“Who is this?”
“Your cell has caller ID, Billy. You know who this is.”
“My screen’s dirty. Can’t see shit.”
“Have you thought about cleaning it?”
“I tried that once. The phone was destroyed.”
“That’s because you tried washing it in the sink.”
“How the fuck was I supposed to know?”
Eliza groaned. She rubbed her stomach. “Look, I’m hungry as balls over here. Come pick me up and I’ll treat you to a burger.”
“Uh.”
“Billy?”
“Now’s not really a good time.”
“Oh, shut up. You’re never doing anything. Come get me.”
“No, really, sis, now’s not a good time. I have some . . . shit going on.”
“I’ll even buy you a milkshake.”
“Uh.”
“Billy . . .?”
“I don’t know, sis.”
“Dude, get your ass over here.”
“Fuck. All right. Give me a few minutes.”
Eliza placed the phone back on her desk and stared at the open InDesign file on her laptop. She couldn’t have forced herself to continue working right now if her life was on the line. Screw it. She minimized InDesign and brought up her browser, which directed her straight to Facebook. Three private messages were waiting in her inbox. The first one was from some author she’d never heard of asking if she was interested in reading and reviewing his book in exchange for a free PDF copy. She blocked the person without responding. The second private message was sent from a barely dressed teenager asking Eliza if she liked girls who squirted. The last private message was from Tommy Yorke:
“hey, grrrll, i decided to go thru and change my book to first person present tense after all, so i guess u need this version now? thanks!”
He’d included a Word attachment of Cock Mutants Final FINAL Draft.
Eliza closed her laptop and screamed.
4. OFFICER DOUGHNUT
Officer Joseph Nous was fully aware he was supporting a stereotype by accepting a free doughnut from the coffee shop, but honestly, he didn’t give a shit. Doughnuts were delicious no matter who you were or what your job was. If bystanders shouted any smartass remarks, he’d just douse the fuckers with pepper spray and claim they were reaching for his gun.
Joseph nodded at the doughnut and smiled at the girl behind the counter, told her thanks and mentioned what a big help she was being. She smiled back and winked. Her flirting was obvious. Especially since she kept trying to give him her phone number in case he had any further questions, despite him not even being finished with his initial set of questions.
He swallowed a chunk of his doughnut and continued. “As you were saying, Ms. Matthews?”
The girl shrugged. “Like I said, that crazy bitch spat in the dude’s eye, he freaked out and ran outside, and that was all I really noticed. I was kinda busy making coffee, which is, ya know, like, my job? But yeah. Like. Okay. Get this. When the man was in line, like, waiting? There was this other dude ahead of him, and he was acting all buggy, like he was tripping? Kept looking back at the other man like he knew him or something. I don’t know. He was actin’ pretty crazy, you know? So I guess I wouldn’t be surprised if he was the one who was fighting him outside. I mean, like, who else could it have been?”
“Uh huh.”
Joseph had his notebook open, but he wasn’t writing any of this down. He’d already gotten the gist of the story from the bystanders outside. One man randomly approached another man, had a brief exchange of words, then they attacked each other. They fought in the middle of the street, bashing their fists into each other’s faces, until a car came along and blasted on the horn. Then one man, the crazy one who’d initiated the assault, dragged the driver out of the car and started beating on him, too. When the original victim began crawling away, the crazy man ran back over to him, grabbed him by his hair, and dragged him to the car. The psycho then popped open the car’s trunk, tossed his first victim and the driver inside, closed it, got behind the wheel, and drove away.
All this time, a crowd of pedestrians stood and recorded the brawl on their cell phones. The video was currently on YouTube with over thirty thousand views already. Everything was a TV show now. Something unusual happened and instead of helping, people would just insert a screen between them and the bizarre. Cell phones became coping mechanisms. They made the horror of reality less real. Less tangible. As long as they stayed far enough away to capture everything on video, then danger remained a fairy tale. The world was insane and surreal. Of course, that wasn’t entirely true, because someone did attempt to help the man being assaulted, and look what happened to him. Not only was he also beaten, but then he was kidnapped to top it all off. Nobody was truly safe. Maybe the people with their cell phones had the right idea. Stay back, film the action, then upload it on the Internet for the whole world to drool over. This was the way of life now. This was the law of disorder.
But goddamn, this was one fine doughnut.
When he left the coffee shop, Joseph made sure he had saved the barista’s phone number. Maybe there would be more free pastries in the near future. Or maybe she wasn’t interested in him at all. He’d been delusional before, with other girls. Sometimes women were nice to him just because they were paranoid he’d discover drugs in their purses. It was difficult to determine who was kissing his ass and who was genuinely attracted to him. His last relationship had lasted just under two months. She told him she was a stripper and nothing more, which turned out to be bullshit when Joseph busted her for hooking behind her place of employment. And the girlfriend before the stripper had only started having sex with him because she thought she’d be able to talk him into stealing drugs from the evidence room in the police station. Once she realized he wasn’t going to budge on that issue, she gave another officer on his precinct a blowjob and convinced him to do what Joseph refused.
He drove away from the coffee shop wondering if he was destined to live life alone. Well, not completely alone. His precious dachshund, Lucy, was waiting for him at home. As long as he continued to feed and pet her, she would always love him. And maybe that was enough.
5. BURGERS & MILKSHAKES
Billy was high as fuck. It was obvious as soon as Eliza got in the passenger seat. Dude was shaking and twitching and acting like the sky was raining black helicopters. His eyes were dark and his skin was bloodied from persistent scratching.
Plus, he wasn’t driving his own car.
“Whose car is this?”
“This is the car of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior.”
“And he just let you borrow it, huh?”
Billy nodded. “Jesus and me are tight.”
“You look fucked-up, man,” she said, feeling a mixture of amusement and worry. “What have you taken?”
Billy kept scratching his face and wincing like it burned. “Last night, or last year, after the bar, I left everybody and was hanging out with some preacher, I don’t know. He had some good shit, sis. Not even playin’. Like Walter White shit. Like the kinda shit the Burger King Queen has, but this was actually decent. Haven’t even been to sleep in days, in centuries. I’ve been awake since the Big Bang, sis. Maybe I am the cause of all life on Earth—shit, who knows, right? Never gonna sleep again, I swear to God. Sleep is just a waste of time, I’m telling you.”
“Crank?” Eliza dug her nails into her palms. “C’mob, Billy, not that hardcore shit again. We talked about this.”
“Well, I’m a hardcore motherfucker.”
“Mom didn’t stop helping you take a bath until you were thirteen.”
“I was afraid of getting shampoo in my eyes. Jesus. You know that.”
“How long have you been awake?”
“I have no concept of time right now.”
His hands were shaking on the steering wheel. Eliza gulped. “Maybe I should drive. You’re kinda fucked.”
Billy laughed. “You’re
not insured for this car.”
“And you are?”
“I told you. Me and Jesus are tight.”
“Whatever, man. Let’s just go to Sonic already. I need some meat inside me.”
Billy opened his mouth, but Eliza smacked his chest before he had a chance to say anything.
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
Billy grumbled something unintelligible and started the car. As they drove toward Sonic, Eliza heard something loud and heavy thumping from the trunk of the car. The sound was drowned out by Billy raising the volume on the car radio. One of the only five good Metallica songs was playing.
They pulled up to Sonic and Billy ordered their food. He held out his hand for Eliza to give him the money, but she just smiled and shook her head. Like she’d trust him to handle her cash. She’d fallen for that kind of shit before, but not anymore. He was too out of his mind to show any disappointment in her distrust for her own sibling. When the Sonic girl came rolling out on her skates, Eliza motioned for her to come around to the passenger side, and she paid her directly.
Eliza loved her brother and all, but he was just one of those people you couldn’t trust. And it wasn’t even the drugs that made him that way. Hell, Eliza did drugs and she managed to be responsible with money. She managed not to rob people. Of course, she didn’t do the kind of drugs her brother favored. She stuck with weed, molly, mushrooms—mostly harmless shit. She didn’t screw around with crank or heroin. She wasn’t suicidal. She just liked to have fun. The crap Billy took, that wasn’t fun. That was writing your own death sentence. But with that in mind, the drugs didn’t cause his tendency to steal, despite what every politician and stuck-up asshole might have thought. Billy was just a thief by nature. Always had been. She remembered when they were kids and the little shit had broken her bedroom lock off while she was on a date. When she returned home, she discovered all of her books opened and her piggy bank shattered on the ground. No money in sight. And he was only like, what, nine when that happened? Dude had only gotten better at his craft. He was the kind of guy who wouldn’t hesitate to swipe a waitress’s tip off an uncleaned restaurant table. The kind of guy who’d reach into a panhandler’s cup and take money out instead of drop any inside. She was not proud of his actions, but he was still her brother, and as much as she hated admitting it, she still cared about him. Their parents couldn’t give two shits about them, so she was all he had—and, sadly, vice versa.
Now she sat there watching him inhale his burger, like he hadn’t eaten in days, but instead of making her feel sad, like it probably should have, it just made her hungrier. She started opening the wrapping on her own burger when she heard the pounding from the trunk again. From the trunk of a car that she’d never seen Billy drive until today.
Shit.
“Billy, whose car did you say this was, again?”
Billy shrugged, smiling that smile he always did whenever he was guilty of something but didn’t want to talk about it. Only this time, lettuce from his burger was sticking between his teeth, and mayonnaise was dripping down his chin, fusing with his trailer trash stubble and radioactive acne.
The pounding in the trunk grew louder and faster. Then the sound evolved from a muffled thud to a man screaming for help.
“Billy, whose fucking car is this?” she asked again, but Billy was forcing the last few bites of his burger down his throat and starting up the engine, backing up without looking behind him and burning rubber against cement as he shot out of the parking lot. The screaming grew louder.
“I may have screwed up,” Billy finally said.
Eliza sat back in the passenger seat and closed her eyes, pretending she was back home in her comfy pajamas, behind her laptop, outlining various scalping strategies for those who didn’t properly indent their manuscripts.
6. TRUNK CARCASSES
“What the fuck is going on?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who the fuck was that guy?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“I mean, I don’t know.”
“But you guys were fighting.”
“Doesn’t mean I know him, though, now does it?”
“So, what, you two just started fighting for no reason?”
“It seems that way.”
“Well, what happened?”
“I don’t know. He just randomly attacked me on the street.”
“That guy was small. How the hell do you reckon he fought both of us and lifted us into my trunk?”
“Drugs, probably. Who knows. Who cares?”
“I guess nobody. Where is he taking us?”
“How the hell should I know?”
“I thought you knew him.”
“Christ, you’re stupid.”
“Hey, fuck you, buddy. Forgive me for being a little disoriented after being punched in the face and locked in my own goddamn trunk while somebody stole my car. I’m not even done finishing off the payments on this thing, and it’s already been stolen twice now.”
“How did it get stolen the first time?”
“I accidentally left the keys in the ignition when I stopped at a gas station. A nearby clown hopped in and took off.”
“Get the fuck out of here. A clown?”
“Yeah. Head-to-toe, full clown get-up. I guess he’d just gotten off his shift at some carnival or something and was walking home when he noticed my ride. When they recovered it, every square inch of the interior was covered in confetti. I still haven’t gotten all of it out.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Yeah, man. Clowns are assholes.”
“Why does it smell so badly in here? What do you keep in your trunk?”
“I . . . uh, I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
“What’s in this bag?”
“You leave my bag alone. It’s of no concern to you.”
“You’re pretty touchy.”
“You’re the one touching things.”
“Calm down.”
“That’s kind of hard.”
“Now, shut up, just listen. I’m thinking, despite me not knowing him, this guy does know me.”
“How so?”
“He knew my name.”
“But you don’t know him?”
“Never seen him before in my life.”
“What’s your name, then?”
“I’m Harlan. You?”
“Lewis.”
“Well, I’d say it was a pleasure to meet you, maybe under different circumstances . . .”
“Where do you think this guy’s taking us?”
“I don’t know. He doesn’t seem to like me too much, though.”
“I don’t have time for this. I have places to be.”
“And I don’t?”
“Do you frequently piss off strangers?”
“Probably. This is the first time somebody’s ever acted out on it, though.”
“Do you think he’s going to kill us?”
“Probably, yeah.”
“Shit.”
“I know.”
“Man, you can’t just tell somebody that.”
“Didn’t you see the crazy look in his eyes? He would have probably killed me on the street if you hadn’t interrupted him. Now he’ll kill you, too.”
“Shit.”
“Maybe we can pound on the roof some more, maybe scream a little louder.”
“Do you think that’ll help?”
“Probably not.”
“Hmm. Let’s do it anyway.”
7. BEER SHITS
“Your nipples are hard.”
Louise woke up, mouth tasting like a mixture of hard liquor and male ejaculate, and she made a mental note to write a bizarro detective novel called Rum & Cum. It could be a sequel to her previous book, Grits & Clits.
Stephen sat on the couch, staring at her. He had a mostly empty bottle of beer in his lap, resting next to his crotch. She wondered if he had act
ually drank the beer or if he’d dumped half into the sink to keep up the false persona of a hardcore alcoholic. Stephen didn’t even like beer.
“I said your nipples are hard,” he said.
“No shit. It’s freezing in this apartment.”
“Do you know where Billy went?”
“You just saw me wake up two seconds ago. Why would I know?”
“I just wondered.”
“Did you actually drink that beer, or are you wasting them again?”
Stephen’s cheeks turned red. “Don’t you have a book deadline?”
“I’d prefer not to think about that.”
“Yeah, until Nick’s getting on your ass about it, asking why it isn’t done yet.”
“Would you be okay with that?”
“Okay with what?”
“With Nick on my ass.”
“Oh fuck you.”
“Maybe later.” Louise yawned and scratched her crotch. “I have to take a dump first.”
“You’re one classy chick.”
“That’s why I make the big bucks.”
Louise stood in the bathroom a moment, debating if she really wanted to clean up the vomit that had made itself present all over the toilet. Seriously, just everywhere. The bowl, the lid, the tank, even the wall behind the toilet. Just looking at it all almost induced her own offering of puke. She turned around and left the bathroom before she contributed to the mess.
“You didn’t even flush,” Stephen said as she passed. She responded with a middle finger.
Louise threw on some clothes, wincing at the cramp in her stomach. Fucking beer shits, they were the worst. They sneak up on you like a rattlesnake in the desert, slithering up to your boot and waiting to pounce upon your ankle. Maybe she shouldn’t have drank so much last night. Maybe she should have never stopped drinking. She could’ve forced herself to stay awake and drink until her death. Drink until she made her decomposed parents proud. Now her old man was a drunk worth aspiring to. He always said the best cure for a hangover was more alcohol. She’d tried that once and just started vomiting inside the beer bottle.
She would never have the liver of a dirty old man, and sometimes this was the most depressing realization in the world. Gone were Louise’s dreams of being the new Bukowski. When she was younger, she’d lock herself in her room and reread Buk’s entire bibliography. Ol’ Hank was her first crush. She’d hide under blankets and masturbate to his nasty, ugly words. Ugly was the new pretty. She didn’t want people to tell her she was beautiful. She wanted to be vile. She wasn’t happy until onlookers were grimacing. Dirt was sexy. Bloody fingernails were hot as fuck. Heart-shaped candies and red roses were not.
How to Successfully Kidnap Strangers Page 2
