Dirty Power

by Ashley Bartlett

  “How many of you are there?” Joan asked.

  “Enough,” I said.

  “Take whatever you want and get the hell out.”

  “Happy to,” I said.

  “Hurry up. I want my daughter back,” she said.

  Reese and Ryan came in just in time to hear her last comment. Reese inhaled sharply. Ryan tilted his head and looked at me weird. Breno just stared.

  “Breno, take Joan and tie her up somewhere. The bathroom upstairs doesn’t have windows. That will probably be the best.”

  “All right.”

  “No. I’m not leaving Emma with you.” Joan took a step away from Breno.

  “Yes, you are. She’s sleeping. She’ll be fine. And you don’t really have a choice.” I held up the gun.

  “Damn you.” Joan clenched her teeth and turned to Breno.

  “Here.” Ryan handed Breno the small duffle he was carrying.

  “Thanks.” Breno cupped Joan’s elbow and started to guide her up the stairs.

  “And make sure you search her,” I said.

  Breno paused and patted her down. She was carrying a cell phone. He pocketed it. They continued up the stairs.

  We heard the door upstairs close. Reese turned to me. She looked livid.

  “Careful,” I said. “Don’t wanna wake the kid up.”

  “You’re fucking psychotic,” she whispered.

  “Are you holding the kid hostage?” Ryan asked.

  “I’m not going to hurt her,” I said.

  “But you kidnapped a toddler!” Reese was still whispering, but she may as well have been screaming.

  “That’s kinda fucked,” Ryan said.

  “But I’m not going to hurt her.” I searched for an argument to defend myself, but came up empty. “I threatened her, that’s all. Joan’s a mom. She’s not going to risk anything. It’s simple and quiet and fast.” I tucked the gun back into my waistband so I could switch the kid to my other side. My arm was getting tired.

  “You’re fucking psychotic,” Reese said again.

  I shrugged.

  Breno joined us again. “That may not have been wise.”

  “It’s not like you had any better ideas,” Ryan said. Oh, now he was on my side.

  “I am only suggesting that there may have been other ways. That said—”

  “Back off; Ryan’s right.” Reese cut in. Now she was defending me?

  “I was trying to say that it is quite smart,” Breno said. “Even if there were better ways. This is expedient.”

  “Oh, great.” Reese glared and walked away. No wonder I couldn’t keep up with Reese’s moods. She couldn’t even keep up with them.

  “Should we follow her?” Breno asked.

  “No,” I said.

  “We need to figure out where she stashed the gold,” Ryan said. “Speed this shit up.”

  “Totally.”

  “Shall I interrogate her?” Breno asked.

  “Yeah, in a sec.” I transferred the kid back to my other side. How did people carry these things around all the time? “Can we sit down or something? This kid is heavy.”

  “I’ll take her.” Ryan held out his arms.

  “You’re not gonna give her back are you?” I asked. I thought the question was justified. I’d worked really hard to take her hostage. I couldn’t let their collective skepticism ruin it.

  “Come on. I’m not stupid.”

  “Just checking.” I handed her to Ryan.

  “We can put her back in bed. As long as somebody is guarding her,” Breno said.

  “Yeah, that’s probably smart,” I said.

  “On it.” Ryan went up the stairs.

  “You have a gun, right?” I asked his retreating back. In response, he lifted the tail of his shirt. A handgun was tucked in his waistband.

  “Shall we find out where our money is?” Breno asked.

  “After you.” I indicated the stairs.

  Joan was chained to the toilet. She looked pissed. When I opened the door and slid inside, she stopped struggling against the chains.

  “Where is the gold?” Breno asked.

  “Gone.”

  “Gone where?” I asked.

  “I sold it.”

  “Then where’s the money?” I asked.

  “The remainder is in an account.” Joan’s eyes darted between me, Breno, and the door. Once, she shot a look at the skylight. It was high. I wasn’t worried.

  “The remainder?” Breno.

  “I bought a house, a car, food, toys. Paid utilities and insurance. I have an eighteen-month-old. Life adds up.” She shrugged. Her chains rattled.

  “You’re lying.” I opened the door and Breno and I walked out. When we were out of hearing distance, Breno turned to me.

  “How do you know she is lying?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then why—”

  “Chances are good that she is. Plus, this will make her sweat. We’ll go back in a couple hours.” I shrugged.

  He nodded. “All right, then. We will go back in a couple hours.”

  *

  “How is Emma?” Was the first thing Joan said when Breno and I returned.

  “Fine. She’s still sleeping,” I said.

  “Let me see her.”

  “No.” I wasn’t going to give up my bargaining chip that easy.

  “Please.”

  “No. The faster we do this, the faster you see her,” I said.

  “Okay. Unchain me.”

  “No.” I perched on the edge of the counter and stared at her.

  “What?”

  “Are you prepared to tell us the truth this time?” Breno asked.

  “Yes, fine. Just leave Emma and me alone.”

  “Where is the money?” I asked.

  “In an account.”

  “I have heard this before.” Breno had his daughter’s uncanny ability to look utterly bored.

  “Fine. In multiple accounts.”

  “Good. You can transfer them to us,” I said.

  “I will. Let me go.”

  “No. Tell us about the accounts,” Breno said.

  “There are three. They are based in the Cayman Islands. But it will take days to transfer the money.”

  “Why?” I knew why. I just wanted her to talk more.

  “Because you can’t simply close out accounts like that.”

  “Interesting. How much is in each account?” Breno asked.

  “I don’t know. I would need to look it up online.”

  “Roughly.” Me.

  “There is about ten million in one. The other two have a few million.”

  “Just those three accounts?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “You have a debit card linked to an account in the Caymans with a few million in it?” I let my disbelief bleed into my tone.

  “What? No. I don’t—”

  “You used a debit card at the grocery store. And in that small coffee shop,” I said.

  “You also used it when you bought clothing two days ago. And when you bought—is it Emma?” Joan nodded. “Yes, when you purchased books for Emma yesterday,” Breno said.

  “What? How long have you been watching me?”

  I turned to Breno. “I think she’s still lying.”

  “I agree.” He made it sound like the worst possible offense. Worse than kidnapping babies.

  When we filed out and shut the door, Joan started screaming. Mostly about how perverse we were. Not a good thing for the neighbors to hear. I opened the door and stuck my head back in.

  “If you scream, it will wake Emma up. And she will cry for her mother, but we won’t bring her to you. Do you want to listen to your kid crying?”

  “You bastard.”

  I shrugged and closed the door. Joan was silent.

  *

  It was nearly three in the morning when we returned to Joan. She was sleeping awkwardly with her head against the wall.

  I nudged her leg with my foot. She jerked awake.
/>
  “You ready to tell the truth?” I asked.

  “Why the hell should I?”

  “So you can get your kid back.”

  “Why? You won’t let us live. The longer I hold out, the better my chances are.”

  “That is not entirely true.” Breno shook his head.

  “He’s right. I don’t like killing people. Especially kids. That’s not cool,” I said.

  “So let us go.”

  “No. But if you play nice and transfer the money then we will let you and the kid go. We don’t want to hurt you. And we’re not afraid that you’ll come after us. So there’s no harm in letting you live. All you have to do is give us the money. We will go quietly away and you get to live. Win-win,” I said.

  “And if I don’t?”

  I sighed. “Lose-lose.”

  “What will you do?”

  “We will kill you and Emma and dump your bodies in the Gulf of Mexico,” Breno said.

  “Thankfully, you have a boat,” I said.

  “All right. Fine. I’ll walk you through all of the accounts.”

  “Good.” Breno opened Joan’s handcuffs.

  “Can I see Emma first?”

  “No,” I said.

  “I need proof that she is alive before I give you anything.”

  “Whatever.” I grabbed Joan, pulled her tight against me, and put my gun to her thigh. “You make a sound and walking is going to be painful. You understand?”

  Joan nodded.

  Breno opened the door. We walked to the doorway of Emma’s room. Ryan had his back propped against the leg of her crib. A game of solitaire was spread on the floor. He started to wave with his gun, then realized that was bad. He held up his free hand and waved. Behind him, Emma slept on. Her delicate breathing echoed through the room. Joan took a deep breath and nodded. We turned away.

  Kidnapping was hard.

  Chapter Eight

  By five in the morning, Joan had walked Breno through all five of her accounts. I got bored fifteen minutes in, but I figured she was intimidated enough by Breno and his gun so I probably didn’t need to sit there and intimidate her with my gun.

  I should have gone to sleep, but I was dreading dawn. The kid was going to wake up. The whole waking up to a house of strangers was probably not going to go over well. I didn’t know shit about kids, but I knew that much.

  I sat on the balcony and watched the sun come up over the ocean. Which was just wrong. The sun was supposed to set on the ocean. It was confusing.

  The glass door behind me opened. I didn’t move.

  “We need coffee,” Ryan said.

  I spun around. Fast. “What are you doing? The kid is going to wake up soon.”

  “No shit. Not my scene.”

  “You can’t just leave her.” I stood and started to go into the house.

  “I didn’t, dumbass. Reese is in there. She volunteered.” Ryan grabbed me and shoved me back into the chair I’d been sitting in.

  “And you trusted her?” I tried to get up. Ryan sat on me.

  “And so will you. You don’t, she’s gonna flip.”

  “Shit.” I stopped struggling.

  “You cool?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Good.” He moved to the other chair.

  “She didn’t talk to me all night. I didn’t even see her.”

  “You were interrogating that bitch and plotting with Breno half the night,” he said.

  “So?”

  “She probably didn’t want to be involved.” He waited for that to sink in before saying, “Also she was asleep.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, oh.”

  “Coffee?” I asked.

  “That’s what I’ve been saying.”

  We went inside. When we got downstairs, I could smell the coffee already brewing. There were voices in the kitchen. We followed them.

  Joan was sitting at the kitchen table trying to smile and play nice. Breno was moving around making breakfast. Reese was playing with the toddler strapped into a highchair. Both Reese and Breno were wearing guns.

  It was weird.

  “There you are,” Breno said. “Would you like some breakfast?”

  “Dude,” Ryan said.

  “Whatcha makin’?” I asked.

  “Waffles, eggs, and sausage. There is coffee, if you would like some.”

  “Dude,” Ryan said again.

  “Do not worry, Cooper. It is chicken sausage,” Breno said before I could even ask.

  “You rock.”

  The kid grabbed a fistful of oatmeal and aimed for her mouth.

  “Hey, Emma. This is my brother Ryan and my friend Cooper,” Reese said.

  The kid smiled. “Hi.” At least, I think she said hi. It was hard to tell through the oatmeal haze.

  “Hi. You’re Emma, right?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  “How you doing, Emma?” I pulled a chair up next to her and Reese.

  She dug a hand into her bowl. Again.

  “Awesome,” I said.

  “Emma, spoon,” Joan said from the table.

  “Nuh-uh.” Emma slurped a handful of oatmeal. It dripped down her arm. She licked it. Appetizing.

  “Breakfast,” Breno announced.

  I started to stand, but Ryan stopped me.

  “I got it, bro.”

  “Thanks.”

  Ryan grabbed a stack of plates and tossed a couple waffles on each one. He added scrambled eggs and sausage to two of them. Mine and his. For Reese he found a second, smaller plate for eggs and sausage. She didn’t like to mix her food.

  “Joan?” Ryan asked as he set the plates on the table.

  “Yes?” She was trying to keep her voice even, keep the hatred out of her tone. She wasn’t entirely successful.

  “Whatcha want? Waffles, eggs, sausage? The whole thing?”

  “A waffle. And could you give Emma half a waffle and some eggs, please?”

  “Eggs for the little one.” Ryan got down another small plate and scooped eggs onto it.

  “Use a fork to break them up. Otherwise, they will be too hot for her. There are plastic forks in the drawer,” Joan said.

  “Cool eggs for the little one.” Ryan got a neon blue fork and broke up the eggs. He set them on the high chair tray.

  Emma did a little dance. She ignored the fork and grabbed a handful.

  “Fork, Emma,” Joan said.

  “Nuh-uh.”

  I was starting to see a pattern. And I so didn’t want kids. One of the many reasons I was glad I was queer. No surprises. Well, I guess some queers ended up with surprise kids. Like Christopher. That would have kinda sucked.

  Oh, shit.

  “Uh-oh,” I said.

  “What?” Reese asked.

  “We forgot Christopher. He’s still waiting.”

  Breno said something in Portuguese. I’d finally broken down and asked Christopher what language they had been speaking. He had looked at me like I was stupid.

  “I didn’t forget him.” Reese.

  “Nope. Me either.” Ryan.

  “What? You guys just decided to leave him out there?” I asked.

  Ryan shrugged. “Yeah, he’s a dou—”

  “Ryan,” Reese cut him off.

  “A dummy,” Ryan finished.

  I just shook my head and called Christopher. Breno and I waited to start eating until Christopher was inside the house. Reese and Ryan didn’t. Joan lifted an eyebrow when he joined us.

  “Hello, Christopher,” she said.

  “Joan, darling.” Christopher squeezed in next to her.

  “Welcome to the party, jerk.”

  “Well, if you weren’t a lying thief…” He lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug.

  I got the distinct feeling they were choosing their words carefully. Jerk and lying thief sounded very tame.

  “Mama?” Emma piped up.

  “Yes?”

  “Who he?”

  “His name is Christopher,” Joan
said.

  Christopher waved with his fork. “Hi, Emma.”

  She ignored him and went back to mixing her eggs and syrup.

  “This isn’t at all awkward,” I said.

  Every single person in the kitchen glared at me. Except Emma. She didn’t really care.

  *

  After breakfast, Ryan and Emma went to play in the backyard. Breno and Joan returned to the computer. Which left Christopher and Reese and me to clean up the kitchen.

  “Thanks for letting me sleep in the car,” Christopher said.

  “You should thank me for not smothering you in your sleep,” Reese shot back.

  “Oh, still touchy I see.”

  “Still? Fuck you.”

  “Whoa. Let’s not do this,” I said.

  “Do what? Be honest?” Reese asked. “I don’t like him. I don’t trust him. Why the hell should I pretend otherwise? I know you forgave him for being an asshole, but I’m not feeling forgiving.”

  “I didn’t forgive him.” I crossed the room so I was standing in front of her.

  “And yet, here we are.” Reese glared.

  “It doesn’t mean I forgave him. It means we need to do business. That’s all. I still think he’s an asshole.”

  “Hey, I’m right here,” Christopher said.

  “Why is that?” Reese asked. “Go the fuck away.”

  “No. I’m not taking this shit from you anymore.” Christopher threw the pan he was washing back into the sink and dried his hands. “Look. I’m sorry I wasn’t the world’s greatest father, but you had it way better than a lot of people. So stop with the whole entitled thing.”

  “Oh my fucking God. You think I’m entitled? Because I call you on your shit? No, this isn’t about your fucked up parenting,” Reese was screaming now.

  “Then what the hell is it about?” Christopher shouted back.

  “Hey, both of you. Quiet. This is so not the time or place to scream at each other,” I said.

  “No, we need to do this,” Reese told me.

  “I agree. I’m tired of being the bad guy. What did I do that was so horrible?” Christopher asked.

  “Seriously, dude?” I stared at him.

  “What?”

  “This.” I cupped Reese’s chin. She tried to jerk her face out of my hand, but I gripped harder. I turned her cheek to him. “This is what you fucking did.”