Ice Chest

by J. D. Rhoades

  “Miss?” a voice said. She looked around.

  A white van had pulled to the curb and a man was looking out at her with a worried expression. She straightened up as he got out. He was an older guy, slender, with a gaunt face, dark hair slicked back in an old-fashioned style, and long sideburns. “Are you okay, miss?”

  “Someone…” She took a deep breath. “Someone broke into my apartment. I ran away. Do you have a cell phone?”

  He nodded and looked back down the sidewalk. “Sure do,” he said. “It’s in the van. The people who broke in still after you?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “They may be.”

  “Come on,” he said, motioning her toward the van. “Get in. I’ll get you out of here while we call the cops.”

  She hung back. The man might seem friendly, but there was something about him that unsettled her. In any event, there was no way she was going to get in a stranger’s van. “Umm…thanks. But I’ll wait for the police here.”

  The man smiled in a way that was probably meant to be disarming, but which creeped her out even more. “I get it. You don’t know me. You’re a smart girl, Stephanie.”

  She suddenly felt cold despite the summer heat and the glow of her exertion. “How do you know my name?”

  “Let’s just say I’m a friend of a friend,” the man said. “My name’s L.B. I’m gonna take you to see your friend Branson.” He reached back and pulled a black pistol out of his back waistband. “Now get in the damn van.”

  THEY ARRIVED at the apartment to find the front door off its hinges and the apartment trashed. The place was empty. Chunk moved through the rooms, not speaking, his jaw set like granite. He stood in the doorway of the bedroom, staring silently at the open window.

  Hermione came up to stand behind him. “Maybe she got away,” she murmured.

  He nodded. “Maybe. One way to find out. ZOE!”

  “You don’t have to yell.” Zoe was standing behind Hermione.

  “I feel like yelling. Try and call Stephanie back. See where she is.”

  Zoe took out her phone and put in the numbers. From somewhere near the bed, the opening notes of a Taylor Swift song filled the air. Chunk walked over and picked up the phone. Zoe pressed a button on her phone and the music stopped. “Damn it,” she said.

  “Try calling Branson’s phone again,” Chunk said grimly. “Keep dialing until they answer.”

  “That might clue them in that we’re tracking them,” Zoe warned.

  “I’ll take the chance. We need to talk to Chirelli. Make the call.”

  Zoe nodded. She hit a button.

  THE ELECTRONIC ring tone blared from the glove compartment again. Moose leaned over and fished it out. He glanced at the screen and handed it back to Chirelli without comment.

  “‘Unknown caller,’” Chirelli said out loud. He pressed the answer button and held the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”

  “Where’s the girl, Chirelli?”

  Chirelli’s face split in an ugly grin. “Well, hey there, McNeill. What girl do you mean? We got a couple bouncing around.”

  “You know damn well who I mean. We just came from Stephanie’s apartment. We know you trashed it. If you have her, let me speak with her.”

  Chirelli made the split-second decision to bluff. “Oh, we’ve got her. But she’s, ah, indisposed right now.”

  “God damn you…” Chunk said through gritted teeth.

  “Ah, ah, ah,” Chirelli broke in. “She’s not hurt. My hand to God. She’s just in the trunk. There’s not a scratch on her. But whether or not she stays that way is kind of up to you, rent-a-cop. It’s up to you as to exactly what kind of day this sweet young thing has. And whether or not that day is her last.”

  “What do you want, Chirelli?”

  The voice on the other end sounded disappointed. “What, nothing about ‘if anything happens to that girl’ or some other kind of blustery useless bullshit? Damn, I was really looking forward to a good laugh. Ah, well, you want to get down to business, that’s what we’ll do.” The voice lost its mocking tone and became hard. “What I want you to do, rent-a-cop, is nothing. You’re good at that, looks like. Just let us conduct business the way we do best.”

  “What business is that?”

  “We know everything about what’s gone down. About the fake jewels, who’s got the real ones, everything. And what we are going to do, rent-a-cop, is show these amateurs how it’s done. And you’re going to stay far away from us, the jewels, everything. Go out somewhere with your two bitches. Have a nice dinner. Maybe you can talk them into a little three-way. Whatever you do, don’t call the cops. We’ll keep the girl as a sort of insurance policy to make sure the three of you behave. She may even be able to talk this Branson asshole into getting with the program. Oh, and I repeat, no cops. We’re making friends all over this town. And some of them have friends of their own, like in the police department.”

  Chunk didn’t trust himself to speak. Chirelli went on. “Hey, McNeill, I’m doing you a favor. Mario’s pissed as hell at that little redhead. He wanted to take her and see how well she dances with that cute little stun gun of hers shoved up her. That could still happen, and a lot of other unpleasant things besides, including to your other bitch, unless you tell me you’re going to do nothing. So, rent-a-cop, tell me what you’re going to do.”

  “What I’m going to do is…” Chunk bit back the next words.

  “What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

  He almost choked on the word. “Nothing.”

  “Again.”

  “I’m going to do nothing.”

  “And your two bitches?”

  Chunk felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time: fear. Not for himself, but for people he realized he cared very much about.

  “Nothing,” he said.

  “There ya go.” Chirelli disconnected. Chunk dropped his hand to his side. He was shaking with rage.

  “Chunk?” Zoe asked, looking alarmed.

  “Charles?” Hermione put a hand on his shoulder.

  “He knows about the switch. He knows Branson’s uncle is extorting Gane. They’re going to move in and take the jewels for themselves. He said if we did…if I did anything to stop them taking the jewels, he’d kill the girl.”

  “How did they find out about all that?” Hermione said.

  Chunk shook his head. “They must have gotten it from Stephanie.”

  Hermione’s expression was bleak. “She wouldn’t have given that information up willingly. It would put Branson at a lot of risk. And she cares about him.”

  Zoe’s eyes turned hard. “Chirelli is dead. Soooo dead. That Mario bastard, too. Dead. Dead, dead, dead-dead-dead.”

  “We get it, Zoe.” Hermione’s eyes were fixed on Chunk’s face. “That wasn’t all, was it?”

  Chunk shook his head. “He said if we tried to stop him, he’d hurt you. And Zoe.”

  “Sooooooo dead,” Zoe insisted.

  Chunk shook his head. “No. I can’t put you two in danger. This guy is serious.”

  “Oh, and we’re not?” Zoe said. She was bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet, practically vibrating with repressed anger.

  “Zoe.” Hermione said it quietly, but with authority. Zoe settled down, but her eyes were narrowed and her jaw clenched.

  Chunk went on. “These guys are killers. Professionals. We’re…” He trailed off. Chirelli’s insult was still ringing in his ears. Rent-a-cop.

  “We’re professionals,” Zoe said.

  “Well, except me,” Hermione said with a smile.

  Zoe snorted. “You’ve got better moves than most cops I’ve met,” she said. She looked at Chunk. “What? You know it’s true.”

  Hermione’s smile grew wider. “Thank you, dear.”

  “We really need to talk about that ‘dear’ thing, though,” Zoe said.

  “We will.” Hermione turned back to Chunk. “I appreciate you’re worried about us. But Zoe and I are grown-ups. We make our own choices.
Clarissa Cartwright was my responsibility. And I know in my heart that Mario Allegretti either has her or knows where she is. So I’m going after him. With or without you. But I’d rather do it with you.”

  “Ditto,” Zoe said. “So, partner, you in or out?”

  Chunk rubbed his hands over his face in frustration. “We should call the locals. Or the FBI.”

  Zoe rolled her eyes. “Like the idiots who interviewed us? I wouldn’t trust those guys to get my cat out of a tree.”

  “And,” Chunk said reluctantly, “Chirelli said they had friends in the Atlanta PD.”

  “So there you are,” Hermione said. “We call the police, word gets back to Mario and his crew, and they kill Stephanie. And probably Clarissa.”

  “And if we do nothing, like they want?” Chunk asked.

  “I don’t think they’ll leave Stephanie alive. Or Branson,” Hermione replied.

  “Probably none of them,” Zoe added. “I’m not sitting still for that, partner.”

  Chunk closed his eyes. When he opened them a moment later, he’d made his decision. Suddenly, he felt very calm. He turned to Zoe. “Do they still have the boy’s phone turned on? Can we still track them?”

  Zoe sat down and opened her laptop. After a few moments, she looked up and shook her head. “No. They must have turned it off. Or the battery died. We don’t know where they are.”

  “Never mind,” Chunk said. “We know where they’re going to be.”

  “I take it we’re going to be there,” Hermione said.

  Chunk nodded. “Yeah. We are.”

  CLARISSA HAD been over every inch of the luxurious bedroom they’d locked her in. The windows were painted shut. And even if she’d managed to get one open or break it, she was on the second floor, a good twenty feet above the ground. When she looked out, she could occasionally see the figure of Jubal, the huge mastiff, patrolling the grounds. And he appeared to have friends; she noticed at least two other huge dogs occasionally crossing the lighted grassy lawn that surrounded the antebellum mansion.

  Failing to find an exit, she cast her gaze around the room, looking for something she could use as a weapon. The only thing that presented itself was the large vase holding flowers on the antique dressing table across the room. When she’d tried to heft it, however, she discovered it was made of china so fine as to be almost weightless. Around dawn, she’d finally given in to exhaustion and fallen onto the ornate four-poster canopy bed that dominated the center of the room, but not before noticing the worn grooves on each of the carved wooden posts, as if someone or something had been tied to them. She didn’t want to think about that.

  The sound of a key in the lock woke her up. She glanced around for a clock to see what time it was. There was none to be found in the room. She glanced at the window. It was still light outside. She sat up as Mario entered the room, followed by Tommy and Carlo. He was dressed in black slacks and a burgundy silk shirt. His eyes had dark circles under them, but otherwise, she was struck as always by how perfectly put together he was.

  “Hey, babe,” he said casually. “Sorry to make you wait like this. Had some business to take care of.”

  She wanted to scream at him, to throw everything she could pick up, to slash and gouge at him with her nails until he bled. She knew none of that would do her any good. She kept her voice calm. “Hello, Mario.”

  He sat down on the edge of the bed. “So here’s the deal. We’re going to do a little job and then you’re going back to Jersey with me.”

  “No,” she said. “I told you, we…”

  He held up a hand to silence her. She hated herself for letting him do it. “This isn’t an argument. You’ve had fun, done pretty much as you pleased, and look what happened. You got kidnapped and robbed. You got…” His voice faltered, then gained strength as he went on. “You need a man who can protect you. Keep you safe.”

  She gaped at him. “Safe,” she said. She gestured around her. “This isn’t safe, Mario. And if anyone’s doing any kidnapping, it’s you.” She stopped as she saw the look on his face, the strange light in his eyes. She felt herself beginning to tremble. This wasn’t the man she’d once thought she loved. Or maybe it was, and she’d just failed to notice.

  “I know you feel that way now,” he said quietly. “But I know you’ll come around. After you’ve had some time to think about it.”

  “In the meantime,” she said, “you’re going to hold me as a prisoner? That’s your plan? People are already looking for me.”

  He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “They won’t be. After this.” He handed it to her.

  She unfolded it and read for a moment. When she was done, she looked up, her face incredulous. “You can’t be serious.” She looked down and read it again. “‘I am announcing my retirement from modeling,’” she recited, “‘to be with the man I love.’” She looked back up. “You think anyone is going to believe this shit?”

  He took a pen out of the pocket. “They will,” he said, “once you sign it.”

  She looked at the pen, wondered if she could grab it and plunge it into his eye before he could stop her. “I’m not signing this.” She took the paper and ripped it in half, then ripped it in half again.

  He merely shrugged and pulled another piece of paper out of the pocket. When he unfolded it, she saw it was exactly the same statement. “Eventually you will.” He stood up. “But for right now…” He walked over and opened the door. Tommy and Carlo walked in. She didn’t like the smiles on their faces. Bo Wentworth shambled in after them, carrying a gray leatherette case in one hand and the ever-present beer in the other. He set both down on the dressing table and looked at her through bloodshot eyes.

  “We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” he drawled. “What’s it gonna be, missy?”

  She stood up. “Get the hell out of here.”

  He shrugged. “Hard way it is, then.” He unzipped the case and took something out of it. When he straightened up, she saw it was a hypodermic needle. He grinned, showing a gold tooth in the center of his mouth. “Night-night time.”

  Tommy and Carlo advanced on her, arms spread wide to grab her. She tried to run but they caught her easily. She fought and struggled and cursed, but they dragged her to the bed and pulled her down onto it. She was terrified that they intended to rape her, but when she looked across the room, Mario was standing there watching, arms crossed on his chest, his face a mask made of stone. She felt the sting of the hypodermic in her arm, and within a few moments, everything went black.

  “WELL,” RAFE said, “here we are again.” He looked at his watch. “A little early, but that’s fine. Turn the lights off.”

  They were inside the abandoned warehouse, in the back seat of the nondescript brown sedan the Lowmans had boosted earlier. Branson switched off the headlights, plunging them into total darkness. “Where’s L.B.? With the van?”

  The Lowmans were getting out. Each carried a tiny but powerful LED flashlight which they switched on. They went to the back of the sedan and opened the trunk.

  “He’ll be along directly,” Rafe said. “He had to pick someone up.”

  Bran stared at him. “Pick someone up? Who?”

  Rafe nodded toward the raised metal door where the white van had suddenly appeared. “You’ll see. Here they come.”

  Bran had a creepy feeling between his shoulder blades. He didn’t like that there was another person coming that no one had told him about. He heard the trunk slam shut. The Lowmans walked out in front of the car. Each was carrying a black AR-15 rifle, and each had a handgun stuck in the back of his waistband. The guns made Branson feel even more uneasy. The van pulled up, then backed into the space next to the stolen sedan. L.B. was at the wheel. He switched off the headlights and got out of the van. In a moment, another light switched on, the beam bobbing and wavering in the dark.

  “Time to get rich, nephew,” Rafe said. He opened his door and got out. Branson did the same.

 
; L.B. was standing at the back of the van. The light Branson had seen came from a powerful lamp he’d strapped around his head like a miner’s headlamp. L.B. handed another light to Rafe, who pulled it onto his head and switched it on. Branson didn’t get one. L.B. stepped behind the van, which he’d parked far enough away from the wall to open the back doors. Bran couldn’t see who was getting out of the back because the door was in the way. All he could see was a pair of blue-jean-clad legs. Then the door closed and he saw who it was.

  Stephanie was standing next to L.B., her eyes red from crying. She had duct tape wrapped around her head that sealed her mouth shut and her hands were bound in front of her with more duct tape wrapped around her wrists.

  Bran turned to his uncle, his fists clenched in rage. “What the hell, Rafe?” He started toward Stephanie, but stopped when L.B. raised his hand. The straight razor gleamed wickedly in the lamplight.

  “Easy there, sonny,” L.B. said. “We just figgered we’d bring along a little motivation to make sure you didn’t, you know, change your mind here. Or make any more phone calls you might regret.”

  “What…how did you…”

  “I knew you was up to somethin’,” L.B. said. “So I checked at the front desk to see if anyone had made any phone calls from our room. And guess whose number I found?”

  Bran looked at Stephanie. “Are you all right?”

  Stephanie’s eyes widened and she flashed him an incredulous look that said as clearly as any words: Do I look all right, dumb-ass?

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m going to get you out of this. I promise.”

  “Yes he is, honey,” L.B. agreed. “And he’s goin’ to do it by doin’ the job he told us he’d do, with no more bullshit, while you and me watch from this here car. Right, sonny?”

  Branson’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah.”

  “So get in the van,” L.B. said. He looked over at the Lowmans. “And you fellas get in position. Make sure no one comes in.”

  Both of them nodded. “We will,” Japeth said. They moved off into the darkness, visible only by the glow of their flashlights.