Fatal Deduction

by Gayle Roper

  “I’m lying right beside you,” he said softly.

  I heard movement and felt the floor vibrate. Our captors? I gasped, tensed, and looked toward the front of the van. I felt more vulnerable than I ever imagined because I couldn’t do anything to protect myself.

  “Easy. It’s just me,” Drew said on a thread of sound. He came up behind me until his body fit against mine, my back to his chest, my bent knees cupping his bent knees.

  I turned my head toward him as much as I could. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m fine.” I felt his breath against my neck.

  “When you screamed…” I bit my lower lip. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared, except maybe now.”

  “We got tasered, I think. I can’t imagine what else it could be.”

  I let my head fall back to the floor and felt him place his forehead against the back of my head. Being curled against him somehow made me feel safer, which was ridiculous since we were both completely at the mercy of our captors.

  I could hear the tires singing on the road. “Where are they taking us?” It was a rhetorical question because I knew Drew had no more idea than I.

  I heard a sliding noise, like a window shushing on a track.

  “They’re awake.” A deep voice came from somewhere beyond my head.

  “Check them.” I recognized the voice of the man who had asked me directions to Myrtle Street. Who was he? And where were we being taken?

  I held my breath, waiting to see what happened. What if “check them” meant zap us again? Oh, Lord, please, no!

  “We’d rather not shoot you again,” the man called. “And we’d rather not gag you. But we’ll slap a piece of duct tape on you so fast you won’t know what hit you if either of you makes any noise at all. Understand?”

  When we didn’t respond, he repeated in a grim voice, “Understand?”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  “Yes,” Drew said.

  With a grunt of approval he slapped the window shut, leaving us in our darkness.

  “How are your arms?” Drew asked.

  “They hurt. At least the shoulders do. This is such an unnatural position.”

  “Tell me about it. Are your arms long enough that you can scrunch your bottom and then your legs through your bound hands?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s worth a try.” Anything was better than yielding to the fear and helplessness that nibbled at the edges of my mind. I kept thinking that maybe ducks weren’t going to be the end of me, but terror.

  He rolled away from me, and I felt very alone without the physical contact.

  “Are you still here?” I asked.

  There was a rueful little laugh. “Now where would I go?”

  “Right.” I turned onto my stomach and stuck my rear in the air. My hands lay in the small of my back. I pulled my knees up as close to my chest as I could get them. I bowed my back like an angry cat and pushed until I thought my shoulders would pop from their sockets. It occurred to me that if the driver and his henchman looked back, they could see us trying to get free.

  But trying was the operative word. I could not get my arms to stretch as I wanted. I took a long, sobbing breath as I felt despair rearing its head.

  The vehicle swerved abruptly to the right, sending me tumbling from my three-point stance of head and knees. I slammed against the side of the van and couldn’t prevent yelping in pain.

  The window slapped open.

  “They okay, Bud?” asked the driver as the van slowed and stopped.

  “You okay?” the second man called. Bud?

  “Fine,” I managed. “Just rolled a bit when the van swerved.”

  “Fine here too,” Drew said.

  “Well, hang on. We’re turning again.” He didn’t close the window this time, though his voice became muted as he turned to face front.

  We made several turns, and I imagined city streets as I struggled to sit up. Finally I was able to lean my back against the side of the truck, a more secure position but a very uncomfortable one with my hands behind me. I rested my forehead on my knees and tried to block the pain in my shoulders.

  “How are you doing?” I whispered.

  “Not so good,” Drew whispered from the other side of the van. I looked up and saw him leaning against that side much as I was doing on my side.

  “Hey, there’s a limo behind us,” the driver said. “See it in the side mirror?”

  “You think it’s following us?”

  “Why else would a limo be in this part of town?”

  Carl? The idea exploded like a bright star in my blackness.

  Chloe bit her nails as the van sped off the bridge and Carl followed, zigzagging through the narrow streets of inner-city Camden. All the gory things she’d seen on CSI played through her mind, making her feel sick. What if one or more of them was happening to her mother?

  Or 24. She’d seen what guys did to you when they tortured you for information. What happened if you were tortured and you didn’t have anything you could tell when it got really bad?

  Oh, Lord, take care of Mom. Keep her safe and I’ll never give her any grief ever again. I promise!

  The van screeched to a stop at the red light. Carl hit the brakes and stopped a half block back.

  “Quick,” Mr. Mowery ordered. “Put your blinkers on, like you plan to stay here.” He poked Chloe. “And you. Stand up in the sunroof and wave at the house, like you know the people.”

  “What?” Chloe was too surprised to move.

  “And you.” Mr. Mowery’s friend pointed at Jenna. “You too. Hurry! When they look back, they’ll see you. You’ll look innocent.”

  “We’re on—” Mrs. Mowery said into her phone, still talking to 911 as she squinted down the street, trying to read the street sign. “What street is that, Carl? Dispatch needs to know.”

  As Chloe stood and thrust herself through the open sunroof, she heard the rumble of Carl’s voice as he read off the street name and the treble of Mrs. Mowery’s as she relayed the information.

  Please send help! Please!

  She blinked as she and Jenna found themselves the object of intense interest to a pair of gigantic Great Danes, one fawn, one brindle. They sat on their haunches in the weedy front yard of what had once been a row home. All its neighbors had been demolished, and it now sat alone like a skinny, destitute old lady, its flaking paint like mottled skin and its dirty windows like blank eyes, the weeds and brambles pressing in on her like the valley of the shadow. All her across-the-street neighbors were boarded up and wore Condemned signs.

  Chloe shivered. Who would ever choose to live here? Or didn’t the people have a choice because there was nowhere else to go?

  “They’re bigger than their house,” Jenna whispered as she waved at the animals.

  “Hi, guys,” Chloe called, feeling like an idiot.

  The dogs immediately stood and began to bark, pausing every so often to insert deep throaty growls. They approached the limo with an intense interest that made Chloe glad she was inside and they out. One raised up on its hind legs and ended up almost nose to nose with her. She gave a yelp and leaned as far from the animal and its hot breath as she could. This monster would eat Princess for lunch and want more.

  She felt a tug on her shorts and glanced down for a second. She was afraid to ignore the dog any longer for fear it’d get her.

  “You can come down now. The van turned,” Mrs. Mowery said.

  Chloe dropped to her seat with relief, Jenna beside her.

  Carl swore. “Move, you stupid mutts!”

  Chloe stared out the front window and there sat the two Danes, long forelegs almost touching the front bumper.

  Carl blew the horn and swore some more. The dogs showed their teeth.

  Mr. Melchior—Mr. Mowery’s friend had introduced himself to Aunt Tori as they crossed the bridge—opened his door and stuck a foot out. One of the Danes immediately stood and walked to the side of the limo, growling as it
came. Mr. Melchior quickly pulled his foot in.

  A man wearing a muscle shirt stretched taut over his bulging belly appeared in the door of the house, beer can in hand. He pushed open the door and strode out. “What you scarin’ my dogs for?”

  Chloe popped up through the sunroof again. “We’re not scaring them. They’re scaring us.”

  “Right. They look so scary.” He gestured to his pets with his beer can.

  The dog still in front of the car was now lying down, tongue lolling. The other, the brindle, sat beside Mr. Melchior’s door, staring in at him. A piece of drool hung from its mouth.

  “Could you call them?” Chloe asked. “We need to get going.”

  “Whatcha doin’ here anyway? This is hardly limo territory.”

  “We just pulled over for a minute. Now we need to leave.” Chloe felt desperate. Mom was getting farther and farther away while this dumb man quibbled about why they were on a public road. “Please call them.”

  “Baby,” the man called, and the brindle staring at Mr. Melchior turned her massive head. “Come here, girl.”

  Baby stood and immediately ambled across the weedy yard to her master. He opened the screen door, and Baby lumbered up the steps and inside, where she turned and stared out at them.

  “Now the other one,” Chloe called. “Please!” Even with her messed-up emotions, she knew the man had called Baby first because Baby wasn’t keeping them here. It was the monster still lying right in front of the limo who was the problem.

  “Snooks,” the man called.

  The Dane lumbered to his feet, ears pricked.

  “The nice people want to go, Snooks. What do you think?”

  Snooks sat.

  “No! Oh please, mister!” Chloe tried not to cry. “Go, Snooks!” She pointed to the man.

  Mr. Mowery thrust a limo door open and stepped out. Chloe gasped when she saw he had a gun in his hand.

  “Who shall I shoot first?” Mr. Mowery asked as if he were questioning whether it was going to rain tomorrow or not. “Snooks or his master?”

  “Both,” she heard Mrs. Mowery call.

  “Snooks, come here!” The man opened his door and stepped quickly inside, all the while eying Mr. Mowery. Snooks took his time, but he got to his feet and stepped into the sad-looking yard.

  “Thank you.” Mr. Mowery saluted the man with the gun. He climbed back in the limo.

  Carl hit the gas, and Chloe slid down onto the seat.

  “You’ve got a gun!” She stared at Mr. Mowery. Bald old guys didn’t carry guns! James Bond carried a gun. Maybe Harrison Ford. Definitely Bruce Willis, who came from New Jersey, not too far from where they were. Of course, no place in New Jersey was too far from any other place in New Jersey.

  But Mr. Mowery with a gun?

  “It’s mine.” Mrs. Mowery held out her hand for it. Mr. Mowery passed it to her, grip first. She put it in her purse. “Crime, you know.” She patted her purse. “My arsenal.”

  How many other little old ladies had she been underestimating? Did Great-Nan have a gun? That was a scary thought, given her grumpy disposition.

  “Where are the cops?” Jenna seemed upset as she stared out the back window.

  “We’re turning left at the light,” Mrs. Mowery told the dispatcher. She listened for a minute. “Well, tell them to hurry. No sirens. No lights. And yes, I’ll keep the phone line open.”

  She looked at everyone. “Big hostage situation at a bank over on Admiral Wilson Boulevard. Everyone’s busy. They’ll get someone here ASAP.”

  Heart pounding, Chloe searched the road ahead.

  The white panel van had disappeared.

  21

  I FELT THE VAN SLOW to a stop and idle. A red light?

  “The limo pulled over back there,” the driver said. “Its blinkers are on. Some kids are standing and waving at the house.”

  “Who in this neighborhood can afford a limo?”

  “Who cares?”

  My bright star of hope faded and died. No one was coming after us. No one even knew we were missing. When the girls got hungry for dinner, they might start to wonder where we were, but that was it. Tori was undoubtedly long gone, back to Atlantic City and the SeaSide, and it was a certainty that Ruthie wouldn’t do anything. Drew and I were on our own.

  The van swung left, and I braced myself against its side. When it straightened, I crawled across the van to Drew and sat beside him, my shoulder against his.

  “What if we don’t get away?” I said, careful not to look at him as I spoke this terrible thought. “What if we become one of those statistics, the ‘disappeared without a trace’ kind? What if Chloe has to go live with Mom and Nan—or worse yet, Tori—and Jenna has to go live with Ruthie?”

  “Not very good thoughts,” he agreed.

  “Terrible thoughts! Awful thoughts!”

  I could feel him staring down at me. “Are you always so cheery?” But his voice was tender rather than critical.

  “I’m a pessimist, if you must know.” I said it as if I were confessing to being an ax murderer.

  “I’d say that, given your family and your life circumstances, you are one amazing and accomplished woman.”

  I felt myself go hot and become self-conscious. I tried for levity. “That’s because I’ve been trying to impress you.”

  “Have you now?”

  I looked up, hearing laughter in his voice. “Is it working?” I sounded breathless.

  In answer he leaned down and kissed me, a sweet, gentle kiss of such promise that my eyes teared.

  He rested his forehead against mine. “If we don’t get out of this mess, aside from my fears for Jenna, I will most regret not having had time to get to know you.”

  The van turned once again, and I heard gravel under the wheels. We slowed, stopped, and this time the motor died. We had reached our destination, whatever it was.

  Panic gripped me, and my pulse began to pound. I looked at Drew and saw the same anxiety mirrored in his eyes.

  “What do we do?” I whispered.

  “We wait and see what happens next.”

  “Aren’t you scared?” He’d better be scared! I didn’t want to be worried alone.

  “I’m definitely scared. I have no experience with situations like this. I’m an academic, not a Special Forces guy. We do battle over publication and tenure, hardly life and death except in the career sense. Yeah, I’m definitely scared.”

  Somehow that admission eased my own panic. I think it was because he spoke in a firm voice. Scared but not overwhelmed. I could manage that too. Couldn’t I, Lord?

  The kidnappers climbed out of the van, and their feet scrunched in the gravel as they walked to the back of the vehicle. The latch was freed and the doors swung open.

  One of the men reached in, grabbed my arm, and pulled me none-too-gently out.

  I had a hard time standing with my ankles bound, and with a snort of disgust, the one called Bud bent and sliced through the duct tape around my ankles with a knife that was a lot like the one my father used to filet fish. Then he cut the tape that bound Drew’s feet.

  “Where are we?” I asked.

  “You don’t need to know.”

  While the driver pulled the tape from my legs, I glanced around. We were in a parking lot of a large cinder-block building, clearly an old warehouse. It might once have been painted beige, but it was now a tired, dirty gray. All the windows on the first level were boarded shut, and those on the second level were black with grime. In the front wall of the building was a large roll-up garage door next to a much-dinged, steel, conventionally sized green door.

  Bud stood, making a ball of the tape he’d pulled from Drew. He pointed to the green door. “Inside.”

  I looked with yearning at the street mere feet away, but no one was there, no one to call to, no one to scream my head off to. In fact, I wondered if the buildings I could see were even occupied. They were decrepit, signs faded to near nothing, windows blank, black rectangles.

&n
bsp; But I didn’t want to go inside the gray building. Inside was danger and less likelihood of rescue. Inside was the unknown. I prepared to dig in my heels, to tell them I wasn’t going, when the driver aimed his Taser at me, intent all too evident.

  I glanced at Drew. His eyes were fixed on the gun aimed at me. He’d do whatever they asked rather than get me shot. I appreciated the thought immensely, but I’d rather he rushed the guy. Of course, then he might get shot, and I wouldn’t want that.

  “Don’t they only fire once?” I nodded at the gun, trying to sound like a strong person, not one with knees turned to mush at the thought of either Drew or me being zapped again.

  “New cartridge.” He smirked at me. “Inside.”

  We entered a large, open garage area, gloomy because of the covered windows. Overhead fluorescent lights cast a pale illumination, creating shadows and making us all a sallow yellow. Three trucks were parked in service bays, all large trash trucks bearing different logos on their sides.

  They’re going to kill us!

  They had to. They were letting us see too many identifying things, including their faces.

  “Just do as you’re told, and no one gets hurt,” Bud said.

  I glanced at Drew, and he looked as skeptical as I felt.

  An inner door opened, and a woman walked in. She stopped short when she saw us. Rather, when she saw Drew.

  “Who’s he? What’s he doing here?” she demanded.

  “He was with her, boss. We couldn’t bring her without him,” Bud explained.

  “You didn’t hurt them?” She grinned. “That’s my job.”

  “Nah. We took good care of them.”

  Sure, if you call tasering someone and then tying her up taking care.

  The woman walked up to me with a brilliant smile. I blinked. She was happy to see me? I couldn’t say the same under the consequences.

  “Hey, Tori! How’s my heroine?” She held up a hand for a high-five and saw my taped wrists. “Oops.”