Best Defense

by Randy Rawls

  “As I’ve told you before, Maddy,” John said. “I’m doing it the way I think best. It’s not that I don’t trust the police. It’s just that I have to follow my instincts. Those instincts say no publicity and no police presence.”

  Sargent looked at me, then Hammonds. “I understand, sir. But you’re asking Ms. Bowman to take one helluva chance. She got away with it once. She might not—”

  As Maddy nodded, Hammonds cut in. “Beth? Do you have a problem with this?”

  “None whatsoever,” I said, then grinned. “That’s why you’re paying me the big bucks.” My attempt at levity fell flat as the faces of Sargent and Hammonds stayed ugly, and Maddy continued to frown.

  Sargent broke first. “I don’t agree. Everything I know says this is wrong. But I recognize when I’m whipped. We operate same as before.” He rose and turned toward the door.

  “Wait,” I said. “If it’s another CD or DVD or thumb drive or whatever, can you have a team ready to get us into it?” His eyes flashed, so I added, “You were great on the first one, but we did lose an hour or so. We might not have that luxury this time.”

  Hammonds nodded, and both of us looked at Sargent.

  “Bowman, you’re a real pain in the ass.” He paused and sighed. “I’ll have a team here. We’ll be prepared for whatever you deliver.” He started out of the room, but stopped in the doorway. “Be careful. I’d hate to lose my favorite skirt-PI.”

  He grinned, spun, and clomped down the hall.

  “Damn,” I said. “I don’t know whether to be insulted or complimented.”

  “From him, hard to say,” Hammonds said. “Whichever though, I echo his words. Be careful. You’re my best bet for getting Ashley home.”

  “Good luck,” Maddy said. “Ashley is depending on you.” Her tone said a lot more, something like, You’re so out of your league.

  _____

  After calling Bob to bring him up to date and ask if one of his invisible people could keep an eye on me, I headed for my house. My hope was things would stay quiet for the afternoon, and I could enjoy some time with Mom. It did, and it was nice. We spent the afternoon mall-crawling, sipping lattes at Starbucks, and just being Mother and Daughter. As with mothers everywhere, she forgave me for neglecting her. As for me, it was a pleasure being with her.

  I knew better than to tell her about my early morning rendezvous at the soccer field. She’d tell me it was too dangerous, then insist on going with me. The first I didn’t need to hear, and the second was out of the question. Instead, I told her I would stay at the Hammonds’ residence that night. We had hopes of a break in the kidnapping.

  At five, I took her to my house where she picked up her rental and headed for the airport to meet Ike. I wanted to go with her, but she insisted I go about my business. So, with a kiss on her cheek, I sent her off on her latest conquest. I had little doubt Ike would love her. How could he not? I did.

  I showered and dressed in clothing more suitable for a middle of the night soccer field rendezvous—jeans, T-shirt with a scoop neck, and tennis shoes. Yes, I wore a gun bra with my derringer safely tucked away. My purse didn’t change, continuing to weigh in heavy enough for a solid weapon if swung by its shoulder strap. I settled at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and my guns and gave them a close inspection. After satisfying myself they were in perfect working order, I put the Walther in my purse and holstered the derringer. Taking a last look around, I sighed and walked out the front door.

  My mind buzzed with doubts about the situation. Was I right in backing Hammonds about keeping the police away? Were my stubbornness and my bias against Sargent and Bannon swaying my judgment? Would a stakeout give us the best opportunity to grab one of the kidnappers, then rescue Ashley? Maybe if I moved in early, I could spot whoever put the package on the field. Doubts. Doubts. Filled with doubts. If something bad happened to Ashley, could I live with myself?

  No. The note said show up at three a.m. sharp and come alone. It warned about involving the police. Hammonds’ call was the right one. It was up to me. No police, no backup. Well, except Bob’s people—I hoped.

  _____

  It was two-forty-five, and I cruised Royal Springs Drive at about twenty miles per hour, my eyes glued to the soccer field. All I saw was darkness. If anyone or anything was out there, I couldn’t see it. I continued north under the Sawgrass Expressway, then U-turned a few blocks later. I wanted another look at my target before having to do the walk at the top of the hour.

  At the intersection with Wiles Road, I turned left and examined as much of the field as was visible. Wasted effort.

  I U-turned again, then stopped in a right-turn lane. There was no other traffic, so I used it as a parking space while my watch ticked toward the appointed hour. A couple of minutes before three, I pulled out and hit the soccer field parking lot on time, hoping the kidnappers gave points for punctuality.

  As I lowered the windows, the pounding in my chest smothered any outside noises. I put my hand over my heart, willing the sound to lessen so I could listen. No luck with the thump-thump-thump, but the feel of my derringer brought a degree of confidence. I quickly squelched it, no time for overconfidence. There was a job to do. Taking a deep breath, I pulled on a pair of latex gloves. I climbed out of the car and looked around. There were scattered clouds hiding a three-quarters moon. When the moon found a hole, it cast enough light to see a few feet, but when it went away, everything was black.

  As on my previous visit, I left the engine running, headlights on, and car door open, ready for a quick exit. I took the Walther from my purse and clenched it in my fingers. In my left, I carried a small flashlight. Taking a deep breath and closing my eyes, I took a first step toward the field. When I opened them, I had crossed the sideline. Good. I was on my way. Staying out of the beams cast by my car, I shined my light left and right, then toward the center circle. Around me, I saw nothing, but there was a reflection from the middle of the field. That was my target.

  My heart continued its loud thumping, seeming to accelerate with each step. I dared not hesitate, or I might bolt from the field. I shuddered, realizing this was worse than my first trip. It must have been the knowledge of the unparalleled cruelty the kidnappers were capable of that caused it. Cold sweat coated my forehead.

  After an eternity, I reached my target. A clear plastic bag lay in the beam of my light, a piece of paper inside. Frowning at the change in routine, I balanced my gun and the flashlight in one hand and scooped up the bag while scanning the field, wondering if anyone watched. Nothing to see so I turned my attention to the paper.

  Special instructions at north end of field.

  A shiver raced up my spine. Not good. Not good at all. I started northward, questioning my intelligence. What kind of crap were they pulling? A trap—obviously a trap. But why? It didn’t make sense, but I had little choice but to follow their rules. Ashley’s fate depended on it.

  My small light made little difference when I shined it toward the north end of the field—too much darkness too far away. But as I walked in that direction, I saw a large hedge forming. From having reconned the area in daylight, I knew the growth separated the field from the noise-suppression wall along the Sawgrass Expressway. I shuddered again—couldn’t help it.

  A book I’d quit on recently popped into my mind. It featured a young woman stalked by a vicious serial killer. The story wasn’t bad until she woke to strange sounds in the house at two in the morning, noises like a large person moving around. The squeak of a floorboard, followed by soft shuffling. The heroine threw back her covers and crept to the bedroom door. The sounds grew louder, coming from the direction of her downstairs kitchen. Now, any halfway smart person would have barricaded herself in her room, then grabbed the phone and dialed 9-1-1. Not this young woman. She was too spunky. She started down the steps in her sexy, three-inch high heel, pink Marabou bedroom slippers to investigate. I h
ad no idea what happened next because I slammed the book shut before she reached the lower floor.

  Now here I was doing the equivalent of the same thing. Following instructions and walking into a probable ambush. I felt like my eyes were bugging out as they alternated between squinting and staring wide-eyed into the darkness. That’s all I saw—darkness. I looked up and saw the moon in hiding again. Maybe I should give that book a second chance.

  About twenty yards out, I stopped and forced my breathing into a more normal pattern. I couldn’t be hyperventilating when I reached my target. Too much at stake. When I had myself under control, I continued at a brisk pace. Since I anticipated danger, there was no point in protracting it. Might as well get it over with.

  My light bounced off a package. It appeared to be an envelope, such as the one I found on my first trip to the field. Instructions for Hammonds, or I had to believe it was. It lay on the end line between the uprights of the netless goal. I stopped, my danger antenna sending out a constant beep, beep, beep. Five more yards.

  I was there. The envelope lay at my feet. All I had to do was stoop and pick it up. I cradled my flashlight under my armpit, keeping my head up, my eyes peering, scanning, zipping left to right and back, wishing the moon would show itself. My fingers found the package. I curled them to lift it. It didn’t move. Something held it down. Damn. I knelt on one knee, my fingers slipping around the edges. It still didn’t move. I had to look to discover the reason. With a last sweep of the area, I turned my vision downward.

  A hand grabbed the back of my neck and propelled me upward. At the same time, another hand swept down my right arm, jerking my pistol out of my hand. I swung with my left, but I was too slow. The grip on my neck tightened, sucking all the effort out of me. All I could do was cry out in pain.

  “Now, bitch,” a deep voice said, “we gonna talk. But first, take a look, a good look. Make sure you memorize everything you see.”

  His hand twisted my neck with my shoulders following until I was face-to-face with him. The moon picked that moment to find a hole in the clouds. What I saw was hideous—a series of oozing sores and scars and all shades of black, blue, and red. A smell of death rose from him.

  “Seen enough?” He shoved me back onto my knees, my head into the ground, never letting up on the pressure on my neck.

  “The package is for Hammonds. I’m sure you’ll deliver it just like the UPS man does—right on time.” He chuckled.

  The words registered, but I was still in shock at what I’d seen. What had happened to this man? What had turned him into such a grotesque figure? The pain he inflicted didn’t help me find an answer. I was more inclined to cry than think clearly.

  “This is for you,” he said. “Listen and don’t forget it. We don’t like your interference. We know you been all over town trying to find us. That ain’t part of our deal. You best stop right now. You understand? Nod if you do.”

  He let up with the pressure just enough for me to obey, then the pressure returned.

  “If we catch you looking for us again, that little girl gonna pay. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  I nodded as best I could with my face stuffed with grass.

  “Good. Make sure you pick up your peashooter before you leave. Don’t want no kids stumblin’ across it when the sun comes up. And don’t forget to deliver that package.”

  I heard an object hitting the hedge—probably my gun.

  “You were told to show up at three a.m. sharp. You didn’t follow orders. I seen you cruisin’ the area. You gonna work with me, you gonna do what I say. Don’t worry. No one will see the bruises except when you want them to.”

  I cringed as the pressure in my neck increased. I was in for a beating, and there wasn’t a darn thing I could do about it. He landed the first blow, a solid shot to my ribs. I’m sure it was a fist, but the pain it produced felt like he used a steel-toed boot. I struggled to breathe and retain consciousness as spears of pain shot through my body.

  “Catch your breath. There’s more to come.”

  The only noise for a moment was my gasping, then a new sound filled the air—a screeching somewhere between the call of a banshee and a scream.

  Something slammed into my attacker, knocking him off balance. The pressure on my neck lessened briefly, then I was thrown to the side as an enraged howl emerged. I heard another solid thump as if a body had hit the ground.

  I reached for my bra gun, intending to even things when a kick sent me flying. Thoughts of retaliation deserted me as blackness descended.

  twenty-six

  My eyes opened as a crescendo of pain raced from the top of my head, down my body, and out my toes. It left behind a loud echo of itself, and I folded into a fetal position, not knowing where I was or why my body screamed in pain. Gradually, memory overcame enough of the agony to remind me I was on the ground in a soccer field at the intersection of Royal Springs Drive and Wiles Road. I had come there to … Why was I there? That memory strand hadn’t recovered yet.

  I heard a groan and looked toward the tall hedge. A person, or what I took to be a person, sat there. Although it was too dark for details, I thought he, or maybe she, was holding his or her head.

  “Damn som’bitch. I let him git away. He’ll be back though. I’ll nail his ass next time.”

  Him. The person said him and memory flooded in. I had come to the field to pick up a note from the kidnappers and been accosted by someone. The person on the ground had to be my savior, the one who attacked my assailant. “Hello,” I said. “Are you okay?”

  “That you, Beth? Yeah, I’m alright. Just too pissed-off to move right now. That som’bitch threw me in this damn bush, and I got scratches all over me. You hang on. I be there in a minute.”

  Now my head was really spinning and not only from the blows it took. The voice was familiar. Female. “Who are you, and why are you here?”

  “I’m here for the same reason you are—to get Linda back, to bring my baby home.”

  I shook my head—and wished I hadn’t. Stars and light streaks of all colors appeared. Her answer didn’t make any sense. Who was Linda? I was there for Ashley. Either that or I’d taken a harder hit than I thought.

  I raised myself to a sitting position, moving with the speed of a ninety-year-old in a supermarket. “You didn’t tell me your name. Who are you?” That seemed a good place to begin. Whys and wherefores could come later.

  “It’s Dabba. Remember me? Bob’s friend? That man has my Linda. I shoulda done better. But I’ll get him next time.”

  Dabba? Linda? My brain clicked and filled in the details. But why was she here in the middle of the night?

  After a few minutes, I climbed to my feet and made my way to her. Like she said, she seemed okay, although her mumbling about Linda caused me to wonder.

  Remembering my assailant threw my gun into the hedge, I found my flashlight and, with Dabba’s help, searched until I located it. Then we spent ten minutes finding Dabba’s gun. She saw it first, and it disappeared into a shopping bag. It was a bit scary to think a woman who’d been looking for her kidnapped five-year-old for over forty years walked around with a loaded revolver. In her state of mind, though—mad as hell and making no qualms about it—I wasn’t about to argue with her.

  I knew I should rush the kidnappers’ envelope to Hammonds, but my curiosity about Dabba held me. “What were you doing here? How’d you know about this place?”

  “After you come here the first time, I knowed he’d be back. I found his hidey-hole and made one for myself. Tonight when he showed up, I figured I would follow him and find my Linda. But then, he went after you, and I couldn’t let him kill you. I couldn’t shoot him ’cause I needed him to take me to her, so I jumped on his back, hoping to conk him with my gun.” She groaned. “He’s a strong som’bitch. Just threw me off like I was a mosquito. Before I could git up, he kicked you and ran like
hell. Went thataway.”

  She pointed in the general direction of the parking lot. “I was still diggin’ my way out of that damn hedge when I heard a car start up down the street.” She stopped and held her hand out in front of her. “Shine your light over here. My hand feels funny.”

  I did, and we discovered two broken fingernails.

  “How’d that happen?” I asked.

  “Don’t know. Maybe when I was in that damn bush. ‘Course I hope I tore them ripping a hunk of his hide off.”

  “Possible, but not probable. More like you caught them on something. I’ve done that. They’ll be tender for a few days, but ought to be okay. Does Bob have a doctor you can visit when the sun comes up? Wouldn’t hurt to have someone check you over.”

  “Don’t need no doctor. I done worse diggin’ in dumpsters. You go on ’bout yo’ business. I’m staying here. If he comes back, he gonna get a big surprise. This time I’m shootin’ first and jumpin’ his ass second.”

  I turned my attention to the kidnapper’s package. He had staked it to the ground by its four corners with long spikes. That explained why I couldn’t lift it. He must have guessed I’d relax my vigil enough to bend down to it—and he was right.

  I shined my light around the area one last time, wanting to ensure I left nothing behind.

  “Put that light over here,” Dabba said.

  I followed her pointing finger.

  She giggled. “Damn. Must be one of them silver-lining things. There’s almost a full pack of cigarettes here. Bet that som’bitch dropped it.” She stooped to pick them up.

  “No. Leave it be. There might be fingerprints.”

  Dabba gave me an angry look, but backed off.

  Digging in my purse, I found a baggie and dropped the cigarette pack into it after shaking a couple out for Dabba. In spite of the pain that still roamed my body, a smile split my face.