Cornered

by Brandon Massey

  Leon followed her eyes with his feverish gaze. “You like? I would have booked a penthouse at the Ritz, but I had certain rigid privacy requirements. This’ll have to do.”

  She glared at him. “I want my daughter in here with me.”

  “Billy’s keeping an eye on her.”

  “That monster?” She shook her head. “No, he’ll. . he’ll hurt her.”

  “Look, I told him to keep his hands off her, and he listens to me, obeys my every word, I’m the Alpha dog of our dynamic duo, so your munchkin’ll be fine-unless you make me angry, do something to piss me off and get on my bad side, in which case, I’ll tell him he can do whatever he wants to her, and who knows what’ll happen, God only knows the incredible perversities Billy could commit while he’s alone with the little angel, ya dig?”

  Nausea surged in her throat. Swallowing with a grimace, she bowed her head and focused on breathing, one slow breath at a time.

  Soon, the sickness passed. But the fear remained like a kernel in her gut.

  Leon touched her shoulder. She pulled away from his hand.

  “Don’t be cruel, my sweet,” he said. “You and I are going to get to know each other very well here. That’s right, we’re going to become the best of friends, you and I, and who knows, maybe something more, maybe a whole lot more, who knows what surprises the future has in store for us.”

  Looking into his manic eyes, knowing the power this man held over them, she couldn’t take it any more.

  She broke down, and cried.

  22

  After the agents left, Corey snapped into action. He swept up the broken vase; he gathered up the budgie’s frail corpse, perhaps to bury later in the backyard; he forwarded the house landline to his BlackBerry, in case a call somehow came through from his family; and, not wanting to miss a call from Leon, either, he attached the prepaid cell to his belt in a spare phone holster.

  Then, under an oppressive gray sky, he drove back to work.

  The visit from the FBI made him want to get away from home. Agent Falco clearly suspected that he was hiding something, and they would be checking into his story and checking into him. Loitering in the house, pacing the empty rooms full of so many painful reminders of Simone and Jada, waiting for something to happen, filled him with a paralyzing sense of powerlessness.

  He had to do something. Something proactive, not reactive. The clock was ticking.

  First things first. He needed to talk to someone about what was going on, someone he could trust, someone who could help him formulate a strategy. He felt incapable of logically thinking through the situation on his own-he was navigating such an emotional high wire he feared he might do something stupid, and with the lives of his family hanging in the balance, he couldn’t afford to make a mistake.

  At work, he found Todd in his corner office, the door half open. Surrounded by posters of his favorite casinos, Todd was tapping away on the keyboard and bobbing his head to a Jimmy Buffet song playing on his iPod, the music blasting through a pair of external speakers.

  Corey envied his friend’s good cheer. It seemed so damn unfair that while Todd was bopping along happily, he was going through his life’s worst nightmare.

  Corey rapped on the door. Todd looked up.

  “Hey, buddy,” Todd said. He lowered the music’s volume and spun away from his PC. “Sure could’ve used you on the conference call. You handle whatever you were doing?”

  Corey closed the door, pulled a wing chair closer to Todd’s desk, and sat.

  “Listen, Todd, I need your help in a major way.”

  “Okay.” Todd tilted backward in his seat and crossed his hands behind his head. “I’m all ears. What’s up?”

  “You remember our conversation from yesterday? About a certain hypothetical situation?”

  Todd grinned, exposing capped teeth. “You’re telling me you really did kill someone?”

  “Listen, I need you to be serious.”

  “All right, I’m serious, sorry.” He pinched his upper lip, face growing solemn. “What happened?”

  “First of all, this stays strictly between you and me.”

  Todd raised his hand. “Scout’s honor, Corey. I won’t tell a soul.”

  Corey paused, deliberating over his words. Then, in a faltering voice, he told Todd almost everything. He told him about running into Leon yesterday. He told him Leon had abducted his family that morning for ransom. He told him about his visit from the FBI.

  The only thing he didn’t tell Todd was what he had never told anyone: the details of the act he and Leon had committed together, a memory that churned like a thundercloud in the depths of his soul. Instead, he painted the unsavory past he shared with Leon in general terms, admitted that they had done things together that could pose a grave problem if the facts were to become public, and that Leon was using their history as leverage to bend Corey to his will.

  Throughout Corey’s recounting of events, Todd listened intently, blue eyes alternating between shock and anxiety. But when Corey reached the part about his encounter with the FBI, redness bloomed in his cheeks.

  “Never, ever trust the freakin’ cops,” Todd said with disgust. “It’s like how it is on TV, you know? If you’d told this Agent Falco chick what was going on, they’d be manipulating you across their little chessboard.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” Corey said. Now that he had confided in someone, he already felt better. Sharper, more clear-headed. “Lying to them was its own risk, but their involvement is riskier.”

  “No shit, it’s riskier. They wouldn’t care about getting your family back safe, they’d care only about pinching this Leon guy-and if your family gets trapped in the crossfire, big deal. That’s what they do.”

  “If there’s one thing I can tell you about Leon, it’s that he’s not afraid of a fight,” Corey said. “He used to tell me all the time when we were kids that the only way he’ll ever go down is in a hail of bullets, and he’ll take plenty of people with him.”

  “Don’t screw around with him, then. Screw the Feds, though.”

  “I’m glad we’re on the same page. I had to talk to someone or else I’d go crazy.”

  “No worries, I’m with you now.” Todd gnawed on the eraser of his pencil, glanced at the computer. “So I can find this guy’s photo and stuff online?”

  “Type his name into Google and see for yourself.”

  Todd swiveled to the keyboard, typed. His eyes grew large as he stared at the screen. “Whoa. Christ, he looks like a badass.”

  Corey smiled grimly. “Leon’s the real deal, Todd. A bona fide crazy motherfucker.”

  Todd was shaking his head. “It’s hard for me to picture you being best buds with this guy. You’re so. . so straightlaced and normal. Like Mr. All-American Guy. How’d you ever hook up with someone like him?”

  “He moved in to the house across the street from us when I was maybe sixteen, seventeen. He was a couple of years older than me, slick and sharp, talked beaucoup trash about a whole lot of things I’d never heard of, seemed so wise to the ways of the world, you know? I guess he just sort of blew me away.”

  “You looked up to him then, like a big brother?”

  “I didn’t have anyone else. I had a few friends my age, but none especially close. No close cousins. No siblings. It was only me and my grandma. So yeah, I think I saw him like a big brother type, for a while anyway. But that was a long time ago-now I see him as he really is.”

  “As a psycho,” Todd said.

  “He has no morals, no fear. No inhibitions whatsoever. If he wants something, he just takes it, and he doesn’t care if he has to shoot someone to get it. That’s the kind of guy we’re dealing with here.”

  Nodding absently, Todd chewed the pencil eraser, gaze far away.

  “What’re you thinking?” Corey asked.

  Todd’s eyes focused. “I hate to say it, Corey, but I think we have to pay him.”

  “What?”

  “We have to give him
some money.”

  Corey bounded out of the chair and paced across the office. “Did you hear what I said, Todd? I told you, I don’t have five hundred thousand dollars!”

  “I know, I know.” Todd raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Work with me a minute, all right? I’m the sales guy of our management team, you’re the business know-how.”

  “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

  “Christ, will you let me finish, Corey? What I’m saying is that we’ve got to sell this guy a deal.”

  “Sell him a deal? How? He’s got all the leverage-he has my family.”

  “I get that. But it’s not in his best interests to hurt them. This guy is a killer, sure, but he’s primarily a thief. He doesn’t want bloodshed unless someone forces his hand. Am I reading him correctly?”

  “If you push him too far, he can explode.”

  “Of course, sure.” Todd rubbed his hands together, warming up to his proposal. “But with the way I want to do this, no one gets pushed, no one gets hurt. It’ll be a win-win for everyone.”

  “A win-win? How?”

  “I say we give him what we give some of the customers we really want to woo-an in-home, risk-free trial.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Check this out. The next time he calls you, we tell him we’ve pulled together the ransom payment. We arrange for the drop-off of the cash and the release of your family. At the drop-off, we give him a briefcase full of money.”

  Corey stopped pacing. “How much money?”

  “I think fifty thousand would do it.”

  “I tried to talk him into that earlier. He wants five hundred thousand, Todd. Period.”

  “And I want a Ferrari Spider, but if someone gives me the keys to a Corvette and says take it home, I’m not going to turn it down. Do you see what I’m saying here?”

  Fists bunched on his waist, Corey said, “I think so.”

  “This guy is a freakin’ FBI fugitive. He’s desperate, strapped for cash. He needs to get moving before the heat builds. Once he sees fifty grand staring him in the face, we’ll seal the deal-like our customers who fall in love with our system and go to contract after we give them a risk-free trial. With that much cash in hand, he’ll be happy to turn over your family and hit the road.”

  “Then what?”

  “What do you mean, then what? You’ll have Simone and Jada back, this Leon guy goes back on the lam, and the Feds catch him later, maybe. But your headaches are over.”

  Corey sat down again. He cracked his knuckles, thinking.

  Todd could be right. In spite of his bravado and fast talk, Leon was a relatively small-time hood, limited by his innate impulsiveness to minor burglaries of homes and armed robberies of convenience stores; even the crime that had landed him on the FBI’s radar, as tragic as it had turned out, had netted him only thirty-five thousand dollars, and Corey was certain that was the most Leon had ever scored in one job. With fifty grand in his possession free and clear, he might turn over Simone and Jada, safe and unharmed.

  But what if Leon wanted more money? What if, after they paid him, he didn’t go away like they hoped he would?

  “It might not work,” Corey said. “Even if he releases my family after we pay him, he might come around again. That’s what thieves do, they’re greedy. They’ll hit the same spot over and over until it’s totally tapped out.”

  Todd’s gaze was direct. “You have a gun, don’t you?”

  Corey understood what he was getting at. He touched his hip, where his shirt concealed his revolver’s bulge.

  “It’s right here,” he said.

  “If he comes around again, I think you’ll be ready to deal with him a bit more aggressively,” Todd said softly. “An altercation between a violent fugitive and a devoted family man and entrepreneur, respected in his community, who kills the bad guy in self-defense? Write your own headline, Corey, but it’s all good for you.”

  Corey knew he was right. If he was forced to gun down Leon in a fight, he would probably be hailed as a hero.

  “It still seems like a big gamble,” Corey said.

  “Life’s a gamble, man. One giant roulette wheel. One crazy hand of cards. One pull of the one-armed bandit. You’ve gotta roll the dice.”

  “We’re taking about the lives of my wife and daughter, not a wild night in Vegas. I can’t afford to be wrong on this.”

  “Most definitely, these are the highest stakes you could ever have.” Todd tapped the pencil against his chin. “Take some time to think it over. You’ve got until when to pay him? Friday afternoon?”

  “Friday at five.”

  “If I can help in any way at all, let me know. I’m here for you.” Todd grimaced. “I’m so sorry this is happening. You guys don’t deserve this shit. I don’t. . man, I don’t even want to imagine what your family’s going through right now with that psycho maniac holding them.”

  Corey thought he had been keeping himself under control, but Todd’s words stirred up a deep, cold fear that compressed his heart like steel calipers. Muttering thanks, he hurried outside-he had to get outdoors into the fresh air or else he was going to explode.

  23

  Shedding tears, Simone knew from her professional experience, could often be cathartic, a means of expelling deep-seated emotional toxins and blockages. In her therapy practice, she aimed to create a warm, trusting environment in which her clients felt free to cry if they were so moved. In many cases, a healthy bout of purgative weeping led to greater self-awareness of one’s troubles-and, eventually, enhanced self-awareness led to healing.

  After she gave in to her own tears, she felt cleansed, too. Liberated from pointless denials of her situation. Profoundly and sharply aware of her plight.

  Now she could heal-by taking specific measures to get out.

  Maybe fifteen minutes ago, soon after she had begun crying, Leon had abandoned her on the mattress in the bedroom. He tucked the folding chair under his arm, locked the door behind him, and barricaded the doorway on the other side with what sounded like a heavy piece of wood. He’d left without a word, his gaze unreadable, as if annoyed by her tears or preoccupied with other matters that required his attention.

  He was an enigma to her. Why on earth did he think Corey could raise five hundred thousand dollars in two days? What was the real nature of Corey’s history with him? How long had he been planning to do this to them?

  One thing of which she had no doubt whatsoever: he was dangerous. There was a hungry, reptilian gleam in his eyes when he looked at her that convinced her that he would not hesitate to hurt her. That he might even get a sick thrill out of it.

  She would have to be careful with him.

  As for the shady past he shared with Corey, why he had chosen them for this scheme, and why he believed Corey could pay the outrageous sum he was demanding-she had progressed no further in figuring out answers to those questions, and any answers she came up were likely to be wrong, so she avoided pondering them too much.

  She would focus on what she could control. Her own thought processes. Her own actions. With the singular intention of merging thought and action to save Jada. Nothing else mattered.

  Except for the occasional whisper of wind through eaves, the house was eerily quiet. She had not heard any noises from upstairs. She prayed her baby was fine and that Leon’s partner indeed obeyed his command to leave Jada untouched.

  The alternative was just too horrifying to contemplate.

  Her cheeks sticky with drying tears, she examined the handcuffs in her lap. They certainly weren’t the flimsy, bedroom-play variety: the heavy-duty silver chain was a couple of inches long, and the cuffs themselves were made of durable, nickel-plated steel. There was a keyhole in each restraint.

  All she knew about escaping from handcuffs was what she had seen in movies. Perhaps she could have used a hairpin to pick the locks if she had one, but she didn’t. She had thin, delicate wrists, but when she tri
ed to twist them through the cuffs, she succeeded only in sending hot rivets of agony down her forearms. The cuffs were cinched too tightly for her to maneuver free.

  With effort, she got to her feet. Needles of pain threaded across her abdomen, the side of her face ached from when Leon had slapped her, and the knot on the back of her head felt as fat as a walnut. She inhaled several breaths, steadying herself.

  The shift in position made her aware of her full bladder. On feet that felt like leaden blocks, she shuffled to the bathroom.

  It was full of shadow, spacious, but unfinished. The large garden tub was missing the spout and faucets; the basin held a short stack of ceramic tiles that matched the floor, but nothing that could be used as a weapon or a lock pick. The door to the glass shower enclosure leaned against a wall. There was a door for the bathroom itself, but where a knob should have been, there was only an empty hole, preventing her from locking herself inside.

  There were three windows, but each had been barred widthwise with planks of plywood, leaving only thin slits through which to view outside. She peered through the narrow opening of the window above the sink. A rolling forest of pines, elms, and maples receded from the house to an ashen horizon, but the landscape told her nothing about where they were being held. Metro Atlanta was full of wooded areas.

  The door to the walk-in closet was at the other end of the bathroom; the knob was missing from that door, too. She pushed it open, and found a vacant, musty space crisscrossed with cobwebs.

  A roll of cheap toilet paper stood atop the tank lid. She flipped up the cover. The bowl was dry, no running water, but she didn’t care.

  She nudged the door shut with her foot, yanked down her sweat suit bottoms and panties-it took a bit of shimmying to do it with her hands bound-and lowering herself onto the cold seat she emptied her bladder.

  She thought of Jada having to urinate with that giant pervert looming nearby. An almost crippling wave of rage crashed through her.

  Hold on to that emotion, she told herself. Bottle it up. Save it for when the moment is right.