The Desert Standoff

by Nadia Siddiqui

  “What can I get the pretty birthday girl?”

  “Hmmm, another Bay Breeze, please!” Suzi bounces as she speaks.

  Natalie pulls her crossbody bag in front of her torso. The thin golden chain that keeps the thing in place sliding across her dress makes a funny sound as she fumbles with the clasp to locate some more money to hand the man for the drinks. Natalie doesn’t understand how it is that Suzi can own purses so small. She can’t even keep anything in here, and somehow they are always so crowded that it’s even more impossible to find whatever it is that she’s looking for. Natalie’s purses are normally much larger, better to hit people with. However, Suzi gets what she wants so the small bag it is.

  “Birthday girl?” the handsome man says to her, looking unfazed by the intrusion of their bodies so close to him. He’s the sort of handsome that would translate into a black-and-white movie. It’s a classic sort of handsome. Dapper, even.

  Suzi grins, oozing attractiveness with just a simple gesture, and she nods proudly, as if she actually had any say in her birthday.

  “And how old is the birthday girl?” Dapper Man asks, angling his body toward her. Natalie doesn’t like how it looks like he could pull her closer to him with just a simple movement.

  “Twenty-one!” Suzi lies easily as her drink is passed back toward her, made perfectly. Natalie’s is shoved across the counter as an afterthought, normally something that she would say something about, but tonight she says nothing. Her fingers push through Suzi’s, asking silently to go back to the dance floor, and her friend returns her grip but makes no motion to move whatsoever. Dapper Man holds up a hand to stop Natalie from paying.

  “Let me. Happy birthday to such a beautiful young woman. Put it on my tab would you, Arnie?” Dapper Man says.

  Natalie thinks it’s strange how Arnie behind the bar goes from beaming to being straight faced the moment that Dapper Man speaks, it gives her a bad feeling and she can’t even decide why that is. She sips on her drink while Suzi exchanges another couple of innuendo-laced words with the dapper man, almost as if she would like nothing more than to mount him in a bathroom stall; all the while Natalie is attempting to pull her friend away from the man.

  Finally, Suzi allows herself to be pulled away. Neither girl sees the look that the dapper man gives the bartender or the look of dread that takes over the bartender's face as the dapper man disappears from the bar into the crowd.

  They are holding their drinks above their heads, winding their way back to the spot on the dance floor where they had been before and content just to be together, when there’s a sharp pain across Natalie’s chest. It doesn’t register for a moment as she is yanked backward for only a moment and then finds her footing.

  “My bag!” Suzi gasps and Natalie drops her glass, ignoring the way that it shatters and splashes liquor up over her bare legs. She’s in motion before she can even think about it; somebody has yanked the bag clean off of her. Natalie shoves her way through the mass of people with Suzi following closely behind.

  Natalie follows the small mugger out of the side door of the club and down the alleyway where the prick stops just in front of a metal gate that he apparently can’t climb. “Alright, you ass, give it back!” Natalie demands, and the mugger turns. She isn’t expecting the way that he is smiling. She isn’t ready for the bloodcurdling scream that she hears behind her, knowing full well she’s likely the only one who heard it.

  She realizes this was a trap just a moment too late. Natalie makes a mistake. She turns to see the screaming, only to see Suzi get hit across the temple, hard. Blood is already matting her pretty hair from the first strike. The dapper man stands there, catching Suzi as she falls. To make sure there is no mistake in his intentions, he squeezes Suzi’s breast firmly through her dress to make sure that Natalie can see it. Natalie only makes it a half step toward the man, enraged, when the mugger’s footsteps come up behind her and the golden chain of her bag is wrapped around her throat.

  “No, no, keep her too. I like the way her ass fills out that dress. She’ll make a nice price. I can see her as a ‘Snow White Virgin’. Doesn’t even matter if she really is or not—” the man chuckles “—we both know she won’t be for long either way.”

  The man behind her laughs even as he’s choking her.

  “I mean it; I’m selling them both,” Dapper Man insists and Natalie can just barely hear the groan of frustration from behind her. Black dots are starting to appear in the corners of her vision. She isn’t sure how much longer she can make it. Her fingers scramble uselessly against the chain, fighting to breathe or break the damn thing further, her legs attempting to kick at the man behind her to no avail. Finally, he drops her—and the last thing she sees is his boot coming for her head.

  3

  Natalie

  G ross.

  Something smells like cigarettes.

  Not like she herself has been smoking them but that somebody near or around her has been smoking a whole hell of a lot of them. Natalie cannot stand cigarette smoke. Her mother used to smoke. Her mother has a three-pack-a-day habit, something that she picked up because somewhere in her youth, somebody told her that the more she smoked the less she was likely to eat. Therefore, by her mother's logic smoking keeps you skinny. That or the diet of prescription pills that she constantly ingests or the cheap tequila that she likes to chase them down with. Whatever it is that keeps the woman vomiting, that’s what keeps her skinny.

  Natalie woke up one morning to the feeling of her mother attempting to stuff laxatives down her throat, and when Natalie woke up and punched her square in the eye Mother had her thrown in jail for a week for assault. Then the next time, she attempted to administer the laxatives rectally against Natalie’s consent. That was the fifth time that Natalie ran away from home and yet every time the police or services would pick her up they would always take her back home. No matter how much truth Natalie told them. No matter how bad she explained things were or the fact that she had mountains of proof in her pocket—they always took her back home, always touting that a mother belongs with her daughter. Perhaps they felt bad for her mother. Perhaps that was why they always looked at her with that special sad look of pity whenever she would throw herself on the lawn, sobbing about how much she missed Natalie. Perhaps that was it. No matter what she did they always liked Mother best. Natalie resigned herself a long time ago to the fact that she was just always going to come second in her own life.

  At least until she met Suzi.

  Where is Suzi? Hopefully she isn’t the one smoking. Suzi knows how much Natalie hates it. It triggers her. Not to mention the world of bad memories. Both of them attempt to ignore the fact that Natalie even has a mother most of the time so it shouldn’t be an issue. Did she bring somebody who smokes back to the dorm? That’s the more likely scenario, Natalie thinks.

  Oh, she drank too much.

  Everything hurts.

  Natalie doesn’t even attempt to open her eyes at first. She’s still trying to shake the fog from her head before she attempts that, but she thinks that she can pad her way into the bathroom by herself. She’s familiar enough with the routine. Then she can park herself into a nice, scalding-hot shower until the world starts to feel normal again. That’s the plan.

  Natalie attempts to move her feet but can’t.

  In her mind, she envisions herself sliding one of her feet out from underneath the covers of her bed until it hits the floor and she’s ready for the shock of cold that will result from her bare feet on the cold tile of their dorm room.

  Only her feet aren’t bare and she cannot seem to get them free of the covers.

  No, not covers.

  Something tighter. Did she slipped her shoe on weight and pass out before she could mess with it? It certainly isn’t comfortable. Whenever she tries to wriggle her toes, they don’t want to move. She can barely feel the way they rub against the sole of her shoe ... like they are cold or they have lost feeling.

  The pain comes from h
er ankle. Not like she’s twisted it, it feels like something else. It feels like her legs are strapped together. The smell of cigarettes is only getting worse the more she’s starting to wake up. Cloying, like it wants to make a home in her brain and she’s reminded of home. Only that’s not possible. Her legs are clearly bound. Is Suzi playing some sort of joke on her? Natalie has woken up bound before, but that’s usually to her own bed or the radiator in her room so that Mother can stop her from leaving. The old bitch really went psycho after Dad left. Or perhaps that was why Dad left. Natalie never lets herself ask that question out loud. She only asks it in hushed voices passed between her and her friend with a blanket pulled up over their heads like they can somehow hide away from the rest of the world. No, this is something else.

  Natalie’s hands are bound as well. There is something heavy pushing them down to her legs. A weight on top of her, crushing her into the seat that she is on. It’s registering now that the thing on top of her is swaying softly back and forth as if they are somewhere that moves. Natalie doesn’t open her eyes, and she can register that it feels like the steady motion of a car that they are in. Her fingers twist in the bonds to feel what is on top of her, and she recognizes the fabric of the dress that Suzi was wearing last night for her birthday celebration. So it’s Suzi on top of her. Is she bound too? Panic blossoms inside of Natalie’s body and she struggles to keep her breathing even. She doesn't know if they are alone and she doesn’t want to alarm whoever is driving this car before she absolutely has to. She needs to know if Suzi is awake and pretending to sleep. She needs to devise a signal that will tell Suzi that she’s awake, that she’s okay. Natalie pokes her friend’s stomach three times and pauses, then another two, a pause, then one more poke. The knock that they use all the time. Usually done a lot faster than this is being done now.

  No answer.

  No movement.

  No sign at all that Suzi is conscious.

  The events of the night before start to filter slowly into Natalie’s mind. She swallows against the pain and tenderness in her throat and then she remembers the purse chain. She remembers the way it was wrapped around her neck and a panic attack threatens to throw her into a fit of hyperventilation. She bites down on her tongue so hard that it’s a total shock that she doesn’t draw blood.

  Suzi needs to wake up now.

  Natalie attempts to open her eye and pain floods into her brain. She bites down harder on her tongue to keep from crying out as she remembers the boot that has apparently either caused a black eye or fractured the bones in her face ... or both. It feels like both, but she has to find a way to block out the pain. She has to find a way to make this work for her. She has been in pain before. She knows what broken bones feel like and she knows she can survive them. So long as there isn’t any more damage done to her face then she should be alright. She should be able to make it, at least that’s what she hopes.

  The way the tires are slapping over the road so smoothly makes Natalie think they are on a highway somewhere; they must be. No doubt they knocked them out and then shoved them into a car as fast as possible. Natalie can remember standing in Suzi’s kitchen one morning, they were having a conversation with Suzi’s mother about the college that they chose. She told them she was proud of them for picking such a good, a no-nonsense school. The next day, she bought them pepper spray, rape whistles and baseball bats. They spent an hour out front hitting trees under the direction of Suzi’s father about the proper way to hold a bat and how to do the most damage. They advised the girls that they weren’t going to stop them in their choices but that they needed to know why tuition at this particular school was as cheap as it was. That they needed to be going into this with their eyes wide open. Both of Suzi’s parents were petrified, but they let them come anyway out of faith and love.

  Terrified was right, as exactly their worst fears are coming to light.

  How stupid they have been.

  It was a fucking purse. There wasn’t even any more money left in it. She should have let it go ... but Suzi had sounded so heartbroken that she had just reacted.

  No. That’s the wrong thing to be thinking about right now. Focus on what’s happening.

  Biting down again, she forces her eyes to open.

  She is surprised to learn that they appear to be in a small four-door car with only one other person. The driver is the only one Natalie can see. The well-groomed and styled head of brown hair feels familiar ... and then she notices the tattoo inked in a dark green, almost navy, into the skin on the back of his neck. A Spade. A lucky green spade. It feels familiar and foreboding all at the same time. She’s not sure what to make of it. Natalie attempts to shake Suzi again to no avail.

  The dapper man.

  That’s who this was. The man who bought Suzi the drink and then bashed her over the head in the alley.

  Tears threaten as the dread of her impending doom starts to loom closer. What is she supposed to do? Is there anything she even can do? Is this just it? Natalie doesn’t want to believe herself capable of just lying down to die. She wants to think that after everything she’s already lived through she will be more of a fighter than this.

  Suzi needs to wake up. She needs to wake up right now.

  Natalie pinches the skin of Suzi’s stomach as hard as she can.

  Then she does it again until her fingers are shaking with the effort.

  Not so much as a stir.

  Not so much as a gust of breath coming from her lips to move the pretty hair covering Suzi’s face.

  4

  Nathan

  N ever in his life has he ever wanted to kill a person more.

  Gaining access to the black trade market in Las Vegas actually proved to be far simpler than he thought that it would be. Perhaps it was something about his perfectly average face that just made people want to trust him more than they rationally ought to be able to, or perhaps it was the no-nonsense air that Nathan gives off. Perhaps he just asks all of the right questions but here he sits.

  He is seated at a poker table covered in worn red felt. The leg nearest his left foot seems to be propped up by a stack of folded cardboard pieces to ensure that the table is kept level. The room seems to be in a state of disarray that no amount of product would ever get clean. No doubt the level of bodily fluids and other biohazardous material that might be found under the flood could be shocking to most. Nathan knows this, and still he sits. He knows that he will recognize Spade whenever he sees him. He still thinks that Larange’s little pseudonym is pretentious and insane. No doubt the egomaniac gave it to himself.

  Every single person at this table deserves to be gutted, their organs removed from their bodies and left to rot on the table in front of them. Every single one of them should be on the company’s radar. It is the absolute least that they deserve. Yet, here Nathan still sits, pretending to be one of them. It’s rather shocking how people who are wearing clothes that are worth more money than he can even properly fathom can just sit here and glare at one another as if they aren’t all sitting in the same terribly filthy room. As if they aren’t all about to be shown into auction booths where their intention is strictly to purchase young women and use them for their own sick, sadistic desires. Nathan is having great difficulty keeping himself in line. He has been asked to deal with a great many terrible people in his line of work and he has done it, all while perfectly maintaining the guise and false identity that he is supposed to be. He has done this perfectly for years, though none of those cases are even a fraction as personal as this one.

  Last night, Nathan lay awake in his hotel room. He stared at the ceiling for such a long time he couldn’t even properly focus his eyes if he wanted to. He couldn’t sleep. Memories that he either repressed or was fully blocked from him started to assault him. He was brought to remember what must have happened that night. He had followed Larange to the hotel one night. The infamous Spade knew that he was being watched. He wouldn’t be any good at his job at all if he wasn’t a careful
bastard. For somebody who was so very good at evading the police, Nathan could remember remarking to himself just how very simple it had been to find him, even more so to track him down. Blame it on how green he was at the time perhaps, but now Nathan knows that Larange must have been luring him in. Taunting him. Leaving him a trail. When Nathan tracked him down to that hotel, he had a poor girl all trussed up and unconscious on the bed. Nathan should have checked the room more thoroughly, but he had seen Larange leave just a handful of moments before. Nathan’s intention had been simply to gather intel and release the girl. He had thought that Larange coming back to find that the girl was missing would be a big enough message that somebody was on to him. That he needed to stop. Naturally, the warning would be more of a precursor, but that wasn’t the focus.

  The trap that was meant for Larange ended up being a trap for himself.

  Larange had never left the room at all.

  He had been waiting for Nathan the entire time. Nathan could still remember the anger that boiled hot in his body when he realized that not only was the girl on the bed already dead, his exit through the door was now blocked by the body of a smirking Larange. He was obviously pleased with himself for having executed his trap so perfectly. Nathan isn’t much of a gun man. He never has been. While he is ranked as a sharpshooter in training, and he knows that he has deadly accuracy, it just isn’t something that he prefers. He knows the weight of taking a human life. Any human life. Even a monster such as this one. He knows how that changes a person and he needs to feel the weight of their life leaving their body. He carries it with him, so when he came here to lay this trap for Larange, he didn’t bother with a gun. Never mind that they are too loud for such close quarters anyway.

  Larange had been so smug, so self-satisfied as he walked closer to Nathan. Like a spider admiring his prey.

  “You’re not police…” Larange said.

  Nathan said nothing. He merely stared at him.