by David Bishop
My God. Who are these people? They know about Steffi, my running on the beach, and even my killing Blue.
“Blue, as you called him, invaded my home intending to kill me. I defended myself. What you’re speaking of is murder.”
“Labels. What do they matter? The man you will kill deserves to die. If you don’t kill him, we’ll have someone else do it. You should consider that too. He’ll be dead either way. You can’t save him, but you can save your daughter. Given that choice, I expect you’ll do my bidding.”
“I don’t kill people. You’ve got me mixed up with someone else.”
“Make no mistake. The decision you make tonight, in this room, will kill someone. Either you’ll act to kill a man who deserves to die, or your inaction will end the life of your lovely young daughter, who doesn’t deserve to die.”
“You monster. … You son of a bitch.”
“An understandable response, but it changes nothing. The target isn’t someone you know. In fact, if you knew all that I know, you’d agree he deserves to die. He’s interfering with the future of our wonderful country. But, your consent or agreement is not important. I require only your obedience—to be sure, precise and exacting obedience. Don’t worry, I’ll provide everything you need, including a perfect alibi.”
“I won’t do it. Now, do what you came to do and get the hell out.”
“How amusing. You think I’m here merely to ravage your body. Not a bad idea. You’re a lovely woman. You look very sexy in those black boy-short panties. Let me be clear. The man you will kill is a whoremonger. Your luscious curves will get you close enough to do the job. But, me, tonight, no my dear, of that you have no concern. Tonight, is strictly business. I came only to hire you for a necessary execution. … Forgive me, I should’ve mentioned the hiring part sooner. We’ll pay you a quarter of a million dollars when it is done.”
“Never.”
“Take off your bra.”
“Go to hell.”
The odor from a silenced shot immediately stunk the room. Wood splinters struck Linda’s neck and cheek. Reflexively, she flinched, twisting away from the sound and bite of the splinters. Her right knee jerked up toward her chest. All this happening in a quiet instant that started with the muffled shot and ended with the jerk of her knee.
“Look at the piece of wood, my dear.”
She did. The angled lampshade clearly showed a wallet-sized picture of Steffi stapled to the top end of the wood, her face torn by the bullet that remained embedded in the wood.
“I could’ve as easily hit your arm or your breast as I did that piece of wood. Or Steffi during recess on the playground at Hobart School. The camera we used to target Steffi can be a gun next time.”
“You’re crazy.”
The dark blob she knew to be him moved within the chair. Maybe he shrugged his shoulders, or crossed his legs. She couldn’t be sure. Not that it mattered. It would change nothing. His threat remained.
“Throw me the two-by-four . . . easy.”
Linda lobbed it softly, with an arc. She saw his dark silhouette lean to his left. From the slap-sound, she knew he caught it.
“Now stand up and toss me your bra. . . . Do it.”
Linda reached behind her, unhooked her bra and threw it toward his outline.
“Move back a step and turn to your right, just a little. . . . That’s good. A lovely woman shouldn’t stand totally in the dark. Take off your shoes and keep ahold of them.”
Linda did so, holding one in each hand.
“Throw one toward each side of the room, hard enough for them to hit the walls. I ask this with some reluctance. A woman’s naked legs look delicious in high heels. You are to wear heels when we put you in touch with your target.”
Thud.
Linda had thrown her first shoe to her right, his left. She threw her second shoe to her left, his right. Thud. She moved her feet to shoulder’s width, put her hands on her hips, and glared at his shadowy presence. Her arms eventually slid lower to hang at her sides.
“Now what?”
“Now I leave. Don’t be sad. We’ll be watching Steffi, and we’ll be aware of you at all times. We’ll be in contact. Give up the silly notion of trying to figure a way out of this. You have no choice. If you go to the police, I’ll know. That’ll break our bond of trust. As punishment, Steffi will die. You don’t know who I am and have no idea who the target is. In the end, the man will still die. Thus, Steffi will die in vain.”
Linda’s hand went to her face. Realizing he could see her, she lowered her hand and cleared her face of the reaction.
“We know all about you, all about your friends. Your lovers. And my, my how you do get around on that score. The only one we won’t kill is that no good loser who knocked you up, then abandoned you to raise Steffi on your own. Shame on him. What’s this world coming to? Perhaps we can help you eliminate him, after you’ve completed your mission for us. Think of it as a bonus for a job well done.”
“If you’re leaving why did you have me take off—?”
“What were you wondering, my dear? What kind of man do you think I am?” He laughed as if what he said had been a good joke. “I only wanted to slow your ability to follow me. Like most men, I’m visual and you’ve got a great set of jugs. Go along with all this, my dear, and keep your world safe. Take the quarter million smackers. To raise a daughter today, private school, college, it’s expensive. More expensive that K-6 at the Hobart School. All that needs to change for you and Steffi to live happily ever after, is for a no good bastard to die. Think of him as your ex-husband. Frankly, the two men have a lot in common.”
“Go to hell.”
“Take off your panties.”
The bastard is proving he controls me. For now, I need him to think he does.
Linda eased her thumbs under the elastic top, expanded her panties, and lowered them down over her hips. After a momentary pause, she pushed them below her knees, leaving them to fall to the floor, and stepped one leg out of them, then the other. In an irrational fragment of thought, she remembered that two nights ago, while thinking of Dix, she’d trimmed her pubic hairs. Using a razor, she had reduced the patch to a two-inch wide swath. Fortunately, she’d abandoned the thought she gave to further shaping what remained into a down pointing arrowhead.
“Throw them toward the door. Try to hit it. Go ahead, now. Give ‘em a good toss. Okay. Good job. Nice jiggle. Now come back and sit down.”
Linda sat down and crossed her legs.
“Turn the lamp off.”
She did.
A small penlight illuminated her naked breasts.
“Lie on the floor. Face down with your feet toward the door.”
She lowered herself onto the carpet. Glancing back, she saw the beam from the penlight brighten her butt.
“Crawl toward the window until the top of your head is against the wall.”
She began to crawl.
“Goodbye. Oh, I almost forgot, I left twenty-five thousand dollars on the bed. Consider it a good faith gesture, a modest ten percent down payment for services to be rendered, the killing of a two-legged cockroach.”
After momentarily stopping to listen, Linda resumed her crawl to the wall.
“Tomorrow morning go to Hobart School as you’ve planned. Assure yourself that Steffi is okay, at least for now. We’ll be in touch. Be ready.
The door shut.
She got up and turned on the lamp, instinctively realigning the shade. Her bra was still on the floor, although not as near her slacks and sweatshirt as she imagined it would be. After a moment she found her shoes, the second one in the space between the bed and the wall. On the mattress lay several neat, modest sized rubber-banded bundles of cash.
The piece of wood with Steffi’s picture was gone. She shivered. Not from cold, but from unwelcome awareness.
Her panties were gone too. A clue perhaps? Maybe to be left near the body of the man they intended her to murder. They wanted her to take the fall for
the murder. For now, her only defense would be a wild story about men she couldn’t identify and threats made against the daughter almost no one knew she had.
4
Linda engaged the deadbolt for her room and closed the clasp that prevented the door from behind opened from the outside, even with a passkey. Next, she opened her suitcase and put on a fresh pair of panties and pulled her sweatshirt back over her head. She grabbed her purse from behind the chair where she’d dropped it when the man first ordered her to sit, and tossed it in the center of the bed. She closed the drapes over the window, turned on the lamp on the nightstand, pulled back the bedding, and sat on the bed. She tucked her bare feet under the mostly white bedspread adorned with roses. She pulled her purse to her, and dug around inside until she found the cell phone she rarely used. Before leaving Sea Crest she put that cell phone, one she normally didn’t carry, in her purse. She charged it while driving to Portland. The cell phone Ryan Testler gave her for whenever she needed him.
He calls now and again, but we haven’t talked in several months. I hope it still works. I hope he still cares enough to answer.
Otherwise functionless, the phone only worked to call Ryan. When she pressed the number one ten times, a call was placed to Ryan. She had no idea how a phone could work like that, but this one did. When he had first given this cell phone to her two years ago, she only pressed “send” and his cell would ring. Last year, he told her it now required her to press the number one ten times. She imagined it had been programed to convert the ten presses of one into his real cell number, an exaggerated speed dial that could never be dialed by accident. After the third ring, she got a recorded message.
What the hell? I’ve never gotten a recorded message on this phone. He always answers.
“The person you called is not available at the moment and will not be for several days, perhaps a week, maybe longer. His phone will not ring and it will not accept messages. You will need to place your call again.
Oh, Shit. . . . Ryan, I need you!
She opened the mini-fridge and took out a tiny bottle of brandy. Without glancing at the brand, she twisted off the cap and downed its content without pause.
Not for a week. Is that week up tomorrow or did it start today?
Linda gulped down a small bottle of vodka as a chaser for the brandy. Then she slammed the mini-fridge shut. She dropped the empty vodka bottle in the trash, and, for a moment, considered throwing Ryan’s cell phone in as well. Instead, she dropped it back into her purse.
Okay, Ryan’s wherever. I’ve got to deal with this.
Linda turned the light off, parted the drapes and looked out the window of her room. After a few minutes, she left the room dark and moved to the chair where the man had made her sit. Where he had shot Steffi face on the piece of wood.
Ryan told her that when things seem to be coming apart, the time must be found to take inventory of the situation with emphasis on what was known. Okay, here goes: Steffi was safe, for tonight anyway. Ryan is . . . not available, for how long she had no idea. The men who have threatened her daughter were scary and efficient. They knew a lot about her and enough about Steffi. That’s what she knew. What she didn’t know was if she’d ever hear from Ryan, if he was safe, if he was alive. Brad had said she wouldn’t see him again, if he was telling the truth about only being a walk-on to deliver a message. She had no idea of the identity of the man who had just left her room. She was on her own, at least for now. Linda Darby against whomever—the world.
I’m screwed.
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