Officer Max

by Abby Knox

  “You can’t park that hunk of junk here! Move it along or be in violation of the law!” I bellow, puffing out my chest.

  I pull out a tablet and pen, which is quite the balancing act from where I’m standing, and the crowd eats it up.

  “What’re you gonna do about it, Ossifer?” Randy shouts back, flipping his hair back, preening for the audience, who jeers at him.

  I make a show of flipping open my tablet and writing him a ticket. “Write you up for violating Penal Code 547821, which clearly states that you”—I point down at Randy and then gesture wildly to indicate my oiled up body—“cannot handle this much muscle.”

  The crowd laughs and cheers, and I gesture around me.

  “See that, Randy? They know! You fight the law! The law always wins!”

  That corny shit gets the crowd amped up even more and the sound is deafening. The feet stomping vibrates in my chest. I’m not going to lie—I love this.

  My eyes scan the crowd, and the two front row seats I reserved for Val and Shane are empty. Where are they? They are missing the best part of the whole show. My brain notes that Ernie the videographer is also not here, not that I care about Ernie right now.

  Randy and I carry on with our banter for a few minutes longer, but my heart is no longer in it. I do my best, but as time wears on I start to get really worried.

  I need to go find her. And yet I have a job to do.

  Shit.

  Something is wrong. I can feel it. Which leaves me only one choice.

  Chapter Twenty

  Valerie

  My throat and lungs are on fire. Shane is missing. Oh no. No, no, no, no, no!

  My eyes flash all over the crowd and my feet automatically fly to the spot where I think I saw his head disappear. I open my mouth to cry out for help.

  Calm down, Valerie. Every time I’ve been in public when someone has lost a child who has wandered off, the quickest resolution comes when everyone around pitches in. Surely he’s just accidentally taken the hand of an unsuspecting stranger who will do the right thing. This is how this sort of thing usually ends.

  But when I open my mouth to shout for help, I feel a sharp pain in my side and I’m jerked backward into the dank, abandoned hallway. Something hard and small is being shoved into my abdomen and a voice hisses in my ear. “Keep quiet and come with me or your kid will never see his mom again.”

  Panic starts to rise. But no, I can’t let it. I refuse to let it.

  But I also refuse to believe a word of what this creep is saying.

  No fucking way is it going to end like this. I have to fight. Meanwhile it seems like it’s only taken a split second to pull me all the ways back to the end of the shadowy hallway.

  I scream, “They have my son! Help!” I see heads turning in our direction but the voice in my ear curses and presses the gun deeper into my ribs and my words turn to gibberish as I cry out in pain. A door opens as I start to shout a description of Shane to anyone who might be listening.

  I’m pulled through the emergency door and into the darkness outside, a blindfold is shoved over my eyes and tied tightly at the back of my head.

  The sound of tearing duct tape has my skin crackling in fear. My wrists are tied behind me and my ankles are bound. Rough hands shove me down, and I land in what feels like the backseat of a car that smells like it’s never been cleaned.

  I take measured breaths to stay calm. Surely the emergency door alerted security that something is wrong. Somebody heard me screaming about my son being abducted.

  And most definitely, my giant wrestler boyfriend Officer Max knows I’m missing and is about ready to knock some asses straight into hell by now.

  I pay attention to my remaining senses. I taste duct tape. I hear the car has squeaky brakes and a whine when the wheel is turned. Someone isn’t maintaining his car very well.

  I feel the bindings on my wrist and determine that if I get a chance moment alone, I can try to wriggle my arms in front of me and pull them apart.

  There are many clues that my kidnapper has never done this before. The blindfold is tight but not quite tight enough, so when I bend my neck upward as if I’m looking at the ceiling, I can look down and see a few things.

  Another clue: he’s never killed anyone before. I have read the auras of so many killers, I can tell this.

  He’s not going to kill me.

  He’s not, which means I can escape. I will escape.

  I try not to get too excited and remain aware. If he or one of his cronies have Shane, they likely won’t hurt him. This is about me.

  It’s then that I see the video camera. A GoPro, I think it’s called. I’m not great with technology but I’ve seen things like that on some of Shane’s wildlife programs. The camera has spilled out from a duffel bag on the passenger seat and onto the console in the middle. But he hasn’t noticed.

  A chilling feeling washes over me when I suddenly recognize that camera from earlier. My kidnapper is the same dude who records all of Max’s wrestling matches. Ernie, I think his name is. Oh my god. Max is going to kill him when he finds out.

  My mind races.

  I shout, “Oh my god, that guy just ran a stop sign, look out!”

  My kidnapper is too easy to distract. He shouts, “What? Where?” as he slams on the brakes. Before it can go flying with the force of the brakes, I leap forward and slam down on the camera with the side of my face. I squirm around and clamp onto it with my teeth, ignoring the impulse to gag with the knowledge that this creep’s hands have been all over it.

  “What the fuck, are you stupid? I didn’t see anything.”

  I decide not to point out that he’s actually the less likely of the two of us to gain membership in Mensa, if he’s taking driving advice from someone with a blindfold over her eyes.

  I drop the camera from my mouth, praying that I did so in time for him to avoid seeing what I’m up to. It falls to the floor.

  “Sorry!” I say. “I must have had a premonition about somebody else.”

  He mutters and yanks the wheel to the left. Tilting my head up, I look down and I memorize where we’re going. If I can escape. I’ll need to know which way to hoof it in the direction we came.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “I’m taking you to Mr. Thorne. He just wants to have a little talk.”

  “Who? I don’t know him. He could have just called. Why grab me out in public.”

  My captor slams on the brakes — seemingly just to be cruel — and I tumble to the dirty floorboards. “You’re the ringleader of that group of old hags trying to bring everything down.”

  I’m so confused, but my head has been bumped against the floor, causing me to feel a bit hazy. Then I shake away the fog, remembering I have to fight. For Shane. Must be calm. Must keep him talking. Spilling information.

  “You weren’t targeting just me though. That makes no sense.”

  He snorts dismissively. “We knew the scuttlebutt that a bunch of activists had a psychic on board. And we knew the cops were closing in. So we had to try to make you go away before you found out our location.”

  I control my grunts as I get hold of the camera. My fingers wiggle around, eventually feeling my way to what I think is the record button, then turning it on. Praying it’s working. Praying it records audio. I keep going.

  “Pretty smart. Causing confusion by targeting a bunch of people not even involved,” I say.

  I ease myself back up into the seat, leaning forward to let him think I’m trying to hear him better.

  He laughs maniacally. “I didn’t know you were going to end up being the detective’s little girlfriend. This is even better!” He puts on an affected, fangirl kind of voice and he sounds totally deranged. “‘Officer Max, such an honor to meet you.’ Yeah, right. At least Mr. Thorne pays me to tape his fights.”

  This is that guy…my kidnapper is the weird videographer guy that Max told me about. What in the world?

  But no time to analyze that now.
>
  I’m trying not to tremble. Trying not to show how afraid I am. I don’t care about me; I just don’t want them to hurt Shane.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Max

  “You can’t just leave before the fight begins!”

  I’m already headed out the door because I know something is wrong. I can feel it in my guts.

  “Looks to me like I can,” I respond to the league manager who’s following me out to my truck.

  Still in my wrestling uniform, I slide behind the wheel and call for backup. Murphy calls me just then. “Murphy, we have a situation.” I tell her that Val and Shane are missing and I need to know if she’s found out anything.

  What she tells me sends chills running down my spine.

  And I now know exactly where to go.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Val

  I’m taken into a dimly lit room inside a house somewhere on the west end of the city, that much I have deduced from my limited vision and sense of direction.

  If I had to guess, it’s in one of the new money neighborhoods. A vague smell of brand new furniture and paint and fixtures assaults my nose. Old houses have a certain energy. Newer houses don’t have an aura. The walls haven’t heard enough stories.

  I’m shoved into a chair and abruptly my blindfold is removed.

  “Where is he? Where is Shane?”

  “He’s fine,” replies the 60-something gentleman in the overpriced suit staring down at me. “My associate picked him up without any fuss. You really ought to teach your son not to go anywhere without his mother’s permission.”

  “He wouldn’t, that’s the thing,” I say, trying to keep my voice from trembling.

  I’ve got to get him to spill more information. I don’t even know if the little action camera that I’ve shoved into my skirt pocket is working, but I have to hope for the best.

  “Of course, because you’re such a good mommy,” Thorne replies in a simpering voice. “So you really ought to be more careful about who you invite into your little group of friends. And into your place of business.”

  I think. Who sees me professionally and also knows my son well enough to snatch him without a fuss?

  “Angela?” I ask.

  “Oh, didn’t you know? Hers is an old crime family. They owe me a great deal of money on lost bets over the years. So I had Angela do me a solid by picking up your little brat.”

  Do not cry, Valerie. “I don’t understand what you want from us?”

  Thorne replies, “I just want what everybody in this world wants. To be left alone to do my business. You seemed at first to be an easy one to persuade to stop poking around. But it turns out, you’re a huge pain in my ass.”

  I bat my eyelashes sarcastically because I can’t help myself. “I try.”

  “If you’d just left us alone, let us raise our beautiful animals, training them to do what they were made to do. It’s an honorable, but misunderstood tradition.”

  “If by misunderstood you mean disgusting and cruel, then yes."

  He raises both hands in a gesture that says what can you do?As if in answer to that rhetorical question, the sounds of thunder shakes the whole house.

  Ernie, who is on the phone, drops it and flails against the wall in fright, as if trying to find something to hold on to. “Earthquake! Thunderstorm!” he shouts.

  Thorne whirls around this way and that as the sound repeats, the vibrations seeming to shake the foundation of the house. And then one final booming crash is followed by the sound of splintering wood.

  “It’s battering rams,” Thorne rages, whipping around and shouting orders to a half a dozen of his thugs hanging around the place. “The cops are here! Where’s the money? How the fuck did they know our location, Ernie?”

  I smile and shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe because you guys are better at other crimes than you are at kidnapping?”

  One of the thugs jerks me to my feet. A hand goes to my neck and I feel cold metal once again digging into my side.

  The door at the top of the stairs bursts open. I expect to see Max--or at the very least, his twin brother, the chief of police--standing in the doorway, looming over the basement where I'm being kept. Instead, I squint at the figure and understand the betrayal that has taken place. Fury and horror rush over me.

  “Angela?” I want to kick and scream at the big oaf who holds me, I want to tackle her and demand to know where Shane is. The woman who I thought was my friend ignores me and addresses the man holding me. “Petey. It’s over. Let her go.”

  “I’m not going back to prison. They can just kill me.” His hot breath against my neck makes me sick to my stomach.

  It’s the thick thighs I see first when Max’s presence fills up the busted out door frame.

  I restrain myself from trying to lunge toward him, from screaming or flailing or kicking, like I want to.

  This is his job. I have to let him handle it.

  His hands are wrapped around his semiautomatic pistol, aimed at Petey’s head. “You don’t want to do this, Petey.”

  Petey repeats again that he’s not going back to prison. Meanwhile, Murphy and the rest of the SWAT team already have Thorne and Ernie in handcuffs.

  I close my eyes and concentrate on Petey’s hold on me. His rapid breathing. The scent of his sweat and the tone of his voice. I have a sense about what he is and isn’t capable of.

  My eyes widen and Max sees it. He takes his gaze off Petey and looks at me, tossing me a nearly undetectable question mark.

  I blink once, slowly. He purses his lips and nods almost imperceptibly. And then, shoulders down, he runs toward us at full speed. Max bears down on us, tackling Petey at the knees.

  I was right. He lets me go, and the gun skids across the floor. Murphy pulls me away from the melee and we watch as Max, still in his pro wrestling costume, angles his body around and grips Petey in a headlock.

  Petey’s not small, nor is he weak, and he manages to wriggle free of Max’s arm. The guy reaches for the gun but doesn’t see Max climbing up onto the back of a stuffed chair and drawing himself up to his full height.

  The impact of the flying piledriver causes paintings to fall off the wall. Petey is down for the count and in cuffs without any further struggle. Murphy cuts away my bindings and calmly informs me that Shane is waiting for me at the station, safe and sound, and that Angela is under arrest.

  I hand over to Murphy the GoPro camera that I managed to keep hidden in my skirt pocket. “Yeah…, you won’t need a psychic to interpret this evidence.”

  She takes it, wide-eyed, and says, “Chief, I think it’s time you offer this lady a permanent job.”

  I rub my wrists while she asks me if I’d be willing to testify against Angela, my kidnapper, and Thorne. I agree, of course. Anything to get these losers locked up and the chickens away from their abusers.

  “Are we done here?” Max’s voice cuts across the police radio chatter. I turn just as he scoops me up in his arms for a desperate kiss.

  I pull away. “Wait, is your brother watching?”

  He smiles. “I don’t know. You tell me, mystical girl.”

  I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I never thought of myself as someone who would need to be rescued, even after this last week and a half, which has been the weirdest of my life.

  I let out a long exhale. “Let’s just go get Shane. I don’t care what anybody thinks about anything anymore.”

  We arrive at the precinct to find Shane eating a bowl of ice cream and wearing a police hat that’s about three sizes too big. He’s sitting and chatting up the chief in his office.

  A sob escapes me and I close the distance between us, wrapping him up in a tight hug.

  “Mommy, the chief told me I’m not in trouble for going with Angela, but she’s in big trouble.” I nod along, squatting in front of him while he continues to eat his ice cream and tell me about all the excitement. He seems very chill about all of it; meanwhile, I’m freaking the fuck out on the i
nside.

  “And Mommy? If Max doesn’t want to marry you, you can marry the chief. He’s not as big, but he looks just like him.”

  Behind me, Martin scoffs, Murphy snorts, and Max cackles.

  “I’m afraid that’s not how it works, little dude. Just because people look alike, doesn’t mean they’re the same,” says Max. “The biggest difference, aside from my much uglier brother being married, is that I love your mom.”

  My breath stills in my lungs. Nobody has ever said that to me before.

  I stand up and hold out my hand, urging Max to approach.

  He does, looking like he is half expecting me to kiss him again.

  Instead, I take one big mitt in mine and turn it over.

  Examining it while everyone watches, I get all the answers I need. I trace my fingers over the lines and smile.

  “There it is—you marry me and we live a long and happy life together. I love you too, Max.”

  My big costumed boyfriend kisses me softly on the lips and asks me if I’m sure.

  “I knew the second I did your star chart that I would marry you.”

  He smiles down at me and brushes a stray lock of hair from my eyes. “You knew because it was all there in the chart?”

  “No, Max. I knew because you let me be me.”

  He places a kiss on my nose and hugs me so tightly my feet leave the floor.

  And the stars, I think to myself, the stars don’t lie.

  Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  One year later

  Max

  I should have known my best man would be late to the wedding.