by Ray Backley
Chapter 21
Vinnie killed his speed as he approached the Toledo Motel. He’d enjoyed driving Dan’s Ford SUV; it was so much smoother, faster, and better handling than his old clunker – the white Toyota sedan he’d left just outside the motel when he’d followed Dan. He would be sorry to say goodbye to the SUV, but this was business.
The plan was for him to go get what he wanted and then swap cars, leaving the place in the Toyota. It was better that way because the Ford was probably flagged as stolen and the Toyota definitely wasn’t. That might or might not change soon, but it hardly mattered. He would get both little Benjie and his own car back.
He pulled up at the side of the road a few yards behind his car, positioning himself so that between bushes he could spy the front door of room 6. He figured it best to watch for a while because the bitch might have worked out what had happened – perhaps she’d seen Dan drive away – and might even have set up some kind of welcome party for her old friend Vinnie.
Twenty minutes later he’d seen nothing of note, so got out of the car, straightened the jacket of his navy-blue Fed-Ex lookalike uniform, and pulled the matching baseball cap down low so as to hide as much of his face as possible. The parcel he took from the trunk was small, but it would do the job.
A short walk later he entered the reception building of the motel and was pleased to find he was alone. He rung the bell on the counter and waited, all the time staring through the window in the direction of room 6.
“Can I help you?” the old guy said as he shuffled in from out back.
Vinnie knew to limit himself to as few words as possible. “Delivery. Guest of yours.” He placed the package on the counter. The label simply said: “Room 6, Toledo Motel, Los Angeles” because she might have registered under a different name. But to counter that – to help with the realism – he’d used a printer to produce the label, smudged the print, and kicked the box about a couple of times.
The guy checked the register on his screen. “Yeah. Got it. Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Room 6. I’ll just give them a call.”
Smith? Really? Vinnie imagined saying to her. Oh, come on, surely you’ve got more imagination than that.
“They won’t be long,” the man said as he reached for the phone.
“We’re good,” Vinnie said, heading for the door.
“You don’t need anyone to sign for it?”
Vinnie shook his head.
“You sure?”
It took a lot of effort to suppress the urge to give the guy a mouthful of abuse, but Vinnie let it go and grabbed the door handle.
“Where’s your truck?” the guy then said to the back of Vinnie’s neck.
Vinnie looked around to see the old bastard peering at him.
Why did he have to be such a smartass?
“Around the corner,” Vinnie replied on his way out.
He just about heard the guy shout out, “Thanks and good day,” before the door swung shut. He was happy to ignore it; he didn’t need the thanks and knew it was going to be a good day.
He retreated fifty yards or so to get under the cover of a tree near room 6, glancing back as he walked, imagining the guy calling Cath. He would tell her she had a package to collect, she would ask what it was, the old codger would say how the hell would he know, and she would agree to go collect it.
From where he now stood, he had a clear view of the door of room 6. He waited, counting, sure the door would open . . . now. Or . . . now. No, well, how about . . . now.
“Open, goddammit!” he hissed – a little louder than he intended.
He primed himself to race over on her blind side, lever the door open, pick up little Benjie, and be in the car a hundred yards away before she realized her precious little son had been taken. The delivery was, of course, a decoy, but the gift inside the box was a joke between old friends.
Just as he was tiring of thoughts of their friendship, the door opened.
She was wearing a long red coat with a hood that flapped around, but it was definitely Cath, definitely Karen – that would always be her name as far as Vinnie was concerned – and exactly as planned she locked the door behind her, tried the handle a couple of times to check it was locked, then turned and headed for the reception building.
And then something happened that Vinnie didn’t expect.
Was that a discreet nod? Did she very slightly raise her hand as if expressing some kind of greeting to someone?
He followed the trajectory of her nod and his eyes met a dark blue car parked so that the two occupants were facing the door to room 6.
It made him laugh. Cops. He had to hand it to the bitch. She seemed to have the situation under control, contingency in place, safety first. He hadn’t thought of that.
But now he could.
She had over a hundred yards to walk to the reception block. He figured that gave him four minutes to get in and out. Number 6 was an end room, with a path leading behind. Perfect.
A brisk walk to the path, turning into a run once he was out of sight of the cops. Lifting the window frame out with his crowbar was a cinch – probably easier than breaking into the door would have been. Low rent rarely came with good security.
A look behind and then around him. Nobody. An awkward clamber over splintered wood and bare brickwork that would have hurt had his adrenaline not been pumping, and he was in the bathroom.
He listened for a few seconds. Only a few. The boy was quiet. Probably asleep. Perfect.
He had three minutes or so left before Cath returned, perhaps a little more if there was any chit chat going on between her and the old codger at reception. He wasted another few seconds checking out her make-up remover, moisturizer, and deodorant all cluttered around the sink – he was sure she never needed that crap back in the day – before moving through the open door and into the main room.
He scanned the scene. On one side, against the wall, two double beds were separated by a night table. On the other side he saw a small desk and a large closet. Next to him was a sink, refrigerator, and microwave oven.
That was about it.
On the night table he saw her door key. Strange. He could have sworn he’d seen her lock the door when she went to reception.
Both beds were neatly made. There was nowhere else the boy could be. Could she have left him with a relative? No, of course not; she didn’t have any relatives. Unless she’d left him with Dan’s relatives. Or with the cops. Would she really do that to her four-year-old son – separate him from his mommy?
He opened the closet. Clothes were piled up high – men’s, women’s and a lot clearly belonging to a little boy. He looked over to the door. Little shoes.
Again, strange. Where the hell was the boy? Had she been carrying him when she’d left to go to reception? No. Couldn’t have been. The boy was four; hardly a fetus.
There wasn’t much more time. He dropped to his knees and looked under the bed. A suitcase and a plastic shopping bag. He pulled the bag out. It contained a small lump hammer, a craft knife, and a hand saw. He examined them. Close up. All brand new. Almost. A patina of virginity in certain areas, yet they had definitely been used.
Even stranger. Why the hell would she need tools in a motel room? What had she used them for?
But a hell of a lot was strange around here. It wasn’t at all how he’d imagined it. And the key on the night table was still bugging him. He stood up and looked at it again. Stepped over to it. Looked closer. Started to figure things out.
Then he heard the voice:
“Mommy?”
And now it was as clear as mountain spring water.
It was just like her. Karen, Cath, Mrs. Smith, whatever the hell she called herself now. It was just like her. The devious bitch.
Chapter 22
Cath had just collected the package and was on her way back to room 6. It could have been from the police, and she prayed to God it was, because in her worst thoughts she imagined that Vinnie had beaten the details of her location out
of Dan and it was from him.
It was no good. She couldn’t even wait until she was back in the room. She had to know right now. Benjie was safe – impossible to find even if Vinnie had traced her to here, so she stopped walking and ripped the brown paper off, letting it fall and drift in the breeze. She held a small, square, cardboard box. Quite a nice one, of presentation style and good quality, pink with a hinged lid. She lifted the lid and saw inside it . . .
A large multicolored candy lollipop.
She dropped it all and ran.
Running and getting her key out at the same time was difficult, but somehow she’d done it without really thinking. Getting her wildly shaking fingers to shove the damn thing into the lock hole was harder. At first she twisted it the wrong way, cursed at her stupidity, then turned it back the right way but tried the handle before the lock was fully disengaged. She twisted it so hard and fast it hurt her wrist, and still the door didn’t open. Then she heard a cry. From Benjie.
A second later she was inside.
She stopped for another second to survey the room. The key with the big 5 fob on it wasn’t on the night table anymore. Shit! She should have taken that with her. The clothes that were in the closet were now strewn all over the floor, revealing the large hole she’d created in the wall behind the closet. It was hardly a wall; she’d had more difficulty breaking into some cornflake boxes.
She heard Benjie crying again.
She cursed half a dozen times. Somehow the bastard had found her. Yes, he must have beaten the address out of Dan.
She dropped to her knees and shuffled through the hole that led to the next room, ignoring the debris scratching against her shoulders.
In room 5 she turned her head toward the entrance – the front door barricaded in the vain hope it would keep Benjie safe. But now the screams were coming from the bathroom.
She sprang onto her feet and ran.
But the bathroom was empty, she’d missed them by seconds. Vinnie had left the window open, so she could see him in the distance – no, see them in the distance. Vinnie – holding a wriggling, screaming Benjie under his arm – was galloping along, slaloming between the trees on the grassy bank between the motel and the side road.
She hurled herself through the open window and landed on concrete, hitting her head and grazing her hands. She got to her feet and gave chase. That turned out to be worse because of what she saw: Vinnie bundling Benjie into the trunk of the car – Dan’s red Ford SUV – and jumping into the driver’s seat. She sprinted over, but only got close enough to get a lungful of tailpipe fumes and burnt rubber. She chased the car for a few yards before reality hit home. Even if he were to stop at the first red light, she still wouldn’t catch him.
But the lookout cops were just around the corner. Vinnie took a right; that meant he would be passing the cop car around now. She started running again. Direct line to the cop car. As she reached it, she could still just about see the tail end of Dan’s car. He was braking as if to take another right.
A rap on the window. A few garbled words: “That’s him. He has Benjie. That car. It’s my husband’s car. There!”
She was in the back seat and they were off. Siren. Blue and red flashing lights. Desperate looks and shouts. And yes, Vinnie took a right, no blinker. Passenger cop asked Cath what the license plate was and called in to report it – requested all patrol cars to keep a lookout and give chase if they saw it. But they might not need that; they now had the car in their sights – or would have as soon as they hooked a right.
They turned, and for a moment they couldn’t see it. Then Cath pointed ahead, screamed. Vinnie was taking another right. They hit the gas again, swerving to avoid a pedestrian, and took a right to follow. But when they straightened up, they saw nothing. Another burst of gas took them up to the next junction – the site of a McDonalds. They slowed up, all three of them peering ahead and then to the sides.
“Let’s try a left,” driver cop said. “Can’t see why he’d go back to the Toledo.”
“Yeah,” passenger cop said. “He’ll be headed out of town for sure.”
A few hundred yards later they hadn’t seen him. Driver cop glanced to passenger cop, shrugged, turned the car around and headed back to the McDonalds.
“Let’s try a left here,” driver cop said when they reached the junction. That would have equated to Vinnie going straight on. Again, Cath could see the logic – this was another way to the freeway – so she said nothing.
They drove on for half a mile, screeching to a halt at each junction and peering desperately down the side streets.
They slowed and turned the siren off. “I’m real sorry, Mrs. Brewer,” driver cop said. “Looks like we’ve lost him.”
“Get on the freeway,” passenger cop said. “Just humor me. The guy’s going somewhere. He can only be going north, south or east from here. Just pick one.
Driver cop chose north.
He didn’t make it to the freeway. They got a call on the radio well before then.
“Vehicle found and verified. Stationary and unattended. Member of public reported as suspicious.”
“Suspicious? Suspicious how?”
“Trunk and passenger door open, engine still running.”
Passenger cop asked him to read out the license plate for confirmation. He did. Cath nodded.
“That’s the one,” passenger cop said to the radio. “Where is it?”
“Outside the Toledo Motel.”
“Toledo? Did you say Toledo?”
“Yeah. Want me to tell you where that is?”
Passenger cop brought the radio to his mouth, paused, clearly unsure what to say. He settled for, “We know the place. We’re on our way.”
When they reached it, they all got out and took a long and puzzled look around Dan’s red Ford SUV. As reported, the trunk was already open. And empty.
The cops looked up and down the street, crossing to the other sidewalk for a better view, almost getting thumped by a motorcycle. Then they returned to the car and started talking as if Cath weren’t there. They didn’t take their eyes off the car, but talked to one another.
“Any ideas?”
“Wouldn’t have gone on foot.”
“No. Not with a kid. So?”
Cath bit her tongue, desperately trying not to explode. It had happened. The bastard had now taken them all. And these dumb cops just carried on talking as if someone had stolen a bicycle.
“Swapped cars?”
“Guess so. He must have known we got the license plate to this Ford.”
“Means he must have gotten himself collected from here. You figure he had an accomplice?”
Cath stood still, staring at the ground, every muscle in her body trembling, trying her damnedest not to take her anger out on the two cops. But they ignored her and continued talking.
“Either that or somehow he had another car here waiting for him.”
“Two cars? How would that work?”
The way it had worked brought a wry grin to Vinnie’s face as he hit the freeway north in his battered old Toyota sedan.
How had it worked? Like a dream – Vinnie’s dream, Karen’s nightmare. The previous day, just before Vinnie had dug a gun into Dan’s ribcage and forced him to drive away from the motel in the red Ford SUV, he’d parked the white Toyota around the corner.
His plan had been to take Benjie away in his own car, killing two birds. But he’d been forced to use plan B because Cath had given chase and was watching. So he’d sped off in Dan’s red Ford with Benjie in the trunk, had seen in his rear view how Cath had jumped into the cop car, and how they’d followed. He’d been pretty sure they wouldn’t catch up with him, so had gone full circle all the way around the block, finally returning to the Toledo Motel. He’d crawled along, eyes darting around to spot anything out of the ordinary. When there had been no onlookers, he’d quickly swapped Benjie into the trunk of his Toyota, then calmly driven that car away.
By now Benjie’s cries
were pretty much pouring out from the trunk, as if Vinnie had shot a young deer and the damn thing was still alive. Even above the tire roar, it was annoying. The boy was a pain in the ass – more trouble than the girl and the man combined had been.
But it didn’t matter. It was mission accomplished. Soon he would have all three of them tied up in that basement he’d prepared for them. He’d taken them one by one, just as he’d promised Cath he would. That had been a good idea from the start; taking all three at once would have been harder for him to pull off, but more importantly, the way it had worked out was harder for Karen to take. He was sure that for her it had been like someone tightening a thumbscrew a half-turn at a time. Pretty cool.
Now he was starting to think about his next step. Did he really want to torture and kill them all? Did he want to bury pussy hands alive? He didn’t really know. You could never plan to win a war, only to win each battle as it came up, so he was just content with progress so far. As for what to do with them all, he would just have to give that matter more thought.
His deliberations on the dilemma just around the corner were interrupted by another cry from the trunk.
He reached across and turned up the music.
Chapter 23
A strip light flickered at the far end of the basement. It shouldn’t have annoyed Dan, considering what else had been happening, considering how he was confined to a sitting position on a hard concrete floor, hands tied behind his back, unable to even wipe his nose. His shoulders were stiff and achy, his butt cheeks had long since gone numb, and his mouth was gritty with the dust that carpeted every surface in this godforsaken hell hole. His daughter, two yards away, had hardly stopped crying since he’d arrived, and his wife and son were in serious danger. But the worst thing of all was that he had no idea what this maniac had in store for them all.
So no, one crappy strip light shouldn’t have annoyed him. But still, a little respite from it would have been good right now. He desperately wanted just half an hour when it didn’t flicker so much, didn’t catch his eye, wasn’t laughing at how powerless he was. Dan wasn’t sure how long he’d been alone with Phoebe, perhaps two or three hours. He’d long since given up trying to wrench his hands from the plastic zip ties, and could feel the rawness on his wrists, the chill of the blood caused by his struggles.
