by Bob DeMoss
A wide smile crossed his face.
He picked up the phone to dial Reverend Bud. While he waited for an answer, he carefully placed the items back into her purse. Minus one claim check.
Reverend Bud answered on the third ring.
“Yo, yo, whassup?”
Dr. Blackstone barked, “It’s me. Where are you?”
“Whew. Dr. B., you’ve really gotta chill out, man. Like, wow, dude. I’m having serious trouble with your negative energy—”
“That’s not the only problem you’ll have, dude.” Dr. Blackstone pounded the desk with his fist. “Now answer me. I don’t have a second to waste.”
“You know what? I hear the YMCA has these, like, really cool anger-management classes, see what I’m saying? Oh, and by the way, I’m on my way to the mother ship.”
“You high again?” Dr. Blackstone knew better than to ask. It was as much an insult as a rhetorical question.
“Like a kite. But not too high to count to three. That’s your donor count—”
“Careful. Not on the phone.” Dr. Blackstone thought Reverend Bud sounded especially wired and wasn’t sure how much to risk talking by phone. Long ago, they’d worked out an arrangement of doublespeak that wouldn’t tip their hand should the authorities monitor their cellphone transmissions.
Dr. Blackstone was in a tight spot. He estimated that the gamma hydroxybutyric acid, or GHB, a knockout drug he had slipped into Jodi’s water, would last only a few minutes more. He needed to clarify several details before she regained consciousness. If only Reverend Bud wouldn’t compromise their secrets.
“I have with me a young lady who is, shall we say, indisposed. I believe you may have had a conversation with her last night. She was snooping around your dance party. Worse, she went so far as to alert those two jokers, Officer ‘D’ and—”
“That would be the good Sergeant—”
“Remember, no names. How solid is our financial arrangement with them?” Dr. Blackstone cradled the phone against his left ear with his shoulder.
“Dude, I’m spreading the grease nice and thick. We’re talking super-sizing their usual order, you dig me?”
“Good. Did the pigs see anything, uh, let’s say, unusual?”
“You know, I really don’t feel loved, Dr. B. I mean, how about a little credit. The place was Ajax clean, know what I mean? Copperfield couldn’t have made people disappear any faster.”
Dr. Blackstone tapped his finger on the desk. “So where’s the—”
“On ice,” Reverend Bud said. “Yeah, he’s in back chillin’ with friends, you know what I’m saying?”
“Good. When can I expect this delivery?” Dr. Blackstone consulted his watch and then drummed his fingers on the desk.
“I kinda got the munchies. Figure I’ll grab some USDA-inspected pressed meat on a bun . . . you know, America’s favorite health food. Um, so maybe thirty minutes. Is that cool, boss man?”
Dr. Blackstone rubbed his eyes. “That’ll work. Not a minute more. I’m alerting the others as soon as we hang up—so don’t make us wait.”
“Hey, so whatcha gonna do with the girl?”
Dr. Blackstone was surprised by the question. Reverend Bud usually didn’t ask about such details. He cleared his throat. “She’s nosy. She needs to be taught a lesson. What’s it to you?”
“Nothing, but dude, is that necessary?”
“That’s not your business. She knows too much—or thinks she does. She even took a picture of a certain missing person. I will not have our entire operation jeopardized by some do-gooder. And you, of all people, should know I don’t tolerate loose ends.”
“Well, my vote would be—”
“Ah, yes, but you don’t have a vote,” Dr. Blackstone snapped. “I’ll detain her until my secretary pays a visit to the InstyFoto Mart, if you must know. Jodi’s ‘Kodak moments’ are as good as shredded. In the meantime, that pesky troublemaker is going to learn a few new things about spiders.”
Dr. Blackstone craned his neck to one side and looked through the doorway at Jodi. She was starting to wake up. He lowered his voice and spoke through clenched teeth, “Now don’t make me wait for my delivery.”
He slammed down the phone.
18
Saturday 11:31 AM
The black Suburban skidded to an angry stop at the edge of Paper Mill Road, spraying gravel and dust in every direction. Illya and Zhenya jumped out. The two men walked to the front of their vehicle and met by the hood. Their feet were planted at the precise spot where Carlos had spun out of control.
Neither man spoke.
The Huntingdon Valley Golf Course, with its rolling fairways and manicured greens, filled the valley below them. Illya squinted in the midday sun and noted that Carlos had crashed into a tree at the edge of a putting green. Zhenya removed his sunglasses and lifted a pair of binoculars to his hazel-brown eyes. A freshly lit, unfiltered cigarette dangled from his dry lips.
Illya broke the silence. “Say me what you think?”
Zhenya’s nostrils flared as a puff of smoke, like fire from the nose of a dragon, was expelled. “I think he dead.”
Illya reached into his suit coat pocket. He pulled out a handful of sunflower seeds and popped one in his mouth as he weighed the options. He spit the shell on the ground. “I say we make sure.”
“Da.” Zhenya lowered the field glasses with a nod.
“Come,” said Illya, who spit another shell onto the ground. A dark patch of clouds passed overhead, momentarily blocking the sunlight. The men took their places inside the SUV, Illya behind the wheel, Zhenya riding shotgun.
Illya mashed a button marked 4X4 LOW with his forefinger, and then plowed down the hillside with the power of a bulldozer on steroids. He followed the pathway through the fence blazed by the not-so-fortunate Carlos. They reached the wreckage inside ninety seconds.
Illya parked the Suburban twenty feet away. He stepped out of the vehicle without bothering to close the door and then snaked his way through the underbrush, careful not to dirty his alligator-skin shoes. Illya stopped alongside the hatchback and glanced inside at the front seat. He reached in. His fingers lingered on the side of Carlos’s neck. He took three steps back and then turned toward the Suburban.
Illya looked at Zhenya. “He should no have run.”
“Played ball in wrong team,” Zhenya said flatly. Zhenya stood by the rear of the SUV, his arms folded tightly. A lazy wisp of smoke rose from the end of his cigarette. He remained as emotionless as a guard in front of Buckingham Palace.
Illya said, “Light it up.”
Having received his orders, Zhenya opened the rear tailgate, grabbed a red five-gallon plastic container and approached the hatchback. With a smooth, sweeping motion, he doused the entire car in gasoline. After draining the container, he tossed the empty receptacle through the busted windshield into the front seat next to Carlos. He walked over and stood next to Illya.
Zhenya, about to ignite the bonfire by flicking his cigarette on top of the newly baptized car, was stopped by Illya. “Not so fast, Comrade.” Illya held up his hand as if directing traffic. “Remember, Carlos worth much. Bring him. We see good Doctor Blackstone next.”
Zhenya dragged Carlos out of the car by the back of his collar, took a final drag from his cigarette and then tossed it inside. Illya and Zhenya turned and walked toward the Suburban. Behind them, the car burst into flames. As they sped away, they could hear the gas tank explode.
Neither man looked back.
The room came slowly into focus as Jodi’s eyes blinked open. Still disoriented, her mind tried to make sense of the emerging picture. Why was she lying down? What was preventing her from sitting up? Was this a hospital? Was she sick? She wished the fog in her head would clear.
“Where am I?” she said. A yawn escaped as she spoke the words.
“Ah, Sleeping Beauty has awakened,” Dr. Blackstone said, standing at her side. “How was your nap?”
At the sound of his voice
, she struggled to sit up again but quickly discovered that to try was pointless. Her arms and legs were strapped securely in place. Jodi turned her head and looked directly into Dr. Blackstone’s inky black eyes.
He offered a thin smile in return. “I can tell by the look on your face that you were not expecting to be in this position.”
“Let me go, this instant, or I promise I’ll . . .”
“You’ll what? Run to the police?” He folded his arms and placed a finger to his forehead. “And what story will you tell them this time? You tried that once already. How’d that turn out?”
Her heart skipped a beat. How did he know about that?
“Jodi, I’d much rather play a game. Do you like games?”
“That depends.” Where is he going with this?
“Well, let’s play anyway,” Dr. Blackstone said with a mischievous wink. “And let’s call our game ‘Little Miss Muffet.’ I’m sure you’re familiar with the nursery rhyme.”
Jodi shut her eyes and hoped that when she reopened them, she’d be anywhere but in his presence. Her eyes still closed, she heard Dr. Blackstone recite the words of the rhyme. “Little Miss Muffet, sat on a tuffet, eating her curds and whey. When along came a spider . . .” He stopped before finishing.
Jodi opened her eyes in time to watch him disappear into his office. This can’t be happening, she thought. He wouldn’t, would he? As she waited, her cellphone jumped to life. Jodi twisted her neck in the direction of her purse, wishing she could somehow manage to reach over and answer it. Whoever you are, I’m here! I need help! She mouthed the words, hoping the caller would somehow magically receive her message.
The phone stopped ringing after four rings.
A minute later, Dr. Blackstone returned wearing rubber-looking gloves on his hands. He held something large and orange colored. He began to speak as he approached the operating table.
“To begin our little game, Jodi, did you know there are more than thirty-five thousand known species of spiders? About eight hundred are true tarantulas. Take this one, for instance.” He held out his hands near her face. “Meet Delilah. She’s the Goliath Bird Eater you noticed in my office, the largest spider in the world, I might add. Pretty, isn’t she?”
Jodi turned her head away.
“Humor me,” Dr. Blackstone said. “If you look closely, you’ll see she’s got eight eyes on a small bump right there on the front of her body, just above the fangs. As you can guess, she’s not your pet store variety spider.”
Jodi closed her eyes. “What do you want?”
He ignored the question. “As a member of the American Tarantula Society, I’ve discovered I’m not the only person who enjoys owning such a unique pet. Thousands of other individuals, like me, marvel at these misunderstood creatures.”
“You know I hate spiders,” Jodi said, breaking into a cold sweat. “I even told you so. Why are you doing this to me?”
He dodged the question again. “Did I mention that Delilah’s leg span is about twelve inches? That would be as large as a dinner plate, although by the looks of it you’ve lost your appetite.” He laughed.
“You’re not funny,” Jodi stammered. She stole a glance in his direction. If fire could shoot out of her eyes, he’d be toast.
“I should also point out that these fine, orange hairs that cover her body are called setae,” Dr. Blackstone said, carefully rotating the spider. “With them, Delilah can sting, like a bee. It’s mainly a defensive reaction when confronted with hostility.”
Jodi wanted to spit. “It’s amazing she doesn’t sting a snake like you.”
“Come now, Jodi. This is very educational,” Dr. Blackstone said with an evil grin. “Consider this a homeschool minute. Oh, there’s one more thing. Delilah hunts by relying upon sensory organs located on her legs. When she feels the vibrations of her prey, she’ll spray her dinner with a venom that serves a predigestive function. The venom isn’t lethal, exactly. But the allergic reaction to it can be life-threatening.”
Jodi’s heart tried to leap out of her chest. She tossed back and forth trying to break free, but the more she wrestled with her bindings, the tighter they seemed to get. Her forehead began to drip with sweat.
“Now, let’s review the rules of the game.” Dr. Blackstone took a slow breath. “In a moment, I’ll place Delilah on your stomach. Naturally, you don’t want to make her skittish with any movement. Even a puff of air can agitate her. If you don’t move, you don’t get hurt. Any questions?”
Jodi had lots of them, but all she could manage was, “Why?”
“Because, Jodi, I’m trying to help you understand the position you’re in. You’re sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
He placed the spider on her stomach.
Although still fully dressed, Jodi froze. She didn’t dare provoke the spider. Oh God! Please help me! she whispered.
“Right now,” Dr. Blackstone said, “all you are is an interesting piece of new terrain. Move, and you become a threat, or, perhaps you’ll resemble dinner. One can’t predict such things. Of course, neither option is particularly good. So when in doubt, my advice is, simply don’t move.”
As Delilah made its way across Jodi’s chest and up her neck, Dr. Blackstone maintained his icy narrative. “Of course, insects are at the top of their list. Crickets. Moths. Grasshoppers are a special treat. Makes the meal more interesting when it runs, I suppose. Sometimes she’ll eat pieces of beef heart, baby mice, or small snakes.”
Jodi wanted to scream.
She wanted to run.
She wanted to cover her face with her hands. But the underside of the spider, and its arm-like appendages, was already doing a good job of covering her face. Jodi kept telling herself, Don’t move . . . don’t move . . . move and die! It was then—her eyes directly under Delilah’s hairy abdomen—that a new thought jumped into her mind. The cellphone in her purse. What if the caller tried again? Would the ring startle the spider? Would it overreact and, in panic, shoot Jodi with venom?
“How interesting,” Dr. Blackstone said. “I see Delilah must be thirsty. Who would have thought she’d drink the sweat right off your forehead.”
Jodi thought she was about to faint when Dr. Blackstone picked the spider up. She exhaled and then repeatedly gasped for air, gulping it as fast as her lungs could handle it.
“See, no harm done,” Dr. Blackstone said, his tone impassive. “And why? Because you knew the rules of our game. Now look at me.”
She looked.
“The game of life has rules, too, young lady.” He paused. “Make a wrong move and you’ll get hurt. In other words, it would be most prudent of you to refrain from your current course of action regarding what you saw at the rave.”
He leaned his mouth close to her right ear, and lowered his voice a notch. “Now, I’m about to release you, Miss Jodi Adams of 1414 Spring Creek Drive. I’m sure your parents, Jack and Rebecca, are nice people, too. Remember, further nosing around will provoke a lethal response. Have I been clear?”
A hot tear rolled down Jodi’s face.
19
Saturday 11:57 AM
The moment Jodi walked out the front door of the Pet Vet Wellness Center, she wanted to run. And run. And run. She wanted to go home and pack her family and move to a deserted island halfway around the world. Whatever it took to put as much distance between the evil operation of Dr. Blackstone and her family, she’d do it in a heartbeat.
How did he know where I lived? Jodi wondered, eyeing the parking lot for her car. He even knew my parents’ names! Of minor comfort was the thought that her parents, thankfully, were out of town at her grandmother’s house for the day.
Jodi found herself suddenly standing beside her car. She didn’t remember crossing the parking lot. She was functioning on autopilot. She reached into her front pants pocket for her keys, withdrew them and then promptly dropped them on the ground. She picked them up and, hand outstretched, pushed the remote keyless entry button several times.
Nothing. Frustrated, she stomped her right foot.
Fearful that Dr. Blackstone might have changed his mind, she stole another look over her shoulder. There wasn’t going to be a Round Two of Beauty and the Beast, not if she could help it. She looked back at the locked car. Her hands shook so bad, she had difficulty inserting the right key into the driver’s lock.
Get a grip, girl! she said to herself out loud. On the third try, she unlocked the car and then slipped behind the wheel. Once inside, she locked the doors and struggled to put the key in the ignition at the same time. In truth, she was shaking more from what she knew than what she had endured with the spider.
The engine roared to life. But Jodi, her mind racing, remained parked. She managed to put the car in reverse and started to back up when she almost rammed into a large, dark black SUV with tinted windows that sped behind her. She pounced on the brakes and took another deep breath to quiet the pounding in her chest.
More than ever, she needed to get out of there and put her hands on those photos. Nothing else mattered. Somewhere lurking in her subconscious was the notion that her photos were the proof she needed to link Dr. Blackstone to Kat’s seizure and the wrongful death of the boy.
Why else would the doctor try to scare her silly?
As she pulled into traffic on Philmont Avenue from the clinic’s parking lot, Jodi dialed Bruce on her cellphone. It rang several times.
“Hello?”
“Bruce . . . It’s Jodi. Boy am I glad I caught you. Where are you?”
“Pep Boys.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s an auto parts store—”
“Uh, okay, look. We really need to . . . meet somewhere, like, now or sooner.” Her voice trembled.
