by Jasmin Quinn
“What’s his last name?” the Chief asked. McQueen pulled out his notebook again and was taking notes.
Kelsie licked her lips nervously. “I don’t know,” she admitted.
“You don’t know?”
“I only met him on Friday.” Kelsie flushed then, regretting calling Dean her boyfriend. “Someone here should know him.”
“Why’s that?” McQueen asked from behind her.
“Please, just let me tell this.”
The Chief nodded slightly, and so she did, an edited version. She told them that Dean had been shot by Russians because they found out he was undercover, that he thought his handler at the VPD organized crime unit betrayed him.
Then the questions started, from McQueen and the Chief.
What was the name of the handler?
“I don’t know.”
Describe this Dean.
“6’4, 210 lbs, not fat, lean muscle, brown hair, brown eyes. Speaks fluent Russian.”
How old?
“35 maybe.”
He’s Russian?
“No, just speaks it, fluently.”
How do you know?
“He said he did.”
He works for us?
“No, not VPD, but a different organization.”
What organization?
“I don’t know.”
Canadian?
“Yes, no. No, I don’t think so. He never said.”
And then what?
“We pawned my engagement ring for money at a pawnshop in Richmond.”
You’re engaged?
“No, not anymore.”
What’s the name of the pawnshop?
“I can’t remember. On Richmond strip, owned by Chinese gang members. He, Dean, told the guy where he could find the Russians.”
Where were the Russians?
“I don’t know. He wrote the address on the Chinese guy’s arm.”
Then what?
“We took a room at a motel in Richmond.”
Which motel?
“A Motel 8.”
Room number?
“160. The clerk’s name was Bianca.”
Then what?
“We had to get his gun, so we went to his apartment.”
Where?
“Surrey, I can’t remember exactly.”
Then what?
“I went in to get his gun.”
Why did you do that, why didn’t he go in?
“He was worried the building was being watched, no one would recognize me.”
Then what?
“I got the gun, we went back to the motel. The next day Dean called his handler and arranged a meeting. When he left, the Russians came in and took me to their warehouse.”
How did they know where you were?
And then Randall spoke up, “Apparently I told them.” He had been sitting quietly the entire time, as the other two men peppered Kelsie with questions.
“What do you mean apparently?” the Chief asked.
Randall sighed, then said to Andrew, “Apparently, I told them where they could find her. They picked her up, took her to the warehouse, called this Dean, dislocated this finger,” he pointed to Kelsie’s splint-free middle finger, “to make her scream. This Dean came to rescue her, the Russians called me, I drove over and picked her up and took her home.”
“Yes!” Kelsie exclaimed. “That’s exactly the way it happened! And they have Dean now. They aren’t going to kill him yet, they’re waiting for the Russian boss to come back. We have to get to him, we have to help him!”
The Chief glanced uneasily over to Randall, then to McQueen who had stopped writing in his notebook. Kelsie looked at them. “You don’t believe me,” she said flatly.
A look passed between the Chief and McQueen and then McQueen left the room, closing the door softly behind him.
Silence settled for a few minutes, no one speaking. McQueen re-entered the room, leaning against the wall by the door, crossing his arms. He said to the Chief, “Brody’s making a few calls.”
“Why?” Kelsie asked.
“To verify your story,” the Chief replied. “You have to know, Kelsie, this is a pretty wild story. Hard to follow, hard to believe.
“I’m not making this up. I promise you,” Kelsie cried.
Then Randall turned to her. “I’m sorry Kelsie,” he said softly. “I’m going to have to tell Andrew.”
“Tell him what?” Kelsie looked at her father with wild eyes, her heart was beating, and she felt like she was going to hyperventilate. This was crazy, why weren’t they listening?
Randall looked at the Chief and said, almost stoically, “She’s bi-polar.”
“I’m not!” Kelsie cried out in outrage, but he ignored her interruption.
“She was diagnosed as a teenager, bi-polar with schizoid tendencies. As long as she stays on her medication, it’s mostly controlled. But stressors in her life can cause a manic episode and when that happens, she throws her pills away and disappears for days at a time.”
“He’s lying!” Kelsie interjected angrily, looking from the Chief to McQueen. “Oh my god.” She slapped the palms of her hands against her temples, trying to regain her composure. “You have to believe me, I am not bi-polar.”
“What stressor?” the Chief asked Randall, quietly.
Randall sighed. “She found out a couple of years ago that she couldn’t have children, just before her wedding. She had a breakdown then. Her fiancé tried to support her through it, but she was devastated, there was no reasoning with her. She called off the wedding, moved out. Keith is such a good man. He bought her a house, made sure she stayed on her medication, made sure she stabilized before he moved on.”
“No! Keith left me!” Kelsie cried.
“I got her a job with Malcolm Westwick. Good friend of mine,” Randall continued. The Chief nodded. Small world, same circles. “Malcolm took her under his wing. For a couple of years, she was managing quite well. But last week she called Malcolm, telling him she needed to take a few personal days, a health issue. She didn’t specify, other than to say it was female problems. I think that was the stressor.”
“No,” Kelsie said, banging her hands in frustration on the arms of her chair. “It’s not true.” She was crying now, tears rolling down her face, nothing to wipe her nose with.
“You didn’t call Malcolm?” the Chief asked her.
“No. Yes. I did call him, but it was a lie. The health problem was a lie. I don’t have any issues.”
She sniffled.
“Your lie?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “My lie.”
Randall pulled a tissue from his pocket and handed it to Kelsie, who reluctantly took it from him. “Malcolm was worried. He called me, said she sounded out of sorts. Not herself. I called her to see if I could help her. It was clear when I talked to her that she was having a manic episode. She wouldn’t tell me where she was, she was babbling about the Russian mob. I told her I couldn’t help her unless she came home.”
Kelsie felt her sobs subsiding though the tears still streamed down her face. Her father was a master liar. He was twisting everything, telling just enough of the truth to make her seem like a lunatic.
“She showed up at my door last night.” He paused and pointed to her with his hand. “Looking like this.”
The Chief looked over at her. She was unrecognizable from the woman he’d seen at his 25th anniversary party. He remembered her, holding her father’s arm with affection, laughing at something his youngest daughter, Katherine, had said. Dressed in an expensive dress, expensive jewelry, high heels. Graceful and elegant. Beautiful woman, he had thought at the time.
“I brought her into the house, took her to the den, tried to get her to calm down. She was telling this insane story, I tried to reason with her, but she wouldn’t listen to me. She started smashing things, accusing me of being in “cahoots” with the Russians. I needed to bring her down, I’m ashamed to say, I shook her by the shoulders, but...
” He looked at her face, then reached over then and touched his fingers to her bruise. “I didn’t slap her. I don’t know how she got that bruise.”
Kelsie flinched but didn’t draw away. There was no point anymore. She was losing this fight. Her dad was going for the knockout punch. “It seemed to work.” Randall said as he dropped his hand from her face. “I thought it worked. I told her that I would get her help in the morning. That she needed to get some sleep. She went to her room then. She seemed compliant.” He paused for effect. “I guess I was wrong.”
He hesitated then, appearing to choose his words carefully. “Kelsie has always been my superstar. She’s managed her illness well. I didn’t want to call anyone, let this get out. The last time almost ruined her life. She lost her fiancé, she lost a lot of friends.”
He looked over at Kelsie, into her tear-soaked eyes and said, “I know we don’t have the best of relationships, Kelsie, but truly I have your best interests at heart. I would never hurt you.” Kelsie gazed back, the depths of his eyes were black, like his soul. But she didn’t respond. She didn’t know what else to say. No one was listening. And if she did say anything, she feared that Randall would twist her words again, make her sound even more insane.
Then Brody tapped at the door, walked into the room and nailed the coffin shut. “I sent a patrol car to the motel. No indication she was ever there. No use of her credit card to secure the room. The night clerk – this Bianca, didn’t recognize her name or her picture, said that 160 had been vacant for at least a week.” He was talking over her head, like she wasn’t there. She understood that. He thought she was crazy. She frowned, starting to doubt her own sanity.
“The officers checked out the room. It was empty, nothing there, no personal items of any sort. I had another patrol car connect with the driver of the bus. He said that he let her onto the bus, even though she had no money to pay the fare. Apparently, she was carrying an unopened bottle of wine and she told him that her boyfriend beat her up.”
There was silence in the room as Brody stopped talking. Kelsie kept her eyes lowered, on her hands. Her father made her sound like a lunatic. She sounded like a lunatic. She placed her elbow on the arm of the chair and ran her hand across her forehead. She had lost. No one in this room believed her. Any logic was explained away by her father and any proof was gone. The Russians knew how to hide their trail.
Then Randall broke the silence. “May I take her home, Andrew?” he asked softly. “I promise I will get her the help she needs.”
Kelsie dropped her hand from her forehead and sat up straight. One last desperate attempt. “Can I refuse to leave with him? I’m 28 years old. He’s not my guardian.” She tried to sound rational, reasonable.
The Chief shifted uncomfortably. “You can, Kelsie. But I think at this point you have only two choices. We either release you into the care of your father. Or we have you committed for 48 hours based on the possibility that you are a harm to yourself or others.”
Forty-eight hours would be too late, and what if they didn’t let her out? She had no choice. She stood up and said to the Chief. “I’ll go home with my dad.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Dean had lost all sense of time. He was lying in a corner on the concrete, hands cuffed in front of him, chained up to a wall. The chain was long enough for him to lay down, but barely. He thought he might have passed out for a while. He couldn’t be sure. It was still dark out, no lights on, but a few shadows, enough that he could see a figure approaching him.
He braced himself for another kick to the stomach, to the head, maybe to the groin. But none was forthcoming as the figure crouched down and peered at him. Then out of the dark, Anto’s voice. Softly. “How are you doing, brother?”
Dean groaned and struggled to sit up. Anto stayed still, not helping or hindering, just watching. Dean leaned his back and his head against the wall, legs splayed out in front of him. He looked at Anto through one eye, the other had swollen shut. He didn’t know how he was doing.
Anto reached out to Dean and handed him a cup. “It’s water. Drink some,” he said grimly. Dean took the cup with both hands. He knew bones were broken, fingers were smashed. But the water was like gold as he drank it down. He would have traded his soul for it, yet Anto offered it freely.
“How bad?”
Dean shrugged than immediately regretted it. “Cracked ribs, nose is broken. My right hand, arm is useless. Shoulder’s out, broken maybe.” He smiled grimly as he spat out blood. “Lost a few teeth. Again.”
Anto lowered his head to his chest, studying the floor. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop this, brother.”
Dean drew in a painful breath. “Of course not.”
“I contained the damage.”
“Yes. I owe you.”
Anto frowned at Dean. “The girl was one of your more stupid ideas...”
“I know,” Dean agreed then he let out a small painful laugh. “That fucking Lukov, couldn’t hit the side of a barn, yet he somehow manages to put a bullet in me a block away in the fucking dark.”
Anto chuckled. “You were lucky my brother.”
Dean nodded, feeling his head explode with the movement. “Kelsie?”
“She’s fine. Sent her home with her papa.”
“Yeah. Fucking Randall Scott. How come I didn’t know he was deep in this shit?” He spat out more blood and saliva.
“You’re just a hired thug, Dean. You’re not meant to know everything.”
Dean shifted. He wanted to stop talking. It hurt too much. But he needed to know.
“Who gave me up?” He coughed a little. He hoped he didn’t have a collapsed lung.
Anto shrugged. “I don’t know that yet. When I find the fucker, I’ll bring his head to you.”
There was a clanging across the warehouse, some cursing in Russian. Anto and Dean both froze, listening. Some muttering, and then all was quiet again.
“Lukov?” Dean whispered.
“No.” Anto shook his head. “He’s gone. Just the grunts left here. Me and Viktor.”
Dean closed his eyes as a fissure of pain washed over him. Then he opened them up as Anto touched his shoulder. “I have called Mr. Jackman. He has arranged for an extraction. Tonight.” He quietly and efficiently unlocked the chain from the binds on Dean’s wrists. Then he freed Dean’s hands. “It’s about a mile and a half from here under the Baker Bridge, you know where?” Dean nodded. “I can’t leave, I can’t do more than this for you. You have to make it on your own.” Dean saw the doubt in Anto’s eyes.
“I can make it.” He gritted his teeth as he massaged his damaged wrists. “And you?”
“After today, Savisin will trust me more than ever. We sent him pictures of you. What we did. He knows what I did. I am not a nice guy. The Judge will be outraged that I hurt his daughter. That will make Savisin happy, that I am not afraid of The Judge. Savisin and I will make beautiful music.” Anto grinned.
“I’m a little outraged, too, Anto,” Dean said quietly.
“Don’t be soft, Dean,” Anto rebuked him. “Women make us weak. That’s how you end up chained to a wall in a Russian warehouse half beaten to death.”
Dean grunted. “I’m worried for you, my brother. Lukov won’t like that I escaped.”
Anto grinned again. “Victor has had a lot to drink tonight. He’s distraught that you betrayed us, that he lost his eye candy. He loves you, you know. I think that Lukov will think that he came to you, to help you. Maybe Viktor thought that he could make you see the possibilities. Maybe he thought he could help you escape, take you somewhere safe. And you would be grateful. You would love him back. Maybe you repaid him for freeing you, by wrapping the chain you were tied down with around his neck and squeezing the life out of him. You are a fucking cold-hearted bastard, Dean. And Lukov will forgive me. I drank a lot tonight. So did he. After the beating. Even Russians have principles. We feel a little bad.”
Dean tossed him a pained grin. “I don’t love Viktor, Anto. I lov
e you.”
“I know,” Anto grunted. He looked at his watch. “You need to go now. You have 45 minutes to make it to bridge. In your shape it will take you that long.”
Anto watched grimly as Dean struggled to his feet. They had delivered a good beating, he and Lukov had. He had been as brutal as Lukov, maybe more. Dean understood. He was tough as a bull, solid as a brick wall. And all three knew they could take the beating only so far. Savisin would wish to have the last word. Perversely, that made it Dean’s lucky day.
Dean staggered over to Anto, swaying before him. They were the same height, same muscled visage, both looked like thugs. Except, thought Anto grinning to himself, I am much better looking. Dean drew Anto to him with his left arm, giving him a hug. “Goodbye, my brother, be safe.”
Anto gently hugged him back. “Goodbye, my brother.”
Anto stood still in the dark as he heard Dean shuffle away, the door open and close quietly. And then silence descending on the warehouse. He walked over to where Dean had been chained to the wall, and sat down on the floor. He stayed that way for a minute, playing with the chain in his hands, thinking about Dean, his sorry condition, his love for that girl. He shook his head. If he tries to come back for her, The Judge will surely kill him. Women do that to men, they make them stupid.
Then he dropped down onto his back and started groaning loudly, calling Victor’s name between half-sobs, calling for help, no trace of Russian accent in his voice.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Four months later
Kelsie stood in the produce aisle of the small grocery store. She was holding an orange, but not really seeing it. Just rolling it in her hands, lost in her thoughts. This was happening to her more and more as the days passed and there was no news of Dean. He was alive, she had to cling to that belief for the sake of her sanity. She had one friend in the entire world, the only person who knew where she was. And she had called him this morning, on a burner cell, like he told her. Still no news, he said. Nothing, no body, he’s a ghost. He’s not a ghost, Kelsie had responded. I have proof of that.
