by S. J. Bishop
"If you ever want to get your girlfriend back, you'll do exactly as I say. Listen carefully because you only get one chance to get it right."
41
Clarissa
It was dark inside the trunk of Marco's car. I pulled at the heavy ropes binding my wrists, but nothing seemed to loosen them. We rolled over another bump in the road, and my head hit the top of the trunk. It was already sore and hurting from when he'd hit me over the head. I wished there was a seat belt in here. The trunk was huge, and I actually had plenty of room to stretch out. It was the constant rolling and shifting around as we moved over what I assumed was the highway that was causing me more pain than anything. Bumps and vibrations seemed ten times more severe inside the trunk than if I'd been sitting in the back seat.
I still didn't understand what was going on, though after what felt like hours in this trunk, I had started to form a few guesses. My head was still foggy, and I didn't have a good understanding of just how much time had passed. Marco had obviously lied about showing me a gift for his daughter. I was beginning to think that he probably never even had a daughter.
When we'd gotten to his car, he'd opened the trunk and pointed inside. "There it is," he'd said.
"What?" I'd asked, peering into the trunk and not seeing anything.
"It's right there. Look closer."
Like a fucking fool, I'd leaned deeper into the trunk. It was dark in the parking garage, and Marco was parked in a corner of the structure that didn't have much light. One of the few lights lining the wall had either burnt out or been broken. There were other cars near us, but no one was hanging out in them. This was a hospital, after all, not a tailgate party.
It simply had never occurred to me that Marco was lying about anything. I'd seen him at the hospital the last couple days. He'd always looked so friendly and sad whenever I'd inquired about his daughter. Whatever else Marco was—kidnapper, murderer, or henchman—he was a terrific actor.
When he'd finally hit the back of my head with whatever he'd used—it had felt like a steel rod—I still hadn't realized what was happening. That's how pathetic I was. I'd thought...well, I wasn't entirely sure what I'd thought. But it had definitely not been that Marco was about to toss me into the trunk of his car.
I hadn't lost consciousness until I was inside the trunk; I'd just gotten confused and wobbled on my feet a little. Marco had lifted me up and laid me gently inside the trunk. I'd been so out of it at first that I'd thought he was laying me in the back seat of his car. Then he'd wrapped some ropes around my wrists and shut the lid. That was when I'd finally understood. At least he'd left my feet free. If he'd have tied those up too, I think I might've had a heart attack.
The car rolled over the biggest bump yet, and the sound of the street suddenly changed. It sounded like gravel. And we were slowing down. My heart thumped hard in my chest. I brought my wrists to my mouth and pulled as hard as I could on the knot that was binding them together. I felt the rope shift—just a little, but enough to give me hope. I took a deep breath and pulled again, harder this time. The top of the knot started to come undone. I couldn't believe it. I pulled and pulled until my jaw began to hurt. Finally the rope unraveled from around my wrists, and I was free.
"Oh thank you, God," I murmured, taking deep breaths and trying to steady my nerves.
The car had slowed to a crawl now. A tiny sliver of light shown in through the trunk. I looked around the space and wished there was something, anything, that I could use to help myself get out of here. Guys kept tools in their trunk, didn't they? A hammer? A screwdriver? I pictured jamming a screwdriver into Marco's eye when he opened the trunk, blinding him for life. At least in one eye. He deserved it.
The car stopped, and I could hear and feel the driver's door open. I took a deep breath, my hands spreading out in the darkness, still searching. My fingertips scraped the cold, hard edge of something heavy and metal. I gripped my fingers around it and realized it was a tire iron. Perfect!
I heard the keys jingle as Marco inserted them into the lock, and the trunk suddenly popped open. I jumped up swinging and knocked the tire iron right into Marco's head.
42
Lars
"You fucking piece of shit!" I screamed into the phone. A few heads turned in my direction, but most people couldn't hear anything except the thousands of screaming fans. It had been at least a decade since the Giants had won the Super Bowl, and people were still cheering. I pulled my gear off as I ran through the crowd toward the parking lot.
"It's not my fault you refused to listen to reason," Angelo's deep voice rang in my ear.
"Reason? Is that what you call asking me to throw the Super Bowl? Reasonable?"
"What I call reasonable," Angelo said, "is sticking to deals that you make with old friends. You said yes. Your word used to be your bond. What the fuck happened to you?"
It bothered me that there was a part of me that understood exactly what Angelo was talking about. And that part felt bad. Even a little guilty. He was right, I'd said yes to the deal, and then I'd backed out of it. I'd broken a contract. I'd broken a promise to someone whom I used to look up to. It was amazing how things could change so quickly.
"Look, I'm sorry. I'm just...different. I have a different life now. Can't you understand that?"
"Sure, I can understand that," Angelo said. "Which is why I'm not gonna kill you or your girlfriend." I felt my shoulders relax just the tiniest bit. "At least, not unless you fail to deliver a second time. I want my money."
My whole body tightened as I exited the locker room and made my way to the parking lot. The guys were all clapping me on the back, and fans were begging for my autograph. It wasn't easy to get through the sea of people all wanting to touch the star quarterback who had won the game.
"Angelo, I don't have one hundred million dollars just lying around."
"Well you better find a way to get it, or your girlfriend and your baby are both gonna be sucking in lungfulls of Harlem River."
I froze in the parking lot. "What?" I asked so low I was surprised he'd heard me.
"One hundred million bucks. I want it by midnight. And I want you to deliver it personally to me."
"Where?"
"Sky Island Bridge. Don't worry, I'll take good care of your pretty little lady until you arrive." There was a click, and Angelo was gone.
I stood holding my phone to my ear, unable to believe what was happening. I couldn't seem to move. I'd been in dangerous situations before, but it had always been my life that was in danger. Or the lives of other guys who knew the score. Even Ash, though it pained me to say so, had known the dangers of our job. But Clarissa? She was innocent in all of this.
"Lars!" I heard a woman's voice scream at me from the other end of the lot and turned to see Madeline running toward me. The crowds were considerably less here in the players' parking lot. The guards did a good job of keeping people out. She'd managed to squeak by, but that wasn't exactly surprising considering how she was dressed. A mini skirt and heels at a football game? She stood out.
"Madeline, I don't have time for this," I yelled, turning away from her as she approached me. I was having a hard time remembering just where I'd parked. I couldn't seem to get my head clear. What if Clarissa was hurt? What if she was...I couldn't let my mind go there. Besides, Angelo wouldn't have killed her. Not yet. Not until he was certain she was useless.
"I just wanted to say congratulations," she said. Her face was pink and glowing, like everyone else's out here on this cold February night.
"Fine. Thanks." I turned my head and spotted my car way over on the south side of the lot. I started jogging toward it. Madeline's heels clacked behind me.
"I was wondering if you could tell Clarissa something for me since she won't talk to me."
I stopped jogging. Something suddenly snapped in me. I turned back to Madeline, my face contorting into a ferocious scowl. "This is all your fault. I just realized that."
"W-what?" Madeline asked, stepp
ing back. I couldn't see myself, but I could feel the hatred flowing out from my eyes and out of every pore.
"Angelo has Clarissa! He knows about the baby! How the fuck could he know that, unless he heard it from you?"
"Who's Angelo?" Madeline asked.
"He was the man outside my apartment the last time you were there. He wants money from me, Madeline. Money I don't have. He must've heard everything you said about Clarissa being pregnant, and now he's using her as leverage. You just couldn't keep your big mouth shut, could you?"
Madeline's eyes were wide and frightened. "I don't understand. You owe him money? How was I supposed to know that?"
"No." I didn't know what I was still doing talking to her. I was only wasting precious time. "Look, Angelo is a criminal, okay? A fucking hard-as-nails criminal who has killed more men than you could count on two hands, and he's got Clarissa. Because you were a jealous, spoiled child who couldn't keep your mouth shut when your friend needed you to. If she dies, it's on your head." I had no idea why I'd said that other than to finally shut her up. Maybe I just wanted to hurt someone the way I was hurting. The truth, as much as it pained me, was that if Clarissa died, I was the only one to blame.
"Oh God. I…I didn't know. You have to believe me. I never said one word to him after you left; I just went home. I swear. I wanted to get out of that awful makeup. I'm sorry." Tears fell from her eyes as she began to grasp the weight of the situation.
I realized that there was nothing she could tell me that would help, and I was only wasting time standing here talking to her. I got to my car and pulled my jersey off, fishing in the back seat for a shirt. I came up with one and pulled it over my head as Madeline continued to bark.
"I never wanted her to get hurt," she said.
"Could've fooled me. You've been so jealous of her you can't see straight."
Madeline was nodding. "I know. I made a huge mistake. It's just that...I...I thought that part she had was mine. He'd already promised it to me."
"Who?" I asked absently as I tossed my jersey into the trunk.
"Jerry. One of the directors. Well, assistant director as it turned out. But I didn't know that until after..."
I looked at her, horrified.
"You fucked some director to get Clarissa's part?"
Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. "I didn't know what else to do. I'll never be as good as she is." She looked so pathetic that for a second my heart went out to her. I knew what it was like to feel inferior to others. I knew how that could weigh on you. But still...I didn't have time for this shit.
I started my car, and the engine roared right to life.
"Wait! Can I help? Let me help!"
"I think you've already helped enough, Madeline," I said and peeled out of the parking lot.
43
Clarissa
The tire iron collided only lightly against Marco's head. He grabbed it from me easily, and I cursed myself for being so stupid that I couldn't even swing a hunk of metal correctly.
"I thought you were out for the count," Marco said. He grabbed my wrists after tossing the tire iron to the side and pulled me from the trunk. I struggled against him, but he was three times my size.
"You lied to me," I said, angry not just that I'd been tricked and lied to, but that I'd fallen for it so easily.
"Oh, please, don't give me that hurt dewy-eyed innocent routine. You're far from innocent."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"When you go around spreading your legs and getting knocked up by guys like Lars Kaine, you kind of deserve what you get. Are you telling me you didn't know his background when you got into bed with him? 'Cause if that's true, then you're even dumber than I thought."
I spit in Marco's face. It went straight into his eyeball, and he blinked at me, not comprehending for a minute what I'd just done. I barely comprehended it myself. Then his face turned fierce. He snarled at me and raised his hand high into the air, slapping me hard across the side of my head.
"Marco!" A man's voice called out from a distance. Marco's hand went quickly back to his side as a man with a dark tan in a business suit came walking steadily toward us.
"Angelo, I..." Marco's voice trailed off. He looked pale.
"What do you mean by assaulting this woman?" Angelo sneered at him.
Marco stood there, nervous, his eyes darting all over, looking at anything but Angelo. For the first time, I took in my surroundings. We were standing at the base of a bridge. I looked around, trying to decipher just which bridge this was. It looked familiar. Definitely not the Brooklyn Bridge, but still something of an icon. The river below it smelled of fish and sewage. I stared at it and at the city skyline beyond it.
"Is this the Harlem River?" I suddenly asked, forgetting momentarily that it might be wiser to keep my mouth shut.
Angelo smiled at me. "Yes, Clarissa. It is." It unnerved me that he knew my name. I was finally starting to piece everything together. Marco had called this man Angelo. He had to be the same man who had wanted Lars to throw the Super Bowl.
"I'm still waiting for an answer, Marco," Angelo said snidely. "What do you mean by hitting Clarissa?"
Hearing him say my name again made me cringe, but luckily, he either didn't notice or didn't care.
"She spit on me," Marco growled, turning to me and yanking my arm.
Angelo's face turned red. "We DO NOT hit women!" he screamed, spittle flying from his mouth. He looked a bit like a mushroom when he was angry. "I have daughters at home. If anyone ever hit them, I would have no choice but to cut off the hands that struck their pretty faces."
Marco stepped back, his eyes wide, pulling me with him. "I'm sorry," he said. "It won't happen again."
Angelo regained his composure. "Don't tell me. Tell Clarissa."
Marco instantly turned to me. "I'm sorry, Clarissa. I should never have hit you. Please accept my apology."
I felt my brow pinch together. "Um, you're forgiven."
Marco breathed a sigh of relief and looked at Angelo. "Excellent. Now, we may continue."
I wasn't quite sure how to feel about my new circumstances. Angelo clearly didn't allow his men to mess with women, which was good for me, yet there was still something deeply sinister in his eyes. "Continue with what?" I asked. "I don't understand. What am I doing here?"
Angelo pulled out his phone."Perhaps a phone call can clear a few things up for both of us."
I watched Angelo dial a number, my head still spinning from all that was happening. Someone must have answered on the other end because Angelo began to talk.
"Sorry to disappoint, but Clarissa's indisposed at the moment," Angelo said. He shot me a look that made my heart stop. "That's right. Remember what I said about needing to get my money from you one way or the other? Well, meet the other."
Angelo held the phone out to me.
"Say hi to your boyfriend," he said.
"L-Lars?" I asked, taking the phone.
I heard Lars's panicked voice on the other end. "Clarissa? Are you okay?"
Angelo snatched the phone back before I had a chance to respond.
"If you ever want to get your girlfriend back, you'll do exactly as I say," Angelo sneered. I tried to listen to what came next, but Angelo stepped away, leaving me alone with Marco. When he returned, he was shaking his head.
"Your boyfriend owes me several million dollars," Angelo said. "I intend to collect it from him. One way or another. Come with me. Let's walk, and I'll explain it." He held out his arm, and I decided I was safer with him than Marco, so I took it and followed him up the bridge. It was a pedestrian bridge. That had to narrow it down. My mind quickly began to run through all the pedestrian bridges in New York.
"So, you're holding me hostage?" I asked. "Is that the idea?"
"See, I knew you were smart."
We walked together along the path from the foot of the bridge toward its center. It was a long walk and seemed to drag on forever before we reached the midpoint. The Harle
m River teetered below us no matter where my eyes went. Though the bridge was stable, I didn't want to look down. I wasn't sure how deep the river was, but it didn't matter. From this height, whether you hit the shallow end or the deep end, you were dead. I looked all around us for someone to call out to for help, but it was late on Super Bowl Sunday, and the bridge was empty. Everyone was probably down at Giants Stadium. Something occurred to me then. "Does that mean Lars' team won the Super Bowl?"
Angelo nodded silently. I couldn't keep the smile from spreading across my face.
"I wouldn't be so happy if I were you," Angelo said, sounding irritated. "Lars knew the consequences of his actions. Now he has to pay. He's got two hours left to come up with the money he owes me. Otherwise..."
"Otherwise what?" I asked.
"Otherwise, I'm afraid you'll have to pay for him." I looked from Angelo to Marco, who I now realized was holding a rather large knife.
"Wait, what? I thought you didn't believe in hurting women?"
"I don't believe in needless violence or torture of women. But if Lars can't come up with the money he owes me...well then your death is hardly needless, now is it?"
"My...you're going to kill me?"
"I hope not. You really are a very pretty girl. And I don't much care for the idea of killing an expectant mother, but you have to understand—business is business. Not to worry, though. Lars still has time."
My throat went suddenly dry. My heart flip-flopped in my chest like a fish out of water. I looked to my right where Marco stood about ten yards away from me and to my left where the rest of the bridge lay before me, open and empty. I had a momentary flashback to when I was a ten-year-old kid in the park with my dad. We were discussing "stranger danger," and he'd told me something that I'd never forgotten. "No matter how big a guy is, you can always best him if you kick him in the right place. Go for the balls, and you'll win every time." It was a phrase which I'd thought was hilarious at the time, but one I'd never forgotten. Here's to you, Dad, I thought. I waited until Angelo's head was turned, then I kicked him as hard as I could in the balls. His eyes bugged out of his head as he keeled over at the waist. He hadn't been expecting that, which was just what I wanted. I didn't waste my chance. I ran.
