Tough Sell

by Trixie More

  “What? Sure, OK.” She sounded distracted. More muffled mumbling, this time she was asking someone, herself he thought, where her other shoe was.

  “I’m coming over, Dorothy,” he tried again.

  “What? No. You can’t come now. I have to strike while the iron’s hot, Ed. Besides, I’ve got an appointment.”

  “When?”

  “Like thirty minutes and you woke me up, so I’m late, so late!”

  More bumping and then he suspected the phone had been put down. She sounded far away.

  “I’m meeting someone for coffee in twenty-five minutes, Ed. I have to go.”

  “Where?”

  “Um, the Shared Mug, just a few blocks away, but I have to take the Mustang so I’ve got to go. It takes them forever to get it out of the garage.” Her voice came back on louder, so she had picked up the phone. “One more thing I gotta do for this plan, Ed, one more. We can go to dinner and you know, maybe have each other for dessert.”

  Dinner? She thought he was going to wait until tonight? She was out of her mind.

  “OK, Ed? Gotta go! I love you so much.” Away she went. He was dumbfounded. What else could she possibly have to do?

  The fates were smiling on her as she parked the Mustang on the street. She was only a block away from the cafe and five minutes late. Doug would wait five minutes. To be safe, she texted him.

  One block away.

  Her phone chimed back right away.

  I see you, stay there. I want to see the car.

  She slid out of the car and fed the meter. She could see Doug jogging across the street at the light. He was wearing some kind of sleek fitting T-shirt style performance wear and a pair of cargo shorts. Yep, fate was on her side. Funny, she thought, she’d thought she was going to feel triumphant, but now that it was about to really happen, she just felt scared and a little tired. Not what she’d expected when she first hatched this plan. He was almost to her now. She didn’t actually have to go through with it. At least, not in the way she’d first planned. She glanced down at her hand. Her phone sparkled in the morning sun. In her photo album was the picture of the tattoo from the video. When Doug arrived, she was pretty sure what she’d see on his leg. She thought about her mom. Helen had always liked Doug.

  “Hey, Dottie.” He was walking slower now, smiling broadly, arms starting to open. He was going to hug her. She put her arms around him and brushed his cheek. He was so, normal.

  “Hi, Doug,” she said. This was going to be a lot harder than she’d expected. There was always the investment contract. She could always just not look at his leg and settle for that. She forced a smile. “Find the place OK?”

  “Sure. No worries. I’m parked right behind you,” he pointed to a black BMW one spot down from her. “Nowadays we all have directions in the palm of our hands, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So is this the car? It looks like your mom’s.” He was already moving around behind the car, but to her shock, there was no tribal tattoo snaking around his calf. Instead the skin there looked pale and damaged, like he’d been burned.

  “That’s because it is.” She stared at his calf. Where did his tattoo go?

  She was an idiot. Why didn’t she have a better plan? How the hell was she supposed to take a picture of his leg and what would it prove? She’d had the idea that somehow this morning she was going to figure out what to say. Same ol’ Dorothy. Same ol’ running late, not planning ahead, Dorothy. What if he deduced her suspicions and decided to take revenge on her? On her family? On Ed? For the first time, she considered the fact that she might have something to fear from this powerful man. He was very rich, after all.

  She bit her thumbnail as she followed after him. He was squatting now behind the car, looking up at her. His eyes were different though, a little cautious she thought. Oh, for Pete’s sake. She had to be imagining that. How could he know she’d seen the video? How would he know she remembered his tattoo? The one that was gone now.

  He pointed to the filter. “This is made by Walker and Birkeland, right?” he asked, his voice a little rougher now. He was not smiling.

  Her throat went dry. She wasn’t imagining anything. This was happening and it was going down right now. She nodded.

  “Is there something you want to tell me, Dot?”

  Doug looked up at her from where he crouched behind the Mustang with an expectant look on his face. Her brain raced.

  “Um, yeah. I want to tell you that the carbon removal from this filter will continue to function for six months, making the need to replace it perfectly positioned from a marketing perspective.” Doug stood quickly, frowning. Dorothy took a step back, and then another one. “I mean, think about it,” she babbled. “It’s short enough between replacements that our customers won’t be turned off by the idea of maintaining them and yet it’s frequent enough to guarantee a steady stream of repeat business.” She swallowed. “Don’t you think?”

  “What I think is that you and I have so much more to discuss on this.” His face smoothed out and he looked just like normal Doug. He gave a mild shrug. “So would it fit on my car?”

  Her mind froze for a moment. Was she wrong? Maybe she misremembered the tattoo from that day. It was years ago. Maybe he was just the perfect investor like she’d originally thought. “Um, I don’t know.” She tried on a smile. He smiled back. “Let’s see.”

  They walked over to his car and she walked behind it, crouching down to see. She rested her hand on the pavement to keep her balance as she crouched there. It was going to be a tight fit. The four tailpipes looked like they had been molded into the flange below the BMW Alpina’s bumper. “I don’t know if this will work,” she said.

  There was an electronic chirp, the trunk popped open above her head and she knew—this was a bad place to be.

  She startled, feeling his hands on either side of her rib cage. Looking down, she saw his feet on either side of her. He was behind her, leaning over her, holding her.

  “I know,” he said in her ear. “But I have to try.”

  He yanked her upward and shoved her forward and a small shriek escaped her. He was forcing her to bend over, her head and shoulders inside the trunk. Her cell phone flew into the darkness of the trunk. Shoving her hands against the bumper, Dorothy pushed back with all her might, feeling his legs pressed against the backs of her thighs, one heavy hand mashing down on her spine. She drew in a large breath to scream and he struck her under the chin. Her teeth crashed together even as she kicked out with her feet, struggling to swing her hips around. She pushed back as hard as she could. Her biceps screamed. Doug slapped at her mouth. She tried to open her mouth and realized it was covered with tape.

  Her heart jackrabbited in her chest. The fear of not being able to breathe felt like a vise around her jaw and chest but she didn’t stop thrashing. Fingers bit into the flesh of her ass. She took advantage of the sudden freedom of her arms to twist toward him but he was already shoving her into the trunk and all she managed to do was to help him curl her onto her side. She clawed at the edge of the trunk and got her shoulders into the opening but that just made it easier for him to grab both her wrists. He had them zip tied in moments and the trunk lid crashed down. Dorothy’s world was suddenly very, very small.

  The window of The Shared Mug was clean and the place looked inviting but small. Edward ducked his head inside and knew before he drew his next breath that Dorothy wasn’t there. There were only six chairs and they were all empty. He stepped up to the counter and held out the newspaper to the young girl behind the register.

  “Did this woman come in here today?” he asked.

  The girl gave him the stink eye. “Nope,” she said and gave the P a little pop. It was all he could do not to roll his eyes.

  “I’m not stalking her,” he found himself saying.

  She smirked. “That’s what they all say.”

  Knowing when he was beat, he turned to leave. From this angle, through the window, he could see th
e red Mustang parked down the street, and Dorothy was beside it. He grinned. He’d found his girl.

  “Cancel that,” he said. “Now, I’m stalking her.”

  The bell above the door chimed merrily as he left, echoing the happy feeling in his heart. His woman was fantastic and she was right across the street. He watched her as he waited for the light to change. She seemed to be biting her finger. That was odd, not something he’d seen her do before, and as he thought it, he realized just how short the time was that they had known each other. He suspected there was a lot he didn’t know, but he was looking forward to learning everything there was to learn about Dorothy Johansen. She took a step back as a man rose from behind the car. She must have been showing the exhaust scrubber to someone. His grin widened. For all he knew, she was making a deal to supply Ford with adapters for every car they sold. Nothing would surprise him now.

  The light changed and he lost sight of her as he crossed the street. He was about a half a block away when the crowd parted enough for him to see her again. Only this time, she wasn’t there. The man she’d been speaking to was stepping behind a black sedan. The guy had on baggy tan shorts and a dark blue shirt. Not an executive from Ford then. It appeared to be the same redhead she’d tried to catch at the symposium. The trunk on the sedan opened and then he couldn’t see anything.

  A minute passed and Edward’s smile dropped from his face. Something wasn’t right. Where was Dorothy? He shoved a thin faced teen out of his way and began to run, arms pumping in earnest. Part of him was thinking she was going to laugh at him when she saw him but that thought was silenced as the car started to pull out from the curb, with no sign of Dorothy. He passed the red Mustang and managed to brush his fingers across the door handle of the BMW as the car pulled out. A man’s roundish face, red hair, parted on the side gaped at him from the driver’s window as the car slid past and Ed felt a visceral punch of recognition. He knew that man, but from where? On the ground was a round-toed, red high heel shoe.

  “Fuck!” He ran out after the car, screaming her name. It was a BMW, Alp-something, license plate, something 57 E and it was gone.

  “Fuck!” He held his hands to the sides of his head and turned around in a daze. Traffic was streaming around him, horns blaring, forcing him backwards until his ass hit the side of the Mustang. He moved quickly to the rear of the car and picked up the shoe. He scanned the sidewalk where several people had stopped and were staring at him.

  “Did anyone see what happened?” The crowd looked at him blankly. One elderly woman with a dark, wizened face looked at him with wide, frightened eyes. He forced himself to speak softly, walk slowly. She backed up a step and he stopped, holding out the shoe and the newspaper.

  “What happened?”

  Her mouth opened and closed.

  “Please,” he said.

  “He pushed her into the trunk,” she whispered. Around them, the crowd murmured. The woman found her voice then and stood up straighter. “He pushed her into the trunk. It happened so fast. That’s her shoe!”

  Ed was already ripping his cell phone out of his pocket with one hand while he yanked open the door to the Mustang with the other. Inside was Dorothy’s purse. Did she have her cell phone? He drew in a great breath. Her keys were there on the console. Right behind him came the old woman’s voice.

  “Tell me her name, son.”

  Edward stared at her as he swung into the driver’s seat. She was clutching an ancient flip phone in her gnarled fingers. She looked at him sharply.

  “I’ll wait here for the police. I’ll tell them what happened.”

  “Dorothy Johansen. She’s on the cover.” He stuffed the newspaper into her twisted hand and the name Dorothy had used at the symposium came to him in a flash. “Tell them she’s been kidnapped by Doug Lloyd,” he said.

  He tossed the shoe into the car and pulled the door shut, twisting the key in the ignition at the same time. As he was pulling away, he saw her gray head bent over her phone.

  Chapter 24

  Dark, humid, and no air. It was possible that she was going to die in this trunk. There was no doubt, here in the dark, that she absolutely didn’t want her life to end. She had never really wanted her own death. Before this moment, all those words had been only that, the dry husks of a lie she’d told herself. She had never been sorry that she’d been left alive. Here in the hot, noisy trunk of this car, there was no escaping that fact.

  She thrashed back and forth for a moment, kicking out around her. Her head spun. She couldn’t get enough air in through her nose. She couldn’t breathe.

  Calm. She absolutely had to stay calm. Wouldn’t the air last longer if she calmed her breathing? Remaining as motionless as possible, she listened to the sounds outside the car as her eyes adjusted. She imagined she heard Ed calling her name, and then the bleating of car horns erupted behind them. The BMW leapt forward, as if Doug had accelerated sharply, and her back hitched up against the rear of the car. Something slid across the trunk floor and ricocheted off her temple.

  In the darkness, her cell phone lit up, responding to the motion by activating her screen. At the same time, she realized there was a small round opening to the side of her, and a little light was coming in through there. Something else back here was giving off a greenish glow, although she hadn’t located it yet. She twisted slowly to lie on her back and came face-to-face with a fluorescent triangle. The center of the shape was open and it appeared to be a pull tab of sorts.

  Ok, the car was moving, she could tell that from the sounds. She had her cell phone and possibly a way to open the trunk. She couldn’t reach the tab, and she wouldn’t be able to jump out of the car, would she? She decided to try to call for help.

  She wriggled on the rough carpet until she was near the phone. With her hands behind her back, she couldn’t hold the phone and unlock it. She shoved her left arm as far to the right as she could, moving her wrists out from beneath her. Carefully working the phone into her hands left her unable to see the screen. If she could sit up, she would be able to work the touch screen, but the trunk was too low, and she couldn’t raise up enough. Outside, she heard traffic. Panic welled up inside her, sharp and tight. The phone slipped out of her fingers and she tried to cry out in frustration, only to feel the tape on her mouth pull tight. The smooth phone case slid on the carpet, stopping near her nose. Beneath the time of day was an icon of a lock. She turned on her side and used her nose to press the lock.

  The emergency dial pad glimmered at her. Thank God.

  She used her nose to dial 911 and pressed the call button.

  “Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”

  Blast it. She couldn’t speak.

  “Help me! Help,” she hollered behind the tape. All that came out was muffled babble.

  “I can’t understand you. What is your emergency?”

  Dorothy left the line open and listened to the sounds outside the car. She was heading somewhere, fast.

  Ed wasn’t going to trust Dorothy’s life to one old lady on the street.

  “Wake up, phone,” he said. His cell phone came to life. “Dial nine-one-one.”

  “Dialing nine-one-one, is this correct?”

  “Yes.”

  He didn’t see the Beemer ahead of him. The light at the corner was turning yellow, a throng of people already pushing into the street from both sides. He jerked the wheel to the left, sliding into the passing lane and floored the accelerator. The motor roared and the Mustang bolted through the intersection. He jammed on the brakes and horns erupted behind him. He wrenched the wheel to the left, crossed the double yellows, swerved around a taxi and back into his lane, the change in velocity slamming him back against the car seat as the car surged ahead.

  “Hello, what is your emergency?”

  “My girlfriend was just kidnapped by Doug Lloyd.”

  “What is your name?”

  At the end of the block, he saw the ass end of a large black car turn left. Was that her? He scanned the
lanes ahead, searching for a black BMW.

  He squeezed the Mustang between two taxis with a fraction of an inch to spare.

  “Edward Walker.”

  “Where are you now?”

  He craned his neck as he made the turn.

  “West one seventy-third, I just turned left off of Broadway.” At the end of the block, the black car turned right. He could see now it was a BMW. He prayed it was the right one.

  “Sir, are you in a car?”

  “I’m following the bastard. He has her in the trunk of his BMW. It’s a model that start with A. I didn’t see the rest of the name.” He slammed on the brakes as a silver Honda pulled out into the street. The Mustang’s tires squealed and smoke rose from the rear tires as he laid a strip of rubber.

  “Sir, please pull over and park your vehicle.”

  Ed grunted as the Mustang’s ass began to swing wide, the car sliding sideways between the cars parked on the left and the Honda on the right. The driver had frozen, the nose of his car only partway into the road. Edward turned into the skid and then got the nose around facing the right way. He floored it. If Doug got to the mass of intersecting highways leading to the George Washington Bridge and Route 95 north, Ed could lose him in a heartbeat. “License plate has a five, seven and an E as in Edward.” He careened around the corner and clipped the side mirror of a blue parked car. There was a lot of open road to his left and he slapped at the gear shift as he swerved. The cell phone went flying across the passenger seat and wound up on the floor.

  “Sir? I’m dispatching officers now, please pull over and park your vehicle.” The voice was muffled.

  “The BMW belongs to Doug Lloyd. She is Baby Dot,” he yelled. “I’m in a red Mustang owned by Helen Johansen.” He was shouting the words, hoping the police would be able to find and follow his car. “The car is on the cover of the Times today.” In the distance, sirens started to howl, but he felt no joy, because he was suddenly sure he was following the right car.

  The trunk of the BMW had sprung open and honey-blond hair was flying in the wind.