KIDNAP.org

by Peg Herring

  Robin cringed as the phrase she’d heard so often growing up came into play for the second time that day.

  The way the world works. Grow up. Face it. There’s nothing you can do to change it.

  Brushing at her forehead as if to push the words off to one side, she focused on Carter’s situation. “Abrams tore up your mother’s letter, and then—the rest of it happened.”

  “Yeah.” His hands flew out from his body and back in like frightened birds. “I tried to tell him I’ll let him out if he’ll be quiet, but he keeps swearing at me.” He gave the trunk a chiding glance. “It isn’t nice to swear.”

  As Robin stood debating, Carter dragged the heel of his shoe across the concrete. “I don’t want to go to jail, Robin. You’re a lawyer, so I thought you’d tell me what to do.”

  Returning from her own dark thoughts, she corrected his misconception. “I’m not a lawyer, Carter. I work at a law firm.” Grimacing, she added, “I did. I got fired this morning.”

  “How could you get fired?” He scowled at the air. “I bet you were really good at your job.”

  “Really good isn’t enough sometimes.”

  Wiping a hand on his shirt, he struggled to comprehend. “You helped me with the landlord.”

  “Her so-called reason for raising your rent after your mom died was a crock. I told her I worked for a law firm and let her draw her own conclusions.”

  Gesturing toward the Lincoln he asked, “Can you fix this for me like you fixed that?”

  If her boss hadn’t given her the ax that morning, she’d be receiving a paycheck right about now. If she’d been busy at work, she wouldn’t have answered Carter’s phone call. Someone else would have dealt with the commissioner in the trunk.

  Why me?

  She tried to focus. “Did you say he put a suitcase in there?”

  “Yeah, and this was on the car seat.” He handed her a paper sleeve that held a boarding pass for the train to Atlanta at 2:34 that afternoon. One plus in a day of minuses: no one at his office was expecting Abrams back after lunch.

  “He said he had a busy weekend coming up.” Carter cleared his throat. “He didn’t have time to explain a business deal to a retard.”

  Though her anger boiled up again, Robin struggled to remain logical. She couldn’t let herself get so emotional that she did something crazy for a second time in a single day.

  She took Carter through the story again, looking for any hint of dishonesty or exaggeration. His account remained the same; in fact, he seemed incapable of changing it either to gain sympathy or to excuse himself. Carter knew the difference between how much his mother had been paid and what the land was worth. Abrams had taken advantage of a sick, dying woman, but he’d underestimated her son’s ability to spot a bad deal. Faced with his crime, Abrams had tried to stonewall Carter. The resulting trouble had engulfed them both.

  If he hadn’t overreacted, Carter might have gone to court and claimed his mother wasn’t in her right mind when she signed away her property for a pittance. His halting speech and delayed thought process would have worked against him, but he’d have had a shot. Now he’d committed a crime against a local dignitary and stood little chance of being heard, much less forgiven. She imagined the lawyers at her former firm reading accounts of Carter’s arrest for kidnapping and commenting, as they often did, on the need to “lock up the crazies.”

  Little-boy eyes looked at her from an oh-so-manly frame. “What are we gonna do, Robin?”

  A year ago, a month ago, even a day ago, she’d have said something completely different. Now, as she thought about all those who suffered at the hands of small-time grifters and big-time crooks, she replied, “We’re going to teach Mr. Abrams a lesson.”

  Chapter Two

  Leaving Carter with instructions to buy a bottled water and stuff it through the damaged tail light, Robin went shopping. A plan had formed in her head—crazy but irresistible.

  It was wrong, so wrong. She shouldn’t do it—shouldn’t even think about it. But Carter was in trouble because he appeared too weak to fight back. And buddy, do I know what that feels like.

  Entering the first home store she found, Robin thought of the cheaters she’d encountered in her lifetime. First and foremost was her father. She lived with the damage Dear Old Dad had done to her self-confidence every single day.

  Next came the drunk who’d killed her mother. Though his license had been pulled years before for multiple violations, he’d been driving under the influence when he ran a stop light and T-boned her car. Six months before that, her brother had been critically injured in a petroleum-based war nobody with an iota of common sense thought the U.S. could win.

  How do so many bad things happen to people who don’t deserve it and so many good things happen to those who keep getting away with stuff they shouldn’t?

  If only Carter hadn’t asked for her help on the very morning she’d screwed her own life up like an out of control power drill.

  She’d been twenty minutes late that morning getting to work. The bosses never arrived until nine, and none of the office staff said anything. By 8:25 she was at her desk, transcribing handwritten notes that looked—and smelled—as if wine had been spilled on them. In several places she had to guess what it said. It was a good bet the job hadn’t originally been hers but had been passed down the pecking order to the last hired and the least likely to squawk, due to her aforementioned tendency to arrive late.

  Though Robin was cordial to her coworkers, the fact that she was years younger than the others and unmarried meant she was regarded with suspicion, as if she might steal their jobs—or their husbands. Her lack of interest in office gossip didn’t endear her to them either.

  When Mr. Eldon Green, Esquire, arrived, the chirping of the other women quieted and the atmosphere in the dark wood-paneled offices became sedate. As he passed, Green called to Robin with a terse, “Parsons. Come in.” She followed him into his inner sanctum, where even darker wood and deep carpeting created the feeling she was entering a giant coffin.

  Dubbed “Grass Green” by the staff to differentiate him from partners “Pea Green” and “O.D. (Olive Drab),” he took off his Burberry and hung it on the wrought-iron tree beside the door. She caught a whiff of the Dior knock-off aftershave he bought from Smelz-Like-It.

  Boss, you really need to know: it doesn’t.

  Robin waited a few steps in, tablet in hand. She’d learned not to get too close, since Green often “accidentally” bumped her chest with a hand or arm. He always apologized, but insincerity was evident in his eyes. She always accepted, hiding the disgust in hers.

  Taking off his suit coat, Green hung it over the back of the chair, adjusting it so it wouldn’t get wrinkled. That done, he pulled out his leather chair and sat down, wriggling his large posterior until he found the most comfortable spot. Though she couldn’t help thinking he looked like a toad in a Brooks Brothers shirt, Robin kept her expression neutral and her eyes alert.

  “Ms. Parsons,” he said without asking her to sit. “I won’t keep you in suspense. We’re letting you go.”

  She stood there with what was no doubt a stupid look on her face, temporarily unable to fathom the meaning behind the words. There’d been no hint of impending layoffs, no dissatisfaction expressed with her job performance.

  “Mr. Green, if this is about the times I’ve been late, my car is—”

  A shake of his head stopped her. “It’s nothing like that.”

  “I’m signed up for more classes next term. If I made mistakes—”

  This time he raised a hand, his expression faintly irritated.

  Robin stopped talking. It was one of her weaknesses: a tendency to explain too much and take blame onto herself that didn’t belong there. She struggled to find an argument that would let her keep her job.

  Don’t they know my car’s about to fall to pieces and my rent is three days late?

  Folding his always-damp hands on the smooth desktop, Grass said in what
she thought of his smarmy voice, “We’re sorry to lose you, of course. It’s this awful economy.” He attempted a sympathetic expression, and she was reminded of times she’d watched him lie to clients about how terrible he felt about problems he had no intention of addressing. “Of course we’ll provide you with excellent references. A talented worker like you will soon find something else.”

  Are you going to pay my credit card bills till then? She tried to recall how much money she had in her bank account. Six, seven hundred dollars, maybe.

  Surprise began turning to anger. She’d sacrificed for this job, studying at night and working all day. Her social life had sunk to the level of a Benedictine nun’s. She’d told herself it would lead to future advancement. It wasn’t just the amount of work she’d done that fueled her outrage either. She’d lost tiny bits of self-respect every day as she dealt with clients and her bosses, all of whom lived for money and gloated about how cleverly they went about getting more of it.

  Still, she needed both the references Green mentioned and the pay she’d earn in the two weeks they were required to give her before a layoff. Digging her nails into her palms until it hurt, she stared at the bland wall over her boss’ shoulder and managed to say almost nothing in response to his insincere comments.

  Don’t think about it right now. Think about pillows and rocky road ice cream.

  When Green finally dismissed Robin, her legs didn’t want to work. Her chest muscles seemed intent on squeezing the air out of her lungs. Only a month ago she’d finished paying off her mother’s debts and the funeral expenses that had kept her at starvation level for the last year and a half. Now, when the light at the end of her particular tunnel had begun shining ever so dimly, Green, Green & Green had stepped in to unscrew the bulb.

  Forcing herself to walk slowly and keep her head up, she made it to the bathroom before tears overcame her. Locking herself in, she tried not to sob too loudly. Were the others aware of what had happened? Were they sorry or glad to see her go? Either way, she fell back on the only worthwhile lesson she’d ever learned from her father: Don’t let the hurt show.

  Once she recovered, Robin returned to her desk and went through the motions of her job, filing, typing, and texting, almost unaware of what she was doing. Her mind buzzed with questions that had no answers. At 11:00, when the lawyers retreated to O.D.’s office, one of the women hurried over to speak to her. Eileen was the friendliest of the staff at Three G’s, not because she was a nice person, but because she loved to spread gossip. Squatting beside Robin’s desk she said breathlessly. “It sucks what they’re doing to you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You got laid off, right?” She glanced around to make sure no one else was listening. “O.D.’s golfing buddy came in last week, and I happened to overhear their conversation. His daughter just got an associate degree from some business school, and he asked them to find a spot for her.” Eileen raised drawn-on brows. “Apparently the girl needs experience.”

  “Experience?”

  Eileen deepened her voice in a parody of a father’s tone. “‘Her mother and I want Daphne to go on with school, but she says she’s tired of studying. It’s time the girl learned about the world of work.’” She glanced around the office as if imagining the future. “His baby girl probably never had a real job in her life. The rest of us will have to pick up the slack.”

  “They’d do that?” she asked. “Replace me with some girl they don’t even know?”

  Pushing long bangs out of her eyes Eileen replied, “The other Greens weren’t thrilled, but when I saw the look on your face this morning, I figured they did it.” She leaned in close, and Robin smelled Scope. “Did he bring up all the days you’ve been late?”

  “No. It was pretty much ‘Here it is. Deal with it.’”

  Eileen shook her head, causing her bangs to slide back over her eyes. “You’re a good worker. It’s just that if you questioned the layoff, they could say you’re late a lot.”

  “Is that why they picked me to boot out?”

  “Well, sometimes you’re not very respectful when you talk about clients.”

  “Only the ones who are scumbags.”

  The bangs fell back down and Eileen brushed at them again. “It isn’t our job to judge them.”

  “I can’t help it. I hate dishonest people.”

  “I get that, but the bosses decide who we deal with, not us.”

  Robin blinked away fresh tears. “Why’d they pick me?”

  Eileen was only too happy to tell. “I happened to hear O.D. say that an attractive woman like you can always find a husband with a good job. Then you wouldn’t need to work.”

  “Prince Charming rescues Cinderella?”

  “It didn’t work for me,” she said ruefully. “But men like the Greens still think that way.”

  When Eileen retreated to her desk, thrilled to have delivered devastating news, Robin sat stunned. “I’ll fight them,” she muttered, but it was an empty threat. The Greens were lawyers, after all, and it wasn’t like there was a union supporting the rights of mistreated office workers.

  Nobody was going to listen to her complaints. Nobody was going to save her job.

  I have no power, so I lose.

  Warmth spread through her chest, up her neck, and into her cheeks. As anger surged through her like a tide, she dropped her pen, rose from her desk, and headed for O.D. Green’s office. Without knocking, she threw open the door so hard it banged against a filing cabinet. The three men looked up from restaurant flyers they’d been deliberating over.

  “You’re laying me off so you can hire someone else.” Robin fought to keep her voice under control, but it shook with rage. “That’s not fair.”

  “Miss Parsons—” Pea began, but she paid no attention.

  “I’ve worked hard for you people, and this is what I get? You’re disgusting!”

  If Grass resembled a toad, Pea was a slightly confused owl who molted his way around the office, leaving dandruff and dry skin cells everywhere. “Miss Parsons, please calm down.”

  “Nobody should be treated this way!”

  O.D. Green (who, to continue the animal analogy, reminded Robin of a boar) spoke in a growl, his eyes hard and his lips tight. “Young woman, this business belongs to us, and we’ll run it as we see fit. I advise you to grow up and accept the way the world works.”

  “You make me sick!” She was yelling now, loudly enough that the whole office would hear. Stalking away she stopped at her desk, snatched up the few things she wanted, and turned her back on the Green Law Firm forever, ignoring the surprised looks on her coworkers’ faces. She meant to slam the door as she left, but the hydraulic closure prevented it. Instead of a bold punctuation mark, she heard only an unconvincing hiss of air behind her.

  Hurrying to the car with her Minnie Mouse stapler and her essential oils diffuser, Robin had consoled herself by imagining the good old boys at 3 G’s learning on Monday morning that no one else in the office knew how to make coffee in the new brew pot or change the toner in the copy machine. And Grass would have to hope the new girl wouldn’t mind if he “accidentally” brushed her breasts or touched her butt.

  Which doesn’t change the fact that you’re broke and out of—

  “Excuse me?” The voice, coming from only a few steps away, startled her so much she jumped and had to grab her purse to keep from dropping it.

  A man in an orange apron regarded her with a concerned expression, and she realized she’d been muttering under her breath.

  “Can I help you find something?”

  She took a deep breath. There wasn’t much she could do to fix her own situation. But she had an idea how she might fix Carter’s.

  “Yes, you can,” she replied. “Where can I find the duct tape?”

  Chapter Three

  Robin planned to take Barney Abrams somewhere private and present him with evidence of his wrongdoing. Face to face with the victim of his scheme, he’d see how unfair h
is action had been. Once he admitted guilt, they’d demand he make amends. Carter would receive what was owed to him. Abrams would keep quiet about being locked in the trunk in exchange for their silence about his cheating a cancer patient in her last days of life.

  There were two problems: first she had to find a setting where Abrams couldn’t shout for help or run away from them. That part she had figured out. She’d use the storage unit a few miles out of town where she kept her mom’s things. Mom had been a pack rat, and it had taken months to decide what to keep, what to sell, and what to donate to charity. The unit was mostly empty, but it was still hers.

  The second problem was hiding her identity. Abrams knew who his kidnapper was; that couldn’t be helped. But if she remained anonymous, she’d be in a better position to protect Carter if things went wrong.

  Robin bought four clamp-on trouble lights and a roll of duct tape. As she was about to check out, she recalled that her storage unit had no electricity to power the lights. Heading down another aisle, she bought the smallest portable generator they had in stock. Though it was expensive, she figured she’d return it tomorrow and say she’d found a better one.

  As she loaded her purchases in the trunk of the Honda, she noticed a toy store a few buildings down. That gave her an idea, and after a short search down a novelty aisle filled with things that lit up or twirled around or made strange noises, she found exactly what she wanted.

  A half hour later, she pulled in at the Ur-Place Storage Lot. Four rows of identical buildings stood out like an island archipelago in a sea of red Georgia soil. An acquaintance had told her the distinctive soil in the Piedmont area was composed of iron, aluminum, and silica, was very old, and had been subjected to intense weathering for a long time. “It just looks odd to me,” she’d replied. “In Indiana we have dirt-colored dirt.”

  The lot had no visible surveillance equipment, which she guessed meant there was none. Nor was there a person who monitored the comings and goings of renters. Though the facility was surrounded by cyclone fencing eight feet high, there was no barrier at the top to prevent people climbing over it. Ur-Place was not a particularly secure property. Today that was exactly what Robin wanted.