Wild Cards XVI: Deuces Down

by Michael Cassutt

  “Have you wondered why I had sex with so many other men, but not you?” Carlotta flashed him a challenging smile.

  “Why no, that hadn’t even occurred to me. Of course, I’m not sure why you’re fixated on ice-cream, either.” Bob raised a single eyebrow, a trick he’d learned watching Vincent Price movies as a kid.

  “For that I should keep you in the dark, but I figure you deserve to know.” She crossed the street to avoid a cascade of water from an opened fire hydrant. Bob followed. “Number one, you’re a smartass. Number two, you’re the boss.” She paused, maybe to give him a chance to object to number one. He didn’t. “And number three, you’ve got possibilities.”

  Bob’s eyebrow shot up again, this time of its own accord. “What do you mean, possibilities?”

  “Long term possibilities.”

  Her comment hung in the air like a float at Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

  “Wait a minute,” Bob said, and was on the verge on launching into a tirade when he felt a strong hand on his shoulder.

  “No, you wait a minute, tough guy.” The hand had an accompanying voice, and, unfortunately, he recognized it as Jeff the bad guy.

  Bob turned his head slightly and saw that Carlotta had company, too. Mutt had her by the elbow. She was casting her eyes upward, looking for help Bob knew wouldn’t be coming. He felt something press firmly into his back. A brand new limo pulled up beside them and its rearmost door on their side opened up.

  “Get inside.”

  He and Carlotta slid onto the leather seat between their captors. The tinted windows were less than comforting and the truly humorless men surrounding them were even less so.

  Jeff slid Bob’s revolver from his pocket, holding it firmly by the barrel-end. “Know what happens next?”

  “You all commit suicide,” Carlotta said, and there were several giggles.

  “Not now,” Bob thought, and then consciousness fled his body through a portal of blinding pain as the gun smacked into the side of his head.

  He was lying down when he came to. Bob opened his eyes with deliberate slowness. He was lying on a couch and Carlotta was sitting opposite him in a straight-backed wooden chair, a concerned look on her face. “Where are we?” he said quietly, his head throbbing.

  “In a house.” She reached over and pushed Bob’s hair out of his eyes.

  “A little more information would be appreciated, if you’ve got it.” He eased himself into a sitting position.

  “Okay, a big house. An estate. Big walls, wrought-iron gate, you know the type. I think we’re on Long Island.”

  “That’s not good.” Bob realized that if they hadn’t bothered to keep Carlotta from describing where they’d been taken, they weren’t expecting her, or either of them, to be able to talk to the police later. He looked around the room for exits. There were two windows, both barred, and one door. “Who are these people, and what do they want with you?”

  “Like they’d tell me that,” Carlotta said. “But that one guy, the tall one, he really doesn’t like you.”

  “I have no trouble believing that.” The pain in Bob’s skull was spreading into his jaw and neck. “We have to come up with a plan to get out of here. Clearly, making them laugh in the limo didn’t work.”

  “No. They gagged me with a stupid little plastic ball thing. My power doesn’t work at all if I can’t talk. I don’t know how they knew that.” Carlotta stood and walked over to the window, staring into the darkness.

  The door opened and three men stepped in. Bob recognized Mutt and Jeff. The third man was a head shorter than Bob, and was casually dressed in a pricey, dapper manner. He was balding on either temple, and there was a quickness about his movements that was almost birdlike.

  “Hello, Jane.” He sat down in the chair Carlotta had been occupying.

  “Jane?” Bob said, mystified. “Look friend. I don’t know what your game is, but her name is Carlotta Desoto. So your goons obviously bundled the wrong people out here. Let us go and maybe we won’t press charges.”

  “I should have known it was you.” Carlotta’s eyes were livid with anger. “My name was legally changed, and I’d appreciate it if you’d call me Carlotta.”

  Bob felt like whatever play he was in had just dropped a scene. “What in blazes is going on here?”

  “My name is Breton Earle. Carlotta,” he said the name as derisively as possible, “is my wife.”

  “Ex-wife,” Carlotta corrected, folding her arms. “That part was legal, too. Your money doesn’t change the fact that you’re a loser and a jerk.”

  Bob couldn’t believe that all they’d been through the past few days was because of a jealous ex-husband. “Sounds like her mind is made up, Mr. Earle, so why don’t you just let us go. Like I said, we’ll leave the police out of it.”

  Earle turned to Jeff. “Mr. Mueller, who is this?”

  “Robert Cortland. He owns the club she worked at.”

  Earle nodded. “You and Mr. Layden will have to take care of him on your own dime.”

  “No problem.”

  “What do you mean, no problem?” Carlotta walked behind her captors. The suited men kept a careful eye on her. “You kidnapped me. That’s a federal crime.”

  Earle laughed, but it wasn’t Carlotta’s doing. “You’re welcome to address your grievances to the police if you’re ever in a position to do so, but I don’t think you will be.”

  “Why did you bring Bob?” Carlotta shook her head. “He doesn’t mean anything to you.”

  “He does to me,” said Mueller. “I don’t like anyone taking a shot at me.”

  “Why do you want her back?” Bob was stalling for time, trying to come up with some plan of action. If there was one thing smug egomaniacs like Earle shared with entertainers, it was the need for an audience.

  “I’m glad you asked me that question. I could say she makes me laugh, or that the sex was incredible.” Earle feigned a yawn. “But that’s not it. The truth is, she made me look ridiculous. A man with my position in life can’t have one of his acquisitions leave him of its own accord. That’s all she was to me, an attractive acquisition. So, in return for her disloyalty I want to make her miserable and I want the pleasure of seeing her miserable every day of her wretched life. May it be a long one.”

  “You’re a fool,” Carlotta said. “It’s a damned shame money can’t buy sense. Maybe then you’d understand.”

  Breton Earle folded. “With my money, I’m hardly restrained by your idea of what’s sensible, Miss Desoto.”

  “Don’t have to go begging to daddy anymore?” Carlotta gave Earle a nasty smile.

  Earle eyes took on a hard quality. “My father died 19 months ago. After the estate was fully executed I gave some of my best men the job of finding you, which they did. I bought this house to work from. It’s a more expensive prison than you deserve, but who knows where I’ll ultimately keep you.”

  “Asshole,” Carlotta said.

  “It’s a shame you didn’t fall for our blond Adonis. He was very disappointed when you disappeared from the coffee shop.” Earle shook his head. “You’re such a slut. You’d have enjoyed that.”

  Carlotta raised her chin. “The last person in the world to know what I’d enjoy is you, Breton.”

  “What exactly are you going to do to her?” Bob planned on keeping the questions coming as long as Earle was in an answering mood.

  “Whatever it suits me to do at any given time. I’m sure whatever it is, it will be better than what happens to you.” He headed for the door. “Shall we, gentlemen?”

  Mueller bent down and whispered in Bob’s ear. “I’m betting we’ve got an oil drum in your size. If not, I’ll just have to break some of your bones to get you in.” He grinned and followed Earle and Layden out of the room. The door clicked shut and Bob heard a lock being set.

  “Okay,” he said, removing his shirt and shoes. “Put these away. They’ll be back in a minute.”

  “What?”

  He to
ssed her his pants. “Hide them.”

  She picked up his clothing and gave him a long look. “So, you’re going to die and I’m facing a fate worse than death and you want to score with me as a dying request?”

  Bob dropped his underwear at her feet. “No.”

  Carlotta stared at his crotch and Bob realized that the adrenaline had gotten to him in an unexpected way. “Those who are about to die salute you,” she said. “No wonder you’re the boss.”

  It was good she was still cracking jokes, however lame, but now was not the time. “I’m going to show you something, and I don’t want you to freak out. Okay, my dear?”

  “You’ve already showed me something, but okay.”

  Bob puddled, waited a few seconds, and reconstituted.

  “Holy shit. You’re one too.” Her mouth closed and eyes narrowed. “You never told me, even after you knew about me, you never told me.” She slapped him.

  Bob raised a cautionary finger. “My head really hurts, so don’t do that again. I was going to tell you, after we had sex the first time.”

  “Oh, that’s cute. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me something that important.” Carlotta sat down. “So where does this get us?”

  “Out, with any luck.” Bob padded over to the door and pressed his ear to it. He heard footfalls approaching at a brisk pace and ran to the far corner where there was a large, heavy rug with a Middle Eastern design. “Don’t tell them a thing, and try to keep them from stepping on me.” The door began to open. He centered the rug on the top of his head and got flat.

  The vibrations were heavy, frantic and all around him. He prayed not to get trod on, fearing one of his vital organs might be turned to paste. Bob would have held his breath, but he was doing the equivalent anyway. His flat body was incapable of respiration and the oxygen to his tissues was quickly depleting.

  After what seemed to him like the eternity of a bad comedy routine, Bob resumed his normal form. He was alone in the darkened room. He heard voices outside the door, but they were growing fainter. He had two options for escape, the door and the window. After groping his way to the door, he tested the knob, but it was still locked. Judging by the crack of light under the frame, he might be able to slide under, but it would be quite a squeeze and he might wind up in the lap of Earle’s goons. He fumbled under the couch where Carlotta had tucked his clothes and pulled them out, then moved to the window and slowly opened the blinds. It would be no problem for him to get under the bars, but that would still leave him on the outside looking in. Doubtless, they were searching the grounds for him right now, possibly with dogs, although he was relieved not to hear the sound of any barking.

  He unlatched the window, lifted it silently up a foot or so, and pushed his clothes out under the bars. Decision made. Bob thrust his arms under the bars and began to slide out. By the time he was completely flat, enough of his body extended past the windowsill that he was dragged down the wall and onto the ground. The impact didn’t bother him and Bob pulled himself together and hurriedly put on his clothes. The tiny flashlight was still in his pocket, but along with his car keys, those were his only tools.

  He circled the perimeter of the house, amazed and disgusted at the size of the place. Although only one story, Earle’s mansion had to be five or six thousand square feet of house, minimum. Most of the rooms were dark and he quickly passed them by. He came to a well-lit corridor that was, for the moment anyway, deserted. The window was unlocked and unbarred. Taking a deep breath, he opened the window and went in. There was a door on either side of the hallway, but Bob decided to move further into the interior of the house, maybe catch the sound of voices and overhear something about Carlotta. More likely, he’d get caught or shot, but he wasn’t going to run for it. He wouldn’t ever be able to live with that. About 20 feet in was a large living area, lit by a single lamp. The ceiling arched upward from all sides to an oval skylight.

  He heard a noise behind him, then to his left was a sound better than anything he could have expected, laughter, rising into hysteria and nearly convulsive choking. Bob ran to where he heard the noise and opened the door, ready to get flat if he had to.

  Carlotta was kneeling on the floor, chewing at the duct tape on her wrists. She looked up at him, clearly surprised. “Close the door, and get me out of this.”

  Layden was curled up drooling on the floor, his eyes red, his barrel chest heaving. Bob rolled him over and put a knee into the man’s back. He reached behind and fumbled to get the Layden’s shoelaces off, contorting himself uncomfortably to do so, then used them to bind his captive’s hands behind him.

  “Me now.” Carlotta held out her hands. Bob used the edge of one of his keys to saw through the tape. It was tough work and took the better part of a minute.

  He got up and closed the door. “Why didn’t they gag you?”

  “Well, they did.” She indicated a rubber ball and a handkerchief on the floor.

  Bob wrinkled his brow. “How did you get him to take it off?”

  “You don’t want to know.” She pulled the remains of the tape off her wrists and snatched up the red ball, then pushed it firmly in the bound man’s mouth.

  Bob picked the silk handkerchief up off the floor and tossed it to Carlotta. “Of that, I’m sure. Tie this around his mouth, just to make sure he doesn’t start yelling.” He moved to her side and checked the man’s pockets, retrieving a revolver from his inside coat pocket. “Come to daddy,” he said, recognizing it as his own weapon. He took a deep breath and stood, and helped Carlotta to her feet.

  “Time to get out of here,” she said. “Let me go first, just in case someone’s waiting.”

  “What’s the point of that?” Bob asked, but she was already out the door.

  “Don’t move, bitch.” Mueller’s voice was clear, steady, and close. “If you so much as open your mouth, I’ll put a bullet in it.”

  Bob pulled out his gun and readied it, then stepped into the hall. His large nemesis had drawn down on Carlotta, but shifted his weapon’s aim to Bob when he saw him. Mueller was standing on the far side of a couch in the living area. Bob’s finger tightened on the trigger. He wondered if he could squeeze off a round and get flat before the return shot nailed him. “Drop it,” Bob said, knowing it was overly optimistic.

  “No chance. I’m better at this than you.” Mueller lowered his head a bit so that he could sight down the gun’s barrel.

  “Don’t bet the farm,” Carlotta said.

  Mueller snarled. “One more word and you’re dead, lady. End of story.”

  Darkness swallowed them as the lights went out. Bob dragged Carlotta to the floor. “I don’t fucking believe it,” he said. “Not again.”

  “What now?” Carlotta whispered.

  Bob pondered for a moment and thought he caught a glint of something in the darkness. He kept his voice low. “Start telling a joke and follow my lead. Stay behind something or keep moving so you don’t get shot.”

  “If I can’t see him, I can’t make him laugh,” Carlotta said.

  “Just do it.”

  “What do you call a hundred lawyers at the bottom of the ocean?” Carlotta’s voice didn’t sound strong, but that might be because she was behind something. Bob started laughing.

  “A good start.”

  Bob increased the pitch and tenor of his laughter, moving in the general direction of the glint he had seen.

  “Layden, is that you?”

  Bob could hear the confusion in Mueller’s voice, which was exactly what he was hoping for. He intentionally gave his laughter a raspy, desperate quality.

  “Why did the chicken cross the road?”

  There was a shot in Carlotta’s general direction. Bob popped off two rounds of his own, but the muzzle flash from Mueller’s gun put stars in his eyes and spoiled his aim. One of the slugs hit something breakable, a lamp maybe, and Mueller started screaming. “My eye. Get over here, Layden. I’m hit in the eye.”

  Bob reached out and caught Mueller
’s wrist, steadied it, and before the man knew who he was dealing with, Bob swung and nailed him on the temple with his revolver. “Lights out. Are you okay?” he asked loudly of Carlotta.

  Before she could answer the skylight shattered and something fell through. It looked to Bob like it might be a person, but in the semi-darkness he couldn’t be sure. Someone groaned and Bob heard glass crunching. He pulled out the flashlight, but didn’t turn it on. It would make him an easy target.

  “A monster,” came a nearly hysterical voice. Bob recognized it as Earle’s. “Someone save me.”

  “Monster?” Bob didn’t need another problem at this point.

  “That would be me,” came a voice from above. A winged shape dropped down through the shattered skylight into a crouching position. “Fie-fi-fo-fum. I smell a good looking woman, yummm.”

  “Croyd,” Carlotta said, like his name was the answer to a prayer.

  “A couple of minutes ago would have been timelier.” Bob was happy to hear the sound of Croyd’s voice just the same.

  “Complaining about my timing will cost you extra,” Croyd said, folding his wings against his scaly back.

  Earle was whimpering on the floor, but pulled himself together sufficiently to start crawling away. Unfortunately it was in the direction of Bob, who trained the beam of his flashlight on Earle’s tear-stained face.

  “Stop right there, Mr. Earle,” Bob said. “Or we’ll feed you to our demon.”

  “Your demon?” Croyd snorted and fluttered across the room to where Bob, Carlotta, and Earle were faced off. “I am mighty hungry, though.”

  “No.” Earle covered his eyes with his fists. “It’s not fair.”

  Croyd picked up Carlotta in his massive arms and sniffed delicately behind her ears. “If there’s one thing that gets me hot, it’s a woman who actually does what she’s told.” He turned to Bob. “Can you handle him for a minute?” He jerked his head at Earle.

  “No problem, but where are you . . .” Croyd shot up through the hole in the roof with Carlotta. “. . . going?” Bob trailed off.