in Los Angeles?”
Tyler thought about it. “I saved his life and then he stole three hundred million from me. I had the right to kill him anywhere.”
He meant it. He believed it. He knew now that Barr had never stolen the money. It changed nothing. He’d saved Barr’s life and then he’d taken Barr’s life. Tyler and David Barr were quits.
Rachel was getting desperate.
“Lucky Barr,” she said loudly.
The waitress turned around abruptly. She’d made a neat pile of boxes and dishes at the side of the freezer, but now she was staring intently at Rachel. Tyler was staring at her too. Rachel knew that she’d pushed it too far.
“Why would you call him lucky?” the waitress asked.
“Where is your cellphone?” demanded Tyler, and he and his wife kicked into action. She threw the contents of Rachel’s purse onto the concrete floor. Mascara, bank cards, lip balm, grubby receipts; but no cell phone.
“Where is it?” Raven demanded. Her voice was like ice, her eyes gray and lupine again.
Tyler was already patting Rachel down roughly. Then he spotted the glow in the corner behind the freezer. He grabbed Rachel by the neck and scooped her up. She was tiny in his arms and he manhandled her easily into the freezer. By the time the terror of what was happening to her was dawning, the lid was already slamming down on her like a closing coffin.
Tyler grabbed the cell phone and sat down on the freezer lid. The waitress hopped up and joined him, looking at the caller ID warily.
Rachel smashed into the lid of her coffin with
all of her strength, but it might as well have been nailed on. The weight of Tyler and his wife was far too much for her to shift. It was pitch black inside, and the walls were so cold that her skin burned where she touched it. She writhed around inside trying not to keep any one bit of her body in contact with the metal for more than a couple of seconds.
As far as Tyler was concerned, Rachel was in the freezer and she wasn’t a problem anymore. But whoever was on the other end of Rachel’s phone was a problem. Tyler put the handset to his ear and demanded to know who was on the other end of the line. And Charlie Lockhart told him.
Chapter Fifty
Lockhart’s Cottage, Woodridge.
“If I did it fast, you know that’s an act of kindness.”
– Tori Amos, Waitress.
Tyler’s mind was working overtime. The guy on the end of the phone said he was Charlie Lockhart. He sounded English. But it could be a trick. Tyler needed proof.
“Do you know who I am?”
“Yes I do,” the English voice said. “You’re the man who stole three hundred million dollars in Afghanistan. Then you lost it. Now you want it back. Let me talk to Rachel.”
Tyler had forgotten about Rachel. She was beginning to chill in the dark of the freezer beneath him. She wasn’t a problem anymore. Tyler ignored the demand.
“Where is the money now?”
“Where is Rachel?” the voice replied. The waitress could hear the tinny sound of the Englishman on the phone as she sat close to her husband on top of the freezer. She could feel the anger building up in Tyler, so she put one arm across her stomach in case he lashed out.
“Rachel is out of the picture. Just like Barr is out of the picture. Just like you will soon be out of the picture if you are who you say you are.”
On the other side of the world, Lockhart took a breath. He knew the conversation was bullshit, but he was playing for time. Keeping Tyler talking. Keeping them all in Lucky Barr. Hoping that his plan would work. He looked out of the window across the snowy street to the pub. Snow had started to drift against the side of the walls and icicles hung from an overflowing drainpipe. Lockhart wondered how long a woman could survive in a freezer. He wondered how efficient the Pine Bluff Police Department were.
“You understand that I’m coming for you?” Tyler asked. He was used to intimidating people. He was used to people being afraid. “I’m coming to Woodridge, and I’m going to find you.”
“Thank Christ for that,” Lockhart replied. “I’m getting bored with waiting for you.”
He meant it. Woodridge was friendly enough, but it was dull. It was cut off from the rest of the world, just like Kandahar had been. No razor wire or guard towers, but a huge hill and a million tons of snow. Lockhart felt trapped in the tiny village, lying low waiting for the enemy to arrive. Waiting to deal with Tyler so he could get out on the road again. It is hard to appreciate the road ahead when you’re constantly checking over your shoulder.
“Listen. I’ll make it easy for you. If you wire my money back, I won’t need to come and visit you. We could call it quits.”
“I can’t do that,” Lockhart replied. “It’s not your money. Now where’s Rachel?”
As if on cue, Tyler felt the woman in the freezer thump hard against the lid he was sitting on. He didn’t budge. Beneath him, Rachel’s body had begun to make decisions for her; shaking and shivering violently. Her skin still burned, but her mind was numbing. She felt sleepy and confused. Losing track of why she was in the cold and the dark.
“Three hundred million for your life, Charlie. It sounds like a good deal to me.”
But Lockhart told him, “It’s not my money to give. You know where that money came from, and it’s going back there. Trust me.”
Lockhart was determined that he’d keep that promise or die trying. But he had no intention of dying at the hands of Tyler. Not now he’d got the measure of him. He had been staring out of the window for so long that his breath had steamed up the cold glass. Where the hell were the Pine Bluff police?
Then he heard noises at the other end of the phone.
The front door of Lucky Bar had smashed open and slammed shut again. Tyler and the waitress were out from the back room like a shot. Raven was in the bar first, with Tyler just behind, shotgun back behind his legs, out of site but ready for action.
It wasn’t Pine Bluff’s finest. In fact, it was Pine Bluff’s grubbiest instead. The Filipino hooker was back, and she was angry. Shouting at the waitress and calling the odds. It cost her twenty dollars to work the bar for the day, and now the bar was shut. She was demanding the money back. She had fire in her eyes and was threatening the waitress about what she did to people who jerked her around. Big mistake. Raven hit her hard in the stomach and she snapped like a twig. She was on the floor in a second.
“Stay there,” Tyler told Lockhart, and he put the phone on the bar. He stepped out in front of his wife and swung the shotgun round from behind his legs. He rammed both barrels into the hooker’s throat as she lay on the floor, tamed. An old chair had crumpled where the waitress had dropped her.
“You’ll have to pay for that,” Tyler explained, nodding at the broken chair. His wife took the Filipino’s purse and emptied it onto the bar. A couple of hundred dollars fell out, bundled. Three hypodermics, a couple of wraps, cotton balls, a change of underwear, a spoon, and a bottle of water. Her worldly possessions.
“That’s my spoon,” was all that Raven said. She shoved the underwear back into the purse and threw it back at the girl on the floor. Then she grabbed her by the ankle and dragged her across the filthy wooden floor and out into the street. She was just turning back into the bar when she heard the sirens in the distance.
Chapter Fifty-One
Lucky bar, Pine Bluff
“Now that you know what I’m without, you can’t just leave me. Breathe into me and make me real” - Evanescence, Bring Me to Life
Charlie Lockhart felt a rush of relief when he heard the sirens on the line. Rachel White’s cell phone was still glowing on the end of the bar where Tyler had left it. Tyler himself was watching through the rickety front door of Lucky Bar. The Filipino had limped off like a wounded animal as the police arrived. The two officers in the wailing squad car glanced at her bleeding knees as they drove past, but she wanted nothing to do with them, and they wanted nothing to do with her. It would only mean paperwork.
The cop car pulled up at the curb outside Lucky’s. Siren off, lights off, engine off. The two officers got out of the cruiser stretching, as if they’d been sitting down all day. Then they sauntered over to Raven Tyler, who was standing square in the doorway. She smiled as demurely as was plausible for a woman who had just dragged a girl out of her bar by her ankle. She didn’t invite them in.
The guy who had been driving the cruiser looked the waitress up and down. The top button of her blouse had come loose again during the struggle with the prostitute, but he pretended not to notice. He furrowed his brow a little and tried hard to keep his gaze above her neckline.
“Trouble?” he asked, nodding down the street.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” the waitress replied. “Although it’s getting harder every day.”
She rubbed her hand over her stomach and courted a bit of sympathy.
“How’s Mary?” she asked the officer. He wasn’t a regular at the bar, but he popped in from time to time. The waitress knew his wife casually. She made small talk long enough to buy Tyler some time, and then she said, “Where are my manners? Would you boys like to come in for coffee?”
Inside, Tyler had taken a moment to store the shotgun back behind the bar, well out of sight. Then he’d straightened the chairs and got fresh coffee brewing. The officers greeted him as they came in.
“You guys are getting faster,” Tyler said with a smile. Kept his head down, pouring the coffee.
“Well, someone called it in a few minutes ago,” the second officer explained. “Problems with some girl at Lucky Bar, the dispatch sai
d, so we came here as quick as we could, because the coffee’s always good.”
Tyler nodded and handed both officers a mug.
“That was her, I guess? Dispatch said she wasn’t local.”
The waitress nodded this time. She explained that there had been a disturbance, but that she didn’t want to press charges.
“Let’s just say I don’t think she’ll be in a hurry to come back” she smiled. The cops chuckled as they slurped their coffee.
And then suddenly there was an almighty crash. And the cops stopped chuckling. And they put their mugs down. And they drew their guns.
Rachel White had lurched through the doorway, knocking over the chairs. She was wet and dazed. Her hair was matted and her lips were blue. She could not control her muscles, and she was shaking violently. But she was out of the freezer, and she was standing in front of two cops.
Lockhart had been pacing around the tiny front room of his cottage in Woodridge. It was like a prison cell. He’d called Neilson at the radio station in Los Angeles and he’d called the cops. But he was five thousand miles away from the action. Five thousand miles from an innocent woman fighting for her life. And there was nothing he could do to help her. When he heard her burst through the door and into the bar, relief flooded through him. She was still alive; there was still hope for Rachel White.
Rachel stumbled forwards and grabbed hold of the bar. She hung on for dear life while her muscles seized and cramped. She remembered that Tyler tried to kill her. Tried to freeze her. He was a monster, and he was still there in the bar. But now the police were here. Now she’d be okay. She couldn’t stop shaking though. And she couldn’t get her lungs under control. She couldn’t talk.
It was the waitress who broke the silence. She needed to defuse the situation quickly. She’d noticed that Tyler had edged behind the bar towards the shotgun, but the cops had already drawn their weapons in the confusion, and even Tyler wouldn’t beat both of them in such a confined space. So, she threw the cops a line.
