Switch

by Grant McKenzie

  Tears returned to her eyes as MaryAnn ran down the endless tunnel, her anger quickly giving way to despair.

  ‘Mom!’ she cried loudly. ‘Mom!’

  A sound from up ahead almost made her stumble: sobbing.

  ‘MOM!’

  MaryAnn rushed to a series of cells identical to the one she had fled. Two of the cells were open and empty, but the next four were closed.

  MaryAnn stopped at the first closed cell, desperately trying to quiet her breathing as she strained her ears. The sobbing was coming from within.

  ‘Mom?’ MaryAnn called. ‘Mom, is that you?’

  The woman inside whimpered and her sobbing grew in volume. MaryAnn reached for the square window cut in the door, her fingers fumbling with a sliding bolt that hadn’t been oiled in decades.

  But before she could get it free, a giant fist grabbed her by the hair and yanked her off the ground.

  ‘You little bitch!’

  MaryAnn couldn’t believe the pain. It felt like her entire scalp was about to be ripped from her skull.

  ‘I was being nice to you.’

  MaryAnn tried to talk, to beg to see her mom, but the agony was so great she couldn’t move her mouth.

  ‘Put her in cell three,’ said a second voice. ‘Maybe the company will settle her down.’

  MaryAnn tried to see the second man’s face, but tears from the pain were blinding her.

  The large man lifted her higher and leaned in close to her ear. His face was flushed red and a thin sheen of sweat made his flesh glisten.

  ‘You just lost a friend,’ he whispered menacingly. ‘Bad move.’

  MaryAnn whimpered and then, overcome with pain and fear, promptly fainted.

  22

  Moving towards the Mercedes, Sam slipped in beside a group of three men ambling past the corner. Their bodies acted as a shield in case the driver’s gaze drifted from the motel. Once he was beside the car, Sam moved out of the trio’s slipstream and reached for the passenger door. It was unlocked.

  By the time the driver noticed him, it was too late. Sam had a knife to his throat and the car door was swinging closed to lock out the prying eyes of passers-by.

  The man yelped in surprise, his head cracking against the side window as he recoiled from the knife. Sam moved with him, the sharp blade drawing a trickle of blood as he applied pressure.

  ‘I’m a friend,’ the man cried. ‘I want to help.’

  ‘Where’s my family?’ Sam asked, his voice cutting a sharper edge than the blade.

  ‘I don’t know. I swear.’

  Sam applied more pressure to the knife and the trickle widened into a three-inch gash.

  ‘I’m telling the truth,’ the man pleaded. ‘My name is Zack Parker and my family’s been kidnapped.’

  ‘Bullshit!’

  ‘I wish it was,’ Zack groaned. ‘By Christ, I wish it was.’

  ‘You were outside my house before the explosion.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He said my family was there.’

  ‘At my home?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who said it?’

  ‘The kidnapper. I don’t know who he is.’

  Sam growled, baring his teeth like a feral dog.

  ‘I swear to you,’ Zack said, ‘I don’t know who’s doing this.’

  ‘The explosion?’

  ‘I didn’t do it. I . . .’ Zack winced. ‘How could I? My wife and daughter were inside.’

  ‘Your wife?’

  ‘Yes. My family was switched for yours.’

  Sam felt fingers of madness clawing into his mind. ‘Bullshit!’

  Zack exploded. ‘You think I don’t want to believe that? You think I wouldn’t give anything for it not to be true?’

  ‘I don’t know you,’ Sam snapped back. ‘You could be the one who phoned me.’

  Zack leaned into the knife, allowing it to slice deeper into his flesh as he forced his face closer to Sam’s.

  ‘My family died in your house. The man who called you has already destroyed me.’ Zack’s eyes glistened. ‘I don’t know why he let me live. I wish he hadn’t. But since I’m here, I want to help.’

  Sam stared deep into Zack’s eyes and felt the man’s warm blood begin to flow over his fingers.

  ‘Why should I believe you?’

  Zack gritted his teeth as the blood from his wound continued to flow freely down his neck.

  ‘Two bodies were removed from your house this morning. They belonged either to you or to me. What scenario do you want to believe?’

  ‘I want the truth.’

  Zack snorted and moved his head back to rest it against the window. Sam didn’t move with him and the knife lost contact with the wound. Blood soaked into the collar of Zack’s white shirt.

  After a moment, Zack sighed. ‘The truth is that I fucked up and paid with the lives of my wife and baby girl.’ Zack’s voice broke and his eyes filled with more tears. ‘I did everything he asked. I just . . .’

  ‘Just?’ Sam prodded.

  Zack raised his chin to stare at Sam through bloodshot espresso-brown eyes.

  ‘I thought it was about money,’ he said slowly, as though still trying to piece it together in his own brain. ‘I brought what I could. It wasn’t every dollar he asked for, but everything I could get my hands on. I hoped it would be enough.

  ‘I waited on the street outside your house. He chose the meeting place. He said it was the final step: the money in exchange for my family. Instead, your house exploded with my family inside.’

  ‘Jesus!’

  Zack continued, his voice so soft it was nearly lost in the buzz of light traffic.

  ‘I thought I caught a glimpse of Kalli, my baby, standing at the window, waiting for me, alive and trusting I would save her.’

  Zack’s eyes were so full of pain, Sam nearly forgot his own.

  ‘Why did you leave the scene?’

  Zack rubbed at his eyes. ‘To do to myself the same thing you wanted to.’

  ‘What stopped you?’

  ‘Courage. Or lack of. I got drunk instead.’ Zack sighed heavily. ‘Couldn’t even do that right.’

  Sam took a closer look at the face of the man across from him. He looked how Sam felt. His chocolate-coloured skin was sallow with a tinge of grey. His eyes, sunken with weariness, looked even deeper-set against hollow, sucked-in cheeks. He was dangerously thin and it was difficult to gauge his age as his thick, close-cropped hair wavered on the cusp of adding cream to its coffee.

  The only feature that hinted at a prosperous normality was his wardrobe. The suit alone, despite its rumpled state, must have cost more than Sam’s entire liquidated worth.

  ‘How do you know me?’ Sam asked.

  ‘I don’t,’ Zack answered. ‘Not really. I guessed you were the owner of the house. I’ve been following to see if you shared the blame.’

  ‘For the death of your family?’

  Zack nodded.

  ‘And if I did?’ Sam asked.

  Zack inclined his head with a subtle nod.

  Sam looked down and saw a small silver pistol clutched in Zack’s right hand. He relaxed his arm, bringing the knife down to his lap.

  ‘You’ve got the better hand,’ he said.

  ‘But I didn’t use it.’

  ‘Why should I believe you?’ he asked again.

  ‘Do you need to?’ Zack removed a linen handkerchief from his pocket and used it to staunch the blood still flowing from his neck. ‘If I’m lying, you’ll find out when the police identify the bodies. If I’m not, I’m the only friend you’ve got.’

  Sam rubbed his chin, feeling the sandpaper stubble that had grown over the last few hours. He needed an avenue for his anger; a vent for the burning madness filling his mind, but as he studied the distraught man in front of him, he came to the decision that Zack wasn’t it.

  He held out his hand. ‘Sam White.’

  Zack’s gaze flicked down at the offered hand before
locking with Sam’s rigid stare. The air inside the car was thick and rigid. The moment lasted less than an eye-blink, but in that flash a bond was formed. Zack returned his gun to his pocket and accepted Sam’s hand.

  ‘What do we do now?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Did you pay cash for your room?’

  ‘Visa.’

  ‘The police can track it.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘The bodies aren’t who they’re expecting. Can you explain that?’

  ‘I can now.’

  ‘Will they believe you?’

  Sam pondered the question. ‘I wouldn’t.’

  ‘That’s exactly what he does: puts you in a position where you’ve nowhere to turn. You have to keep running, and when you’re running, you don’t have time to think.’

  ‘Or to sleep,’ Sam added, but instantly felt guilty for his own weakness.

  ‘Sleep gives you strength,’ Zack said. ‘I never realized what an important tool it was until I tried to go without. Look at me.’

  Sam lifted his gaze.

  ‘I wore myself to the quick trying to stay ahead of this fucker, but he’s sleeping and plotting and laughing himself sick. If I had to start again, I would take better care of myself so that maybe I would be faster and more alert when it counted.’

  Sam lowered his gaze again, his guilt over the weariness he felt undiminished.

  ‘I have a room we can use,’ Zack continued. ‘The clerk takes cash and doesn’t give a damn what name we give.’

  ‘We?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Whoever’s behind this is done with me now,’ Zack said. ‘You’re his new plaything. You may not believe me, but I don’t want anyone to go through what I did, to lose what I’ve lost. I’ll do everything I can to help, but there’s one condition.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Once your family is safe, I get to pull the trigger that sends this bastard straight to hell.’

  23

  MaryAnn opened her eyes to darkness once again, the clunk of a closing door so quickly absorbed by thick walls it could have been a tendril of dream.

  She tenderly touched the top of her head, wincing at the pain that pricked her scalp. She smoothed her hair and imagined it was her mother’s hand.

  ‘Who’s there?’ asked a woman’s voice, just barely above a whisper.

  MaryAnn froze. The voice didn’t belong to her mother.

  ‘I know someone’s there,’ said the voice. ‘I saw them throw you inside.’

  MaryAnn sniffled, barely holding on to what little control she had left.

  ‘I’m MaryAnn.’

  ‘Are you alone?’

  ‘I – I think so.’

  ‘How did you get here?’

  ‘I don’t know. I was asleep in bed, and then . . . I woke up here.’

  The woman’s voice softened, but only slightly.

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Thirteen.’

  ‘Have you seen anyone else?’

  ‘No. I heard someone sobbing in another cell, but I didn’t get to see her. I . . . I think it might be my mom.’

  The voice hesitated. ‘She’s been weeping for hours. I think she may have gone a little crazy down here. Not that I blame her.’

  ‘Where are we?’

  ‘I don’t know, child. They’re not forthcoming with answers, though I’ve tried.’

  MaryAnn’s voice began to crack. ‘I’m so scared.’

  ‘I know, baby.’ The woman’s voice melted into a soothing tone. ‘Come on over towards my voice. There’s a cot and a couple blankets. It’s not much, but it’s better than that filthy floor.’

  MaryAnn picked herself off the floor and slowly moved in the direction of the voice. When her legs bumped into the metal frame of an army cot, she reached down and felt a pair of bare legs, rough stubble marring smooth skin.

  She recoiled.

  ‘It’s OK, child,’ assured the voice. ‘We’re in this together.’

  MaryAnn fought against her instincts not to trust strangers, but she was so scared and missed her mom so much, she sat on the cot and rested her back against the woman’s legs.

  The woman stroked her hair, cooing softly in a quiet sing-song voice. MaryAnn began to relax, tucking her feet under her and curling closer to the warmth of the woman’s body.

  ‘You rest now, baby,’ said the voice. ‘I won’t let anyone hurt you. That’s a promise.’

  MaryAnn’s emotions bubbled to the surface and she cried herself to sleep.

  24

  Neither driver nor passenger absorbed the heated-leather comfort of the Mercedes as they struggled to stay afloat in an ocean of troubling thoughts.

  ‘He wants a million dollars,’ Sam said, thinking aloud. ‘Doesn’t he know I’m a security guard at a shopping mall, for Christ sake?’

  ‘He asked me for the same,’ Zack said. ‘I thought I could raise it, but there just wasn’t enough time. I managed to get most of it by liquidating everything I owned . . . If only he had given me more time . . .’

  Sam looked over, his eyes scanning Zack’s thin frame. There was a lighter band of skin on his wrist where a watch would normally reside. His fingers were also bare of any jewellery except for a simple gold wedding band that wouldn’t have cost more than a grand at even an exclusive jeweller’s.

  ‘What about the car?’ said Sam. ‘The suit?’

  Zack’s eyes flared with anger. ‘I would have crawled naked to him to save my family. I offered the car. I offered the money. I offered my life in exchange for theirs, but it wasn’t enough.’

  Zack’s knuckles turned white as he squeezed the steering wheel. ‘Do you know what a car’s worth when you need fast cash?’

  Sam shrugged. He had never owned a new car.

  ‘Nothing,’ spat Zack. ‘Friends don’t want it because it’s not next year’s model. The thieves and chop shops don’t want it because it’s cheaper to steal their own. I offered up the car, hoping he would add its value to the cash. He didn’t take either.’

  Sam was startled. ‘He didn’t take the money?’

  ‘There’s over $750,000 in the trunk. It’s worthless to me now.’

  Sam glanced over his shoulder, eyes burrowing through the back seat into the cavity beyond as a terrifying spark of violent imagery flashed before him.

  ‘You don’t need to rob me,’ Zack said, plainly reading Sam’s mind. ‘You can have it. My family is dead, killed by my failure. If I can help yours . . .’ His voice faded.

  Sam was dumbstruck. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Say you’ll trust me.’

  Sam looked down at his lap, the fingers of one hand absently crushing and pinching the others. The jabs of pain did nothing to reassure him that he was awake and that this wasn’t just one long, horrible nightmare.

  ‘Trust is earned, not given,’ he said finally.

  The man raised an eyebrow. ‘Not even with a trunk full of cash?’

  ‘Not even.’

  Zack pondered the statement. ‘OK. Until I earn your trust, how about you promise not to slit my throat when my eyes are closed?’

  ‘If you lie to me, or I discover you’re involved with this, it won’t matter if you’re asleep or awake.’

  A thin smile flickered over Zack’s face, momentarily lifting the sadness from his eyes. ‘I can live with that.’

  Sam liked the man, and for a moment he could picture the friendship they might have had: laughter and backyard barbecues; two families sharing a meal . . .

  Sam shook the vision from his head, knowing his mind was searching for an escape from the reality before him. It was one of the things Hannah would constantly admonish him for.

  What planet you on now, Sam? she would say, her hands jabbing into hips, elbows cocked at a jaunty angle as she rose on her toes in a weak attempt to make herself look larger and more menacing. Problems don’t go away just because you close your eyes and pretend they’re not there.

  Sam looked out of the side window, watching t
he blur of storefronts, their signs unreadable as though his mind could no longer comprehend the language. He wiped at his eyes, clearing a damp curtain of fog, and ran two dry knuckles under his dripping nose.

  ‘How do we get my family back?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t have that answer,’ Zack said carefully. ‘But I know you must be exhausted. He wants us tired, not thinking, making mistakes. Like I said, that’s where I went wrong. I was so tired I became blind to his game. He gives you time to torture yourself with guilt between assignments, or “choices” as he calls them. Before he calls you again, we need to rest. Then, we’ll figure out how to hunt.’

  25

  Detective Preston struggled to get comfortable in the passenger seat of a department-issue Nissan. He often cursed whoever had designed the car’s form-fitting bucket seats, knowing it was likely some smartass Asian computer that had never heard of Big & Tall stores or corn-fed cowboys from Texas.

  ‘Where do you think he would have gone?’ he grumbled to his partner.

  ‘I expected he’d end up back here.’ Hogan glanced out of the windshield at the navy blue Jeep parked against the kerb less than a half-block from their position. ‘It’s the only damn thing left he owns.’

  ‘What about parents?’ Preston asked. ‘You look into them?’

  ‘The wife’s folks live in Florida,’ Hogan replied. ‘But the housekeeper says they’re on stress reduction in Italy. Cycling and wine-tasting in the country, no cellphones or email allowed, and she didn’t have a contact number. I issued an alert to the consulate in case they check in. His parents are AWOL, too. Seems they sold up last year and bought a land yacht to tour the desert states. Modern gypsies of the road.’

  ‘What a nightmare,’ Preston muttered. ‘Can you imagine being stuck with the wife twenty-four/seven in a tiny box on wheels? The Arizona boys must be bleepin’ swamped. I bet they get more bludgeoned codgers by the side of the freeway than we have splattered varmints.’

  ‘I enjoy spending time with my wife,’ Hogan protested.

  ‘Oh, I like mine fine, too, don’t get me wrong, but you wait and see.’