by Naomi West
"If you're just going to ask me the same things as your colleague, then you might as well show me to my cell," I said. "I told him the truth. I'm not going to admit to stuff I didn't do, and I'm not going to incriminate my friends. Not even to please you."
Minutes later, I was being unceremoniously dumped back in the holding cells. As I settled down to wait, I took the time to think about Cassidy and hope that she was doing well and would manage to reconnect with her father and sister. I hoped that everything would work out for her in my absence, because, if the look on Agent Hamlin's face was anything to go by, that absence was going to be a very long one indeed.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Cassidy
Two weeks passed.
They went slowly and miserably for me. I had expected Archer to be out of jail the same day he went in, confirmed as dad's informant, and ready to take on the mafia. Instead, Archer was still in jail. Dad said little, but wore a morose expression for much of the time, and the mafia were making their presence felt in town. I tried to talk to dad about it, but he invariably made some excuse, uttered a few vaguely comforting words and rushed off. I knew that, secretly, he was as worried as I was. First, he was worried about me about how I might react to the possibility of Archer being in prison long-term, and what that might do to the relationship between us that was still very much on the mend. Secondly, he was worried about his town. He didn't say it, but at the moment, I think he would have been prepared to admit that he had never realized how lucky he was to have a problem like Battle Pride. Compared to the mafia, Battle Pride was nothing. Lastly, and perhaps this was just optimism on my part, I thought he was also worried about Archer. Perhaps he wasn’t worried in the conventional way - he knew that Archer could take care of himself - but Archer had handed himself in under my dad's protection, and I knew that dad felt he had let Archer down. As a sheriff, Ben Dupont, of course, did not like Archer, and, as a father, he perhaps liked him still less. But he had given his word to do his best to make Archer an official CI, and the fact that he had failed and that his failure had put Archer in jail, weighed heavily on dad's conscience as a man of his word. To Ben Dupont, a man was only as good as his word. He had fought hard to keep that word, but, in the end, the decision had been taken out of dad's hands.
Not that he was giving up. Though he tried to keep me out of it altogether, I could tell that he and Polo Carter were plotting something. I just hoped that it wasn't anything that was going to come back to kick them in the ass. Ben Dupont was in uncharted waters here, and that was the other thing that was really preying on him. It was not just that he had let Archer down. The law had let him down. Dad had served the law all his life. He respected and believed in it above all other things, perhaps even family, and it had let him down when he had needed it. More accurately, the law had proved to be as prey to the human frailty of corruption as anything else. It was a sad time to Ben Dupont.
It probably wasn't a good time to be Archer Cyprian, either, but I had no way of knowing. Because he was still technically under consideration as a confidential informant, his basic rights to a phone call or any other contact with the outside world could be dispensed with, in the name of keeping him safe. I would have given a lot to know how he was and what was going on with him, but I had a feeling that the answers to either question would not make me happy. This being the case, I decided to move on from wondering what Archer was doing and what was going to happen, which were things over which I had no control, and focus on what he might want me to do. Archer had always been clear that I should make the effort with my family, particularly my dad, and I had been determined to stay true to that. It had worked out pretty well. Things were still a bit tense, and there were still arguments between us, but, now, instead of storming off and slamming doors, we stayed and talked. We even found that nine times out of ten, we could sort things out that way, and that we had, in fact, been on the same side to begin with. Talking to my dad was a bit of a revelation, and I owed it to Archer.
Having said that, the other thing I was doing might sound completely contradictory. I was looking for somewhere else to live. Much as I was enjoying this new-found closeness with my dad, and as much as I was hoping to build on it, one of the things that had come out of our talks was that living under the same roof brought us into friction. We had lived in the same house all my life, and, while I was there, it was hard for Dad not to see me as a little girl. I was a grown up now, and it was time for me to move out on my own, but without severing ties as I had before. So, I started looking for somewhere in town.
"Just look carefully," Dad said. "You know there are places now that are Mafia-controlled."
"I'll be careful," I reassured him
"Take Riley with you. She's a smart girl."
I nodded. Then added. "Why don't you come too?"
Dad looked positively startled. "You want me to come?"
"Only if you want to."
"Oh, I would definitely want to. Thank you for asking."
It was these exchanges that made the difference. Brief though it was, such a conversation would never have taken place between dad and I, until Archer had entered my life.
# # #
The following day we headed out with a list of apartments to see. My price range did limit me, but dad had offered to help out with rent, and I had accepted, as long as I could pay him back once I had gainful employment. We had seen a few places and were heading towards a third before stopping for lunch when I spotted something in my rear-view mirror. There was nothing automatically suspicious about the black car, but I was sure that I had seen it behind us earlier as well. That was odd, because, when you are apartment hunting, you are inevitably taking a route around town that doesn't really lead anywhere. No one should accidentally take the same route. But, as I thought that, the car turned off. I dismissed my concerns as paranoia and decided not to mention it to Dad, who was bound to overreact to something like this. Still I kept my eye on the mirror for the rest of the day.
It was a good day. Not a hugely productive one, in terms of finding apartments, but a fun one spent with my Dad and my sister. It was a very happy car-full of people who headed back out of town in the direction of the Dupont home.
It was then that I saw the black car again, still following.
"Dad?"
Dad had been sharing a joke with Riley, but immediately sensed the anxiety in my voice, his face growing grave. "What's wrong?"
"I'm sure I saw that car following us earlier."
Dad took a quick look. "Why didn't you say anything?"
"They stopped following."
Dad shook his head. "You stopped seeing them, but I doubt they stopped following."
"What do I do?" Fear flowed through me, fast and cold. What if I had driven my father and sister into a dangerous trap?
"Don't panic," Dad said, his voice calm and soothing. "Just keep driving. Don't let them think that there's anything wrong."
"There might not be anything wrong," Riley added, always the voice of optimism.
"Exactly," Dad agreed, though I could hear little optimism in his tones. "We're coming up on the turn-off west. There's nothing much else ahead but our house, so if they don't turn off here, then..."
He left the sentence unfinished as we passed the turn-off. Moments later, the black car passed it, too, staying on our tail. There was no longer any doubt that they were following us. The Dupont house was out in the wilds, and there was nothing else in this direction but our home.
"What now?" I asked. I felt a terrible, and probably ill-advised, urge to stamp on the gas and get us out of here, which would have been dumb, as there was nowhere to hide.
"They're not going to wait for us to get home where we can hole up," Dad said firmly. "The further we get from town, the more comfortable they will be making their move. We need to get back to town."
"You want me to turn?"
"Not yet." Dad pointed up ahead. "You see the tree? When you get to that, loop aroun
d it, and give it all the gas you've got." He reached into the glove compartment and brought out a handgun.
I gasped. "What the hell is that doing in my car?"
Dad shrugged. "Since the mafia have been moving in, I decided to add safety features to the cars."
"Were you going to tell me?!"
"Hell, no." Dad looked shocked. "Giving you a gun doesn't make the car safer. Quite the reverse. Turn!"
We reached the tree. I pulled a hard left and hit the gas, so we careened off across the rough ground.
"Well done," Dad said.
"They're closing!" gasped Riley.
Dad nodded. "Well, they've got a lot more power than we do."
"Can you shoot out their tires?"
"I'd rather not be the one who introduces guns into this."
I knew what he meant. They would have a lot more gun power than us as well.
In a fair race, maybe we would have made it. But it quickly became clear that the black car was not just more powerful when it left the factory, it had been further modified since then and was bearing down on us with terrifying speed.
"Come on, blow the supercharger, you bitch," Dad muttered, as he watched the car coming closer. That was about our only hope now - hat the car would malfunction, owing to the high speeds combined with the rough terrain. But, clearly, luck wasn't on our side today.
As they drew level with us, the black car veered right to sideswipe us. I screamed as I fought for control of the car.
"Don't panic," Dad urged. "If they wanted to kill us, they would have been shooting long before now. They want us to stop, and they can't afford to hurt us, so we just keep on going."
Once again, Dad's tactic was right, but, once again, luck was conspiring against us. As the black car slammed into us again, I lost control of the steering wheel, and we hit a rock, sending the car up onto two wheels. For a moment, it hung there, seeming like it might be able to continue like that all the way to town, then gravity seemed to catch up to us, and we toppled over, my car lying on its side, the wheels still spinning. I'm not altogether sure what I was doing at this point, but I was probably crying. My only clear memory is of Dad, with blood pouring from a gash in his head, trying to comfort Riley and me at once.
The next thing I remember is a hand with a grip-like steel closing on my arm. I screamed at the sudden contact.
"Lean back, honey," Dad said, still managing to sound calm for my sake.
I did as I was told and screamed again, this time at the noise of Dad's gun firing in the claustrophobic confines of the car. There was a scream of pain from outside, as the arm that had reached in through the window to grab me was hastily retracted amid a lot of swearing.
"Any more of that, and you're all going to end up dead!" A harsh voice came from outside.
"Remember," Dad whispered, "He's lying. He needs us alive."
Of course, that wasn't the whole truth, and Dad and Riley knew it as well as I did. They needed me alive, not my family.
"We're coming in again, Dupont!" The voice spoke again.
"Then you know what to expect!" Dad yelled back and aimed his gun at my window, knowing that it was me they were after.
Which it was, but Dad hadn't allowed for at least one of these thugs having a brain.
"Dad!" Riley squealed as an arm snaked in to grab her and hold her round the throat, a gun to her head. Dad struggled to re-aim, but Riley had been hauled in front of the window, as a human shield for her attacker.
"No." Dad still wasn't shouting. His voice sounded almost confused, as if all the sense had gone out of his world. It was horrible to hear. He knew what was going to happen next, and I guess I did too. I undid my seatbelt, so when another man reached in to grab me, there would be nothing to stop him.
"No!" Dad yelled, but did not fire. He knew he couldn't.
"You do anything, and your other daughter's brains are going to be all over your back seats!" Yelled the harsh voice, underlining the horror in which my father now found himself.
The last thing I saw, as I was yanked out through the broken window, was the frustrated anguish on my father's face.
# # #
I didn’t know how long we drove. I was tied up and blindfolded, bundled onto the floor of a car, with no concept of what was going on around me. I wasn't even sure if I'd been awake for all of it. I might have passed out from stress or fear, or perhaps they drugged me. The truth was that it might have been days later, for all I was aware when the blindfold was pulled off. I don't think it was days - probably just a matter of hours - but that sense of displacement and confusion was enhanced when I blinked in the sunlight and peeled my sticky eyelids open to see water all around. We were on a boat.
"Welcome, Miss Dupont." The greeting came from a man seated in a large chair on the deck. Objectively he might have been described as 'handsome,' but there was something about him that wouldn't allow the adjective, as if his nature had distorted his features. You couldn't look at the man without being repulsed. "My name is Frank Rassi. I believe you've heard of me."
"What have you done to my dad and my sister?!" That was the single question that had beat in my brain throughout this ordeal. I had no idea how that standoff had ended.
Rassi laughed. "Nothing. What sort of fool would I be if I started hurting the people near to you? How could I control you if they were dead?" He shrugged. "By force, I suppose. I could order one of my men to beat some obedience into you. And that would work. But it's a lot of effort, and nobody likes seeing a pretty face all bruised and bloody. Well, some people do, but they’re strange, twisted people. I hire them quite regularly. It's good to have employees who enjoy their work and don't get squeamish about it. But I digress. Your father and your sister are fine, and will remain so if you do as I say."
"What do you want me to do?" It didn't really matter. Whatever it was, I would do it to keep my family safe.
"Nothing, really," Rassi said, gesturing vaguely with a tall drink with an umbrella in it. "Just don't try to escape."
"I don't understand." Why did I matter? I was nobody. How did having me here help?
"I believe you know Archer Cyprian?" He did not wait for me to answer, but continued. "I can't tell you how delighted I was to hear that he's behind bars, where a thug like that belongs. He's made business very difficult for me in more than a few towns in the area. Having him out of the way ought to have been a dream come true. But his 'Battle Pride,’" Rassi used contemptuous air quotes, "are continuing to resist. He continues to exert an influence, even in his absence." Rassi took a long sip of his drink. "With you as my guest, I think that influence can be put to good use. And, with Battle Pride out of the way, I will be free to continue my legitimate business interests, unencumbered."
"So, I'm here indefinitely?" I asked, trying to at least seem brave.
Rassi waved a dismissive hand. "Of course not. Once Archer is tried and put in general population in a jail, having him killed will be quite easy. The inconvenience to you should be temporary and minimal. So, cheer up."
Chapter Twenty-Four
Archer
They always said that what got to you in prison was the boredom and monotony. I thought that was partly right. What really got to me was that the boredom and monotony gave me time to think. It was impossible for me not to worry about what was going on outside. About what was going on with my case, with Rassi, with Joe and Battle Pride, and, of course, with Cassidy. I tried my best to find out, but I was still kept in the dark. Agents Quint and Hamlin were still trying to break me, and isolation was a good technique. By giving me no information, they allowed my imagination to run riot. I could see the smoking ruins of Fran's bar in my mind's eye, the corpses of my Battle Pride comrades, and some of the images that my subconscious summoned up of Cassidy had me shaking in a cold sweat when I awoke from the nightmare. Your brain could sometimes be your own worst enemy.
As the days passed, any optimism I might have been able to cling to had slowly dissipated. I was going
to jail for a long time and would never see Cassidy again. Making my mind up to that should have helped. By banishing hope, I should have been able to settle into grim, but resolved acceptance. But banishing hope is a hard thing to do, and the bad dreams continued to come.
It was from the midst of one such dream that I found myself shaken awake one night. I tried to leap up - years of instinct telling me that I was under attack - but strong hands held me, silenced me, and dragged me to my feet, out of my cell. What the hell was happening?
My first thought was, of course, that Rassi had found a way to get to me, and I was about to be taken outside and shot. But something about that didn't add up. For starters, Rassi's boys would surely have just put a bullet in my head as I slept. Why go to all this trouble? It was not impossible that Rassi would want to see me first, to gloat, nor was it impossible that I had information he wanted and that there might be a deal to be struck. But then there were the men who kidnapped me. If you spent any amount of time around the criminal element, you got a sense of them, and I would have bet all the money I had that these guys were not mobsters. There was a silent efficiency to them. They seemed to communicate fluently, yet wordlessly. They moved like jungle cats through the corridors of the station. As we reached the outside door, a bag was placed over my head, and, shortly after, I was dumped into a vehicle of some sort. We drove for, I guess, the next hour or so, in total silence. Of course, I had questions, but it wasn't like I was going to get answers, so I decided to prove that I could play the dumb act as well as my captors.
