by Bud Crawford
chapter forty-ninth
David had been in the bathroom listening since he sent Madison down to the parking lot. His black truck was in the other lot, behind the building. He squeezed the sharp-checkered grip of his beautiful new Kimber SIS forty-five, the safety was off. Damn. Why all these smart-asses suddenly popping up? The math wasn't complicated, he knew that, but he also knew ninety-nine percent of the population would have missed it. So close to the finish. If he had cleared out the end of March, none of this would have happened. But he had set a two-year target, modest really, after a whole year to get set up. Defining the centurion bonus structure, creating the bogus vendors, compiling and debugging his extraction software.
Not one of those freaks could have built his code. That was the brilliance, pulling the funds invisibly, and growing them where nobody could find them. Well, it was still cleanable, just the annoying little Fletchers in the way now. Dwight was gone. He could always make him more gone, if he had to, but he thought that was one pretty well scared-away fairy. He didn't mind killing. There's a rush taking into yourself what you take away from them, their power, their life. But just now all he wanted was a few weeks of quiet to close things out. He wished Ellen had spun off the road when he swerved at her, too damn cool, that one. It had been a perfect set up and would have saved going through all this bullshit. But, it was going to be alright, just have to hold them here until the sun was all the way down. He'd already cut the parking lot breaker. Behind the screen of bushes it would be black, barely a quarter moon tonight and cloudy.
How far would Maddy take her game? The main point was already clear. They knew too much, and they weren't going to let it go. He didn't mind if she wanted to fuck them, be harder for them to leave with their pants off. But it looks like they aren't going to play. The door was open an inch. He looked at Maddy squeezing her boobs, both Fletchers with their eyes locked on her. He guessed the time was now.
"Step back, Maddy," he said, as he pushed through the bathroom door. Madison stepped away from the Fletchers. His pistol swung a small arc between Geoff and Ellen, ready to go either way. Maddy's Ruger ultra-light thirty-eight was suddenly in her hand (where did that come from, he wondered) covering them from the front. "On the floor. Now. Hands behind your backs." As Geoff and Ellen knelt, then lay forward, he walked behind them. "Shrink wrap, Maddy, then tape, him first."
Madison set her pistol on the desk, shrugged her blouse on and buttoned a couple buttons. She took the plastic from David and began wrapping Geoff's wrists together. Geoff held his hands a little apart as she began to wrap. David said, "No games!" He stepped forward and stomped the heel of his black oxford hard against the back of Ellen's head. When she yelled at the unexpected pain, Geoff relaxed his wrists and Madison quickly pulled the plastic taut. Then she wrapped around and around with duct tape. David stepped back. "Her hands, his feet, her feet." Madison worked quickly, efficiently, on her knees. "Don't even think about yelling, Fletchers, nobody but us would hear, it's after hours in a cinder block building. We'll tape your yaps shut."
When Geoff and Ellen were wrapped to David's satisfaction, he told Madison, "Get gloves, then get the cell phones, turn them off. Get their little Swiss army knives, or whatever else is in their pockets." When she laid the pocket knives and keys and phones on her desk, he said to the Fletchers, "Okay, roll over now, lean against the sofa." Madison sat in the same chair as before, but pulled back several feet. David sat in the companion chair, similarly pulled back. Both of them held their guns.
"How long?" Madison asked.
"Just until it's dark." David said. "Not long."
"So," Madison turned to Geoff and Ellen, swinging the barrel of her pistol from one to the other. "You came here to run your interrogation session on me. How'd that work? Did I answer all your questions?"
"Thanks," Geoff said. "We're good. You wait for dark, we'll wait for Sprague and his crew. Or Ross, maybe, I assume he's federal, no clue what agency, but I'll bet this office is wired. Just like Charlotte."
"The little weather weasel?" asked David. "You're crazy, but, hey, the more the merrier. Wonder what's keeping them?"
"Too much data, I'd say," said Geoff. "You find out everything when you intercept the phones and emails and record all the conversations. But listening to it slows you down. Thing is, they have all the pieces, whether it takes five more minutes or fifty more minutes to put it together. Sprague knows about the trophy mug you took from Richter's cabin, the thumb drive from Alden's computer, and the Dow-Jones fee multiplier. I suggested he see if there actually is a Bill Reynolds alive anywhere, and to check the autopsy on Ayers, dig him up, if a full tox screen wasn't done. It's over, David."
"Well you're clever," David said, "but bluff is bluff. If you really had told Sprague all that, he'd already be here. Ergo you haven't. Congratulations on figuring it out, too bad you kept it to yourself, or just now got it. Whatever."
"Actually," Geoff said, "you're partly right. Sprague was out, we left messages. He's probably reading them about now, back in the office at the end of the day. The only reason Ross hasn't moved is he wants to be sure you're alone, not part of some larger network. He knows the one bit I'm not sure of, it's probably what got the feds involved. They saw your money moving, traced it to Metrocor, then to Charlotte, then to you. But they had to wonder, were you alone? Was Metrocor involved, or was it just you using the company resources? So they kept watch, Ross did. First in Charlotte, then Asheville, climbing up and down the trellis at Juniper House, so nobody knew if he was in or out. The German family told Sprague about him, in a letter, after they left town. Did you know they also saw Dwight go over?"
"Give it up, Geoffy, it's way too late." David set his gun on the table beside him and stretched his arms over his head. "All Sprague knows is he's got no case and his captain's pulled him off. Too bad about you two, another strange accident. You drove yourselves off a cliff, way too much to drink. The car blows up and you're both burnt to cinders." He pulled up on the sleeve of his Egyptian cotton dress shirt, to check his watch. "About an hour from now. Or two. What a week it's been for accidents."
"An hour, Davy?" Madison asked. "We can have fun in an hour."
David smiled. He enjoyed her hungers when they didn't cross his. "No marks, no DNA, knock yourself out otherwise," said David. "Shrink wrap the mouths, I'm tired of listening to the bullshit. But pour down some vodka first, a few ounces each. Use the hair, hold the noses until they open up, help them swallow."
~
"Alistair, could you come here, please?" Ms. Staedtler was drumming her fingers on the table alongside her computer. She had been just picked up her emails, at the end of Monday's tea, for the first time that day. There was one from Ellen, from her phone, probably, given the brevity. Alistair was walking towards her, wiping his hands on his apron. "Can you read this?" she asked.
"Yeah, probably, if I squint and tilt and lean over just right. Ah, there it is." He read slowly, straightened up and looked down her. "What should we do?"
"I was just thinking about that," she said. "I have two ideas."
~
Ross sat up abruptly, the light in Ickes office had gone dark. The lights had been easier to see, as the sun dropped behind the building, from a copper slightly lighter than the rest of the building, to a distinct dull yellow. There was still too much reflection to see inside, but the building was no longer a mirror, on this side. He turned on the engine, planning to follow Ickes home, and probably if that was where he went, just leave him there and visit Alden, maybe slip in and check those boxes. The tape from Icke's office was still running, it had just reached the good-byes from Alden and the Fletchers. Probably hitting the bathroom, Ross guessed, on his way downstairs. The Porsche was still sitting there in front of the building. On the tape he heard the door closer whoosh and the door click shut, then no more voices. Sounds only, for a minute, drawers closing, zippers zipping or unzipping. Then again, the closer and the door latch. He realized Ickes wasn't com
ing down, that he'd left right after the others. He left on the lights, left his car out front. He was long gone, out the back. Damn! Damn! And damn!
He must have followed the Fletchers to Asheville, or Alden to her house, an hour ago. Ross decided to check the Alden house, it was just five or ten minutes away. He tried to connect to the tap in Markey's office as he drove slowly past Alden's house. Her car sat alone in the driveway, there were other cars in other driveways, but no cars parked on the street. He could see Alden through her living room window, sitting with a phone held to her ear. He pulled over to the right-hand curb, cut his lights and stopped. Giving up on the real time tap, he gets the recording to play, starting about an hour previous. Maybe the link will hold while he drives to Asheville.
~
Sprague swallowed the last gulp of his second Highland Ale Oatmeal Porter. He liked to support the local breweries. He tossed the balled up wrapper from his sandwich across the kitchen, cleanly into the can. He pulled his cell phone closer. No calls, no text. Nothing on his land line. There didn't have to be anything strange about it. The Fletchers might just be eating dinner, watching a movie, phones turned off. People do. They'd sort it out tomorrow. He rinsed the bottles, set them in the recycle tub.
chapter fiftieth
Geoff shook his head. The pallet-wrap around his mouth rose up under his nostrils, tickling and fluttering as he breathed. His arms were cramping. He had tried to spit out the vodka but Madison held his nose until he exhaled through his mouth, he had nothing to push with, only the choice of breathing the liquid or swallowing it. The third time she poured he twisted hard under her hand, breaking free from her grip on his nose. Madison punched suddenly straight down into his groin at the same instant that David swung his open hand hard against Ellen's cheek.
"Listen to me, Fletchers," Davie said. "When you're found, tomorrow, what's left of you, nobody will be trying to explain a few little bruises. Think of the vodka as an anesthetic, a kindness, like in the old westerns, before they saw off the guy's leg. Drink it down easy, or, let's see, I could snap a few of Ellen's fingers." He leaned forward, reached behind her and pulled hard back on her right index finger. She yelped and Geoffrey swallowed the vodka. And again. Then Ellen swallowed several more times. David said, "Good work Maddy, that's enough for the coroner. Wrap the mouths, I still don't want any conversation."
"So, Davey," Madison asked, "can I take her tits out now?"
David laughed. "Sure you can, sweetheart, just put them back when you're done, and don't leave any marks to catch a medical examiner's eye." He took a step backwards and settled into his chair, his Kimber easy in his hand. "Don't figure, my drunken, trussed-up Fletchers that we won't shoot you. It would drop us into plan B, accidental deaths of the after-hours snoops, self-defense by lone woman working late. Plan A is better, less explaining to do, but plan B is actually considerably less trouble to bring off."
Geoff shifted slightly as the barrel of the forty-five swang towards him. His fingers had closed on the handle of his knife, he pulled it free from the sheath inside his belt, the plastic wrap came half way down his palms, only his finger tips were free. He looked to his left. Ellen looked at him, then back at Madison who was sitting astride her legs, unbuttoning her blouse. Ellen twisted her body violently, side to side. Madison grabbed her nose and held on until Ellen stopped twisting, then she let go.
"It's just like the vodka, Ellie. I can hurt you a little because it's fun, or I can hurt you a lot, because you make me mad." Madison undid the rest of Ellen's buttons, and pulled the blouse free from the waistband of her skirt. Ellen squirmed a little, twisting from side to side. Madison laughed, enjoying both her discomfort and her acquiescence. She placed a palm on each breast, then squeezed hard through the fabric of the cotton bra. Ellen jumped and twisted, Madison squeezed harder, until Ellen stopped moving. Geoff could see the buckle of Ellen's belt rotate a little. It was a small buckle on a thin belt, but the decorative face of the buckle had sharp corners. Each time Ellen twisted her body, she tugged the buckle back towards her taped wrists.
The alcohol was not helping. Geoff's mind and his fingers felt fuzzy. He'd pulled the knife-handle up, free of the scabbard inside his pants. He tried to time the release of the blade with Ellen's yelps of pain and Madison's burblings of pleasure. He grunted for a little more cover. The stiletto blade was out, and he hadn't stabbed himself, quite. He could feel the tip pressing into his tailbone. He lifted it a little. David's eyes moved to him for a second, then back to Madison and Ellen. He slid the handle up between his palms, and squeezed his right hand around it. It wasn't a great grip, but he could probably cut through the tape and plastic, given a few uninterrupted minutes. For now, he pushed the handle up towards his wrists, the blade hidden between his hands. Not much, against two guns. Better than Ellen's buckle, he supposed. She had managed by now to slide it most of the way around. Madison snapped a thin rubber band against her nipples, slapped the sides of her breasts with her hands, then with a wooden ruler, and poked into her with a t-pin to make patterns with tiny dots of blood. Ellen tried to keep quiet, but Madison calibrated her assaults to maintain a continuous volume of involuntary complaint, into which she folded her own sounds of pleasure.
David watched what Madison was doing to Ellen. He had slid his chair sideways for a better line of sight. Geoff watched him, and watched Madison. He could not get free fast enough to be of any use to Ellen. A clean cut through the plastic and tape might free his hands, but his feet would still be tied together. And it would still be a four-inch blade against two semi-automatic pistols. He tried to will his palms not to sweat. The handle of the little knife was not textured and it was getting slippery. Ellen's breasts were red all over now, too-ripe tomatoes, with welts of white and purple, but no breaks in the skin. He could not tell if she had gotten the buckle far enough around to be of use, he didn't want to draw David's or Madison's attention.
"Okay, Maddy," David stood, looking down at the three people on the floor. "Put your toys away, we're going for a drive. Let's get you buttoned up, too."
Madison turned and looked up. She sighed. "It's always work work work with you, Davey." She swept her finger tips and her eyes a last time across Ellen's chest, scraped the bruised nipples with her fingernails. Most of the marks would fade in an hour. Madison tugged Ellen's bra down and buttoned her shirt. "Well, I had a little fun, and it did help pass the time. I hope you were watching."
"Didn't miss a tweak, sweetheart, I thank you for the show. But time isn't our friend right now, I'd like to get this done before somebody does come looking for them. It's earlier than I like, but dark enough to load them up." He handed Madison his pistol, pulled plastic film around Geoff's eyes, and secured it with a wrap of duct tape. He did the same for Ellen. "What you can't see can't help you." He bent forward, pulled his right arm back and punched Geoff sharply in the solar plexus. Geoff's grunt was audible through the tape. He slid his hands into Geoff's armpits, pulled him from the ground and over his shoulder in one movement. "I'll drop him in the truck and come back for her; you watch her until I get back, then run down and keep an eye and a gun on him."
David walked down the steps, Geoff's hundred-seventy pounds balanced in a fireman's carry. He crossed the hallway to the back of the building, and opened the exit door. The lot was empty and dark, except for his pickup. He opened the rear door of the extended cab, flopped Geoff onto his back on the floor of the truck, and pulled a dark wool blanket off the seat and covered him.
Geoff lay in the triple dark of tape, night, and the blanket. He was still stunned from the unexpected punch. It's not easy gasping through your nose. Question is, should he start sawing at the tape now, or wait until they were underway, and keep the blade hidden a little longer. Better to do something, he decided and tried to slice through tape and plastic in one clean cut along the inside. He was almost half way up between his wrists when the cab door opened, the blanket was pulled back and Ellen was dumped on top of him. He could hear h
er also gasping through her nostrils, must have been the same punch. He could hear Madison and David talking, their voices too soft for him to make out the words. After a minute David got into the driver's seat.
"Okay, it's your next-to-last drive, stupid snoopy people. One quick thought before we start." He turned between the front bucket seats and swung down hard with a wooden baseball bat against the blanket that covered them. Ellen, on top, took most of the impact. What started as a full-throated scream was barely audible behind the tape, inside the cab. "There's no winning for you anymore, but you'll lose over and over if you try anything clever. So, shut up and stay still." He started the engine, and put the truck in gear. It lurched forward, stopped at the street, turned left. The transmission was loud, the engine was louder, the muffler had a hole.
Now, Geoff thought, now. He cut the rest of the way between his wrists, his hands were free, he had scraped himself in the back, several times; none serious, he hoped. He pulled his feet up behind his back, as gently as he could under Ellen's shuddering body. He reached down and slit the bindings between his feet. He pulled the tape off his eyes, then off Ellen's, trying not to disturb the surface of the blanket. He freed her mouth, then his own. He reached behind her to find her hands free, she had been sawing against the buckle. He reached for her feet, bent up behind her. When they were cut free, they lay still for several minutes, feeling the car move, seeing street lights come and go dimly through the blanket. This would be a really good time not to be drunk, Geoff told himself. If he could get out from under Ellen, without David noticing, he could reach up between the seats and stab him. Or at the next stop, he could try to open the door and roll out, dragging Ellen after him. Maybe they'd be in a place where David couldn't just shoot them, but how could he tell? They'd been driving a quarter hour, maybe, the lights had gotten fewer, they must be already out of town.
