Deadly Deception

by Tami Kidd

  “Hello? Are you still there?” Alex felt the bile in his stomach rise. No longer hungry, he jogged back in the direction he had come, interested only in reaching the hotel and getting to the address on time. He feared what might happen if he arrived a minute late.

  Inside the hotel, cool air greeted him like an old friend. Sweating and gasping for breath, he hurried to the desk clerk, now a pleasant young woman. Her round cherub face broadened into a smile when Alex walked to the counter.

  “May I help you?”

  “Yes, my name is Alex Strange, and I’m in room 202. I’m checking out. I need to settle my bill.” He removed his wallet from his back pocket.

  “Of course, sir, I hope you’ve enjoyed your stay with us.”

  “Your hotel is lovely. Please, I’m in a bit of a rush.” He slapped a credit card onto the counter.

  “Can I do anything else for you? Arrange for a car?”

  What’s your problem, lady? Can’t you see I’m in a freaking hurry? “No, thanks, I have a rental.”

  The desk clerk frowned at her computer screen and said in her slowest southern drawl, “Is this correct? You just checked in today?”

  Exasperated, Alex hung his head. “Yes, I’ve been called away on an urgent matter.”

  She gave Alex her utmost sympathetic smile as she printed out his bill. She ran his card and pushed the receipt across the counter for him to sign. Tearing off a copy she said, “Thank you, Mr. Strange. If you’re ever in Hot Springs again, please come back and see us.”

  “Thanks, I’ll return the key after I grab my luggage,” he hollered back as he ran up the marble staircase two steps at a time. He unlocked the door and rushed inside. Before the door closed behind him, Alex felt a searing pain at the back of his head. He stumbled, trying to catch himself, but as though moving in slow motion, the floor rose to greet him. The dust bunnies amassed under the bed seemed to mock him by declaring they weren’t the only ones concealed inside his room. Alex’s world went black.

  ****

  “Grab his legs. I’ll take his arms,” Doyle said looking down at Alex’s limp body sprawled out on the garish carpet.

  A burly ox of a man with a dark beard and muscles straining the seams of his bright, Hawaiian shirt stooped over and paused. “Why do I get the legs?”

  “Fine, you take the arms, I’ll take his legs.” Doyle stepped around his beefy partner to grab Alex’s ankles.

  Doyle’s accomplice, Kale Kapena, bordered on 300 pounds of dark strength. He looked like he just stepped off the set of Hawaii Five-O. Long, dark hair fell to his shoulders; a trim-cut beard angled his jawline. A yellow Hibiscus flower tattoo adorned his bronzed, thick right forearm. He never had to worry about being teased about his delicate choice of body art. What oxygen-loving human beings would tease a man who could crush their throat with little effort? However, for all his strength and machismo, Kale passed as an overstuffed teddy bear. He cried when watching Disney movies and sappy commercials. Most of all, his loyalty outshined Old Yeller or Lassie. His friends could always count on him during a crisis, especially if the person’s name was Doyle.

  He met and befriended Kale while they served time in prison on unrelated charges. Kale had forged checks and sent the cash to his grandmother in Hawaii. Though his intentions were altruistic, the judge convicted him of forgery in the second degree, a Class C felony that earned him three years in prison. Doyle and Kale often referred to themselves as Gilligan and Skipper because of their physical resemblance to the popular TV duo. Only in their case, Gilligan gave the orders and the Skipper obeyed.

  The phone call Doyle made after Alex left his house proved his assumption correct—this was something big. A lot of people, it turned out, wanted to find Mara Byrne. Doyle’s contact believed Alex could be the key to unlock the mystery of her location. An enterprising individual, Doyle agreed, for a hefty fee, to deliver Alex to his associate. To guarantee success, he enlisted his big buddy, Kale, to help him secure and transport Alex Strange. Doyle chuckled to himself. The PI deserved the manhandling for not changing his name to something normal.

  Kale and he easily loaded Alex into the service elevator down to the back lot. Now it was a matter of hoisting him inside the van without anyone seeing. “Come on, Kale, lift.” Doyle grunted as he strained to lift Alex’s unconscious body.

  “I’m trying to lift higher. I can’t get enough leverage bending over like this.” Kale’s six-foot frame and massive bulk proved to be a tight fit, never mind pulling Alex. Doyle and Kale struggled until they secured their captive safely inside. Kale crawled around Alex, lumbered out, and pulled the side door closed with a bang. Without waiting for his boss’s go-ahead, Kale sank into the passenger seat and exhaled a long breath.

  Beat, Doyle took a breather as he recalled the past events that led to their success. It took little effort to find out where Alex had booked a hotel. Secrets were hard to keep in small towns. He borrowed a van from a fishing buddy, with a promise of a wash and wax and a full tank of gas upon return. The would-be abductors parked the van at the hotel’s delivery entrance and took the service elevator to the second floor. Kale stood watch while Doyle jimmied the lock, thankful it was a rusty antique. Once inside, they waited for Alex to return and take him by surprise. Yep. We did good.

  Snapping to the present, Doyle glanced around to make sure no witnesses observed their abduction. He hurried to the driver’s side, pulled himself into the seat, and started the engine. His eyebrows shot up when he glanced Kale’s way. “What are you doing? Get back there and restrain him.” His sidekick’s face sagged. “Move it.”

  Kale climbed out of the van, opened the side door, and got in.

  When the side door closed, Doyle put the van in gear and pulled away from the hotel.

  “Where are we taking him?” Kale asked as he placed zip ties around Alex’s wrists and ankles.

  “Don’t know yet.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know?”

  Doyle glanced in the rearview mirror and raised his hand to calm Kale. “I’m waiting on a phone call to tell me exactly where to take him.

  “How long do you think he’ll be out?”

  “Not too long. I didn’t hit him that hard.”

  “Pull onto Exchange Street. There’s a parking lot down the street that is pretty small and hidden from view. I can get back up front, while we wait on your phone call.”

  Look who’s giving orders now. Doyle drove to the parking lot Kale mentioned and pulled into a spot in the rear, away from other cars.

  Back in the front passenger seat Kale said, “So, now what do we do?”

  “We wait.” Doyle pulled the van back onto the street. “We drive around and wait for instructions.”

  Sixteen

  Alex’s head throbbed and his jaw ached from the rag shoved into his mouth. Zip ties secured his hands together, and he could see his feet bound at the ankles. He lay on the floor of a van facing the sidewall. His body rocked with the vehicle’s movement. Although thankful they didn’t blindfold him, a chill ran down his spine. Maybe not such a good thing. Thugs hate witnesses. For the moment, his best plan of action was to lie still and feign unconsciousness. Perhaps he could find out something useful. He focused on the conversation between the two men in front.

  “I’m telling you, Kale, mark my words the Cards are going all the way to the World Series this year. They’re unstoppable.”

  Alex recognized the voice. It belonged to Doyle Fisher.

  The other man replied, “I hear what you’re saying, but I have to respectfully disagree. The Dodgers are going to lead the division and come out on top. They have better players this year and man, that new kid they have as a pitcher, Nasar, he’s going to blow them out of the water.”

  Based on what he heard Doyle say, the second man must be Kale. Alex peeked at the man sitting in the passenger seat. He was dark complete with black hair and a build about the size of a sumo wrestler. Alex shook his head in disbelief. Those two clowns we
re discussing baseball while driving around with a man bound and gagged in the back of their van. Besides, they’re both wrong, the A’s are going to be the miracle team this year.

  Alex heard a ringing sound. At first, he thought it was his ears, but he soon realized it was a phone.

  “Oh, there it is, the call we’ve been waiting for. Shut it, so I can hear,” Doyle said. He slowed the van and pulled over to take the call. “Hello.”

  Although the conversation sounded one sided, Alex determined Doyle worked for the caller.

  “Yeah, but that’s a helluva long way away. No, I don’t want you to send someone else to take care of it. I got this. Don’t worry.”

  Alex saw Doyle look at Kale, who watched him patiently.

  “Yeah, we’re on our way.” Doyle ended the call and put the phone on the center console.

  “What did he say?” Kale blurted out.

  “It looks like we’re taking a road trip with this guy.” Doyle glanced back to where Alex lay.

  Alex shut his eyes so he would appear unconscious.

  “Where?” Kale asked.

  “Florida. We gotta drive him to Pensacola. Crap!” Doyle slammed his palm on the steering wheel as he pulled back onto the road. “Another lousy road trip.”

  After they traveled several miles, Kale finally asked, “How long are we gonna be gone?”

  “Hopefully we’re just going to drop him off, get paid, and then be on our way back—in and out.”

  “Good, cause I got people coming over Saturday night for Bunko. It’s my turn to host, and I’ve been planning this for a month. I’m gonna serve—”

  A buzzing sound interrupted Kale. They looked around the van trying to find the source of the noise.

  “What the hell is that?” Doyle asked.

  “Don’t know.” Kale opened the glove box to see if the sound was coming from inside. “It sounds like it’s coming from the back.”

  “Oh shit,” Doyle said. “I bet it’s his cell phone.”

  Alex rolled over onto his back and murmured through the cloth in his mouth.

  ****

  Doyle pulled the van over at a deserted garage somewhere between Hot Springs and Jones Mill. A sign, pockmarked and its paint chipped, dangled lopsided from a steel frame, advertising the deserted establishment as Mickey’s Automotive. Vandals had spray-painted colorful graffiti all over the plywood-covered windows, proudly leaving their artwork everywhere. Rusty padlocks on the doors signaled a great deal of time had passed since anyone tried to enter. Knee-high weeds at the entrance served as further indication of the building’s abandoned state. The lifeless business had succumbed to the poor economy or from flawed business management. Doyle felt safe to pull over.

  The kidnappers got out and went around to the side door of the van facing away from the highway. “Come on help me get him out and standing. I need to check his pockets for a cell phone.” Doyle slid the van door open and the two stepped inside. Each grabbed an arm and hauled Alex out.

  ****

  Alex squinted from the sudden change in light when the van door opened. Each of his captors took an arm and helped him to his feet outside the van. For the first time since his abduction, he got a good look at the van from the outside. Amused at their choice of vehicle, this one shouted anything but discreet. A huge chartreuse lightning bolt adorned the side of the van. Perfect.

  “Okay, dude, sorry about this, but I gotta reach into your pocket and get your phone. If I’m lucky I won’t have to dig very far.” Doyle reached inside the left pocket of Alex’s chinos. No phone. Then he reached inside his right pocket and found it. “Bingo. See that wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

  Alex tried to speak through the gag in his mouth.

  “I know you’re probably uncomfortable. I’d like to help by taking the gag out of your mouth, but I gotta have your word you won’t yell. You gonna cooperate?”

  Alex nodded his head vigorously.

  “Okay, but, dude, if you lie to me, this hulk will squash you like a bug.” Doyle pointed to Kale standing beside him. “Got it?”

  Alex looked at the behemoth and nodded again in understanding.

  “Okay, I’m going to take off the gag. You gave me your word to be nice.” He looked at Kale. “Or else my boy, Kale, is going to make you be nice, the hard way. Understand?”

  Running out of patience, Alex nodded again, squeezing his eyes shut.

  Doyle turned Alex around and untied the gag.

  Once out of his mouth, Alex coughed on the word, “Water.”

  Kale grabbed a bottle of water from the case they had picked up at a convenience store on their way out of Hot Springs. He unscrewed the lid, held it to Alex’s mouth, and tipped it forward so he could drink. Water spilled out of the sides as Alex gulped.

  “Slow down, mister,” Kale said. “We have plenty. You ain’t gonna die of thirst.”

  “He might die from something else.” Doyle laughed as he raised his hand to Kale waiting for a high five.

  “Ha ha, you could be right,” Kale said as he smacked Doyle’s hand so hard, his accomplice stumbled back into the open door of the van and landed hard on his ass. “Oops, sorry, Doyle. I didn’t mean to put so much punch behind it.” Kale punctuated his apology with a grin.

  “Watch it!” Doyle said. “I’m gonna start callin’ you Lennie Small.”

  Kale cocked his head to one side. “Why you gonna call me Lennie Small?”

  Doyle looked at Alex and shook his head. “Never mind.”

  Alex tried to wipe the water from his chin with his shoulder without much success. He saw Doyle watching him. His captor walked to the van and ripped a paper towel off a roll lying on the floor. He wiped Alex’s mouth for him.

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” Doyle wadded the paper towel into a ball and tossed it inside the van.

  “Where are you taking me?” Alex asked testing Doyle.

  “Pensacola, Florida.”

  “Why Pensacola?”

  “Don’t know, don’t care. I just want to deliver you and get my money.”

  “So, I gather you know more about Mara’s disappearance than you’re letting on.”

  “Look dude, I really hate that your girlfriend is missing, and I hope you get her back, but I’ve been given instructions to deliver you to Pensacola.”

  “Fine, I won’t cause you any grief. Just do me a favor, and bind my wrists in front. My shoulders are killing me.”

  Doyle smiled. “Sorry man, no can do. You’re just gonna have to deal with the pain. I can give you something for that.”

  “No, that’s fine. I’ll deal with it,” Alex said snidely. The two men helped him into the van.

  “Come on, Kale. Gotta hit the road. We have a long drive ahead of us.”

  After fastening his seatbelt, Doyle placed Alex’s cell on the console along with his own. He started the van and pulled out onto Highway 270 heading south.

  Seventeen

  The black SUV buzzed down the highway, its tinted windows blocking the bright Florida sun from the occupants inside. Mara, Michael Porter, and Dodger rode in silence. Oscar Pennick, the chief guard on the president’s personal security detail, drove the mute passengers. Everyone called him Opie for several reasons: red hair, youthful appearance, and for being raised in a rural North Carolina town.

  Earlier that morning, the president flew back to the nation’s capital. He instructed Opie to remain by Mara’s side. He wanted his best man protecting her, to prevent the accomplished author from sharing the same fate as Dr. Foster. Dodger volunteered to make sure Mara’s needs were met as well as to fuel his fascination with hypnotism.

  The SUV left the secluded military outpost and traveled south on Highway 85 until it intersected with Highway 98, where they turned east, paralleling the Gulf of Mexico.

  Mara broke the silence. “Where are we going?”

  “To see one of the best hypnotherapists in the country. Dr. Sophie Hildegard. She’s retired, but has agreed
to see you at her residence in Seaside.” The edge of Michael Porter’s mouth twitched, his eyes hidden behind aviator sunglasses.

  Mara nodded once, keeping her eyes on the scenery outside the window. Between hotels and boardwalk shops, she spied the emerald water lapping the white sand. Soon, white dunes on either side of the vehicle held her interest.

  “Is something bothering you, Miss Mara?” Dodger asked.

  “I’d say there are a few things bothering me.” She kept her eyes focused on the blue-green sea and white sandy shores carving into a bay as their vehicle drove over a bridge. To the right, she wished she could visit the Harbor Walk, which looked so inviting.

  “Such as?”

  Her mind reeled back to her real life. “Well, for one thing, how could someone abduct Dr. Foster so easily? It would seem to me if the president had been working closely with her, he would have kept her heavily guarded. How did they pull it off?”

  Michael Porter turned to stare at her from the front seat. “Good question,” he said, “and the president feels responsible for her disappearance. Every aspect of that day has been reviewed in great detail. Dr. Foster was staying in a suite at the Fairmont Hotel in D.C. The president visited her that day. Twenty minutes after he left, someone posing as hotel staff entered her room, drugged her, and carried her out in a laundry cart.”

  “Were you able to get anything off the security footage?” Mara asked.

  “Nothing of importance, but we did determine at least three accomplices worked together. All wore hotel uniforms and surgical masks. One waited outside the room with the laundry cart while the other two went inside and overpowered Dr. Foster. All three moved quickly and efficiently. Surveillance cameras in the parking garage recorded a laundry van leaving minutes after her apprehension. We tried to locate the van without luck. It’s probably sitting at the bottom of the Potomac by now.”

  Her own abduction still fresh in her mind, Mara fiddled with her seatbelt. “I hope she’s all right and finds a way to escape.”

  “Like you did,” Dodger said, smiling at her from the seat beside her.