Head Games

by Thomas B Cavanagh

  “Where’s my daughter?” I asked.

  “You don’t ask the questions!” Alomar snapped. “I ask the questions! Where’s my fucking money?”

  I held up the briefcase. “I want my girl first.”

  “You don’t make the rules,” Alomar said.

  “Let me see her.”

  Day-Glo shifted his weight. “You don’t think we’d bring her here, do you? C’mon, Mikey, you insult us.”

  “Where is she?”

  “One step at a time. You done good so far. You found the cousin. Let’s see the money.”

  I placed the briefcase on the near bed and looked at Day-Glo for confirmation.

  He nodded. “You open it, Mikey. Toward yourself.”

  The others in the room watched intently as I flipped the latches on the case. I raised the lid slowly and stood up. Then I rotated the open case toward Alomar and Day-Glo. The stacks of cash were arranged in neat rows.

  “It’s all there,” I said. “One seventy-five. What Eddie owed. Plus an extra ten for the trouble.” I felt the floor shifting slightly under me as a wave of dizziness washed over. I swallowed and took a breath, fighting through it. “Now, where’s my daughter?”

  Day-Glo narrowed his eyes, the hint of a satisfied smile on his face. “You done real good, Mikey. Real good. You can leave now. We’ll call you and tell you where to pick her up.”

  “No. You tell me now.” I didn’t trust these guys for an instant and knew that if I walked out of this room now, Jennifer had an equal chance of living or dying. Those were not acceptable odds.

  “Don’t push it, Mikey,” Day-Glo said. “I told you you done good. Now get out.”

  “What about him?” I said, nodding at TJ.

  “He stays,” said Alomar.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “None of your fucking business.”

  “Like hell. This is all my fuckin’ business now.”

  Day-Glo sighed. “Look, Mikey, this is business. We got rules. He played us and he’s gotta pay. Don’t worry. He’s not gonna get what Eddie got.”

  “What’re you gonna do?”

  Day-Glo’s eyes shifted to the credenza, where a pair of garden shears sat. Slick picked them up.

  “What are they for?” TJ cried, no longer following my directions, his voice panicked. I could sense his body tensing to bolt.

  “Now, c’mon, Mikey, you don’t need to see this,” DayGlo said, taking a half step toward TJ.

  “No—,” I said, feeling the room start to spin.

  “Get out, Garrity.”

  I looked at TJ’s ashen face. His saucer eyes implored me to help.

  “No,” I repeated, feeling myself listing as my balance wavered.

  “Out, Garrity!” Day-Glo barked. “Now, or we take your thumbs, too!”

  “Oh my God!” TJ yelled, and he turned to run.

  In that instant, when everyone in the room focused on TJ, I thrust my right hand into the document flap of the briefcase’s inside lid. My fingers slid in quickly, just as I had practiced in TJ’s room. Alomar saw me and opened his mouth to shout. My hand came up quickly, brandishing my nine-millimeter Glock. Alomar yelled to the others, who were now reacting to me instead of TJ. All three were reaching for weapons hidden under shirts.

  My other hand whipped out and snatched Alomar’s collar, pulling him onto the near bed, bouncing the briefcase onto the floor, wads of cash tumbling out. Words were coming out of my mouth, a cop’s voice, yelling unambiguous instructions to get the fuck down and don’t fucking move. I jammed the muzzle of the Glock into Alomar’s neck and kept pulling, dragging him over the bed by his collar.

  The other three were all pointing weapons at me now, fury in their eyes. More commands came from my mouth, ordering them to stay the fuck back or I would blow a hole in Alomar’s neck. Adrenaline surged through my body, my vision tunneled, my heart raced. The dizziness was overwhelmed by the endorphins.

  I had no idea if TJ was still with me or if he had bolted out the door never to be seen again. I registered sunlight in the room and dragged Alomar to the open doorway.

  “Nobody moves!” I shouted. Alomar struggled and I adjusted my hold, bringing an elbow around his neck and pressing the Glock hard into his temple. “Don’t move, Juanito! I’ll blow your fuckin’ head open!”

  “Not smart, Garrity,” Day-Glo said, his pistol leveled at us. “Not smart.”

  “I don’t care what happens to me,” I said. “But if I find one hair out of place on my daughter, Juanito here loses his brains. I swear to Christ.”

  I jerked Alomar out the door and kicked it shut. I kept the gun wedged against his head so hard I knew he would have a small, circular bruise for several days, provided he lived.

  “You’re a dead man,” Alomar croaked, his voice strained by the pressure on his throat.

  I dragged him backward to the curb where—thank God—I found TJ in the Jetta with the engine running. As directed, he had opened the back door. I pulled Alomar into the backseat with me and yanked the door shut.

  “Go! Go!” I yelled to TJ.

  The car lurched backward and then squealed through the parking lot, careening around a parked station wagon. I pressed the gun harder into Alomar’s head, leaning my weight on top of him in the backseat. I quickly frisked him and, satisfied he was unarmed, I leaned my mouth next to his ear.

  “Where’s my little girl?” I hissed, and closed my free hand around his windpipe.

  CHAPTER 36

  Alomar responded by spitting at me. I raised the pistol and whacked it solidly on his head, resulting in a satisfying thud of metal on bone. Alomar emitted an involuntary grunt.

  “Where is she?” I repeated.

  “Where do I go?” TJ called from the front seat. He had reached U.S. 192.

  “Which way, Juanito?” I asked, squeezing Alomar’s throat until my knuckles turned white. I fought down the unbridled rage coursing through me, forcing restraint on myself. In that instant, I wanted nothing more than to squeeze the life out of Juan Alberto Alomar Jr.

  “East—,” Alomar croaked. TJ spun the steering wheel and charged across traffic, turning left.

  “Where we goin’?” I said.

  “Shopping center—”

  A phone rang suddenly, a ring tone I didn’t recognize. After two rings I determined the ringing was coming from behind Alomar. I reached under him and produced his cell phone. I answered it.

  “That’s a bad move, Garrity,” Day-Glo said as a greeting. “You, of all people, should know who that boy’s friends are.”

  “I want my daughter. Now. You won’t put her on the phone. You won’t let me see her. I don’t even know if she’s still alive. You’ve given me nothing to trust you. This is my insurance.”

  “You know that even if you get her back, this won’t be over. Alomar’s a hothead. He’s gonna put a price on you.”

  “Hey, I got cancer. I already got a price on me.”

  “Look—okay. Maybe we didn’t handle this right. Maybe we shoulda let you talk to her. Just let him go now and I’ll see what I can do. Maybe we can just keep this between us.”

  “I’ll let him go when I get my daughter back. Tell me where she is.”

  I heard him exhale in frustration.

  “If you don’t tell me right now,” I said, “I’m gonna assume she’s already dead and that you bastards were playin’ me the whole time. Then I’m gonna drive out into the swamp, unload my clip in Juanito’s head, and leave him for the gators.”

  Silence on the other end of the phone. My finger tightened on the trigger.

  “I got my answer—”

  “Wait. Okay. Just wait. There’s a shopping center five miles east of here. She’s in a blue minivan in the parking lot in front of a Chinese restaurant.”

  “What’s the restaurant’s name?”

  I heard him ask someone else “the name of the fucking Chinese restaurant.” He came back on the line. “Golden Dragon.”

  “You call w
hoever’s holding her and tell him to get her out of the van by herself. If we drive by and see anyone standing with her, Alomar gets a bullet in the foot.”

  “Fuck you!” Alomar shouted. I pressed the Glock harder into his forehead.

  I continued into the phone, “If we drive by and I don’t see her standing by herself outside the van, I’m gonna know you were lyin’ and we’re headin’ for that swamp.”

  “How am I supposed to get that message to the van? He’s got no phone in there.”

  “That’s bull. You call him now because we’re almost there.”

  I hung up.

  I relayed the directions to TJ and leaned more heavily on Alomar. I debated the odds that I was being lied to, that it was a setup. What would I do if we pulled up and saw no van? What if we pulled up and saw a van but no Jennifer? What if Jennifer is there but when we pull up the van’s doors slide open and three guys lean out with Uzis?

  I had no idea what I’d do. But I was about to find out.

  “There it is,” TJ said. “Golden Dragon.”

  It was across a wide intersection from where we waited at a red light. The signal seemed to last an hour.

  “Do you see the van?” I asked, emotion straining my voice. I was about to learn the fate of my daughter.

  “I … I can’t tell,” TJ said.

  The light finally changed and we pulled through the intersection and into the restaurant parking lot.

  “Do you see it?” I urged, anxiety charging my voice.

  “No. Wait—yes! There. A blue minivan.”

  TJ swerved the car across the lot and up to the minivan. Only half the van was visible from the angle we approached, but we saw no one. Not Jennifer. Not some Mafia goon. Not even a goddamn customer for the restaurant.

  “Keep going,” I said to TJ, urging him to roll forward so we could see the other side of the van. The Jetta inched past the van’s tail.

  “You better pray she’s there,” I said to Alomar, tightening my hold on his throat. The other side of the van came into view.

  No one was there.

  The world suddenly fell away under me and I tumbled headlong into a murky abyss. She wasn’t there. My mind spun, rocked by the unimaginable realization of what this meant.

  “No…,” I muttered. “No…” I blinked at the blank space before my eyes and found my vision filled with the face of Juanito Alomar. “No. You son of a bitch. No. No!”

  Circuits were sparking in my brain, misfiring. I squeezed Alomar’s neck as hard as I could. His eyes bulged. Unable to speak, he was reduced to stuttered choking sounds.

  “You son of a bitch,” I repeated, positioning the Glock between his eyes, tightening my grip.

  Somewhere, far above me, I heard my name.

  “Mike!” It took a second for me to recognize TJ’s voice.

  “Mike!”

  TJ … I was in the backseat of his car. We were still in the parking lot …

  “Mike—the door!”

  Robotically, I turned my head and saw the minivan’s back door slide open. A figure stepped out and blinked at the setting sun. A girl.

  “Open the door!” I shouted at TJ. “Open it!” He leaned across the empty front passenger seat and swung the door open. “Get in!” I screamed.

  Jennifer stared anxiously at the unfamiliar car for a moment and stole a glance back into the van.

  “Jennifer! Get in!” I shouted again. “It’s me! It’s okay!”

  She spotted me in the backseat and almost burst into tears.

  “Get in!” I ordered.

  She made her feet move and quick-stepped into the car. TJ mashed his foot on the gas and the car rocketed out of the parking lot. I saw a man’s face peering from inside the open door of the van.

  Jennifer was crying in the front seat, holding herself tightly.

  “Are you okay?” I barked at her. “Jennifer—are you okay?”

  She nodded.

  “Did they hurt you?”

  She continued crying.

  “Did they hurt you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Thank God. Thank God…” I loosened my grip on Alomar. He coughed and gasped for breath. “Okay, Juanito,” I said, surfacing completely from the abyss, taking a deep breath. “Okay.”

  “Where do I go?” TJ asked. Still crying, Jennifer now looked over at her driver. It took a moment, but I saw the recognition wash over her. Unbelievably, she was being driven by TJ Sommerset. She turned and looked back at me. I still held the gun to Alomar’s head. It was all too much for her and she erupted into a fresh set of terrified sobs.

  “East,” I told TJ. “Drive east.”

  * * *

  We unloaded Alomar about twenty miles away, at a gas station halfway to Melbourne. He spewed a torrent of threats, mostly directed at me. I hardly heard him.

  I helped Jennifer into the backseat, but when I started to climb into the front passenger seat, she held my arm.

  “Stay,” she said in a tiny voice. “Please, Dad.”

  I settled in next to her and she buried her face in my chest. She cried again, but not as uncontrollably. These were sobs of relief. She put her head on my knee and closed her eyes. I held her and stroked her hair and reassured her that everything was okay now. I flashed back on a distant memory of a four-year-old girl lying in my lap after a nightmare, me stroking her hair and telling her everything was okay.

  She didn’t ask about the police or what had happened to her. There would be time for all of that later. She only asked once where we were going and, when told, didn’t even ask why. She kept her head on my knee and her eyes closed.

  TJ drove for the first two hours, heading north on I-95. We stopped at a mall near Daytona, and we all bought a fresh set of clothes and some toiletries. Jennifer wanted to change out of her mall work outfit, which she had been wearing for two solid days. Then I got behind the wheel and we hit a Wendy’s drive-through for dinner.

  Now that she finally felt safe, Jennifer stole glances at TJ from the backseat. Eventually, she worked up the nerve to speak to him.

  “Your hair’s longer.”

  He smiled at her, the same smile from the cover of Tiger Beat, but more radiant in person … more charming … more sincere. “Too long?”

  She considered. “No. It looks good.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m Jennifer.”

  “I know. I’m very happy to meet you, Jennifer. I’m TJ.”

  She smiled a shy grin. “I know.” She turned to me. “How long till we get there?”

  “Not sure,” I said. “Twelve hours. Maybe more. You might as well relax.”

  “How ’bout some music?” TJ offered, and flipped the passenger visor down. A half dozen CDs sat snugly in slotted holders.

  “Yeah,” Jennifer said. “Music would be good.”

  * * *

  It was just after dawn when we crossed into North Carolina. It took another couple of hours to reach Wayne’s cabin. We called before we arrived and Becky was more than a little surprised to hear we were on our way.

  “Good Lord, Mike,” Becky said when she opened the door and saw my swollen face. “What happened to you?”

  I told Becky everything. I knew she would have a nuclear fit and she didn’t disappoint. It took three waves of tirades, but once she got her initial anger at me out of her system, she was rational enough to be grateful for our daughter’s safety. I asked her not to call the authorities yet and told her why, describing what I still had left to do.

  She didn’t want to wait a single nanosecond, but she understood what was at stake and eventually relented, especially when I told her that Jennifer would be staying with her and Wayne for a while. She grabbed Jennifer’s hand and squeezed it tightly.

  When she was ready, Jennifer recounted what had happened.

  She was at work and took a break to use the restroom. When she started back to the food court, two guys jumped her and pulled her out a service door into an alley behind the ma
ll. It all happened so fast. They covered her mouth so she couldn’t scream and tossed her into the van.

  They threatened to hurt her and told her that if I didn’t come through on a job for them, it was going to be bad for her. They didn’t give her enough to eat and didn’t let her use the bathroom as often as she needed, but other than that, she was treated okay. She spent most of the time blindfolded with her hands bound so she never knew where she was. She was moved at least three times in the minivan, always blindfolded. She was only allowed to open her eyes when she was in the bathroom, which was always windowless.

  She described her emotions throughout the ordeal. The abject fear. But she said that deep down she knew that I would come through. She didn’t know what I was supposed to do, but for the first time in her life, she had confidence I would deliver. I caught Becky looking at me when Jennifer said this.

  Jennifer excused herself to take a shower in the master bath, and TJ did the same in the guest bath. The exhaustion hit me hard, after the adrenaline of the day’s events and all the coffee I’d poured into myself for the drive to North Carolina, combined with the little sleep I had gotten the last few nights. I had been awake and charged for most of the past several days.

  I crashed in a spare bedroom and spent several hours in a deep, dreamless slumber. When I awoke, it was getting dark. I padded downstairs and found the others eating dinner. Wayne offered me a glass of water and some grilled chicken, both of which I accepted.

  Considering the frightening circumstances that had led Jennifer, TJ, and me there, plus the tongue-lashing Becky had delivered earlier, the meal was actually quite pleasant. Wayne even offered to take Jennifer and TJ out on the lake in the morning.

  I thanked him and Becky for dinner and stood up. “I gotta go.”

  “Tonight?” Jennifer asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “You still want my car?” TJ asked me.

  “Yeah,” I said, pocketing the keys. “If all goes well, I’ll have it back to you by tomorrow night.”

  It was at least a two-hour drive from Wayne’s cabin to the Butner federal correctional facility, and I wanted to get there before it got too late.