He left. He had “DIRTY!!!” in his possession. Maybe he’d now tied up the last of his loose ends. Maybe all he needed to do was bide his time. Get the money he was going to demand. Kill us all. And retire without a trace of parking garage guard duty in his future. Or maybe he wanted to fit the piece of the puzzle I’d stolen into a piece of the puzzle he’d been working on all along. Help us. And save Rune. What did I know?
There was a cheap burner cell phone on the seat of his chair. I palmed it and slipped it into my purse, remembering Valerio trying to explain to me what burner meant. I had traded one item of contraband for another, and now I was hiding things from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Moving up in the world.
“Tom—”
He cut me off. “Allie, listen to me. I know you’re blaming yourself. I want you to stop it. This is not your fault. Not even mine, really. Things happened. They can’t be undone. The people who’ve died—and Rune and us. I can’t—”
“Tom—”
“I’ll do whatever I have to. It probably won’t turn out. You should run away now.”
“You have got to be kidding. Where could I possibly go?”
“You’d be safe if you weren’t with me.”
“I’d be nothing if I weren’t with you.”
I reached across the table. His hand was clenched and cold and it didn’t open to my touch. I brushed the hurt of that aside and made my voice as confident as I knew how.
“Sorry, Tom. You said it yourself. We’re cooked, we’re screwed. For better or worse. This is the worst. Let’s hang on and be cooked and screwed together for as long as we can.” I hoped he couldn’t hear me crying.
His face, drawn and gray, didn’t relax, but he nodded. And let his shoulders slump. I couldn’t tell if he was relieved or didn’t have the energy to argue. I could foretell the trajectory of our relationship if we never got Rune back. I would remind him of everything he regretted, everything he’d lost. It would make him sad. Even how much I loved him would make him sad. It would be over. Slow and agonizing. And then over. Along with my life and any chance I might have for happily ever after. Which had seemed within my grasp. A heartbeat ago.
Agent Bukovnik strolled over to tell us we could leave. Go straight back to the hotel and wait for the kidnappers to call. There was already another agent stationed in our suite at the Wyndham. When we got a call, he’d put everything in motion to get Rune back. “Follow my instructions. Do what our agent says. We’ll handle this. Everything will be fine.”
Or not.
We went. As we went, I told Tom about Valerio’s phone, but, of course, it turned out he already knew because of what he’d overheard.
“Can we trust him, Tom? Do you think?”
“I don’t know, Allie. I know we can’t do anything to put Rune at risk. We’ll have to decide when the time comes.”
I couldn’t stand walking across the plaza—the two of us—in the sultry twilight with Tom’s hand dead weight on my arm. I couldn’t stand the steps to the car. I couldn’t believe I’d have to drive down the ramp, present my validated ticket, and save two dollars on parking, when my life was over.
Tom went to the passenger door. I got in on my side. Big surprise. I hadn’t locked it. Well, at least the car was still here. My negligence hadn’t been punished this time. Or—there was another one of those pay-as-you-go phones on the console. I slammed my door so hard the Jeep shuddered.
The phone rang.
Chapter Fifty
I answered.
The voice, if you could call it that, on the other end was filtered through one of those mechanical, distorting devices I’d heard a hundred times on crime shows. It was an inhuman sound. I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. I could, however, understand every word.
“I have the boy.”
“Let me talk to him.”
“That is not possible at this time. I drugged him. He’s out. If you want to talk to the boy again, you must do as I say.”
“Please. Don’t hurt him. What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to give the phone to the man and drive out of the garage. Do not alert the attendant. I am willing to kill the boy.”
“Okay. Okay.”
“Allie. Who is that? Is that your phone?”
Was the car bugged, too? I didn’t care. Tom deserved to know what was happening.
“It was here when we got in. It’s a mechanical voice. Distorted. They say they have Rune. They’re going to tell us where to go. Here. You talk to them. I’ll drive.”
It looked like Agent Steve Bukovnik was going to be way disappointed.
I drove. Tom translated. That helped. Coming through him, it didn’t sound as terrifying. He listened. Told me where to go. I did what he told me.
It was full dark now. The voice told Tom I should not try to lose the car following us. I looked in the rearview. A junker. Big. Old. Rusted red. With tinted windows that hid the driver. God. It was a regular “Christine, from Master of Horror, Stephen King” of a car, complete with a gaping chrome grin.
The voice told Tom to get rid of our cell phones. To throw them both out the car windows.
“I am watching. I will know.”
We rolled down the windows and dropped them out. “White Rabbit” and “Blind Love” crushed in the street.
We were then directed to go to an ATM and draw out the max on both our cards. That was six hundred dollars apiece. I could only access three hundred-sixty of mine because of my non-balance situation. We were instructed not to use a credit card for anything from here on out.
“Good. You are now off the grid. Keep driving.”
I drove.
I drove all over the place. I had to stop and get gas. I paid cash with a smile. I gave no indication that we were in trouble. Big trouble. The car had pulled off behind us and waited outside the perimeter of the lights of the gas station. When we came out, it fell in again.
I drove some more. My head was pounding and I was having the out-of-body sensation you get when you’ve been terrified, clubbed on the back of your skull and stepped on, frantically worried, horribly sad, and then, ultimately, all of the above plus very tired. At last we were ordered to move east up Euclid Avenue. We were off the grid, for sure. Nobody was behind us for as far as I could see, but The Car and The Voice.
Except we weren’t off the grid. Not quite. I had Valerio’s phone. The wild card. How about that, Voice? And I didn’t have a clue about when Tom and I could have a conversation that might help me decide whether or not to trust Valerio.
Was this a Valerio test? It seemed an improbable coincidence that I now had two brand new phones. If I hit speed-dial for Valerio, would the nightmare voice answer? No. Not even if Valerio was back there, guiding us around town. He’d keep that persona separate, but he’d know then whether he could trust us. Maybe he’d punish us. By killing Rune. By killing all of us, by and by, after he had Tom’s money. So should I call him when I got a chance?
All our sleuthing, our scrabbling around for suspects and allies, was coming down to this choice? Yes. No. Flip of a coin. Decision deferred.
I could also use Valerio’s phone to call or text someone else at some point. But who? Not our trusty FBI guys, who must be going nuts at the Wyndham by now, wondering why we hadn’t shown up. Bukovnik was realizing, no doubt, that he should not have sent us stumbling off alone. I almost felt sorry for him. Even with all my vicarious fictional experience, I wouldn’t have predicted this wrinkle.
Should I call Bob Clark? He’d proved himself trustworthy and a friend more than once. And whenever I hooked him up in my mind with the crimes, the logistics didn’t work out. But surely contacting any of the authorities I might have access to might mess something up and put Rune—and us—at more risk. I knew Tom would vote against it.
So dialing 9-1-1 for Bob? Not pract
ical. At least not yet. Besides, he hadn’t been my good old Officer 9-1-1 the last time I’d tried him. Where had he been? Why hadn’t he returned my call?
I wished I could ring up Margo, just to hear her voice hollering obscenities at me. I knew we’d be talking with Skip again soon enough. Bukovnik would be following the money and he’d find his way to Skip. But even then, what could Skip and Bukovnik do without putting Rune in jeopardy? My brain was cardboard.
Tom reached across the console and found my hand on the wheel. Tears stung. I started to say, “I love you.” But the phone chattered again and Tom said, “In two blocks, turn left.”
We’d passed out of Cleveland and into East Cleveland. I turned left as directed and drove some more. You’d have to be more generous than I was feeling not to say this was one of the nastiest, druggiest, car-jackingest neighborhoods in town. Another left turn brought us onto a street of bars and the kind of churches that rescue people from bars.
The voice spoke again. There was a motel up ahead on the right. The Price Motel. A reservation had been made for us. How thoughtful. Sure enough, up ahead, part of a yellow neon sign was blinking “RICE OT L.” And, naturally, “Vac cy.” With a fully intact, “$49.99. Ask about weekly/monthly.”
It’s remarkable the accommodations 190 million dollars can deliver you to.
The motel stretched back away from the street, two grimy stories staring down on an ugly patch of concrete courtyard. An insufficient number of non-burned-out lights struggled to illuminate dank, narrow concrete aisles with their ranks of liver-colored metal doors and railings. A weary-looking woman behind reinforced Plexiglas allowed as how she had our key. Room 19 was ready and waiting for us.
Cool. I could see that I was not going to be able to keep the promise I’d made to myself, somewhere along the way during my college years, never again to stay anyplace where the reception desk had to be bulletproofed.
The woman seemed kind enough in spite of the apparent rigors of her workplace. She called me “hon” in dulcet four-pack-a-day tones and encouraged us to get a good night’s rest. Then she blinked at Tom, standing there looking like a worn-out blind man, holding a burner phone to his ear.
“Uh, hey, hon. He’s not that guy—?”
The blind guy ’ut won the Mondo?
“Who won the MondoMegaJackpot? Hardly. No offense, ma’am, but do you think he’d be staying here?”
She snorted and shook her head. “None taken. Have a good night. I see you ain’t got no luggage. Would you care to purchase a toothbrush?”
Yes, as a matter of fact. Even if your life is falling apart, you still need to brush your teeth. At least for me that’s the bare minimum.
“I’ll take two. And toothpaste, if you’ve got it.”
“Twenty bucks.”
I handed it over.
She looked askance at us again as if wondering why I hadn’t bothered to haggle about the ridiculous price. Well, they called it the Price Motel. I expected nothing less. Then she shrugged. “Have fun.”
You bet. I took my dental supplies and the key. As I put the key in the lock at 19, I glanced over my shoulder. The Christine car was idling across the street from the motel. But then Tom’s phone spoke for the last time that evening.
“Wait there. You’ll get a call.”
The car slid away, and we stumbled inside. I locked the door behind us as many times as I could.
Chapter Fifty-one
I peered at myself in the brownish light from the bare bulb that was screwed into the broken fixture over the sink. I could see by a jagged edge peeking out of the socket around the bulb, that it once had a white glass cover, designed to reduce glare and add style. No biggie. The bulb was nicely dimmed by smoke residue anyhow. The Price Motel clearly didn’t aspire to a no-smoking policy. And style wasn’t happening here either.
Someone had done a presentable job on the mirror and taken a swipe at the tub and the basin, but the pink tile and the popcorn ceiling were filmed with decades of greasy, pungent stains.
I took inventory. There were a couple of small but perfectly utilitarian cakes of pink Camay soap and the regulation shampoo and conditioner set. Thank God for our generic toothbrushes and slightly bigger than single-serve tube of Colgate.
I recognized my state of mind. Everything in there was terrifying. The idea of Rune, in the control of a ruthless killer, frightened, maybe hurt. Or worse. My dread of the road we’d have to travel to have even a prayer of getting him back. Whether we’d survive. Whether love could.
So here I was. Counting soaps. Tidying up. Gathering in the supplies. Living minute to minute, hanging on to the details as if they could keep me sane. Cave woman, making do. Building a fire. Pushing back the night.
I opened the bathroom door as quietly as I could. Tom was asleep on a bedspread I wouldn’t have wanted to check out with that special light the CSIs had to reveal bodily fluids. I bet it would have been a revelation. In 3-D.
We hadn’t talked about much of anything when we’d come in. Except whether to prop a chair under the door handle. Answer: Yes.
Everything between us was already out on the table. Everything we knew and didn’t want to know. Everything we wanted to know and had no way to find out. The dire desperation of our situation. Our anguish over Rune. The two phones, one for the voice and the other for Valerio, if we decided to call him. Our determination to do whatever it took to get Rune back. All the givens.
The one thing we hadn’t talked about out loud was my theory that the reason our lovely room had been reserved for us was so it could be bugged. I might be able to find the electronic ears and/or eyes, but even then, if I disabled them, we’d probably get a call from the mechanical man.
I longed to consult with Tom about whether to contact Valerio, but I couldn’t figure out a way. If Voice had provided itself with video as well as audio, we wouldn’t be able to even step outside to talk. The car wasn’t safe if it was bugged, too. By neglecting to lock it, I’d made it super easy for someone to bug it. I decided to give myself a pass on that one. If somebody could pull off a kidnapping, they’d be able to pop a car door.
I wondered if someone was watching from outside. In person. Or maybe from an adjoining room? The acid green and silver wallpaper on the bed wall was the busiest metallic pattern I’d ever seen. And it had several of what looked like bullet holes. Were they for surveillance? Or fun peeping? Or just from bullets? What if we hadn’t been left on our own at all? A ruse within a ruse within a ruse?
I could see I might have to decide for myself about the Valerio phone. But not now. Not tonight. I’d think about that one tomorrow. At Tara.
I stripped off my clothes and folded them up neatly, debating for a long moment about rinsing out my undies. No. I started up the shower and let the rusty water run itself clear before I stepped in. I scrubbed all over with the Camay and then dried myself with a stingy rough towel. I left the light on and the door ajar enough to keep the dark at bay.
The bedroom was stuffy in spite of an air conditioner sticking out of the wall, toiling away. I had to give it some credit for exhausting its last teensy bit of energy to crank out that horrible screechy racket. I pulled back the bedspread and slid between sheets that were stiff and harsh to my bare skin but actually smelled of laundry detergent. Small favors. This was not the Marriott or the Wyndham, but it would suffice. I wedged myself as close to Tom as I could get, with him on top of the covers and me sandwiched inside.
I closed my eyes and ordered myself, Alice Jane Harper, do not think about anything at all.
Sleep dragged me under.
The next thing I knew it was morning.
A phone was ringing.
Chapter Fifty-two
Monday, August 31
The mechanical voice said, “Today is the day you arrange for the money. Tomorrow you bring it to me and get the boy back.
”
“Let me talk to Rune. Please.”
Tom was struggling to sit up on the bed, still completely dressed, still on top of the covers where he had collapsed the night before.
“The boy is sleeping. You should prefer it that way.”
“You’re drugging him. Don’t—You’ll kill him if you—He’s very small. Please—”
“The boy is fine. I am monitoring him very carefully. But, think about this. If you do anything at all to interfere, it will be a simple matter to increase the dose and let him go. He’s halfway there right now. You decide. It is completely up to you.”
I’d put the burner on speaker so Tom could hear everything. Now he answered, “Tell me what you want.”
“I want you to call your lawyer or whoever has access to the money. It will be a conference call. I’ll hear every word you say. Do not make the mistake of believing that the call can be traced to your location. It cannot. And any attempt to interfere will hurt the boy. I want you to arrange for the transfer of the entire amount to a numbered bank account. I will give you the necessary information when the time comes.
“Today is the day you get the money. Tomorrow you get the boy. The man stays in the room today. The woman may leave to get food because she knows I will kill the boy if she steps out of line. I am watching and listening. Be sure to follow my instructions exactly.”
The call ended. Tom and I sat for a minute without saying anything. Processing.
Finally, Tom broke the silence. “What did it mean? Watching and listening? And why do you think he—it—refers to us as ‘the man’ and ‘the woman,’ not by our names? Surely this person knows who we are.”
“He knows. I don’t understand that either. It’s weird. Maybe they’re trying to creep us out. Which is working for me. But we have to assume the room is bugged. Why else would they rent it for us when we have enough cash? It’s not like there weren’t plenty of vacancies here.”
Too Lucky to Live Page 23
