by Dan Taylor
“Got it.”
“And remember, when you invite her back to your place, to mention that A) it’s a mansion, and B) your driver’s waiting for you.”
“And that will work?”
“As sure as shit on the end of a teenager’s stick. Anyway, Andre, I’ve arrived at my apartment.”
“Wish me luck.”
“I would if you needed it.”
I hang up, drive the short distance to my apartment building, and then park in the basement parking garage, before going up to my apartment.
32.
I LISTEN TO THE sound file around five times, getting a feel for the timing for the conversation I’m going to have with Cole. If I time it right, I should be able to punctuate my threat to him by timing my ‘closing’ of the door to the dungeon, the bit of the track where his children’s screams fade out. A nice little touch.
As I mentioned, when ready, I’ll hook up my phone to my home cinema system, so that Cole can hear his children scream through a top-of-the-range 7.1 speaker system: The only way to have your children’s kidnapping confirmed beyond a reasonable doubt.
But before I call Cole, I need to make sure that Andre’s sealed the deal and has Julie in his limousine.
As I’m relaxing with a cream cheese bagel, I receive the SMS from Andre. He uses confused code: “The U-boat has just landed on the beach of Pearl Harbor.”
I text back, “Nice!”
And then I text Julie, telling her that I’ve got cold feet, and that I won’t be able to make it. And also that she can feel free to order herself a bottle of wine on the tab I opened with the bar.
Then I text Andre back, telling him to storm the beach, and that when he’s taken the soldier prisoner, to take her away in his U-boat, he should text to confirm it.
He must be a quick learner, as he texts back a thumbs-up emoticon.
I don’t receive a text message back from Julie. I have no idea whether this is a good thing or not, until, five minutes later, I get a text message back from Andre, which reads, “Taken one of the Japs hostage anddhhhkkk vkttoop dpoopp.”
Either Andre switched to writing out his code in phonetic Ukrainian mid-text message, or the writing of that text message got interrupted by an overenthusiastic passenger.
Bingo!
Now it’s time to phone Brian Cannon and fuck his world up big time.
33.
EVERYTHING’S IN PLACE. The phone with the sound file on it is ready. My second phone, an older fruity model but still functioning, has my SIM card in it. And the cream cheese bagel has been thrown in the trash where it belongs.
I dial Cole/Brian’s number and wait for him to answer.
When he does, he sounds agitated. “Hancock, is that you?”
“You okay, Brian?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You don’t sound too good.”
“Everything’s fine on this end.”
“By that you mean Megan’s still your hostage?”
“Yep. In fact, Megan and I are getting on like a house on fire.”
“She’s burning the shit out of you?”
“No, I think she might be beginning to experience the effects of Stockholm syndrome.”
“If I ask you to remind me what that is, will I be interested?”
“It means she’s starting to develop feelings of affection and trust for her captor.”
In the background I hear Megan say, “Like fuck I am.”
Brian laughs nervously. Then says, “She’s a completely different person when we’re alone.”
Megan says, “That’s because I’m trying to lure you closer to me so I can kick you in the nutsack.”
“At least she trusts you enough to be completely transparent about her intentions, Brian. I agree with your diagnosis,” I say.
There’s a pause a second, then Brian says, “What time is it there?”
“Let me just check. What time is it there?” I throw in that last part, hoping to narrow Brian and Megan’s location down to at least a specific time zone.
“Nice try, Hancock. It’s about lunch time, right? Are you ready for your date yet?”
Go time!
“Yeah, about that…” I say.
“Hancock? I hope you don’t think you’re going to stand up my sister. I have the device in my hand right now, and I’m feeling trigger happy.”
“I’d take your finger off the trigger if I were you, chief.”
“Why? Because you’re all ready to wine and dine my sister?”
“No, because I’ve become the sole guardian for two very special things in your life.”
“My mother’s urn and my stuffed pet raccoon from when I was a child?”
“No, these two special somethings are very much alive.”
He goes to say something, but I interrupt him with, “Shhh, don’t ruin the surprise. I’m just going down to the dungeon I’ve rented for the week.”
“A dungeon? What are you talking about?”
I ignore him, and walk on the spot as though I’m going down the stairs into the basement. Then I say, “See, Megan was right about what she said about me before.”
“That you’re a selfish jerk who suffers from clinical narcissism?”
“She said that?”
Megan says, “Sorry, Jake. I was a little mad at you.”
Then Brian says, “Yeah, she said it just before you phoned.”
“Then why would I be referencing that if I hadn’t heard it? Never mind. Megan was right when she said I’d never get married again.”
“Then how are you going to marry my sister?”
Clearly I’m going to have to be more direct. “I’m not going to, Brian.”
“That’s it. I’m pressing the button.”
“Just hold on a second. You wouldn’t want your little angels to starve to death.”
“Hancock, why are you in a dungeon and talking about little angels?”
“I was driving around last night, thinking about how I was going to get Megan back and avoid marrying your sister, no offense to her, all the while ensuring that you can’t press the button on the device. And then do you know what I thought to myself?”
“No.”
“That I haven’t been on a kiddies’ day trip for a little while. And then I remembered that you have children. Naturally, I dressed up as a clown and pretended to be their Uncle Bobby. They were really happy to see me, and couldn’t wait to see Mickey and all the gang at Disneyworld.”
“Bullshit. My kids wouldn’t go with Bobby. He’s a drunk.”
“Oh they did, my crazy friend.”
“I’m not buying this, Hancock. None of it adds up. Karen wouldn’t let Bobby take the kids anywhere, let alone some freak dressed up as a clown saying he’s him.”
“Karen wasn’t there for the evening. She was on a date. And FYI, you should probably tell her to get an older babysitter. Or to at least start doing background checks.”
“Karen’s dating again? So soon after my death?”
“Try to keep your mind on what’s important: your kidnapped children.”
“I don’t believe a word of what your sick mind has dreamed up, Hancock.”
Then Megan says, “Keep doing what you’re doing, Jake. Brian’s gone whiter than year-old dog poo.”
Brian relays to her, “He says he’s kidnapped my children.”
“Or not,” Megan says.
I interrupt their conversation by saying, “If you don’t believe me, then I’ll let your kids do the talking. Hold on a second while I take off their tight but not too tight gags.”
“Okay, I’ll play along, Hancock.”
I put the phone down, and say “Mmmm, mmmm, mmmm,” in a high-pitched tone as I pretend to struggle with the exceptional knots I tied into Brian’s kids’ imaginary gags. Then I start the sound recording, and pick up the phone, hold it so it’s facing the speaker system.
It starts off with the boy saying, “Please, Daddy, come and rescu
e us!” and then both the boy and girl start blubbering and rambling incoherently.
I put the phone back to my ear, and say, “Happy now?”
Brian immediately starts crying, and starts saying, “Don’t worry, my little angels. Daddy’s going to get you back! Just hold tight now!”
“Brian, you’re not on speaker. They can’t hear a word you’re saying. Though I can take a message if you’d like?”
“You sick fuck! What have you done?”
“My hands and the kids’ hands are tied, Bri.”
“Huh?”
“Okay, I can see why that might have been confusing. I meant my hands are tied metaphorically, and your kids’ hands are tied in a literal sense.”
“That’s it. I’m phoning the cops.”
“And what will you say when they ask who’s calling?”
“I’ll leave an anonymous call.”
“An anonymous call saying that some random person’s children have been kidnapped and are being held captive in a dungeon you don’t know the whereabouts of?”
“Yep.”
“Then I’ll hang up and phone you back after you’ve made that call.” For the third time in two days, I do that trick where I press random keys, making it seem like I’m fumbling for the CALL END key.
“No, don’t!”
“Now you start listening up, Brian.” It’s getting close to the point where the soundtrack fades out. How do I know? Brian’s son just made this weird gargling, blubbering sound, like he’s drowning and crying for his life at the same time.
“Okay, I’m listening.”
“Good. If you let Megan go, I’ll let the kids go.”
Silence a second. “I can’t do that.”
“What means more to you, Bri? Seeing your kids again… Wait a second. I just need to close the dungeon door.” I run over to my front door, and time shutting it expertly with the fading out of the soundtrack.
Upon hearing my front door close, which doesn’t sound anything like a dungeon door, now that I think about it, Brian makes the exact same sound his kid made. That weird drowning in his snot sound. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
“Where were we?” I ask.
“I said I couldn’t do that.”
“Back up a bit. Do what?”
“Let Megan go.”
“Oh yeah. Why not?”
“I don’t think that’s what you said. You said, ‘What means more to you, Brian. Seeing your kids again…’ and then your voice trailed off.”
“Thanks for the reminder. What means more to you, Bri? Seeing your kids again or using Megan as your fuck puppet to get back at me?”
“That’s not really what I’m doing. I’m keeping her captive to make sure you do the honorable thing and marry my sister.”
“Reason for keeping Megan captive aside, why can’t you let her go?”
He whispers, “Megan says if she ever gets out of the binds, she won’t run for her life, but strangle my last breath out of me before cutting my balls off. Or the other way around. I’m a little hazy about which first.”
“I’m sure she didn’t mean it.”
Megan must’ve heard Brian despite his whispering, as she says, “I’d totally do that, Hancock. He’s right.”
Then Brian says, “See? I can’t let her go.”
I sigh. “Put Megan on for a second, will you?”
“Sure.”
A second later Megan comes on the line. “Hey, Jake. Have you really kidnapped Brian’s kids? Because that’s kind of sick if you have.”
“Relax, this dungeon I’m keeping them in is practically a two-star motel. Anyway, I’m trying to get you out of this mess, and you’re kinda fucking things up for me by saying you’ll cut Brian’s balls off if he lets you go.”
“But it’s the truth.”
“Did you sleep through Liar Liar?”
“What’s that?”
I sigh again. Rescuing Megan is exhausting. “A movie starring Jim Carrey. He plays an attorney who gets the power of lying taken away from him by his son and his whole life goes to shit because lying is a necessary skill for any adult.”
“I remember it now. But wasn’t the message of the movie that you can lie to get ahead in the world, but the advantages you gain from it aren’t the type any moral person would want?”
“That’s not the movie I saw. Anyway, this thing’s a little more cut-and-dried. If you don’t promise to not strangle Cole when he lets you go, he’ll never let you go.”
“Who’s Cole?”
Oh, boy. I’ve broken one of his rules.
“I meant Brian. If you don’t promise to not cut—”
But I’m interrupted by Brian coming back on the line. “Did you just tell Megan my real name, Hancock?”
“It might’ve slipped out. But I didn’t say your surname. And if you played it a little cooler, by, I don’t know, maybe not confirming that’s your real name right now, we might’ve gotten away with it.”
“You just fucked both of us, Hancock. How am I supposed to get away clean with kidnapping Megan now?”
I would’ve snitched on Brian anyway, but I don’t think now’s the time to tell him.
“You could stay on the run for the rest of your life in foreign countries?”
Brian shouts something like Argghhhfuccckkk! I think he might be a little pissed at me.
Then he says, “You know what, Hancock? Keep my kids. My life’s practically over now, anyway. I’ll never be able to return to the States without the police catching up to me.”
“Keep your kids? Calm down and think about what you’re saying.”
“Okay.” I hear him take a few deep breaths, Yoga style. Then he says, “I’m calmer now, and I think I’ve come to a pretty decent solution for all this.”
“If you’re thinking of doing what I think you’re thinking of doing, don’t do it, Brian. Think of your kids.”
“Say goodbye to them for me, Hancock.”
“Brian, don’t kill yourself!”
He laughs. “I’m not going to kill myself, Hancock. I’m going to do what I should’ve done as soon as I got this device.”
“Brian, don’t!”
“Gee, hell of an argument, Hancock.”
“I haven’t said goodbye to your kids for you yet.”
“Okay, do that first.”
“No.”
“If you’re not going to then what’s the point of keeping you alive?”
I did not think of that.
Brian says, “Goodbye, Hancock.”
And then I hear a click on the other end of the line.
34.
A BURNING STARTS to grow in my chest. I think about all I’ve achieved in my life, thinking it’s not nearly enough. Would I have liked to have children someday? Now that I’m on the precipice of death, I’m thinking maybe I would. Legacy and bloodline, those are what I now realize are important. Not booze, money, strippers, and cartoons on a Sunday morning with a decent glass of Belgian beer and laboratory-grade marijuana. But maybe there is a little Jake junior out there, getting raised by some stripper. Sure, he might not go to the best schools and may develop an array of hard drug addictions when he’s older, but still, it’s comforting to know there’s maybe, probably a little Jake out there. It’s a comforting thought as the burning in my chest increases in intensity, signifying that my heart is close to exploding.
And then I burp, and the pain subsides a little.
Huh?
I force another burp out, and the pain almost completely goes.
The cream cheese bagel. Now I remember why I threw it in the trash. That combination gives me the worst heartburn.
But what about the device? Is Cole bluffing?
If he is, he’s not doing a very good job of it, as he asks, “Hancock, are you dead yet?”
“Still very much alive, Brian.”
“Hold on. Let me try again.”
I hear the click again.
Nothing happens.
<
br /> So I say, “You can stop bluffing now, Brian.”
“I’m not bluffing.”
“You pressed it like it said in the manual?”
“It’s a freakin’ button, Hancock. What other ways are there to press one?”
I can’t believe what I say next. “Maybe it requires a double click to be activated?”
“Okay, I’ll try that.”
I hear a rapid succession of clicks.
Then Cole says, “Anything now?”
“Not a thing.”
I laugh from relief. Having a souped-up pacemaker in your chest, which can be activated at any time by your psychedelic-drug-warped arch enemy? That weighs on a guy’s mind.
What we have now is a Mexican standoff, apart from I’m holding a hand cannon and Brian’s armed with a questionably functioning musket.
Poking fun at him, I say, “Maybe you should swap its batteries with the ones in the hotel room TV remote?”
“The green LED is lighting up when I press it.”
“Have you dropped that thing in the can?”
Cole’s still deadly serious. “Not once. Can you think of anything else that could be wrong with it?”
“I was just fucking with you, Brian. It’s time to get this moving along. I plan on returning your kids to their mom before bedtime.”
He sighs. “I didn’t mean what I said about not caring about them. I figured someone would find them, had you been killed.”
“I know you care, Bri.”
There’s silence a second. “Can I at least have one more evening with Megan? I’ve kind of grown fond of her company.”
Megan says, “Like fuck you can, you sicko.”
And I say, “No can do.”
“Can you at least tell her to not beat the crap out of me when I let her go?”
“You overestimate the influence I have on that little firecracker, Brian. You’re going to have to take your lumps.”
He sighs again. Then says, “Hold on a second.” The next couple minutes, while I assume the cell Brian was using is lying some place close to Megan, I hear Brian grunting, presumably struggling to untie Megan, and the occasional yelp, as Megan presumably kicks him in the balls. If that’s how Megan’s treating him while he’s in the process of releasing her, how’s she going to treat him when she’s free? What I’d give to be a fly on the wall.
