The Spirit Survives

by Gary Williams Ramsey

  Bern nodded and took the girl to the kitchen first. After securing her to a chair, he came back and picked up Bo and secured him to another chair. As he labored to clean up the blood, Sergey opened the coat closet and grabbed a briefcase. He walked over and handed it to Bastone.

  “Here’s the money I promised you for bringing me the killer,” he said. “When I sell the girl, I’ll give you twenty-five percent. I’ll have to have her taken to Houston to close the deal with the Arabs. Now both of you get the hell out of here. My driver will be waiting to take you back to the airport.”

  Bastone grasped the briefcase and he and Macy walked to the door. “I’ll be in touch,” he said.

  The driver was waiting for them in the lobby to take them back to the plane. Bastone was pleased that he had followed the Benefactor’s instructions to the letter. To celebrate, he thought of adding five thousand to Macy’s cut of the money and to invite her to his room tonight. A little sex might do him good.

  Chapter 62

  I pressed a cold cloth to my head as Rex drove me to the hospital. The bleeding stopped but a severe headache had set in. One of the benefits of a small city like Green Bay is that the emergency room is not mobbed. Most big cities are overflowing in their ERs as illegals are always there for free medical care. I was taken to a treatment room in less than ten minutes. A short brown-haired nurse came in to take a look at me. She cleaned the wound gently and put antiseptic on it. She told me that the wound needed a few stitches and that Dr. Myrosol would be in presently.

  Rex arrived with two cups of steaming hot coffee and handed me one. “Maybe this will make you feel better.”

  I sipped the hot liquid and closed my eyes. The pain was subsiding and my head was beginning to clear. A tall grey-haired man entered the room. He was very solemn and didn’t smile. “I’m Dr. Myrosol. The nurse said this was a gunshot wound, and I will not treat it unless it’s reported to the police.”

  Rex rose to his feet. “Dr. Myrosol, I’m Assistant Chief Rex Herns of the Chicago police department. This man is in my custody.” He flashed his badge and his ID.

  The doctor inspected them carefully and passed them back to him. Without speaking, he came over to me and removed the gauze bandage that the nurse had placed on the wound. He examined the wound carefully and proceeded to put six stitches in it. He was apparently very unhappy to be implicated in treating a gunshot wound. After he finished with the stitches, he bandaged the wound. “Just keep it dry and clean,” he grumbled and left the room.

  “Gee what a bastard,” Rex said, “Not much of a bedside manner.”

  That struck me funny and I laughed for the first time in days.

  “Let’s go. You need some sleep,” Rex added.

  We left the hospital and he drove me back to the Residence Inn.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll work this out,” Rex said, “If you need anything tonight just call me.”

  “Thanks Rex, someday I’ll be able to make this up to you,” I replied. I walked to my suite, swiped the card and walked into the sanctuary. As soon as I entered the suite, smells of Leah permeated my senses. The next sensation I felt was intense anger.

  “I’ll find the people who did this to you, Leah, and I’ll make them pay!”

  Suddenly, I was starving. I realized that I hadn’t eaten in a long time. I walked to the kitchen and took a large pot from the cupboard, put six tablespoons of grits in the pot and measured two cups of water. I turned the heat on high and brought it to a boil, and then I turned the burner to low and let it simmer for four minutes. I grabbed a baking dish from the cabinet and poured the grits in it. I got some garlic powder and added a generous helping. There was a pack of cheddar cheese slices in the fridge. I took out three slices and crumbled it into the grits mixture. I placed the concoction in the oven at 350 degrees to bake for abut twenty minutes.

  While my garlic cheese grits bake was cooking, I prepared myself a Jack Daniels and Ginger Ale. I sat down and slipped the strong drink, trying to settle my mind. I must devise a plan to rescue Leah. What blows my mind is that I don’t know where to begin looking. The only lead I had was when I overheard them saying Chicago, but where in Chicago? My only hope was that Rex could help me. The buzzer on the stove told me that my dinner was ready. I took a long pull from my Jack and ginger, got up and removed the grits from the oven. I placed a bowl on the bar, dragged up a bar stool, grabbed a spoon and tasted the hot concoction. It tasted wonderful and I ate the whole thing , washing it down with Jack Daniels and Ginger Ale.

  After my dinner, I collapsed on the couch and turned on the TV. I instantly fell asleep.

  The pale gray sky reflected the melancholy world in which my spirit resided. Leah’s face appeared, and I talked to her. She smiled as I spoke.

  “I don’t even know if you are real. I only know my perception and the emptiness I feel when you’re not with me. I cannot distinguish between the feeling and your physical being. I know you epitomize what I’ve been searching for all my life. I wonder if I have made you my dream, or if you are the dream.”

  Her beautiful face faded and the sky cleared and showed me the beauty of the evening. The trees silhouetted against the darkening sky, as sun and moon exchanged places. The cool breeze of the night cleared my mind as the dream dominated my feelings. My question doesn’t really matter; Leah is what I want her to be. She is the catalyst of the rejuvenation of my spirit. She is the answer to my incompleteness. She is my muse who appears just often enough in my dreams to keep my mind off balance, but she too has a history and thoughts and desires and feelings and doubts.

  Her face appeared again among the stars, and I spoke, “I am finally ready to share myself. I don’t know if that sharing will be with my dream of you or with you. You have to reach the same unconditional point with me. I cannot take you there or rush your journey to wherever the destination. Life seldom offers such high-risk choices, but if the chosen destination is correct, peace of mind and happiness awaits our arrival.”

  Suddenly, the big man who had raped the Russian girl loomed beside Leah. He held a huge butcher knife in his right hand and immediately began stabbing her in the face. Blood erupted from her eyes and her lips as she cried for me to help her. I attempted to run to her side but my body was frozen and couldn’t move. I had to just watch her being murdered. I screamed.

  The reverberation of my own voice shrieking in the night awoke me, and I was in a cold sweat. My entire body was shaking as I jumped up from the couch. I went to the sink in the kitchen and threw cold water on my face. I realized that I was as helpless in my waking hours to rescue Leah as I was in the dream. I’m a tough man, but I felt tears running down my cheeks. I was near the breaking point.

  Chapter 63

  When Macy and Bastone arrived at the plane, the same pilot and copilot who had flown them to Chicago were waiting for them. The rain had cleared and a heavy mist lay like a blanket in the air. The limo was parked on the tarmac, and they got out and boarded the aircraft. The pilot gave Macy a shit-eating grin as they entered the plane. “Welcome back, sexy lady,” he grunted.

  Macy winked at him and strolled to her seat. The exchange did not go unnoticed by Bastone. The copilot closed the hatch and taxied onto the runway for departure.

  When the plane reached the cruising altitude, Bastone’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and answered immediately. “This is Bastone. I’m surprised you called.”

  “Bastone,” the Benefactor said, “How did the exchange go with Sergey? Did he buy the story that both cartels hired Lopez?”

  “Yes he did, because Macy convinced him,” Bastone answered.

  “What about the girl?” the Benefactor asked.

  “Sergey is dispatching her to Houston to be sold almost certainly to an Arab. You don’t to ever have to worry about her again. After the Arabs use her up, they’ll kill her.”

  “Good job. Your money is already deposited in your account. Can anyone overhear me? I wish to talk confiden
tially to you about Macy.”

  “Wait,” Bastone replied. The Italian got up from his seat and went into the bathroom. When he was inside with the door closed and locked, he said, “Okay, I’m in private now.”

  “I just found out from my contacts that she is a security risk. The FBI is suspicious of her activities, and she is under confidential investigation. Get rid of her,” the Benefactor ordered.

  Bastone hesitated for a moment to withstand the surprise before he answered, “I’ll handle it.” He walked back to his seat and sat down,

  “Is there a problem?” Macy asked.

  “None that I can’t handle,” he replied.

  “Fasten your seat belts. We’re ready to land,” the heavily accented Russian voice boomed over the speakers.

  The plane made a smooth touchdown and was piloted to the hanger area. It was late at night and the area was empty except for the vehicle that Bastone had driven there and a green Lincoln Town Car, which apparently belonged to the Russians.

  They exited the plane and Bastone said, “Macy, wait on me by the van. I need to speak to the pilot for a moment.”

  She nodded and walked toward the vehicle.

  The pilot and copilot were standing by the steps to the jet when Bastone approached them carrying the briefcase with the money Sergey had paid him.

  “I have a job for you if you’re interested,” he said. “It’s worth ten-thousand for each of you.

  The Russians glanced at each other and grinned. The pilot replied, “What do we need to do?”

  “I noticed that you liked the Indian girl,” Bastone replied. “Take her and do what you will and then kill her.”

  The Russians walked away and spoke for a few minutes and then came back to where the Italian was standing. “It’s a deal,” the pilot grunted with a grin.

  “Grab her now and I’ll pay you in cash,” Bastone said.

  The Russians escorted Bastone to the van where Macy was standing. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  Without speaking the pilot punched her in the stomach. She fell to the ground and the other Russian grabbed the gun from the shoulder holster. The pilot wrapped his enormous arms around her and carried her to the hanger while Bastone counted out the money to the copilot.

  “If this isn’t handled to my satisfaction, you’re both dead,” he said solemnly.

  The big Russian just smiled broadly and took the money. Bastone got into his van and drove away. He was a little disappointed that the sex with Macy that he had plotted was now out of the question, but the Benefactor was never wrong and must be obeyed.

  There was a small room in the back of the hanger with a double bed, used for a rest area in case of emergency for the pilots flying out of the facility. The room was bare except for the bed and an end table with a lamp on it.

  The big Russian took Macy to the room and dumped her on the bed. She was clutching her stomach and drew into a fetal position. The pilot turned her over and ripped at her blouse. He had fantasized about those beautiful breasts, and now he wanted to fondle them. Being the pilot, he got first shot at sex with her and the copilot had to take seconds. The Russian knew that he could overpower her and have his way. He pulled at her legs to get her out of the fetal position and, to his surprise, she straightened her legs and spread them.

  She opened her eyes. “Come on big man, let’s make this fun.” She took off what remained of her torn blouse, reached around and unhooked her bra.

  The Russian grinned from ear to ear and hurriedly took off his pants and underwear.

  Macy saw immediately that he was erect and ready. She removed her pants and her black thong. “Come on big boy, let’s see what you got,” she purred.

  The Russian put a knee on the bed to join her when her right foot shot forward and slammed into his erection and his balls. She followed it with a swift kick from the other foot to the same area. He grunted loudly and fell to the floor grabbing his genitals. Macy was on her feet like a cat and rushed to him and planted a heel to his head. He caught her foot as it came smashing toward his head and twisted it. She fell to the floor.

  He jumped to his feet cursing, “Damn bitch, you’re dead!” Blood oozed as he landed a glancing blow to her lip.

  Macy rolled to her left and jumped to her feet, her FBI survival training kicking in.

  The Russian swung again but missed as Macy landed a side pivot kick to his groin area. How much more can this shitass take? she thought.

  He shrieked in pain and halted for a moment.

  She grabbed the lamp from the end table by the bed, pulled the cord from the outlet and ripped off the lamp shade. The lamp base was made of heavy brass. As the Russian staggered, holding his crotch, she swung the lamp base with all her strength and landed the heavy part of the base flush on his neck. He grabbed his neck making choking noises. She had busted his adams apple into his breathing passage. Saliva dripped from his mouth as he fell to the floor.

  Macy darted to his side and delivered two heavy blows to his head with the lamp base. To be certain, she dug the lamp finial into his throat and thrust. She fell back exhausted as the Russian drew his last ragged breath.

  Macy rested only for a moment, then jumped to her feet and stood behind the door holding the lamp base, knowing that the other Russian would be coming soon.

  The copilot waited outside the door anticipating his turn to rape the sexy Indian girl. He overheard peculiar noises inside and hoped that his partner didn’t pound her unconscious or kill her before he got his piece. He knew rough sex when he heard it, and he became aroused waiting for his turn.

  Finally there was silence. He waited for a few minutes for his partner to come out but nothing happened. He yelled, “Aleksey, are you finished?” There was no reply. “That asshole is going to do it to her again,” he said out loud. He wouldn’t let that happen. It was his turn. He reached for the door knob, turned it and opened the door. Lights went out in his head as the lamp base smashed to his temple.

  Macy stood over him and delivered three more blows, and he joined his partner in hell. She removed the copilot’s shirt and put it on, as her shirt was in shreds. She finished dressing, and with the remains of her clothing, wiped her prints off the lamp base. She expertly checked the room and wiped clean any fingerprints she might have left. She checked the Russian’s pockets, found the keys to the Lincoln and put them in her pocket. She took out his wallet and it was fat with cash, probably money from Bastone to kill her. She took the money and laughed at the irony of the situation.

  Macy, the trained FBI-agent-turned-renegade, calmly strolled out of the room and the hanger, got into the Lincoln and drove away. Her only thought was, I’m going to kill that bastard Bastone, but first I’m going to make him suffer.

  Chapter 64

  I lay my head back and fell into a deep sleep. Thank God there were no more nightmares.

  I awoke at 9:00 a.m. as refreshed as I had been for days. I put some Starbucks dark roast coffee in my maker, added water and turned it on. I found a block of cheddar cheese and a pack of boloney in the meat drawer. I checked the bread in the cupboard, but it was molded. I just grabbed a frying pan and fried three pieces of baloney and melted a slice of cheese over it. There was one onion in the cabinet, so I sliced half of it over the meat and cheese. When my coffee was ready I sipped the steaming brew and devoured my breakfast.

  After two more cups of coffee, I took a hot shower, shaved, and dressed in a golf shirt and jeans. I plugged in my cell phone to charge it and sat down at the kitchen table with a pad and pencil and a stack of unopened mail that had accumulated during my absence. Most of it was junk but there was one letter from the moving company. It stated that our furniture had arrived and, since they could not reach either Leah or me by phone, it would be sent back if they didn’t have instructions ASAP. I set it aside to respond when my phone was charged. There were two letters from Shopko telling Leah to call them immediately. They had apparently not been notified of her disappearance. I decided to
call them later.

  Now it was time to formulate a plan on how to find Leah. I began writing down what I knew and my resources to use in the search.

  Rex Herns would undoubtedly be a primary resource, and he had proven that he was a trustworthy friend. His authority and connections in Chicago would be invaluable, and I overheard the kidnappers say they were going to Chicago.

  I knew I could depend on my friends in the Houston police department to assist me if Houston came into play.

  I was also acquainted with the Special Agent in Charge of the Houston FBI offices, Gerry Stewart. We had worked together on Mexican cartel cases and had become professional friends who respected each other. I knew he had contacts all over the USA and would assist me. Special agent Stewart was well known in all law enforcement agencies nationwide for his work and capture of an infamous serial killer, The Bloodletter. He received extensive news coverage and could have been a national celebrity, but he shunned all publicity, refused interviews, and just continued to do his job.

  When I was semi-conscious on the floor and presumed dead, I overheard them talking about Chicago, and I thought I heard the name Lacy or Macy, or something like that.

  The resources I had were excellent, but I had very few facts to go on and this entire venture to save Leah was going to be very difficult. I refused to even permit myself to believe that she might already be dead.

  I set my note pad aside and picked up the letter from the moving company to get a phone number. I checked my cell phone and had four bars, so I dialed the number. A woman named Shirley answered and I informed her that there had been a problem and I needed them to put my furniture in storage in Green Bay until further notice. I gave her a credit card number and she said she would handle it.