The sky darkened as the rain came in heavy drops. Jake left, wondering where he should go while he waited.
Chapter 32
Shivani turned on his flashlight, the failing daylight outside insufficient for him to make out where he was. He smelled damp concrete, rusting metal, and something foul, like animal feces or long-rotted flesh. And mold. He was in an office, papers scattered across its six-foot table, along with a pushed-in window and trash. Droppings decorated the desk, two office chairs, and the floor. Cabinet doors hung open, revealing empty shelves.
He explored the plant, using his flashlight to illuminate a crisscrossed network of catwalks and staircases, some of which were badly rusted and held in place by loose bolts. He tested a stair with his weight on one foot. It sagged with a metallic screech, but it held. He found a room lined with control panels, dials, and gauges. A dozen drawers beneath the workstations lay open, and the floor was littered with papers. No place to hide in here.
He went out to the loading area. A railroad track ran along one side of the building, open to daylight in the ten-foot spaces between massive square pillars on the outside of the track. Matching pillars on the building side rose from a service dock along the wall. Above the track, a concrete overhang with round openings hovered. Apparently, the railcars pulled in here and were filled from above.
Shivani stepped inside the plant. Above him was open space all the way to the metal roof. A maze of stairways and catwalks provided access to the processing equipment in the middle of the building, some of which was thirty feet high. The rain tattooed the roof, the sound echoing in the cavernous structure. He climbed the metal stairs, being careful not to step on a rusted-out landing and fall through. Near the top, he shined his light into a sizable empty room. In its floor was a round opening with a ladder down to another level, also bare except for a table and two chairs. This might be a good place to hide, under a table and covered by his blanket. Except he didn’t know where the exit led. If discovered, he’d be the proverbial fish in a barrel.
He spent an hour exploring further, taking care to mark the walls and rusty railings so he could find his way back. Pipes and wiring hung all around, often impeding line of sight across the plant.
At the top, he found an attic with a partial plywood floor over wooden rafters. Struts nailed to the rafters at angles held up the roof. The thick layer of dust had been disturbed by more than one pair of shoes, and areas next to three of the struts were wiped clean. They’d been in here, leaning against those struts while they sat. Four zip ties had been severed and left on the floor. Shivani peered out through a slotted vent in the wall, and even in the poor light, he could see the entrance gate and the road in. Temkin, lurking here with Sharon and Rachel tied up, had a good angle on him getting out of the Camry and sneaking forward in the grass.
A lightning flash was followed a second later by a loud thunderclap. A mile away. Shivani clambered back down the rickety stairs to the bottom and went out to take another look at the loading area. In the wall, he found a deep nook, six feet off the ground, spacious enough to accommodate him with room to spare. Leading up to it was a metal ladder bolted to the wall.
This could be a suitable spot to hide. He wrapped his flashlight in the blanket. With these under his arm and the grocery bag swinging from the same hand, he ascended the ladder and found the nook to be several feet deep, the rear of it out of view from ground level. Even if they walked in on the tracks, they wouldn’t know he was there. If he needed to escape, he could drop down and run left or right, or between the posts and out into the grass. From the back of his perch, a section of the access road was visible between the massive posts holding up the concrete ceiling. Perfect.
He folded the blanket and sat erect on it, legs crossed. He took an apple from the bag and began his wait, staring at the rain.
Jake parked in the lot of a diner, in a spot where he would be able to see the car from inside. The rain hadn’t started yet, but he could feel it in the air. He stood behind the car, debating with himself whether to open the trunk and check the bag. An obsessive need to look gripped his mind, coming from somewhere outside him. That scared him, so he fought it. He was sure the backpack hadn’t been disturbed. But what if it had? With the sensation of watching himself from outside his body, he clicked the trunk open and stood looking at the backpack.
You’re losing it. Get control. Don’t. His heart thumped in his chest.
Another voice in his mind, also eerily his own, said, Just look. Then you can relax.
All the money was there. He rested his fingers on the trunk lid and eased it down. Before it closed, his hand jerked spastically.
In the restaurant, he indicated to the greeter a specific table, one which afforded a view of the car. He ordered coffee and told the waiter he’d probably order food later.
Stomach churning, he tried without success to control his thoughts. Why had he been so conflicted about the backpack? You either open it or you don’t.
But he knew why, or at least he recognized his panicked indecision. Since his meltdown in the desert, he’d experienced moments of stress while struggling to make inconsequential choices. For example, one day as he left for work, he felt an impulse to go back and wash a coffee cup and plate he’d put in the sink. He didn’t want to do it, but he couldn’t let go of the impulse. He forced himself to close the door and drove to work. At the office, the urge to go home and wash the dishes dominated his thoughts, making him unable to concentrate on work. He went home at lunchtime and cleaned up, then spent the rest of the afternoon wondering what the hell was going on.
These incidents had gotten more frequent and more severe, up until he started the embezzlement scheme. Then they stopped.
Now the thing, whatever it was, started visiting him again. A cloud, a feeling of dread that his mind was going haywire, descended on him.
Movement near the car caught his attention. A black dog appeared from the other side of it and gazed in his direction, jowls glistening. Although Jake knew the window was reflective on the outside, the dog disconcerted him. It sniffed a tire, then sniffed around the trunk opening. It went back to the tire and urinated on it, pausing to turn its head again in Jake’s direction before disappearing around the car. From where he sat, Jake couldn’t see a wet mark on the tire. Odd.
Jake stood, and the waiter approached him, saying, “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t know you were ready to order.”
“I’m not. Be right back. I need to check my car.”
When he got within a few feet of the car, he saw that he’d been right. The tire was dry.
After he returned to the table, the waiter appeared. “Ready?”
“What do you have that’s easy on the stomach? I’ve been having a problem.”
The waiter stuck the tip of his pen between his lips and closed his eyes. Returning the pen to his pocket with a flourish, he said, “Well, you don’t want anything from the grill. Too greasy. We have chicken dumpling soup today. I can bring you lots of crackers.”
The waiter’s prim smile was all he could take, so Jake said, “That’s fine. Water, please. No more coffee.”
The murkiness in his mind returned. He tried to think constructive thoughts, but the feeling of futility deepened. There’s no way out of this. The money’s good as gone. Temkin is in this so far, he’ll kill us and kill the women rather than have the law looking for him. All because of me. Malcolm was right; I am a screwup.
After leaving the restaurant, Jake had no choice but to go to a motel. He couldn’t sit in the car all night in the rain. What if a cop decided to check him out? He knew he wouldn’t sleep, but at least he could lie down in a dry place while he waited. After he found a motel and registered, he showered and put the Do Not Disturb tag on the door, just in case.
The next morning, feeling exhausted, his mind crumbling, he attempted a few of the poses and stretches he’d seen Shivani
do when arising or getting ready for bed. They didn’t feel right. Looking up “stretches” and “yoga poses,” he found all they did was cause pain in his back, his legs, his neck. Thinking you were supposed to start with something easier, he stretched his hamstrings, sitting on the floor with his legs in front of him the way he’d done in football. Much better, though his hamstrings were very tight. He tried a couple more stretches from the old days and ended up feeling better, looser. He lay back on the floor and closed his eyes.
His phone rang, interrupting a fevered dream. He scrambled for it and knocked it off the table to the floor.
“Hello.”
“Hello, sir. My name is William.” He pronounced it Wirriam. “How are you today?”
“Go to hell,” Jake shouted, and threw the phone across the room. On all fours, he scurried and picked it up, afraid he may have broken it. It appeared to be okay, but what if it wasn’t?
He dialed Global Source Enterprises. After one ring, the call transferred to a greeting. “Sorry, this number is no longer in service. Please check the number and dial again.”
Jake sighed. His phone worked. This could have been bad.
Outside was another dark sky but no rain. How long had he been asleep? His phone showed four thirty. He hadn’t eaten all day and wasn’t hungry, but he should eat something. He took the backpack he’d brought in the night before and went to the car.
When Jake entered a fast-food restaurant, the smell of frying meat triggered a fierce hunger. He ate his second burger with fries as the rain started. Jake took his debris to the trash can and left, dodging raindrops. As he was about to turn on the road back to the motel, his phone rang.
“Show up here at eight o’clock. No sooner, no later. You’d better be alone, and you’d better have the money if you want these two alive. I’m serious.”
“I know you are.” Except you intend to kill them anyway. And me too—and Shivani, if you can find him.
Eight o’clock. Six more hours. He texted Shivani. He called me and said to be there at eight.
A few minutes later, a message came back. Okay. Don’t contact me again.
With the mine only a half hour away, he needed to kill time. What to do? He couldn’t stop thinking about Sharon and Rachel, captured and held by this evil man who’d already abused Rachel. His imagination wouldn’t stop creating alarming, disgusting scenes despite his attempts to quell them. Jake cried out in frustration.
In a nearby sporting goods store, he examined the knives. There were some you could open with one hand, but they had short blades. Other larger ones felt too unwieldy. A gutting knife in a sheath had some promise. Its hooked blade could do some damage, if he could get close enough. In another aisle, he lifted a baseball bat and swung it, checking his swing before he destroyed a display of gloves. In another section, he hefted a tennis racket, slashing sideways at an imaginary opponent’s head.
This was silly. Showing up with a knife or a cudgel was a way to ensure he got shot, if Temkin had a gun. Maybe a rifle. No, Temkin would see it before he could see Temkin. Just have to trust Shivani.
Dejected, Jake walked out to the car. He drove to the mine. At the turnoff to the mine, he pulled in, stopping at the edge of the access road. I can’t be here when Temkin comes. What am I thinking? He got back on the highway and drove, without a destination, to keep from going crazy. He now had five hours. Drive for two and a half and come back the same way, just to have something to do. His groan came from his diaphragm, a drawn-out “huuunnh.”
He drove toward Tampa on the state highway, and when he got to the interstate, he headed north. At Ocala, he took the exit. Even though he’d been driving slowly, he needed to stop and kill time before going back, so he wouldn’t arrive early. Thirty miles after he turned back south, he hit the brakes. Traffic had slowed to a crawl. Then it stopped. After ten minutes, it moved, then stopped again. Desperate, Jake maneuvered to the shoulder and drove past the stopped cars, accompanied by the blare of horns from irate drivers. Ahead of him, a car edged to the shoulder, trying to block him. He accelerated and aimed for the hole between the car and the guard rail. One side of Shivani’s car scraped the guard rail, and the blocking car’s bumper gouged the other. The friction slowed his progress, so he shifted into second gear and jammed the accelerator down. With loud metallic screeches from both sides, and with his tires starting to spin, he closed his eyes and waggled the car steering wheel side to side. The car leapt forward as it broke free.
Another mile farther, after passing a one-sided gauntlet of car horns and middle fingers, he saw a sign for an exit in a mile. He stopped and searched the maps on his phone for an alternate route, his trembling hands causing him to make mistakes and redo his typing. In this godforsaken part of Florida, there appeared to be no alternate route. The highway at this exit didn’t connect with any major roads going south for a long distance. He would just have to wait it out.
He flicked on the turn signal, and a kind soul allowed him to work his way back into the traffic, which had started to inch forward. As the lane he was in began to crawl, he noticed the two outside lanes were beginning to move faster. Tempting, but he had taken enough risk and gotten away with it. Besides, he knew this pattern from experience. His lane was likely the one that had freed up, with the outside-lane drivers forcing themselves in near the place where traffic was moving. It shouldn’t be much longer.
He called Temkin. “I’m stuck in a traffic jam. I may be a little late, but I’m on my way.”
“How am I supposed to know if that’s true? Be here at eight o’clock or else.” Temkin hung up.
Once off the interstate highway, he headed east on the road to the phosphate plant. A few small drops dotted the windshield, then splashed down heavy. Jake checked the time. Seven thirty-five. He had twenty-five minutes to cover thirty miles. In the lower-speed areas, he went sixty, and on the open road, he stepped it up to ninety or more. With each pass of the wipers, he got a clear glimpse of the road ahead before the rain pelted the windshield again.
Ahead of him, a black car with the profile of a police cruiser approached from an intersection on the right. As he shot by, an elderly couple in the front seat gaped at his recklessness. He blew out a sigh of relief.
Except for two cars he passed, the road was clear. He recognized the turnoff almost too late and braked. He skidded through the turn and approached the gate too fast, sliding. The left rear fender crunched on the gatepost, but the collision nudged the car in the direction of the processing plant. Water from puddles splashed up on the sides of the windshield as he raced down the old road. The sharp turn loomed ahead, and he braked again, sliding off the road and banging off the sides of a drainage ditch on his way into the grass. His foot eased on the accelerator, and the car kept going, tires spinning. He aimed for the road at a shallow angle, jostling as he carved a rut across the ditch and mounted the road again.
Sliding to a stop in front of the plant, Jake retched and swallowed his bile. Breathing deeply, he got himself under control. Not looking at the clock on the dash, he turned off the motor and stepped out in the rain and darkness.
Temkin had given him no instructions about what to do when he got there. Was he so late Temkin took off?
Temkin called. “Drive around to the other side and bring the money in the first door. I’ll tell you what to do.”
After parking, Jake stepped out, head down as he slipped on the backpack holding the money, and shined the powerful flashlight on the uneven ground. Unable to avoid the numerous puddles, he hurried to the door.
Inside, he used the flashlight to look around.
Temkin’s voice surrounded him in the cavernous space. “Turn that off. Leave the money right there, and I’ll send them out.”
“No. I have to see them first, and then we’ll exchange.”
Chapter 33
Temkin’s shoes scraped on the catwalk, and his vo
ice trailed away. Jake thought he said, “I’ll be right back.”
Even with his light, he couldn’t see the walkway beyond fifty feet.
With Temkin knowing his location, he was vulnerable to sudden attack. Bad idea. Better to conceal himself until he knew Temkin had brought the hostages. As he climbed the ladder, the weight of the currency in the backpack pulled his upper body away, and he had to hold tight with both hands while gripping the light between his right thumb and forefinger. Above, a spider glowed in its web when the beam played over it. The flat steel rungs cut into his fingers. The flashlight slipped and bounced off the ladder, crashing on the concrete floor below. Jake took a few silent breaths and resumed his climb.
His head bumped against something above, the collision knocking him off balance. He fought to pull himself back against the ladder. Sweat soaked his T-shirt. The spider’s feathery feet skittered down his front, and he forced himself to ignore it. With his fingers, he felt the diamond-patterned grate of the catwalk overhead. The ladder disappeared into an access opening, so he leaned his head forward and climbed. After his head cleared the hole, he continued with tentative steps, hugging the ladder and hoping the backpack would go through. It wouldn’t.
He worked his way back down until he could slip the backpack off his right shoulder. The remaining strap came free after several tries and slipped down his arm to his left hand. He had readied himself for the weight of the pack but not for the agony of muscles tearing or of the rung creasing deeper into his fingers. A muffled groan escaped his nearly closed lips as he manipulated the bag with one hand and gripped the ladder with the other. He pushed the bag up through the hole and to the side before climbing up. He sat on the walkway, hunched over and gasping for breath as quietly as he could.
Never Again, Seriously Page 24
