by Sam Cheever
The stereo system at the front of the studio had been smashed to pieces, its large speakers slashed and torn apart. One window at the back of the room was broken. It looked like the vandal had thrown a chair or something through it. Glass still glittered on the floor beneath the window.
Giorgio was sweeping up the glass, and dumping it into a large trash can. Penelope was wearing rubber gloves and scrubbing hard on the walls, trying to remove some of the graffiti. They’d brought a boom box into the room and were playing salsa music at a tooth-jarring level. Penelope’s hips swayed and jerked to the music as she scrubbed.
Felicia smiled. It took a very strong woman to dance as she dealt with the wanton destruction of her livelihood and property.
Felicia stepped around the charred floor and called out to them. It took several tries to get their attention over the music. Then Giorgio walked over and hit the power button, plunging them into startling silence.
Penelope pulled off her gloves, dropping them onto a nearby wooden chair, and walked over to take Felicia’s hand.
“Felicia. How are you?” She glanced around. “Is Garrett with you?”
Tears flooded Felicia’s eyes and she sobbed.
Penelope and Giorgio each grabbed an elbow as her knees sagged.
They walked her to the side of the room and made her sit down and drop her head between her knees. Penelope rubbed her back and sent Giorgio to get her a bottle of water.
“Take deep breaths, honey. That’s good, just breathe. The rest will come in a few minutes. You just need to breathe deeply.”
Felicia did as instructed. When Giorgio returned with an icy bottle of water she drank it gratefully. Then she quickly filled them in on the latest news and Garrett’s apparent involvement.
Penelope was shaking her head before Felicia could finish the story. “Garrett would never do that. No matter what that man did.”
Felicia felt better until she glanced at Giorgio. His face had gone pale.
“What?” Penelope asked him.
Giorgio shook his head. “I’m sure you’re right, sweetheart.”
Penelope touched his shoulder, “No. Tell me what’s bothering you.”
He glanced at Felicia as if reluctant to talk in front of her.
“Please, Giorgio. It’s why I came here. I have to know.”
Giorgio took a deep breath, “It’s just that…when I got to Foust’s office that night, Garrett was coming out of the building. He looked a little shell-shocked. I asked him if he’d seen Foust…” Giorgio seemed to be avoiding Felicia’s eyes.
“Please go on.” She swiped tears from her cheeks, more certain than ever that what Giorgio was going to tell them was important.
“He said he’d decided against seeing him because…” he stopped, glancing at Penelope, “in the mood he was in he was afraid he’d kill the man.”
Felicia gasped. She jerked to her feet and started toward the door. She was vaguely aware of Penelope and Giorgio calling out to her but she ignored them and started running.
Chapter Eleven
Felicia headed for St. Vincent’s Hospital. When she arrived, she asked where Dave Foust was being kept. She told them she was family so they’d allow her to visit him in ICU. The nurse headed for the door when she arrived, whispering to Felicia as she left that she could only stay a few minutes.
Felicia walked over and looked down at Dave. Every ounce of anger she held against him slid away. The man on the bed was unrecognizable. His entire head was discolored and swollen. He looked as if his nose and both cheeks had been crushed and his eyes were swollen nearly closed. One hand was in a cast, probably broken when he tried to defend himself against his attacker.
Felicia sobbed and placed a hand on Dave’s chest. The determined pound of his heart against her palm was comforting. She walked around the bed, sat down in the visitor’s chair and clasped Dave’s large, warm hand.
She sat that way for a while, with tears flowing down her cheeks and wondered when her life had gotten so messed up. She should have never stepped outside the box. She should have never slept with a younger man. She should have never gone to that damn club.
Sighing, Felicia stood up and placed a gentle kiss on Dave’s cheek. She turned away and took a step toward the door.
The hand in hers tightened, holding her there.
Felicia turned in surprise and saw Dave’s eyes, barely visible between the swollen lids, fixed on her.
She sat back down. “Hello, Dave. Are you doing all right? Can I get you something to make you more comfortable?”
Dave tried to speak but nothing came out. He motioned to the water on the table next to the bed. Felicia lifted it and placed the straw between his swollen lips.
He looked as if he had trouble swallowing but, clearing his throat, he tried to speak again. “I shouldn’t have done it. He-he never saw it coming.”
Felicia leaned close to hear the words, certain she’d misheard. “Done what, Dave?”
He just shook his head, repeating the words. His eyes fluttered closed. But before he drifted off he said, “Can’t blame him.”
Felicia sat back in the chair, thinking. What was it that Dave was feeling guilty about? The notes to her? No, he’d said he didn’t blame “him”. Of course it was probably the trashing of Giorgio and Penelope’s studio. He definitely shouldn’t have done that, if he did.
In that case it looked bad for Garrett. He’d be the obvious “him” on that one. Unless it was Giorgio…
Felicia gave that a moment’s thought, playing possible scenarios through her mind. Giorgio going to Dave’s law office to find Garrett. Garrett and Giorgio leaving together. Giorgio returning alone…
It could have happened that way. But Felicia had trouble envisioning Giorgio as the kind of guy who’d beat an older man to a pulp with a lamp.
She replayed Dave’s exact words in her mind. I shouldn’t have done it. He never saw it coming. Can’t blame…
Felicia leapt out of the chair, suddenly knowing who it was. She turned toward the door and stopped, giving off a little squeal. A man stood there. He was dressed in a lab coat but Felicia doubted he worked in the hospital. His face was covered in still-healing bruises. She recognized the face under the swelling and bruising. She took a step backward.
He stepped toward her.
Felicia tried to dodge around him but he grabbed her arm, flinging her toward the hospital bed. She landed on Dave and hit her head hard on the metal side rail on the far side of the bed. Dave grunted but his eyes stayed shut. He appeared to be heavily sedated.
“Now just what have you figured out, Ms. Cougar? That you like younger men? I’m younger than you. I think you’d like me much better than that pansy-ass dancer boy.”
Blood dripped down Felicia’s face from a small cut on her forehead. She pretended to be woozy from the head injury and didn’t straighten from the bed right away. Reaching into her purse with the hand that was under her stomach, she felt around until she found her cell phone. She tried to feel her way around the buttons to find a nine and a one.
Before she could dial 9-1-1 he grabbed her arm and pulled her off Dave. Her cell phone flew out of her hand, landing on the bed next to Dave. Felicia was unable to keep her attacker from dragging her toward the door. Looking both ways down the hall and seeing that nobody was paying attention, with his arm over her mouth to keep her from screaming, he pulled her across and into the elevator, pressing the button for the basement.
As the doors slid shut, he slammed his body into hers, pinning her to the side of the elevator. “I wasn’t planning on dealing with a nosy bitch today. But maybe it won’t be so bad after all, huh? You’re pretty. You smell great too. You older bitches are very appreciative of a man’s attention, aren’t you?”
Felicia swallowed down bile and kneed him in the crotch, hard. The elevator doors slid open and she ran out, leaving him gasping and retching on the floor.
* * * * *
Detective Hanks narrowed his
eyes on the computer as it searched through millions of available fingerprints, looking for one that matched Garrett’s freely given prints. They’d managed to pull a partial thumb print off the doorjamb leading into Dave Foust’s office that didn’t match any of the employees’ prints.
It could be a thousand other people. Cleaning crew. Clients. Family members of personnel who snuck into the boss’s office looking for paper and scissors. The list was endless. But police work was built on certain methods and ways of doing things.
First weed out the obvious. Then look for the less obvious in the newly filtered arena.
Garrett stood up. “I’m gonna go get another cup of liquid blacktop. You want some?”
Hanks looked up and grinned, handing Garrett his mug. “Thanks.” He watched the young man walk across the bullpen, looking decidedly less cocky than he had the first time Hanks had brought him in, but still giving off the vibes of an innocent man.
Hanks was trying not to like the guy but it was getting increasingly difficult. He dealt with a lot of people in his line of work. Victims, scam artists, violent thugs, and even the occasional good guy just trying to keep his head above water.
He’d stake his career on Garrett Holcomb being in the latter group. He just hoped he could find evidence to prove it. Or rather, prove Garrett wasn’t a violent thug. Hanks didn’t need proof that Holcomb was a good guy, he had his gut for that.
And a fine gut it was.
Said gut rumbled hungrily and Hanks ran a beefy hand over it. He stood up and headed toward the snack area. Some cookies would go well with his blacktop. Hanks chuckled. The kid wasn’t too far off on that. The coffee at the station was just a hair away from being roadworthy.
* * * * *
Felicia screamed when a hand grabbed her hair and yanked, hard. She fell backward and hit the floor, ripping some of the hair from her head in the process.
“Bitch!” He yanked her upright again and dragged one of her arms around her back, cranking it toward her shoulder blades until she cried out from the pain. “You pull any more shit like that and I’ll break your pretty arm. You got that?”
Felicia nodded and pressed her lips together to keep from crying out. She didn’t want to give the jerk the satisfaction.
“Let’s go. I’m parked just outside this door.”
Felicia’s mind spun, trying to come up with a plan to escape the man before he could get her into his car. Once he had her there she was in deep trouble.
But her mind was locked up with fear and the pain and she couldn’t think. There was nothing she could do to get away.
* * * * *
Hanks’ phone rang as Garrett returned from the coffee room. The big cop looked at his phone, apparently checking caller ID, and glanced up at Garrett. “Why would your girlfriend be calling me?”
Garrett swore. He had deliberately come there without telling Felicia about it because he didn’t want her involved. He’d just wanted to clear his name so he could face her again. Setting Hanks’ coffee down on the desk, he dropped his butt into the chair as the big cop picked up the phone. He should have known the woman wouldn’t be able to stay out of it.
Hanks’ face showed his surprise. “Mr. Foust? Why are you calling me from Felicia Jeffries’ phone?”
Garrett’s mug hit the tile floor and he was on his feet reaching for the phone almost before Hanks got the question out. Hanks slapped his hand away and glared at him.
“Uh-huh.” Hanks grabbed his all-suffering pencil and scribbled painstaking notes on a pad of paper.
Garrett came around the desk so he could read Hanks’ scribbles. He gave up after only a couple of minutes. The man wrote like a monkey.
“Please try to calm down, Mr. Foust. I’m having trouble understanding you.”
Garrett made a play for the phone again and Hanks punched him in the chest. Garrett was knocked backward a couple of steps from the punch. He rubbed his chest and glared at Hanks.
Hanks just glared back.
“When did this happen?” Hanks made some more monkey scribbles. “And the man’s name?” He tucked the phone between his beefy shoulder and his ear and bent over his computer to type the name Foust had given him into a search database.
Garrett moved closer, still rubbing his chest, and saw the name Geoff Rogers on the screen. “Rogers? The guy from the parking lot?”
Hanks shushed him.
“Okay, thank you for calling us, Mr. Foust. We’ll be in touch.”
Hanks fairly threw the phone back into its cradle, hit the print button on the keyboard, and grabbed his gun and badge from his center desk drawer. “Come on, we’ll grab the printout on the way.”
Garrett ran after him. For a big guy, Hanks sure could move fast when he needed to. “What’s going on, Detective?”
Rather than waiting for the elevator, they pushed into the stairwell and took the stairs to the underground parking level where the detectives kept their cars. “Dave Foust witnessed the kidnapping of Felicia Jeffries.” Hanks looked at him. “Apparently she was taken by the guy who beat Foust up.”
Garrett only heard that Felicia was in danger. It didn’t make sense. “Why? How?”
They burst through the parking level door and ran toward Hanks’ car. “I’ll explain it all to you in the car. Let’s just hope this Rogers guy still lives at his latest known address and that he wasn’t smart enough to take her somewhere else, or we might not find her in time.”
Chapter Twelve
Felicia tugged her wrists, trying in vain to loosen the duct tape wrapped around them. The man had left her alone for a few minutes and gone into another room. He seemed to have gone a little mad. She wasn’t sure if it was from the beating he’d obviously taken or all the pills she’d seen him popping for the pain.
All she could think about was Garrett.
If this guy killed her, Garrett would never know that she trusted him implicitly. That she’d never really doubted him for a moment. Not in her heart. Not in her soul.
He’d also never know that she loved him.
She stopped pulling on the tape for a minute and her eyes widened.
She’d surprised herself.
Yes, she realized. She did love Garrett.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. She’d probably never get a chance to tell him.
The phone rang again in the other room. She could hear it through the door. He’d stuffed her in some kind of closet, filled with clothes that smelled of sweat, cigarettes and mothballs. The phone had been ringing every ten minutes or so for the last hour.
Selfishly Felicia hoped it was somebody looking for her but she knew it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. They’d never know where to find her.
* * * * *
Garrett slammed his cell phone shut and glared at the traffic on the road ahead.
Hanks glanced at him. “No luck?”
Garrett swiped a hand down his face in frustration. “He’s not answering. Or he’s not there.” Blowing out a frustrated breath, Garrett pounded a fist on the dashboard. “Why couldn’t Foust have regained consciousness sooner? Then maybe we could have grabbed this guy before he got hold of Felicia.”
Hanks couldn’t help smiling. “We?”
Garrett had the grace to look embarrassed. “I know. I’m just along for the ride. You’ve only told me that about a hundred times.”
Hanks chuckled. “Then why don’t I think you believe me?”
They pulled up in front of a small, yellow house that was badly in need of paint. Rogers lived in one of those neighborhoods that had once been cute and respectable, but had over the years traveled down a path to become seedy and disreputable.
It was a known hotspot for crack addicts and drug dealers.
Garrett’s phone rang and he grabbed it, foolishly hoping it was Felicia. “Hello?”
“Garrett? Buddy, where are you? You’re on tonight.”
Bruno. Damn! “Sorry, buddy. I can’t come in. Something’s happened to Felicia.”
G
arrett heard a quick background discussion and recognized Bliss’ voice. A second later the phone changed hands and she was on. “Garrett! What’s wrong? What have you done to Felicia?”
Hanks climbed out of the car and stood outside the house, looking up at its darkened windows. It sure looked as if nobody was home.
Garrett climbed out too. He bit back his frustration at Bliss’ immediate assumption that he’d done something to Felicia. She was worried about her friend. He got that. He just didn’t get how everybody had assumed he was capable of beating an older man nearly to death.
He’d never get that.
“Garrett!”
“Sorry, Bliss, look, it’s complicated. I’m with Detective Hanks. We’re trying to find Felicia. I’ll have to fill you in later.” He hung up, certain he’d left poor Bruno with a huge smoldering turd of a mess.
Bliss would not only be mad, she’d be crazed with worry.
Bruno would have his hands full.
Garrett didn’t envy him.
* * * * *
The closet door was wrenched open and Felicia squinted against the bright beam of a flashlight, focused right in her face.
“Come on, kitty cat.” He jerked her arm and pulled her onto her feet, out of the closet. Her feet stung with needles as blood worked its way back down to them. She felt as if she’d been sitting on them for hours.
With her feet numb and clumsy, Felicia tripped over them and fell, catching him off guard so that he lost his grip on her arm.
A loud pounding sounded from another part of the house.
His head jerked in that direction and he swore. “Hurry up. They’ve found me. We need to get the hell out of here.”
Felicia kicked at his hand as he reached for her and heard a very satisfying crack as his hand wrenched backward on his wrist. He screamed in pain. She rolled and managed to get herself underneath the bed, scooting as far from his grasping hand as she could.
Dust balls and more disgusting things assailed her and she sneezed. The smell of something rotting near her head made her eyes water.
