Dead in the Water

by Denise Swanson

  Skye swallowed the lump in her throat. What could she say? She couldn’t assure her that her things would be recovered.

  Instead, she held out her arms to the elderly woman and murmured, “How about a hug to tide you over until your daughter gets here?”

  The woman nodded and moved into Skye’s embrace. A few seconds later, she straightened her spine and said, “Thank you. I’ll be fine. The tornado may have taken my things, but certainly not my memories.”

  Skye gave her a final squeeze and waved goodbye. The community had lost a lot when the tornadoes ripped through Scumble River. But country folks were tough and resilient. The town would come back stronger than ever. And so would Wally.

  Chapter 11

  “You have plenty of courage, I am sure. All you need is confidence in yourself. There is no living thing that is not afraid when it faces danger. The True courage is in facing danger when you are afraid, and that kind of courage you have in plenty.”

  —The Wizard

  Wally had been trying to get his hands free from the duct-tape restraints since Tin had left him alone, but he hadn’t made much progress. The tape wasn’t that tight around his wrists, but it was so damn sticky it seemed more like superglue than regular adhesive was holding the ends together.

  The swollen tissue of his right eye made it difficult to see anything on that side of his body and his entire face felt like one giant bruise. At least he wasn’t gagged and Tin hadn’t punched him in the nose. With a broken nose or a rag stuffed in his mouth, breathing could be a problem.

  As it was, Wally’s mind felt fuzzy and he wasn’t sure how long it had been since his capture. It seemed like forever, but his sense of time was distorted and he might have dozed off for a while.

  Initially, the only sounds he heard were the occasional creaks of someone walking across the floor above him. But fifteen or twenty minutes ago, several motorcycles and what sounded like a large pickup truck had roared past the house. He assumed they were heading to the machine shed he had attempted to check out earlier.

  The way the light was changing as it seeped around the edges of the cardboard-covered basement windows suggested it was now late afternoon or early evening. Wally’s best guess was he’d been held prisoner for at least five hours, and that worried him.

  Even sixty minutes was a long stretch for an officer to be out of touch. Especially the chief. By now, someone at the police department should have figured out Wally was missing and come to find him.

  He figured his captors would have hidden the squad car, but Dante knew Wally’s last location. Surely, when his staff started looking for him, the mayor would tell Quirk where he had been heading.

  Of course, it was entirely possible that Dante wasn’t even aware of Wally’s absence. Hizzoner might very well already be home enjoying a drink before sitting down to eat supper with his wife. It wasn’t as if Quirk would think to seek out the mayor. The Scumble River officers tended to keep their distance from the slimy politician.

  Shit! No one was coming to his rescue. Wally’s stomach knotted, then he lifted his chin. Fine! He was not dying in this dank basement. He’d figure a way out of here himself.

  No way in hell was he leaving Skye a widow. Reid would move in on her before Wally’s body was in the ground. And that smarmy bastard wasn’t ever sharing Skye’s bed again, or raising Wally’s child.

  Tightening his jaw, Wally renewed his efforts on the tape manacling his wrists. He dug his fingernails into the smooth outer surface. If he could just find an edge, he could peel it apart. And once his hands were free, he’d escape. Either through one of the windows, if he could fit through the small opening, or by kicking down the door to the kitchen.

  Wally began to take a careful inventory of the basement’s contents for a weapon. The concrete walls were cracked and a single bare bulb hung from the ceiling rafters. In addition to the punching bag Tin had beaten on when he’d spared Wally any further pounding, there was an old metal workbench, its surface bare of tools.

  Several busted-up chairs that matched the one Wally occupied were leaning against a farmhouse table missing one leg. And directly in front of him stood a stained, 1950s-era refrigerator minus its door. Other than an ancient furnace and water heater huddled near the back, the rest of the space was empty.

  No. Wait. Resting against a wall in a dim corner to Wally’s left was a rusted shovel that would make a jim-dandy bludgeon. Now all he had to do was get his hands free.

  As he returned to picking at the tape around his wrists, raised voices interrupted his efforts. Wally froze, then, wanting to hear better, he scooted his chair to the bottom of the stairs.

  The aroma of hamburgers and onions frying drifted down the steps, and his stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast with Skye and Charlie. The gang must be sitting down to dinner in the kitchen. Were they arguing, or was that their normal mealtime conversational tone?

  Wally could identify Boo-Boo’s and Tin’s voices, but he hadn’t heard anyone else speak. Now, if he’d counted correctly, there were ten men in the house.

  If Wally had to guess, the loudest and most frequent voice most likely belonged to the leader of the motorcycle gang, the guy Tin had called Veep. Commanding a bunch of criminals wasn’t for the soft-spoken, and this guy was dominating the discussion. Although Tin was a close second.

  Wally hadn’t heard Boo-Boo say much, but someone ordered him to speak and he stuttered, “Uh…this bull came to the door and I…uh…I thought he was raiding the place so I pulled my nine and…”

  “And now we have 5–0 in the basement,” one of the other men finished.

  “Boo-Boo.” Veep’s tone was sharp edged. “You and I will have a powwow about this later. Right now, we need to decide what to do with the cop.”

  “We been talking about packing up and moving on, and I been looking around. There’s a place across the state line that we can have as soon as we hand over the rent,” Tin said. “You gotta think that if the guy who owns this place had someone checking on it, he’ll keep sending people until he finds out what we got going on. It might be a good time to find another spot ripe for the picking.”

  “Satan’s Posse don’t run away when it gets rough,” someone sneered.

  “Remember, when we established this offshoot of the club, Prez told us we were supposed to work smart rather than hard? He ordered more stealth and less swagger.” Tin’s tone was mild. “Does it really make you the toughest bastard in town if you dig through a pile of shit for the prize rather than stroll a few feet downstream to pick up the gold just sitting there?”

  “Tin’s got a good point.” Veep’s voice mellowed. “The storm screwed up our nice, little gig here. They got the town tied down so tight, it’ll be a long time until we can get back to business, and even then it will be a lot harder to rip off houses with all the media attention.”

  Ah. Wally nodded to himself. So these were the guys behind all the recent burglaries in the area. The sheriff had been sure there was some kind of organized ring involved in the thefts. Reports of a motorcycle gang using drugs and prostitutes to recruit kids put the bikers on the top of the suspect list, but no one had been able to locate their hideout.

  “Hey,” another member said, “at least we were right here to take advantage as soon as the tornadoes went through. We got all kinds of valuable shit from those empty houses and the twister did all the work for us. Lots of ’em was opened up like a can of sardines.”

  So they’d done a little looting, too. Why wasn’t Wally surprised?

  “You remember that guy with the German shepherd?” one of the bikers asked. “Can you believe”—the voice trailed off, and Wally heard footsteps walking away then coming back—“old lady—?”

  “Enough reminiscing.” Veep cut him off. “It’ll take us a few days to move to a new clubhouse. What’re we going to do with
the heat in the basement?”

  “Kill him,” someone suggested, his voice rasping like a knife against a whetstone. “Lots of land around to dump the body.”

  “That’s one option.” Tin’s tone was casual. “But 5–0 won’t look for us too hard if all we’re doing is ripping people off. We kill a cop and they never give up. And I got a pillowcase over his head right away, so he ain’t seen none of our faces.”

  “He saw mine,” Boo-Boo whined.

  “Only for a few seconds and you don’t have a record, so all he’s going to be able to do is describe you.” Tin laughed snidely. “It ain’t as if there aren’t a million nineteen-year-olds that don’t look exactly like you.”

  “Why you so interested in keeping the fuzz alive?” a suspicious voice hissed like a wasp hovering near a lighted window.

  Tin drawled, “Because we can make some bank on the guy.”

  “How?” Veep’s tone was interested. “Who’d pay to get him back?”

  “His old man,” Tin answered. “I did a little internet research this afternoon. At first, it seemed as if the guy wasn’t nothing more than a small-town cop. But then when I was reading his wedding announcement, his father’s name sort of tickled something in the way back of my mind, so I looked daddy-o up.”

  “And?” Veep asked impatiently. “Who is his old man, and how much will he pay?”

  “An article on the old dude said he was a Texas oil millionaire, but I suspect he’s probably more like a billionaire.” Tin spoke in the gratified tone of a satisfied customer. “His name is Carson Boyd. He’s the sole owner and CEO of CB International, which is a family business.”

  Well, shit! On the one hand, Wally was glad the gang had a reason to keep him alive. On the other, if an outlaw biker could figure out his father’s worth, so could any teenager in Scumble River. Which meant it was time to clue in the townspeople as to Wally’s real family background before it came out in an inappropriate way. He’d have to ask Skye the best approach to revealing that information.

  “Son of a bitch!” Veep thundered. “What in the hell is this guy doing working a shitty-ass job in the middle of Podunk, Illinois?”

  “Good question,” Tin said, his tone brisk. “But a better one is: How much is he worth?”

  Despite Veep being the leader, Tin seemed to be the brains of the outfit. Maybe that’s why he’d gone easy when he’d roughed up Wally. Maybe he’d already been thinking of ransoming him off to the highest bidder.

  But something still didn’t sit right about the guy. Tin’s demeanor with Wally was just a shade different from when he was with the gang. Even his language patterns seemed different. Was he a well-educated man who was hiding that from his fellow gang members, or was there something more going on with him?

  Before Wally could decide, the kitchen door slammed opened and he hurriedly scooted his chair to its original position and pretended to doze. In an instant, boots thundered down the staircase.

  “Wake up, sleepyhead.” A slap across the face forced his eyelids open, then Tin tied a bandana over Wally’s eyes and whispered, “Veep’s coming down to have a few words with you. Don’t screw up.”

  A few seconds later, a hand grabbed Wally’s chin and a voice like gravel rumbled, “So you got yourself a rich daddy?”

  Wally ignored Veep’s question and Tin growled, “Answer the man.”

  Wally wasn’t sure why, but he took Tin’s advice and said, “Yeah. I guess my father’s done all right for himself.”

  “Why you working a crap job here in Buttcrack, Illinois, instead of living the good life with your daddy in Texas?” Veep dug his ragged nails into Wally’s cheeks. “You on the outs with him?”

  “No.” Wally gritted his teeth. “Dad and I are good. I just wasn’t the type to be able to sit behind a desk and go to meetings all day.”

  Wally wanted to refuse to cooperate, but being macho wouldn’t get him out of this situation alive. And he’d rather swallow his pride and see his baby born than go to his grave for mouthing off.

  “What do you think? You figure your old man will come up with a cool mil to get you back safe and sound?” Veep asked.

  “That’s a lot of money,” Wally said. “His assets might not be that liquid.”

  “Maybe some motivation will liquefy them.” Veep cackled. “Nothing like seeing your flesh and blood’s flesh and blood to help open a wallet.”

  From the feel of cold metal against his neck, Wally assumed the man had a knife next to his ear.

  “Let’s not permanently damage the merchandise just yet,” Tin cautioned.

  “Here’s the thing,” Wally said, deciding his best chance at making it back to Skye and his baby alive was to cooperate. “It will take my father four or five business days to get a million dollars in cash. And I’m guessing you guys would like to get your money and make tracks as fast as possible.” When Veep snarled a yes, Wally continued. “Dad keeps two hundred and fifty thousand in his safe. You could literally have it in your hands by tomorrow night.”

  Tin and Veep were silent, then Veep said, “A quarter mil it is. How we going to do this, Tin? You got a number to call?”

  “All I got is the company’s listing,” Tin said. “But that won’t get to Old Man Boyd directly, which is what we want.” He snatched a handful of Wally’s hair. “What’s your father’s private number?”

  “I don’t know it by heart.” Wally shrugged. Hoping someone was trying to track his cell, and if Tin turned it on, they could draw a bead on his location, he suggested, “It’s in the contacts on my phone.”

  “Well, isn’t it lucky I have your cell right here in my pocket,” Tin said. “Got it!” He paused, then added, “You know, if we use the cop’s phone to call, his father will definitely pick up. Especially if they’ve figured out he’s missing. The guy will be anxious to talk to his son.”

  “Smart.” Veep’s voice held a chilling smile.

  As predicted, his call was answered in one ring.

  Evidently, Tin had put the phone on speaker, because Wally heard his dad yell, “Wally!” Then ask, “Where the hell are you? You got your pretty, little wife all in a tizzy and that isn’t good in her condition.”

  “Glad to hear you’re worried about your son,” Tin crooned.

  “Who the hell are you, and what have you done with my boy?” Carson snapped.

  “Wally is snug as a bug in a rug,” Tin answered. “That’s a Texas expression, right?”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Carson thundered, then ordered, “Put my son on the line immediately. Do you have any idea who I am?”

  “Actually, I do.” Tin’s voice was cold. “Which is the only reason your baby boy isn’t dead.”

  “I…” Carson sputtered. “You…” Then, his tone defeated, he asked, “What do you want?”

  “Now that’s better.” Tin chuckled smugly, then said, “If you put two hundred and fifty thousand in unmarked bills in a suitcase and leave it…” He paused, obviously muting the phone, then directed his questions to Wally. “We need a spot in town that we can get to without going through a bunch of cops stopping us to check IDs.”

  Wally’s mind raced. All roads into and out of Scumble River were barricaded. What was on the edge of town before the roadblocks?

  Finally, Wally remembered the breakfast conversation and said, “The old Hutton dairy farm by I-55.” He hesitated, then added, “But it will only work if the exchange is made in the next couple of days, because they might use it as a school after that.”

  “Okay.” Tin instructed Carson, “Leave the money in the trash bin on the northeast corner of the Hutton dairy farm.”

  “How do you know there’s a garbage can there?” Veep whispered.

  “I don’t,” Tin whispered back. “Tomorrow, a couple of hours before the drop, we send Boo-Boo to the farm to put one in that corner. Since he g
ot us into this mess, he can wait there until the cash shows up.” Raising his voice, Tin said, “Carson, my man, have the dough there by midnight tomorrow or your son dies.”

  “Wait,” Carson begged. “How do I know my boy’s still alive?”

  Tin smacked Wally on the arm and ordered, “Say hi to your daddy, but don’t try nothing stupid.”

  Wally nodded and said, “Hey, Dad. I’m okay. How’s Skye doing?”

  “She’s fine and I’m on my way to be with her, so don’t worry.”

  “Where are you?”

  “On the company plane heading toward O’Hare. Good thing I’m not flying commercial or I wouldn’t have been able to have my cell phone on and I would have missed your call.” Carson’s voice hitched. “I’ll have your cousin get the money together and fly out with it tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” An idea flickered through Wally’s head. He was surprised Tin hadn’t removed the phone yet, but before he did, Wally hurriedly said, “Tell Skye I love her and she should go to her uncle Dante. He can help her. She should go talk to him.”

  “Enough!” Veep roared.

  Tin quickly said, “Daddy-O, we’ll be expecting you personally with the Bennies by midnight tomorrow.”

  “Fine. But at eleven fifty-five, you need to call me and have Wally on the line to prove that he’s still alive.”

  “We can do that. But once you hear his voice, you need to immediately put the cash in the trash can and walk away. Don’t be stupid and involve the cops. Don’t make us do something we don’t want to do. Don’t make your son’s wife a widow.”

  Chapter 12

  “I think you are wrong to want a heart. It makes most people unhappy. If you only knew it, you are in luck not to have a heart.”

  —The Wizard

  At a few minutes to four, May was finally forced to leave Skye alone and headed off to work her shift at the police station. Enjoying the silence, Skye stood in the luxurious motor coach, marveling at Carson’s ability to snap his fingers and have something like this RV appear in the middle of rural Illinois. The man who had delivered and set up the coach had bragged that it was nearly forty-five feet long, had a ninety-one-gallon freshwater tank, and slept five. There should be plenty of room for the twins and even an additional overnight guest.