by Paula Cox
“You remember him. A very dear friend, very dear.” Theo is talking like he’s the only one in the room. Something’s agitating him.
“Perhaps you recall the rendezvous we made several months ago in my offices. I believe Mattias made mention of his son to you.”
“Oren.”
Theo’s eyebrows go up slightly. “That’s quite a memory you have. Particularly for someone who’s just experienced such a traumatic accident.”
“Why are you showing this to me?”
A cloud passes over Theo. His face goes rigid like it was made of plastic. Though when I look closer, I see it moving, trembling with some hidden emotion powerful enough that if left alone it’ll explode from inside out.
“We never spoke about Oren Kroll, Quinn. Frankly, we’d hoped the threat he’d once posed to our partnership had expired years before. And yet the events of last night have proven us wrong. Oren is a much more dangerous man than we’d ever feared or imagined. Spurred on by a hatred and insanity so fierce he’s murdered the very father who was doing all in his power to help.”
“Mattias? Murdered by his son?”
“Murdered, yes. About seven o’clock last night Mattias was seized by several of his own men—relatively new employments in his service—and driven far from town. I’ve had several of my own men at my late friend’s address who were given instructions to follow and keep their attention on any strange or unexpected proceedings. At eight o’clock they found themselves in a parking lot outside some abandoned buildings where they were instructed to wait and report on the situation. An hour passed before Mattias’s assailants, Oren among them, emerged from the building and drove away. My men entered the building a short time later. They found him. What—what remained of him. His body was burnt thoroughly. At the back of his head, they found the entrance wounds of two bullet holes.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Several hours after that, a video surfaced, confirming what we already knew. Whether it was a revenge killing or simply the results of a long-held and ignored insanity, we don’t know. And frankly, I don’t care. Oren Kroll killed his father in cold blood and then, if my instinct is right, drove here to kidnap my daughter.”
“But why do you say those two things like they’re related?” I hand back the phone. “I don’t know if it’s the same person. They’re both thin. Other than that I don’t know anything.”
“And yet I’d comb this whole city looking for her with less information than you’ve given me. As to what you first told me, that’s simple. They are related. Seven years ago, Oren and my daughter began a relationship I thought was only an expression of those foolish emotions young people mistake for infatuation, or maybe even love. My daughter recovered after some time, and their early relationship was brought to a close—much against Oren’s wishes. Then, earlier this week, Mattias proposed to my daughter. I won’t try to disguise the fact that I’d encouraged him. I have the highest love and regard for my daughter, but she is naïve and quite stupid in regards to the real nature of the world. It had been my hope Mattias might develop the maturity I’d failed her in. She didn’t accept, and we had our falling out shortly after.”
“You make it sound like this was a surprise.”
“It was a surprise and a very grievous one. Our families were to experience peace, cooperation, partnership. The things people in our profession can seldom dream of, let alone attain. And for her part, she was to be provided for by a man of good standing, of sound reason, charm, and firm judgment. You think I sound like a nineteenth-century matchmaker, but this isn’t the truth. Mattias would have loved my daughter and done much more for her than any young man. And she would have loved him if she’d only seen what he might have offered her.”
“You never asked her what she felt.”
“It was irrelevant what she felt. No more than temporary flashes of emotion, totally without consideration or substance. She would have said the most terrible things about him and would have flung herself on the ground and thrown a tantrum like a spoilt brat. She would have convinced herself she despised me even more than she already did, and then she would have worked her emotions into a weapon to jab into my side, and Mattias’s whenever she felt she needed to drive us away. She would have succeeded in alienating herself completely from what she ought to be embracing. This is what would have come from her emotions. Expression, but with no thought to the reason behind her decision.”
“But you never asked her.”
Theo runs a hand over his face, clearly exhausted and clearly not in the mood to explain himself again. That’s fine—I don’t want him too.
“Maya’s always made it clear to me how she’s felt about you,” I say, thinking over my words carefully. Theo may look like a broken old guy, but he’s killed dozens. If he thought for a moment I wasn’t on his side, he’d have no problem adding me to his list of the permanently disappeared. “I’ve heard lots about you in the past few months. But she never told me she hated you.”
“She’d never say it,” he interrupts.
“She wouldn’t ever say it because she doesn’t think it. She despises you sometimes. You and your work. She feels caged in by you: she thinks you suffocate her. But the truth is, I don’t think your daughter is capable of hating anyone. Not even Oren.”
What makes me say this I don’t know. I haven’t forgotten about her ultimatum, but the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that was only her anger speaking for her. If she’d have seen what Theo saw: a man executed by his own son in cold blood, there’s no way she could be serious about me killing Theo. I trust this. Even if I have no evidence for it, I trust it.
“She talked about getting away from you as long as I’ve known her, but she’s never done it. Not because she’s a coward. I’ve ever met anyone braver in my life than your daughter. She didn’t know how to leave you, but that’s because secretly, she didn’t want to. Not completely. Your daughter isn’t ungrateful to you, Mr. Butler. She doesn’t think you’re a monster. It’s your job she hates. That’s what she’s tried to get away from. Not you. What you are.”
I’ve never talked like this to anyone, about anyone, ever. I don’t know where any of it came from, or even if someone had said all of this to me before I said it, whether I’d believe it or not. But talking here in front of Theo, the ice melting out of my body, I start realizing things I’d never given any thought to before. Things like how much I pity Theo Butler and Mattias Kroll for having been who they’ve been, and how sorry I am for Maya and what she’s had to endure by the men in her life that she hasn’t been able to save. God—if only I could see her again. If only there was some way to track her down. Some clue left behind. Anything.
“No one’s ever talked to me like you’ve talked to me now, Quinn. Do you know why?”
“I don’t think it’s important.”
“It’s not important. It’s because of fear. I’ve had to be feared. Fear is my armor, and I’ve worn my armor for so long it’s become attached to my very skin. But now you’ve proven something to me.”
“What?”
“My armor has broken. When daughters run from their homes, and sons execute their fathers, and men speak to me as you just have, I can no longer even pretend to be my former stature. And so long as I am not feared, I cannot continue my work. I’m finished. My retirement and my penance await.”
He smooths out his pants and rises. But what the hell is this? Is he just going to walk out? Is he giving up just like that?
“No—you can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
Can’t what? Give up the work like Maya’s always wanted? Admit he’s been wrong—let her have the freedom she’s wanted since day one when we drove out to Sunrise Apartments? Admit his guilt? Ask her forgiveness?
“What do you propose? With no leads and no clues, and when my daughter’s kidnappers have a lead of so many hours before us?”
“There has to be a way. People always leave clues. There has to b
e—” I stop. “You said your guards tailed Oren and his men after Mattias had been captured?”
“Yes.”
“Do they remember the car they were tagging?”
“Black BMW. I don’t know the plates. Why?”
I’m out of breath suddenly, like someone’s just punched me in the gut. The hotel. The kinky sex shop. Sunrise Apartments on our first day together. My God.
“There are thousands in this city alone—tens of thousands in the whole state. If you’re planning on what I think you’re planning—”
“I’m not planning anything.” I plant my feet and wobble my way up to standing. My legs are jelly, but I’ll have strength back in them in no time. Nothing’s keeping me back now. “I already know. I know exactly where they are.”
Chapter 29
“But how can you be certain? It’s been months, from what you’ve said. You’re basing everything off of a supposition.”
“Not at all. I know what I saw.”
Theo sees me wobbling up and hobbling around the room like someone who’s been frozen a hundred years. He looks around for something he can use to help me and offers up his scotch.
“Hate the stuff.”
“I don’t give a damn. Look at yourself: You need something in your system. Drink up.”
And I do, in one gulp. Fire. In my fingers, in my neck, in my knees, in the spaces between my toes, and even in my eyeballs that before had felt plastic and cold.
“Better?”
“We’ll see.”
“But really, what proof do you have? From what you’ve said, Oren has been trailing behind you ever since you started driving Maya around.”
“At least that long, maybe longer.”
“Then they could be at any one of the places you’ve gone to! You have nothing: we’re no closer than we were before.”
“That’s not true—not all of it. Oren’s killed his father, but if he wanted to kill your daughter he’d have done it already. There wouldn’t be any reason to take her any further away from this hotel. And with as much ice as there is on the streets they wouldn’t want to drive too far. They need some place to wait it out. A place they both know and that Maya would feel comfortable in. And there’s a way for us to check.”
“How?” Theo frowns with what I assume is curiosity.
I’ve got no phone to show him, so I tell him to look up the location of Sunrise Apartments on his cell phone. He looks up the website page, with the number of the guard.
“Give me the phone.”
It rings, twice, three times. An old voice cracks over the line. “Sunrise Apartments. Jerry speaking. Good mornin’.”
“Good morning, Jerry. Stella Smith’s a good friend of mine: we’re supposed to be meeting her and her fiancée this afternoon for lunch. Could you tell me if she’s still in her apartment?”
“Stella,” the old gatekeeper says. “Stella… Stella… Stella.”
I hold my breath, forgetting how confident I was with each second that passes.
“That’s Stella… Smith, is it? Dear Stella. But they got in at a helluva late hour, didn’t they?”
My breath escapes through my nose and through my mouth in one big gust. Theo’s eyes go wide, pulling his wrinkles up and to the sides of his face. “Good God,” he says.
“Yes, they did. Flight delayed because of the weather, you know.”
“You’re tellin’ me! I ain’t never seen anything like it—not in sixty years. So she’s a good friend of yours, eh? Girl’s certainly got some strange friends, lemme tell you. And after seein’ all those fellows pull up last night, I didn’t know who was coming through my gate.”
“Yes… but is she there still? This is urgent.”
“Well if it’s urgent, lemme give ‘em a call. Any chance you know their address?”
“No.” Sweat starts pouring off my head. Theo looks equally worried. “It’s just a big house. Reddish-pinkish. Sort of looks like a castle.”
“That’s most of the places here, sonny. Hold on… I can find her in the directory. I’mma put you down a few seconds but you just hold on, and I’ll give ‘em a call right away. Sound good?”
“Okay. But please don’t mention me. This is supposed to be a surprise.”
“No problem.” The line starts to play a monotone beep. Wedging the phone in between my chin and neck I turn to look at Theo. He’s shaking his head, saying to himself, “My God… My God,” over and over again.
The line comes back on. “You still there Mister… er?”
I think for a minute, and then remember the disguise Maya picked out for me when we were rooming in at the Four Seasons.
“Arnie. Arnie Smith—I’m Stella’s brother.” I only notice the misstep after I’ve said it. Hope Jerry didn’t notice it like I did.
“Her brother, okay. And an old friend. That’s not a bad one, sonny. Okay Mr. Arnie Smith, your sister isn’t picking up the phone, but I can tell you now I’ve been here since midnight and only seen the one car come in and nothing else. Best bet is your folks are still there taking their sweet time. Want me to call again a little while later?”
“No, thank you. You’ve done plenty.”
“Glad I could help. Hope you have a good day. Be careful on those roads out there. A fellow will be taking a swim if he’s not careful.”
I smile and hang up.
“Good God, Quinn. So now we know.”
“Now we know. But in an hour we might not. There’s no way Oren’s going to stay there any longer than he has to. He must know how exposed he is. We need to get over there as soon as possible.”
“Then why all of this delaying? Why aren’t we already on the road?”
“Because think about it. There are at least four men holding down the place aside from Oren. Three bodyguards and a driver. Probably more at the actual apartment working on defense just in case any of us get wise to what’s going on, which means we’re dealing with somewhere along the lines of at least eight men in there, probably more. You wanna go charging in there, just us two? I don’t even have a weapon anymore. I don’t even have a phone.”
Theo had been pacing, but now he stops and sinks into his chair. “We can take care of that—the weapon, I mean. But other than that, you’re right. We’ll get shot to pieces the second we step foot through the doorway. We need backup.”
“Yes, we do. And no offense to you, but seeing what’s happened with the men who’ve been working with you I don’t trust any of the guys you would call.”
“I don’t either. But who else is there? The Ceallaighs are on lockdown after what’s happened to Theo. We’re alone here.”
“If we’re thinking about mob men, then yes.”
“But you’re not?”
“No, I’m not.” It’s a crazy idea to ask them to fight again—one of my brothers just took a bullet the day before. But it’s the only idea I’ve got, and the only chance either of us has of saving Maya. “Can I borrow that phone again?”
***
Theo insists on driving, probably thinking I’m still too far gone to manage on the roads. I’m still a little tired and wobbly but good other than that—good enough to do what I need to do. Adrenaline and desperation are giving me more than enough energy to work with. Long as I can keep it up, I’ll be all right.
So I sit next to Theo as he threads the highway up and along the beach, climbing higher and higher into the gray of the skyline. The weather is bleak and ugly and the clouds so swollen with snow they look like overturned umbrellas. Miserable weather for any day except today. Snow means delay. The more of it we have, the longer Oren’s delay and the more time we have to work with.
I put in another call to Jerry making him promise to let me know if anything changes or anyone leaves, and then I put in another call.
“Bolt?”
“That you, Q? Where the hell you been? Why the hell ain’t you here?”
“Long story. Went for a swim and wrecked a car of Theo Butler’s. I need you guys
’ help. You at the hospital right now?”
“Yeah, we’re here: Kirill and me. Other guys are over at the Clubhouse. Watcha need?”
“Everyone I can get. We’ve got an emergency.”
“Who?”
“Hostage and a psychopath.”
“How many?”
“Eight. More probably.”
“Eight psychopaths?”
“It might just turn out that way.”
