The Robin Hood Thief

by H. C. H. Ritz

  She was on the ground suddenly. Her vision was dark, then it flickered in and out. Her arms and legs wouldn’t move.

  Mandy…

  One of the men said something to the other and pointed down at her. He gestured to his own left collarbone. They argued briefly, and the words echoed, incoherent.

  Roman-numerals guy knelt and frowned at her, then pressed hard with his knee on her left collarbone area. She couldn’t figure out why.

  A drop of sweat rolled off his forehead and hit her cheek. She wanted to wipe it off, but she still couldn’t move.

  While he knelt, Roman went through her pockets and took her e-paper away.

  A burning feeling under Roman’s knee became searing, then throbbing. Gradually, it dawned on her that he had shot her and was now applying pressure to the wound.

  The other man had gone away. What about Mandy?

  Roman got up, checked the wound, then rolled her over, zip-tied her arms behind her back, and pulled her to her feet. She could just barely keep herself upright. He pulled her down the hallways and into the stairwell, the heavy rusting door dragging and squealing as he forced it open.

  The stairwell smelled of old urine. A sleeping bag in the corner held the still form of someone who was either asleep or dead.

  She didn’t understand why they wanted her alive. Hadn’t they planned to blow her up in her car?

  Her strength returned, bit by bit, as they went down the stairs. Out on another floor of the parking garage, Roman-numerals guy opened the door of a black SUV and pushed her forward. She got onto the first step leading into the backseat and then realized that this was her last chance to get away.

  She turned and headbutted Roman as hard as she could, knocking them both to the ground.

  He screamed at her and hit her in the face. Her right eye went blurry. She struggled to get up to her knees.

  Mandy…

  Roman hit her from behind, and her silver locket flew up out of her shirt. She twisted away enough to draw her knee up to kick him, but he threw his arms around her and flung her down.

  She felt something jerk around her neck. The locket hit the ground.

  “No!” she cried.

  She was on her face on the ground now, grit and gravel rubbing into her cheek and forehead. His weight was on her, and there was no way she could get up. She bucked and twisted helplessly.

  “She’s gone,” Roman said. “She’s in the other car. Stop it! You’re going to start bleeding again.”

  Helen fought harder.

  “If you quiet down”—he smacked her on the back of the head—“if you get in the car, you can see her again, all right? Cooperate, goddammit.”

  “Let me see her,” Helen begged.

  He let her up, holding firmly to the zip tie that secured her arms.

  Another black SUV was pulling away. Mandy’s blue hair pressed against the window pane, unmoving.

  Roman yanked at her arms and she cried out in pain.

  “Get in the car,” he said.

  She got in. All she could think about was Mandy. And how useless the three deadbolts had proven to be.

  Roman slammed the door, then picked up the locket and looked at it carefully. He shrugged and put it in his pocket.

  2 Days, 14 Hours, 24 Minutes

  Helen tried to think this through—who had them—but her brain wouldn’t work. All she knew was that they weren’t law enforcement.

  She suddenly realized that these couldn’t be the people who’d just blown up her car. Those people wanted her dead. These guys were with someone else.

  She had pissed off a lot of different people.

  A few blocks from Helen’s apartment building, a series of cop cars and SWAT vehicles flew by, their sirens off but their speed indicating that they meant business. She watched them go with a sense of foreboding and yet somehow feeling forlorn at the same time. Cops were never good news—unless you were being kidnapped.

  They drove into one of the rich areas of town, Lake Estelle Estates. There was no construction here and a lot less traffic and crowding. Smoothly paved streets, power-washed buildings, freshly watered grass and greenery and flowers, impeccably attired and groomed families taking it all for granted. They oozed entitlement. They thought this was just the way the world was. They thought they’d earned all of this. That they’d worked hard—or their parents before them, anyway—and so this was just what they got to have.

  Too damn bad for the rest of the world.

  Helen shook her head. So it was some rich guy she’d pissed off. She wondered which one it was going to be. Not that it really mattered. What mattered was what he was going to want from her. And from Mandy.

  They turned in to the Hotel Forzando. It was attached to the west end of an enormous luxury shopping mall, the Lake Estelle Shops. She couldn’t recall whether any of her victims had connections to this hotel or the shopping mall.

  They pulled around to the valet parking. When they got out, still concealed by the SUV’s doors, the guard with the Roman numerals tattoo on his cheekbone cut the zip tie on her hands and put his suit jacket around her shoulders to conceal her gunshot wound. “Don’t try anything stupid,” he said.

  She couldn’t think of anything to try that wasn’t stupid. What was she going to do? Start screaming for help? Maybe she could have done that if she was well-dressed, but she wore work clothes—worn slacks and a wrinkled button-up shirt. And a ten-dollar haircut that needed trimming. She didn’t belong here. They’d take her for a crazy person and turn away, guiding their children to safety.

  The lobby was huge, spacious, beautiful. Columns soared up to a ceiling painted with a lovely fresco of the gods of Mount Olympus. The heels of the men’s shoes clicked on the marble tile.

  No, Helen really didn’t belong.

  The elevator dinged and they got in. Roman punched the button for the top floor, the fourteenth.

  “Where’s Mandy?” she asked.

  “Coming up separately,” Roman said.

  They rode in silence.

  The doors opened and a wave of fever passed over Helen as they went through a small lobby toward double doors. She knew that nothing good could possibly wait for them on the other side of those doors.

  They went through, past a hallway and a dining area and into a living room. Floor-to-ceiling windows filled two walls, with views out onto a balcony with a Jacuzzi and a pool and then out to the city.

  In front of her, the man responsible for their abduction lounged on a sofa, his arms along the back of the sofa, his legs crossed, his head tilted too far back.

  She recognized him. The first time she ever saw him, the short man was going at his mistress like a rabbit. Her lip curled. Brock Tolbrook.

  “Hello,” she said.

  It was perhaps an underwhelming greeting.

  He gestured to Roman, who took his suit jacket back and shoved Helen down to the ground in front of the sofa.

  Tolbrook stared down at her on the floor. He looked like he was holding back some sort of particularly nasty comment, one that twisted his whole face.

  “Well?” she asked. “Can we get this over with?”

  His face reddened.

  “I told you,” he said, his voice filling the room. “I told you that I never quit. I told you I would get you eventually. And I did.” He leaned forward and stared into her eyes, trying to be intimidating.

  She wondered when he was going to stop yelling, and then she thought that maybe he always spoke too loud. Trying to make up for being short, perhaps.

  “How did you know it was me?” she asked.

  “Cops finally figured out you weren’t old. Age regressed the photos. It was easy after that.”

  Helen’s stomach sank. Her time was up, then. Everyone knew who she was now—Tolbrook had just gotten to her first. Maybe those cop cars and SWAT vehicles a few minutes ago really were for her.

  He leaned back, no doubt satisfied with her defeated expression. “You cost me a million dollar
s. And you’re going to pay me back. With interest. A lot of interest. I’m not going to take less than a hundred million dollars.”

  “Oh, come on,” she snapped before she could stop the words from spilling out. “A hundred million? You don’t need a hundred million dollars.”

  His face reddened again. “Of course I don’t need it,” he snapped back. “I didn’t need my first hundred million. But I deserve it, and you’re going to get it for me.”

  “You deserve it? What have you done to deserve it, exactly?”

  His face turned purple. His volume went even higher. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand decent, hard-working people like me. Whereas you—”

  “Decent—Are you kidding me?”

  “You’re nothing but a criminal and a terrorist. What makes you think you’re entitled to do anything you’ve done?”

  “I have done this to help people. You know that, if you’ve read my letters. I’ve— ”

  “Oh sure, of course, you think you’re noble. All you are is a thief.” He stood up to shout down at her. “Taking away what people like me have spent our entire lives working for. I’m a businessman. And a family man. I’ve played by the rules. I have worked hard for what I have and you have no business sneaking into my home and stealing what’s mine!” Spittle flew from his lips.

  “No one is entitled to excess when there are those who don’t have enough,” Helen said.

  “Communist bullcrap. You ever actually get your communist world, you’ll be sorry. But that’s okay. You’ll never get it.” He wiped his mouth. “Now listen. You are going to get that money for me. You’re going to contact Cobalt and have the money sent to me. I don’t care where it comes from. You understand?”

  “Fine,” she said. With everything else they’d done, surely Cobalt could arrange that.

  It rankled to give in, but now was not the time to fight back. She told herself that anything Cobalt could do, he could surely undo later. By the time they were done with the cat-and-mouse game, Helen would be dead and Mandy would be safe.

  He gestured back toward the large dining table. A projcom waited on it, the holographic keyboard and display already lit.

  Still on her knees, she looked back at Tolbrook one more time. She just couldn’t stop herself. “What is wrong with you?” she asked quietly. “You love horses and dogs. How could someone who loves horses and dogs be… like this?”

  He stared at her as if wondering how anyone could ask a question so stupid. “Horses and dogs are innocent. People like you are scum.” He crouched on the ground in front of her. “You came into my house a guest and you…” Remembering, his face reddened again.

  He grabbed the back of her hair, pulling her head back. His face hardened into a scowl. “So I guess I’m more of a bad guy than I thought. You’re the one who taught me that. Taught me I’d be willing to kill for how you humiliated me.”

  Was he thinking of killing her now? Hurting her?

  “Let me just make one thing clear to you.” He paused for dramatic effect. “You’ve failed.”

  He stared hungrily at her face—hungry to see her broken. “You set criminals free—congratulations, you’ve made the world a worse place. You got a few donations and stole a few trinkets—that means nothing. The cops will throw your squatters out eventually. The banks are already being rebuilt. You just got your fifteen minutes, that’s all, and once this is over, no one will even remember that you ever existed.”

  He shoved her over, catching her off guard.

  He looked at her on the ground for a moment, still kneeling over her, still too close for comfort, his expression unreadable. “People like me—we own this world. Our parents and grandparents and great-grandparents gave it to us. And we work hard to keep it up. We work hard for it, do you hear me? You don’t. You people just take up space. But we let you. And you know why?”

  He leaned even closer, his face taking up her entire field of vision, and spoke softly but emphatically. “Because we don’t give a shit what you do. Nothing you do matters. Nothing you do will ever matter. So just give up.”

  He got up and walked to the window and looked out.

  Helen couldn’t find words.

  She got up on trembling legs and went to the projcom. All that mattered was to complete his request and get Mandy out of here. She couldn’t think about what he’d said now, or it would sap what little strength remained in her.

  As she sat down and tried to get her bearings on the device, she remembered suddenly that Cobalt hadn’t replied to her last three messages. What if he wasn’t willing to talk to her anymore?

  Please, God, please let Cobalt answer me.

  “Nice place, isn’t it?” Tolbrook asked arrogantly. “This penthouse. I had it built just for me.”

  Helen stared at the screen. Her mind was like mud.

  “Is it online?” she asked hesitantly. “Is there something I have to…?”

  “It’s online. Just write the email.” Tolbrook snapped.

  It had been a dumb question. She couldn’t think. A wave of fever came over her. The gunshot wound in her shoulder throbbed and burned.

  She went to Whatsit and logged in, carefully, step by step, trying to cajole her fading mind into helping her. Why did everything look new and different?

  Something was very wrong.

  She felt weak and limp.

  “What are you doing on Whatsit?” Tolbrook demanded.

  “This is how I contact him,” she said. “I don’t have any other way to reach him.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  She couldn’t remember the profile name that Cobalt had last given her. And she was certain that he deleted all the old ones after a day or so.

  “Yes, I’m cancelling everything for the afternoon,” Tolbrook said, his tone ugly.

  She turned to stare at him and then realized he was talking to someone on his Earworm.

  A message popped up on the projcom, on Whatsit. It was from Smith.

  [ Waiting for that interview with bated breath. ]

  Yeah, right, she thought. Probably a bit too late for that now.

  Wait. She was online. On Whatsit. With access to the entire Internet. She looked over her shoulder.

  Tolbrook was distracted with his phone call. “No, I don’t care what he’s saying. I did the fundraiser, I met my obligation.”

  Quickly she typed [ me and daughter kidnapped penthouse hotel forzando help DON’T REPLY ] and sent the message, then closed the window. Or tried. A little circle spun as the system tried to connect.

  Shit.

  An error message appeared and Helen frantically tapped at all the Close buttons.

  Tolbrook grunted a dismissal to the person on his Earworm and turned back to Helen just as everything shut down.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  “Got an error message,” she said as calmly as she could manage. “Trying again.” She re-opened the browser and started Whatsit back up.

  Tolbrook stared at her, apparently sensing that something was wrong but unable to figure it out. “You better not be lying to me.”

  She flinched. “It was an error, okay?” she said as calmly as possible, despite her heart beating frantically. “Your computer is out of date or something.”

  He didn’t say anything, just folded his arms.

  She didn’t think her message had gone through, and now Tolbrook was watching her.

  Well, it had been worth a try.

  Fuck.

  She tried again to focus on Cobalt.

  What was the profile name he had last given her?

  Her heart hammered.

  Her chin dropped toward her chest.

  Think, Helen, think.

  She felt her cheeks go hot with another wave of fever.

  “What is it?” Tolbrook slapped her on the back of the head.

  She bit back an angry response.

  Tolbrook leaned in close, staring her down.

  She tried again to remember
. Cobaltajax27? That was the previous one. Maybe.

  Suddenly, she was terrified. If she couldn’t reach him, then she couldn’t get the money, and that meant she couldn’t buy Mandy’s way out of here.

  “I’m just having some trouble remembering the profile name. He changed it every time, and I never wrote them down, and I just need a few minutes…”

  Tolbrook tried to laugh. “You think I’m going to buy that?”

  “Today’s events have taken it right out of my head, okay? I got shot, you know. I just need a few minutes to think.”

  He just nodded slowly. She could see his clenched jaw. He was pissed.

  “Fine. Go say goodbye to your daughter and see if that jogs your memory a bit.”

  Her heart faltered and her body went weak.

  Tolbrook gestured to Roman, who took Helen by the arm and escorted her down the front hallway. He stopped in front of a door and opened it with his key card. “Go in.”

  She did, and the door slammed behind her.

  It was a perfumed luxury bedroom with outrageously high ceilings and enormous windows. And her daughter lay awkward and motionless across the bed, her face turned away. Blood pooled on the silk coverlet under Mandy’s blue hair.

  Helen choked back a cry and stumbled to her daughter.

  Please, no…

  2 Days, 14 Hours, 2 Minutes

  Her daughter’s eyes were closed. Her blue hair was a bloody mess on the right side. Helen couldn’t see how bad it was. She didn’t see exposed bone. Blood was still seeping out. The pool of blood under Mandy’s head was big.

  She felt for a pulse on the side of Mandy’s neck.

  She was unable to breathe, unable to think, until she knew. Everything stopped until she knew.

  There was a pulse.

  She bent down and watched Mandy’s chest, as she had done every night at the side of her crib when she was a baby, until she saw it rising and falling.

  She fell to her knees and gasped shuddering breaths of relief.

  Thank God thank God thank God…

  But they were trapped and alone and both of them were hurt. And Helen couldn’t even think straight. She couldn’t run or fight.