by Maria Herren
"They gotta big knife, Uncle Frankie," Alex had mumbled to him.
"If you see 'em in your sleep tonight you tell 'em that your Uncle Frankie's got a big gun."
Alex nodded before he closed his eyes.
⇼
One side of the house was still cordoned off by yellow tape. Two police cars kept vigil on the street. He tried to forget all the flowers in the hallway and Charly's oven mitts dropped by the door. I'm really looking forward to catching these ignorant motherfuckers, he thought.
⇼
Frank was back a few short hours later, drinking very dark coffee with the other officers. He noticed that the kitchen had been cleaned of the residual powder from forensics and the tracks of muddy footprints through the house had been mopped up. I bet he did all this before he took the kids to Margaret's house, he thought with appreciation. Didn't want them to wake up and see that mess.
It was an awkward wait. Most of the men knew each other but no one was talking. Everyone could feel the strain in the air and sense the distress that Carlo was holding back on a very tight leash. He was pacing the cold marble tile barefoot. Frank went upstairs and brought Carlos' slippers down, leaving the casually in full sight in the doorway.
He'd checked the morning paper. Nina's death was mentioned, but there was no mention of the kidnapping.
All eyes jerked to Carlo when the phone rang.
He hadn't shaved or taken the time to shower and his eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and tears, but somehow he was instantly a man in control. He seated himself in a deep chair facing Frank and let it ring again. Jesus! You've got to admire this guy! Frank thought.
"It's Carlo," he said, calmly. "To whom am I speaking?"
There was so much static over the line that everyone reached to turn down the volume on their earphones.
"Nice try, Mr. Carruci! Just call me 'the enemy.’ Of course this call is being traced so we don't have much time, but neither does your wife."
"What can I do for you?" Carlo asked, calmly.
"Just money, Carlo. I need quite a lot of it," the voice said. There was almost a whining quality to the words.
"How much?"
"Actually, I need more than even you have. I need ten million right now to keep from killing your wife."
"Let me talk to Charly," Carlo demanded.
"No. Sorry, I don't have her with me ... they do," the voice said over a large burst of static.
"Where do I leave the money?" Carlo asked.
"Carlo! I'm so glad you don't want to argue about the amount. Since you're being so agreeable let's make it 15 million."
"I'll need some time," Carlo said.
"I'll have someone call you in an hour to let you know where to bring the money," the man said.
Click.
Frank took the telephone from his friend's hand and put it back in the cradle. Carlo's brow was furrowed in concentration.
"Can't trace it, Commander," an officer said.
The men moved around the room doing nothing, trying hard to look busy, trying harder to avoid eye contact, wondering what it would feel like to be willing to pay 15 million dollars for their wives.
"Frank?" Carlo spoke up. "Yeah, Carlo?''
"I know that voice," Carlo said with certainty.
⇼
Charly felt the drug beginning to wear off, but this time she kept quiet. She didn't hear any breathing besides her own. Her eyelids fluttered open slightly, then turning her head inch by inch she focused on the dim light coming from the next room. She saw the shadow of a man's form but didn't hear any sounds of activity.
"Water," she croaked.
Instantly the shadow moved. Silhouetted in the doorway he looked to be about 20 feet tall. He stared at her.
"Please..." she said.
"Are ya' awake, or are ya' just talkin' in your sleep s'more?" he yelled in her direction.
"Thirsty ... so thirsty..." she whispered.
Standing over her he shook his head. "I'm not s'pose ta give ya' nuthin, ma'am. Everybodyz gone an' yer s'pose ta' be sleepin'."
She opened her eyes fully and stared up at him.
"Aw, hell. A little water wouldn' hurt nuthin'," he said, turning on his heel. She closed her eyes when he left the room. She tried to move her hands to her face to get the cotton balls it felt like they'd stuck underneath her eyelids. She felt her consciousness starting to slip away and she fought the darkness with all of her will.
He came back and jabbed her arm several times like he was poking a dead animal he'd just run over on the road. "Ya' still awake?"
She nodded slightly but he didn't see it. "Well, shit," he swore, drinking the water himself. The sound stimulated her and her eyes flew back open.
He wiped his mouth his hand and caught her stare. "Aw' right, aw' right," he said, shuffling off to the kitchen for some more water. He bent down and raised her shoulders. The water trickled down her chin, but she patiently took what she could. It tasted so good.
"More, please," she asked, politely.
"I ain't your servant, lady," he grumbled but went off to refill the glass.
This time she got to swallow some. "Thank you," she said, nausea sweeping over her.
Looking down at her, he wasn't sure what to do next. He was pretty damn bored. There wasn't a t.v. in the cabin and he'd smoked all of his cigarettes. He gave her some more water. "Ya' sure are purty," he said. "Who are ya', anyway?"
"Don't you know?" she asked.
''Naw. They never tell me nuthin'," he said, resignedly.
"Who are ‘they’?" she asked.
"Mah brotherz. They find the work and they make most of the money. I ain't smart enuffta do that part," he said, a little guiltily.
"I see," she said, trying not to let her fear at his words show. "Well, my name is Charly Carruci."
"Ohhhh!" he exclaimed, "Like the restyrunts. Once I saw a commercial! The commercial said they're real nice!"
She nodded, wary of his sudden enthusiasm.
"Maybe, maybe when we get the money for you, maybe we'll open our own restyrunt! And maybe we kin name it after me!"
"That would be nice, wouldn't it?" she said. "What is your name?"
"Jimmy! It's Jimmy!" he said, excitedly.
"Well, Jimmy, could you untie me while everyone else is gone? I won't tell," she said, conspiratorially.
"I'm not suppose ta'," he responded, hesitantly. "I promise not to tell," she said, again.
"Well, maybe..." he said, scratching his balding head and causing a few lonely strands to stand straight up in greasy defiance.
She watched a gleam slowly come to his eye. "Well, ifya' promise not ta' tell," he said, leaving the room.
He returned with a pair of wire cutters and some wire. His big hands carefully clipped around her ankles. "Ahhh," Charly sighed. That's much better. Can you undo my arms, too?"
He giggled stupidly. "Naw. If I did that ya' might try ta' hurt me or somethin'." He carefully unbuttoned her jeans and jerked them to her knees. "Ya' sure are purty," he mumbled again, stroking her legs awkwardly with his clumsy hands. "Does that feel good?"
Charly unclenched her teeth and nodded. "Yes. If you would untie my hands I could make you feel good, too."
"I awready know how ta' do that by myself," he explained earnestly.
Hesitantly his large hand crept up her thigh to the lacy edge of her panties. "I ... I ain't never seen ... a reel gurl naked before," he whispered through his heavy breathing, tugging at the lace. "I wanna look at ya'."
He doesn't know enough to hurt me, Charly said to herself.
"Ohhh..." he said, "Just like inna' pitchers!" He jabbed his finger inside her and she quickly writhed away, causing him to jerk backwards.
He looked confused. "Did that hurt?"
She nodded her head slowly.
"My brotherz tole me that's spose ta' feel GOOD!" he said accusingly. I ain't suppose ta' hurt ya' yet."
Carefully he wrapped the new wire around her ankl
es. "Promise ya' won't tell nobody that I let ya' loose?" he asked with concern.
"I ... promise," Charly said through her tears. "May I have some more water, please?
Twelve
Frank answered the door to let Margaret in. "How is he?" she asked.
"Holding up real well as far as I can tell," Frank answered.
It was 9 a.m., but everyone was eagerly eyeing the boxes under her arm filled with pizza she'd brought from the restaurant.
"Sorry we don't make breakfast food!" she said on her way to the kitchen.
"Not a problem. Some of us didn't get dinner last night," Frank told her, close on her heels.
"What's happened since last night?" Margaret asked.
"Nothing good," Frank said, stepping in to help her out. He caught a whiff of her perfume.
"Jesus, you smell good," he said without thinking.
"You've been alone too long, Frank. When are you going to find a nice girl and settle down?"
"I did, but I don't think you'll have me," he said.
"Maybe sometime you should ask me nicely," she smiled up at him.
"Maybe I'm asking you, now."
"Maybe now's not a good time. Try again when this is all over," Margaret said. "I will," Frank declared. "I can't believe we had this conversation before breakfast."
"Morning is my favorite time," she smiled sweetly.
"What a happy coincidence. It's mine, too. We have definitely got to get together, Margaret."
"Call me. Listen, Carlo told me that he recognized the voice on the phone last night," Margaret said.
"Yeah. But he can't place it yet," Frank said. "What do they want?"
"He asked for money."
"What do you think?"
"I'm not sure, yet," he told her.
"Frank," she said, looking out the window at Carlo coming up from the lake after feeding the swans, "What do you really think?"
"I think I'm not sure yet," he repeated. He avoided her eyes and put the pizza on a platter, licking tomato sauce off his finger. She shot him a piercing look before she stepped through the French doors.
"Hey, sunshine!" she called with false cheer to Carlo. "I brought that pizza you ordered!"
"Molto bene. Grazie, Margaret."
Frank had disappeared with a platter of pizza. Margaret put the rest on another platter.
“Smells good, doesn't it, Carlo?''
"Yes," he said.
"Are you doing okay, Carlo?'' Margaret asked.
''No," he said, simply.
"Eat some of this," she said, offering him a slice of the pizza. "It's your favorite."
⇼
Charly kept her eyes closed and strained to hear their voices.
''Did she wake up, Jimmy?"
"Uhhh, no, not really," Jimmy stammered.
"What do you mean, you idiot? Did she wake up or not?"
"Well ... I guess not," Jimmy said.
Heavy footsteps came quickly down the hall and she slowed her breathing. "She looks kinda like an angel, don't she?" Jimmy questioned.
Cruel laughter followed his question.
"Don't get too attached, Jimmy. You know how hard that makes it for you to kill 'em."
⇼
Eric put the water to the hottest heat and turned his back on the stinging bullets. When he could no longer feel the heat he turned to face the water, escaping the pain with his mind. After several minutes he turned the faucet to its coldest setting and followed the same ritual. He did it over and over until he couldn't tell the difference between the scorching heat and the freezing cold.
He'd learned a lot in the last seven years. They'd taught him how to kill without using a weapon. He now spoke eight languages fluently, along with several dialects of each language so that when he entered the country he could choose which part of the land to assume without sounding schooled.
Eric knew all of the history and favored foods of all eight countries. He could easily pass in all of them as either an educated gentleman or one of their own.
He'd made some mistakes, a few enemies and a lot of friends over the last years. When he heard the rumor that the wife of a wealthy Italian restaurateur by the name of Carlo had been kidnapped he let it be known that he needed to know if it was true.
He'd put the word out that he'd owe a favor for the information. He hadn't recognized the voice that verified the rumor. It was well known that Carlo returned favors.
Stepping out of the shower he grabbed a thirsty towel and wrapped it around his waist. There was so much steam that the mirror was dripping a steady stream into the sink basin.
He wiped a clear section in the glass. "Dammit!" he wept. "I'm still here for you, Charly. I'll do what I can," he said to the splintered image of himself in the mirror. "All you've gotta do is stay alive until I get there."
⇼
The next few hours crawled by for everyone. It was almost midnight and Frank and Carlo were both drinking coffee that neither of them wanted. It went well with the doughnuts.
Frank had finally decided to make some calls to the F.B.I. and they were surrounded by federal agents who were alarmingly alert and ready for the phone call.
Carlo was the only amateur. He was primed and had been taken repeatedly through his instructions.
There was a helplessness that came with the waiting. When the phone finally rang Carlo just stared at it. Finally picking it up he said, "It's Carlo."
"Carlo! Always such a pleasure to talk with you!" Carlo sat straight up and nodded to Frank.
"This is the guy?" Frank mouthed, to verify. Carlo nodded vigorously.
"One moment," the whiny voice said, I'll pass you to my friend who will tell you exactly how much to leave where."
"Wait! Per favore!'' Carlo pleaded. "How do I know that Charly's alive?"
"I guess you'll just have to trust me on this one," the voice said, mockingly. There was a long burst of static and then a different voice began reading a list of instructions.
"Is the price for her life still 15 million dollars?" Carlo asked when the voice was through.
"What do you mean?'' the kidnapper asked.
"I mean, does the 15 million dollars include the tip?" Carlo asked.
"Shut the fuck up!" Snapped the kidnapper, then another long burst of static followed by the voice Carlo was frantically trying to place screaming, "SHUT UP! You IDIOT! He's trying to get you upset! Hang up right now. NOW!"
The line went dead.
Frank jumped across the room to pat Carlo on the back while the other agents worked quickly to rewind the tape.
"Definitely a transatlantic communication," Carlo heard one of them mutter.
"It sounded like a conference call to me," another one said.
"I'd like to be on the other side of the ocean when my boss talks like that to me," drifted across the room.
Frank ignored their voices. "What do you think, Carlo? Are you sure it was the same guy?"
"I'm sure, Frank," Carlo said. "No doubts?" Frank asked.
''None," Carlo said, with certainty.
"Did it hit the trigger? Do you know who it is?" Frank asked. "No. Madre di Dio, I can't place it," Carlo said, shaking his head.
"Keep working with it. We're going to catch them. I can feel it," Frank said. "Let's get that money ready to go!" He barked at the agents.
They had argued and argued with Carlo over the money. "Let us mix in some marked bills. They'll never know," they'd said over and over to him.
Carlo would hear none of it. "The money doesn't matter. I'll pay whatever it takes to keep Charly alive."
"They could take the money and kill her anyway. Then we absolutely have no way to trace them."
"Then I'll know that it was nothing I did or didn't do that killed my wife. I'm giving them the money," Carlo said.
"All right then!" Frank finally stepped in for his friend. "Let's do this by the book but not forget that we're using his real money. All he wants is his wife back, still breathing. Let's try
not to fuck it up."
Frank was not officially in charge any longer, but his voice still carried a lot of weight.
An agent walked in the room with a small package. "It came UPS," he explained. After the explosives unit had verified that there was no bomb included they opened it to find a watch that wasn't ticking anymore. "There's a note attached to it," an agent said, handing it over for prints.
The note was printed in block letters. It restated the directions they'd just heard on where and how to leave the money. "They must think we're pretty stupid to tell us twice," Frank said.
Carlo couldn't read it. His eyes were clouded with tears. "I gave her that watch the day she had our son," he said.
Thirteen
Charly couldn't keep track of the days and nights as they passed. She'd tried to question Jimmy, but he wouldn't answer her. She couldn't remember how many times he'd fed her or how many times she'd thrown it back up. She'd tried to explain to the tall one that her body didn't respond well to anesthetics, but he kept sedating her anyway and she kept puking in response.
She was groggily aware of Jimmy holding a spoon to her lips.
"Wherz yer brotherz, Jimmy?" she asked, trying to smile enticingly, wondering how horrid the grimace looked on her face.
"They didn' tell me where they was goin', Charly," Jimmy explained. He smiled down at her. "You got a boy’s name, dontcha?"
"What?" she asked, groggily.
"Charlz a name for a boy, ain't it?"
"Yes, it is," she agreed.
"Do ya' like bein' named like a boy, you bein' a gurl and all?"
"It's just a name, Jimmy. You can call me any name you want to," Charly said.
He thought about it. "I guess I kind've like callin' a gurl a boys' name."
