The Eavesdropper

by Edward Trimnell

  Sid paused on his way to the front door. He looked directly at me and spoke in a tone that was almost sincere, in a way that made me think involuntarily of the old days, when I had considered Sid to be my mentor and benefactor. Only a few weeks ago.

  "Frank, I won't lie to you. A part of me sincerely regrets what is going to happen to you today. You should have stayed out of this. You had a choice. But you made a decision to get involved, and now you have to take the consequences of that decision. It’s a damn shame, and not what I would have wanted for you.”

  “Hey, Sid,” I said from the floor.

  He looked at me again. “What?”

  “Go screw yourself, buddy. Okay?”

  With that, he left. On his way out, he shook his head at me, as if I had let him down.

  And I suppose that by Sid's way of thinking, that was exactly what I had done.

  Chapter 79

  I was left alone with Donnie and Bethany. My wrists were taped together. And Donnie had a gun.

  Not exactly what anyone would call great odds.

  While I was waiting for Sid and Bethany to arrive, though, I had given much thought to my predicament. I had had an epiphany—well, sort of an epiphany.

  The only real leverage I had was that my captors were divided by a web of secrets, animosities, and distrust. I had to use those factors to my advantage, and quickly.

  On the subject of minor gratitude: I was grateful now, that while Donnie had bound my hands, he hadn't thought to gag me.

  “Hey Bethany,” I said. “When you meet Sid at the Best Western in Beechwood, do you put the room on Sid’s Thomas-Smithfield Amex card?”

  Bethany blanched. “What—what are you talking about?” she sputtered. And then, when it dawned on her: “Shut up!”

  As I’ve made more than clear by now, Donnie wasn’t the sharpest tack in the box. But even he was capable of discerning the manifold questions opened up by my single one.

  “What is he talking about?” he asked Bethany.

  “Shut up!” Bethany repeated. She stepped forward and gave me a swift kick in the stomach. Say what you will about her being female. She had a kick like a soccer player; and I was lying on the floor with my hands bound.

  I cried out and brought my knees up, so as to protect myself from the next inevitable blow. But Donnie stopped her.

  “What is he talking about?” he repeated at Bethany.

  “I already told you,” she said. “He doesn't know anything. He’s just trying to make trouble.”

  She was partly right: I was trying to make trouble between them. But I knew plenty.

  “She met Sid at the Best Western,” I said hurriedly, “they went at it like two rabbits, and they talked about you.”

  “Shut, up, damn you!” Bethany tried one final time to deliver a kick. This time she aimed the toe of her shoe at my face. And this time Donnie grabbed her and shoved her back to a safe distance.

  “Tell me,” Donnie said. “Tell me what you’re talking about.”

  As quickly as I could, I ran through the basics of my trip to the Best Western in pursuit of Bethany. Her eyes grew wide when I mentioned that I’d hidden behind the bed adjacent to the one Bethany and Sid were rolling around on. She was incredulous at first, until she realized that I really had been there.

  It wasn't easy to paint the necessary picture for Donnie: Bethany tried throughout to interrupt me, often making her attempts at interruption physical. Several times Donnie had to restrain her from kicking me.

  “He’s lying!” she shouted when I was done.

  “I’m not,” I said. I looked up at Donnie as if the two of us were on the same side. “If you don’t believe me, check her cell phone. You’ll find multiple calls between her and Sid. Probably a text message or two, as well.”

  I was betting that Bethany was as slipshod about her sexual assignations as she was about everything else. I desperately hoped that she hadn't bothered to erase the electronic evidence of her recent meetings and communications with Sid.

  “Show me your phone!” Donnie demanded of Bethany.

  “No way!’ Bethany shot back. “You’re not going to look at my phone! You’re not my fucking husband!”

  “And there’s more,” I continued. This next revelation would be my coup de grâce. “The two of them were talking about you, Donnie. Sid wants you out of the deal. That’s right: Both Sid and Bethany are double-crossing you: She’s sleeping with Sid; and he’s trying to cheat you out of your share.”

  Donnie looked at me, and then back to Bethany. He was flustered, but she was equally taken aback.

  “Give me your phone!” he said again. He started reaching into the pockets of her coat, even as she pushed him away, trying to smack him.

  “Donnie, stop!” she shouted.

  With the two of them so distracted, this would have been the perfect chance for me to make a move to escape. If not for the fact that I was on the floor with my hands bound, with Donnie’s feet within kicking distance, with the gun on the armrest of the chair—also within his easy reach.

  Donnie couldn't find Bethany’s phone in any of her coat pockets. He spotted her purse on the couch.

  Before she could stop him, Donnie stepped around me, snatched up her purse, and dumped the contents on the sofa cushions. Her phone was right there amid her lipstick tubes, makeup mirror, hairbrushes, wallet, and loose change.

  “Now we’ll just see!” Donnie said, thumbing through the controls on her phone. The device was not password-protected, and Donnie had little trouble with the user interface.

  Donnie’s cheeks abruptly turned a color that approximated a cross between red and purple. Just as I had gambled, the evidence was all there, and Donnie had found it.

  Bethany made one final grab for the phone. Donnie shoved her so hard she was pushed backward. She fell over her own feet, joining me on the floor, but halfway across the room.

  Now Donnie was making a call—on Bethany’s phone.

  Donnie smiled mirthlessly as Sid answered on the other end of the call. Obviously, Sid would have been anticipating Bethany’s voice, as the call came from her number.

  “Hey, Sid,” Donnie said, “I’ve just heard about what you and Bethany have been up to. What? I’m using Bethany’s phone because I’m using it; that’s why. Yeah, she’s fine. But maybe you’re not gonna be after this is all over….Don’t tell me that this isn't the time! You’ve been screwing my girlfriend behind my back!”

  They went back and forth like this for a while, with Donnie shouting threats at Sid, and Sid—from what I could tell—scolding Donnie about his sense of prioritization. Bethany, meanwhile—now back on her feet— was trying to intervene, to take her phone away from Donnie.

  Under different circumstances, this melee among my tormentors might have been amusing. But I was still in a grievous fix, and my sense of humor was permanently disconnected, pending the preservation of my life. Sid had gone back to Thomas-Smithfield with the explicit intention of arranging my murder, after all.

  “We’ll just see about that!” Donnie terminated the call.

  Donnie raised a fist, as if he were about to strike Bethany.

  “You touch me again,” Bethany said icily, “and I’ll kill you. I mean that, Donnie. Think about it.”

  There was something about the look in Bethany’s eyes that spooked even Donnie. He lowered his fist.

  “Sid will pay for this,” he said, redirecting his anger.

  “What are you doing now?” Bethany asked. Donnie was clearly making preparations to leave.

  “I’m going back to the office,” he said. “To have a little one-on-one talk with Sid. It looks like you’ve already had your private time with him, after all.”

  “Donnie! Sid is right! This isn't the time. We’ve got to focus on—”

  “Don’t tell me that Sid is right!”

  Donnie’s determination to make trouble for Sid was along the lines of what I had intended, of course. But I wondered if he would be abl
e to dump a new problem in Sid’s lap before the Russian gangsters were called. Doubtful.

  “You watch him!” Donnie said, indicating me. “And don’t let him go anywhere.”

  Bethany was perceptive enough to see that Donnie was botching things. Her temper flared anew.

  “Give me back my phone!” She made a move to snatch it from him. He deflected her. She tried again.

  “Back off, Bethany!”

  “Give me my phone!”

  Donnie stared down at Bethany’s phone in his hand, then at his girlfriend. (Was she still his girlfriend? Perhaps not.) He handed her the phone, and plucked the gun from the armrest of the chair.

  “Leave me the gun, too!” Bethany said.

  Donnie’s answer was to stuff the gun into his pocket. I was fine with this decision. I didn't want Bethany to have the gun.

  At the same time, I couldn't help wondering what Donnie planned to do with the weapon. Perhaps Donnie planned to use the gun to shoot Sid. Would he really do that, in the middle of the office at Thomas-Smithfield?

  And would it make any difference to me in the end, whatever he did?

  Chapter 80

  As Donnie walked out the door, I began to wonder if I had really gained myself any advantage. While I had now reduced the number of my captors from two to one, I was also alone in Donnie's apartment with a very enraged Bethany. I had exposed her secret, and I had opened a new fault line between her and Donnie. This would mean consequences.

  Bethany wasted little time in showing me how angry she was. Donnie was no sooner out the door than Bethany delivered yet another swift kick to my ribs. In the big scheme of things, I was grateful that she didn't aim once again for my face. For this time, there was no one to restrain her.

  "You think you've won? Well, we'll just see how smart you are now.”

  If she would have been open to a rational discussion, I would have told her that there had been little in my life over the past two weeks that could be described as “winning”. And things were about to get even worse.

  She stalked out of the living room and into Donnie's kitchen. I heard a drawer open, and some metallic clattering. I knew immediately what she had in mind, and I knew that this was an extremely negative development.

  Bethany walked back in, carrying a butcher knife that looked capable of cleaving one of my limbs in two.

  My bowels turned to ice. It was one thing to be kicked. A butcher knife was something else entirely.

  In that moment, as Bethany hovered over me with a butcher knife, I had to seriously wonder about her mental state. Truly violent women were rare, I knew. But I began to have images of Lizzy Borden, the Massachusetts woman who had murdered her father and stepmother with a blade much like the one Bethany now brandished. Moreover, no one would have disputed that Bethany despised me. If her mood shifted the wrong way, she would ram that knife into me, and it could all be over.

  “Hold on, Bethany!” I said. “Ohio is a death penalty state. You do something rash with that, and you’re going to be Sid’s victim as much as I’ll be—as much as Donnie will be. Whatever Sid told you that night, he’s only out for himself.”

  She paused. I had to keep going.

  “I’ve heard Sid say that he plans to cut you out, too.”

  That got her thinking.

  “No he didn’t! You’re lying!”

  "Think about it, Bethany," I said. "You know as well as I do that Sid wants Donnie out of your little embezzlement operation. What makes you think that he wouldn't cut you out, as well?"

  "You're lying," she hissed. But she seemed a little less certain this time.

  I decided to hit below the belt, figuratively speaking.

  “You think I’m lying? Then why do you think that Sid has no interest in taking things with you to the next step? Why is he perfectly willing to have you carry on with Donnie? Guys like Sid, they only look out for themselves. They certainly don't care about low-level cubicle dwellers like you and me, even if we're sleeping with them.”

  “Sid is different,” she rebutted. But I could tell that she really didn't believe it. This comment was an effort to convince herself as much as anything.

  “Think about it, Bethany,” I said, trying a slightly different tack. “Think about how much information I’ve managed to gather: I found out about the original plan, I uncovered your embezzlement scheme, and I found out about you and Sid. You know I’m not lying about any of that. Well, I’m not lying about Sid’s intentions to sell you out, either.”

  For the first time, I believed that I had gotten through to Bethany. She still hated me, of course, and would have gladly carved me up with that butcher knife of Donnie’s. But she was now, at least, giving due consideration to what I was telling her.

  “Do you want to go to the gas chamber—or to prison for the rest of your life in Sid’s place,” I asked, “when his plan is to take the money and run?”

  “I still don’t believe you.”

  “Call him and ask him.”

  Bethany continued to hold the butcher knife. But at least now she held it at a less threatening angle. Moreover, with her free hand she removed her phone from her pocket, and manipulated the interface with her thumb. I saw the screen light up. She had placed a speed-dial call.

  I didn't ask who she was calling. I didn't have to. She was calling Sid.

  The phone rang and rang. But Sid didn't pick up.

  Perhaps Sid was busy explaining the situation to Sokolov and Kuznetsov. Perhaps he assumed that it would be Donnie again, calling to yell and bluster in his ear.

  Either way, Bethany grew frustrated after about the tenth ring. She didn't even bother to leave a message when her call went to voicemail.

  It was just the two of us again; and Bethany was still very angry, and feeling very unfriendly toward me.

  Chapter 81

  I knew that I had no more time for sophisticated gambits. I had played my last card, and I had to assume that by now the Russians would be on their way.

  So I went for broke: I leaned onto my back, so that I could swing my left leg with maximum force, even as Bethany was still absorbed in the display screen of her phone. Then I let loose with a wide, arching kick.

  It was my first good play of the entire day: My foot caught both of Bethany’s ankles from behind, and I was able to sweep her off her feet—quite literally.

  She let out a curse word: I think it was the f-word. It didn't matter. This, as it turned out, would be the last utterance that I would ever hear from Bethany Cox.

  She fell backward, and the back of her head connected squarely with the scuffed surface of the little coffee table in Donnie’s living room.

  I wasted no time: I got to my knees, and then to my feet. I stepped over Bethany’s inert body and picked up the butcher knife. Before I could do anything, I needed to free my hands.

  I had to maneuver the blade to an awkward angle in order to cut the tape that bound my wrists together. I nearly slashed myself in the process. Despite the urgency of the situation, I forced myself to work carefully. Within a few minutes I was free, and I hadn't slit my wrists.

  I threw the shreds of tape onto the floor and knelt beside Bethany, the butcher knife still in my hand.

  She was semi-conscious now. I could see her breathing, her chest rising and falling.

  I was, oddly enough, thankful that I hadn't killed her, even after everything that had happened. I didn't want Bethany’s death on my conscience—although that was to be a choice that other parties would end up making.

  I considered simply leaving her. Then I considered how much trouble Bethany had already made for me today, and the mood that she would be in when she woke up.

  Turnabout is fair play, I decided. I walked into the adjacent bedroom, and opened Donnie’s closet. One thing about male closets: they’re very predictable: Donnie had five or ten ties draped over the main hanging rod. I removed one of them and took it back into the living room.

  I knelt again and bound Bethany�
��s wrists together. She was still moaning, not really coherent yet. I figured that she would come to within the next twenty to thirty minutes, and the necktie around her wrist would slow her down. (There was, I suspected, no end to Bethany’s ability to make trouble for me.)

  Then I stepped over to the couch, and looked amid the junk from Bethany’s purse, where Donnie had dumped it all out. I immediately spotted the single item I was looking for. I snatched it up.

  “Sorry, Bethany,” I said on the way out, “but I’m going to have to borrow your car”.

  Chapter 82

  I didn't have much trouble locating Bethany’s silver Chevrolet Malibu. It was parked right in front of Donnie’s apartment, beside the space where his Jeep had been. I pushed the unlock button on the key fob, and the Malibu’s doors clicked. The lightness of the sound suggested that Bethany hadn't even bothered to lock the vehicle.

  The car started without a hitch. It felt good to be inside a running vehicle, a machine that could take me anywhere. But things really weren't that open-ended or simple, I knew. My next choices would have to be made carefully.

  I could have gone anywhere, of course. I could have driven back to my apartment, and waited things out. I could have made another trip to the Beechwood Police Department. I could have gone to Ellen’s condo and retrieved my car. It had been left there when Donnie ambushed and kidnapped me.

  I now wondered again: What had happened to Ellen? Had she run off, or had she been taken away? Or was the answer far more mundane: Had she simply gone out for cold medicine before I arrived?

  I thought about Sgt. Burke, and I imagined myself arriving at the police station with what was technically a stolen car, to report to him that I had left a woman—one of my coworkers at Thomas-Smithfield—semi-conscious and bound in the apartment of another coworker. Because you see, Sgt. Burke, there’s this thing going on with the Russians.

  Sgt. Burke would tie me up for hours. That would give Sid plenty of time to maneuver, to manipulate circumstances even more to his favor.