Phantom Limb

by Dennis Palumbo

  I considered this. “An Ivy League degree, plus nepotism. Explains both the pompous vocabulary and sense of entitlement.”

  Without a word, Griffin stepped in front of me and raised his fist. But Sykes held up his palm.

  “No. I want him conscious. For the moment.”

  The big man didn’t budge. Then, reluctantly, he nodded. And took his place once more behind his boss.

  Sykes sat forward in his chair, bony hands on bony knees. Regarded me intently. “But enough about me, Doctor. I’m more interested in you—and your therapy session with Lisa Campbell.”

  “Why don’t you ask her?—since your pal Griffin here is the one who snatched her.”

  “Unfortunately, she’s indisposed at the moment.”

  Gloria stirred. “You mean, dead?”

  “I mean what I said, Agent Reese.” His gaze was still locked on mine. “So I’ll ask again: what did you and Lisa discuss in your session?”

  “I’ll tell you the same thing I told Charles Harland. It’s confidential.”

  He leaned back, clucked his tongue. “I was afraid you’d make things difficult, Doctor.”

  Steeling myself, I spoke with a bravado I didn’t feel. “Is this where you have Griffin unhinge my jaw? Add another lump or two to my skull?”

  “Good Lord, no, Doctor. You’re of no use to me if you can’t talk. Now Agent Reese, on the other hand…”

  My heart stopped as he glanced up at Griffin. The big man answered with a smile and walked over to where Gloria sat.

  I found my voice. “Sykes…”

  I stared in horror at the sight of Griffin standing in front of Gloria’s chair. With his height and bulk, he looked like a giant looming over her small, compact body.

  Sykes cleared his throat. “I wonder if you feel more like talking now, Doctor?”

  Cold sweat sheened my brow. My arms long numb, cuffed to my chair, I felt disembodied. Restrained, yet oddly weightless. Helpless.

  I could only watch as Griffin withdrew a large, serrated knife from a sheath on his belt. Still smiling, he bent closer to Gloria and lay the flat of the blade against her cheek. She managed to raise her chin, but her eyes were flecked with fear. Then, closing them tight, she called to me.

  “Don’t tell him anything, Danny! Sykes is gonna kill us anyway.”

  “Not necessarily,” Sykes replied casually. “As Dr. Rinaldi pointed out, neither of you know where you are.”

  “But we’ve seen your face. Yours and Griffin’s.”

  “So? It’ll be your word against ours. And we happen to have an airtight alibi for tonight. In fact, as we speak, Mr. Griffin and I are having dinner with business associates at Rocco’s. If you ever stop in, try the clams casino.”

  Sykes swiveled in his chair, once more facing me.

  “Now, Doctor, despite your professional ethics, I doubt you’ll let Agent Reese suffer agonizing pain and disfigurement.”

  Before I could respond, Griffin leaned in over Gloria, his leather jacket pressed hard against her face. The chair-back’s thin wooden slats creaked as he reached around her, using the knife to saw off a length of her ponytail. Then, straightening again, he showed her the lock of her hair in his fist. And slowly shoved it in the pocket of his jeans. A souvenir.

  Gloria glowered up at him. “My hair’ll grow back, asshole.”

  The big man smiled. “But not your eye.”

  Suddenly he thrust the knife at her face. She gasped, as the blade’s tip stopped less than an inch from her eyeball.

  “Sykes!” I shouted.

  Gloria had begun to hyperventilate, quivering.

  “Dammit, Sykes!” I said again. “Call him off!”

  The gaunt man shrugged. “I hope I can. Though I did promise him some entertainment after we’d conducted our business.”

  His knife still at Gloria’s panicked face, Griffin idly appraised her. “Not much meat on her bones, Sykes. But broads all got the same plumbing. I’ll make it work.”

  Not if I could help it.

  “Wait, Sykes! I’ll tell you whatever I can. Just don’t let him hurt her.”

  Under the circumstances, I didn’t see much point in keeping my session with Lisa confidential. She was either hurt or dead. Or else, if she had orchestrated her own kidnapping, there was a good chance that much of what she told me was a lie. Especially her suicidal plans.

  Regardless, Gloria was the one in danger now, and—so far—unharmed. I had to do what I could to keep it that way.

  “A wise choice, Doctor.” Sykes rubbed his aquiline nose. “Besides, I’m not interested in Lisa’s rotten childhood or any of that therapy nonsense. I just need to know one thing: what did she tell you about the Four Horsemen?”

  “What?”

  “Did Lisa mention the Four Horsemen? It’s a simple question.”

  That vague feeling of unreality swept over me again. Taking a deep breath, I tried to collect my thoughts. Center myself.

  “I don’t understand, Sykes. You mean, the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse? Hunger, war…whatever the hell they are…?”

  He sighed. “War, Famine, Pestilence, and Death. My God, Rinaldi, for a man of your advanced education, your ignorance is appalling. Anyway, that’s not what I’m referring to…and you damn well know it.”

  “I don’t! I swear, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “He’s full of shit, Sykes.” Griffin lay his knife blade against the front of Gloria’s blouse. “Let me take a nipple. That’ll get him talkin’.”

  “No—!” I bucked in my chair. Uselessly.

  Griffin turned the knife and calmly sliced off a shirt button. Gloria sat frozen, unable to move. Mouth open in a silent scream. Using the tip of the blade, Griffin spread her blouse open, revealing a wisp of her bra.

  “Okay, bitch,” he said. “Left or right tit?”

  Sykes leaned in closer to me. “The situation is getting out of hand, Dr. Rinaldi. I’d answer my question.”

  “Goddamnit, I would—if I knew what the fuck you’re talking about. But please don’t—”

  As though deeply disappointed, Sykes shook his head. Then he turned to look at Gloria. “I’m sorry, Agent Reese…”

  Griffin’s eyes glistened with anticipation as he slipped the knife blade under the front of her bra. Slit the thin, gauzy fabric with one smooth motion—

  “Boss!”

  It was the long-haired thug from before. He stood at the open doorway, breathless. Red-faced.

  Sykes whirled in his seat. “What?”

  “Boss, we got a problem! Big motherfuckin’ problem!”

  Now Griffin was looking up, knife in hand. Gaze riveted on Raymond Sykes, who’d risen to his feet.

  “What fresh hell is this—?”

  “I mean it, boss!” Long-Hair could barely get the words out. “You gotta come! Now, man!”

  Sykes hesitated, lips pursed. Then turned to Griffin. “Okay, leave them. We’ll pick up where we left off later.”

  Griffin’s jaw tightened, his bitter disappointment evident in the way he sullenly sheathed his knife. Meanwhile, Sykes took one last moment to look down at me.

  “Besides, a little extra time spent contemplating what Griffin is going to do to Agent Reese might jog your memory. If not…well, then, we’ll have to kill you. Both of you.”

  With a nod at Griffin, Sykes followed Long-Hair out of the room. For a moment, the big man stood motionless, like a mountain. Staring avidly down at Gloria.

  “You just sit tight, bitch. When I get back, I’ll have you bleedin’ outta every hole you got. That’s a promise.”

  Then he too strode through the door.

  ***

  Gloria’s chin had lowered to her chest. She was so still, I wasn’t sure she was breathing.

  “Gloria?” I kept my v
oice low. “Are you all right?”

  Instead of answering, she suddenly sat up straight. Pushing off with her toes, she heaved herself backward. The chair tipped over, the wooden slats cracking beneath her on the floor. Twisting her shoulders, she rolled away from the broken chair, hands still bound behind her with electrical tape.

  Then, exhaling, she tucked her body into a fetal position, tight enough to slip her taped hands under her, up along her knees and calves, and finally over her shoes. Now her hands were in front of her.

  Only then did she glance up at me. Then she awkwardly got to her feet. And, head bent forward, opened her mouth. A snub-nosed key dropped into her bound hands.

  “The key to my handcuffs,” she said. “It was in the breast pocket of Griffin’s jacket. When he leaned in against me, I grabbed it with my teeth. Held it inside my cheek.”

  “Very impressive, Agent Reese.”

  A faint, weary smile. “Small but mighty.”

  Gloria stepped behind me, using the key to unlock the cuffs. When I stood, arms finally free at my sides, I was momentarily light-headed. Then steadied myself, heartened by the sensation of blood rushing to my lifeless limbs. The tingle of feeling returning to my hands and fingers.

  I took the opened cuffs from Gloria, and, using the saw-toothed inner edge of one, gnawed through the tape wrapped around her wrists. In moments, her hands were free as well.

  As soon as they were, she re-did the buttons that remained on her blouse. Then closed and buttoned her jacket as well.

  “Perv.” She whispered the single word to herself.

  I said nothing, giving her a brief moment alone with her thoughts. Then I indicated the open door.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not wait to say good-bye.”

  “Works for me.”

  I tossed her the handcuffs. Hooking them onto her belt, she followed me out.

  ***

  “We have to look for Lisa.” We were moving quickly and quietly down a dimly lit hallway. “There’s a good chance she’s in here somewhere.”

  “And I say we get out of here and call in the cavalry. Bring the wrath of God down on this shit-hole.”

  “Maybe we could do both.”

  I paused at the end of the hall, which was intersected by corridors going in either direction. I glanced down each in turn, but saw nothing. No one. Empty shadows.

  Gloria tugged at my elbow. Showed me her cell phone.

  “I just noticed, my cell’s disabled. They took out the memory card. How about yours?”

  I quickly checked. “Mine’s dead, too. They must’ve done it while we were unconscious. Just in case.”

  “All the more reason to get outside the building. Find a way to call for help.”

  I shook my head. “Not without Lisa.”

  “Dammit, Rinaldi, that’s not how the Bureau works. There’s procedure. I’m part of a team.”

  “I’m not. Deal with it.”

  She tried staring disapprovingly at me, but it didn’t have much heat. Then, sighing, she spread her hands in surrender.

  I picked one of the side corridors and crept down its darkened length, Gloria at my heels, until we came to another opened door. We both carefully peered inside. It was a similar room to the one in which we’d been held. Windowless, black crepe on the walls. Camera. The only addition was an old theatrical trunk, half swallowed in shadow.

  “Must be where they keep the whips and chains,” she said.

  Gloria was smiling, but I could detect a tinge of hysteria in her voice. The impact of what Griffin had done—and promised to do—was still with her. Unlike what happens in the movies, people don’t suffer traumatic events like that and then blithely move on to the next “scene.” Stalwart, untroubled. Gloria Reese was a brave young woman, but she was also human.

  As am I. I realized it was possible, even likely, that images from our experience in that blackened room would haunt my dreams for some time. Especially the part about being bound.

  Helpless. Unable to prevent some horrific thing from happening. Like Gloria’s possible torture and sexual violation, or—as had occurred years ago—my poor wife Barbara’s senseless murder…

  I pushed these thoughts from my mind and led us back down the corridor in the opposite direction. We did encounter one more door, but it was locked. We kept going.

  All the while, heart pounding, I kept glancing behind me. Ever since we’d made our escape, I’d been wondering where Sykes and his men were. As anxious as I was to find Lisa, I was also worried about running into them.

  “You know,” Gloria said, “maybe Sykes isn’t keeping Lisa here. Maybe she’s under guard somewhere else. With Julian.”

  “Unless Sykes is Julian. Which seems likely. Griffin is his man, and he’s the one who grabbed Lisa at my office.”

  “I know. But something tells me we’re not seeing the whole picture yet.”

  “I have the same feeling.”

  A sturdy sliding door stood at the end of the hallway. To my surprise, it was unlocked. Gripping the handle, I slid it all the way open. We stepped into a cavernous, concrete-floored building the size of an airplane hangar. Fluorescent lights buzzed from the ceiling, revealing hulking machinery pushed against the walls. Old, long unused. Coated with dust. Draped in shadow.

  As we started across the yawning expanse, our footsteps echoing, I inhaled cold, still air. The smell of oil.

  “This was the place they first brought us.” Gloria hugged herself against the chill.

  Even in the poor light, I could make out the industrial printing presses. The massive rollers. I also noted the faded posters on the walls. Bundles of brochures and flyers thrown haphazardly into corners. Old samples, maybe.

  “An abandoned printing company.” I glanced about me. “Large-scale jobs. Probably couldn’t keep it going anymore.”

  She nodded. “So Sykes took possession. Unofficially. Turned the adjacent offices into rooms like the one we were in. About as far below the radar as his fancy customers could want.”

  By now, we’d reached the other side of the work area. A huge pair of doors-on-wheels served as the entrance to this end of the immense structure.

  “This was where we were driven in.” Gloria frowned. “But where the hell’s the van? No other cars, either. Looks like they’ve all left. Sykes, Griffin and that other guy. With the long hair.”

  I regarded her. “Which makes me think you’re right about Lisa. They’ve got her stashed somewhere else.”

  “If she’s still alive…”

  It took a few minutes, but we finally found an unlocked service door. Stepping out into a cold, wind-whipped night, we crossed a broad gravel lot to the nearest street corner.

  “Where are we?” She squinted in the feeble light of an overhead lamp a dozen yards away.

  As my own eyes adjusted to the flooding darkness, I looked around, trying to get my bearings. For a dozen blocks in every direction there was nothing but garbage-strewn vacant lots, abandoned cars, and low-roofed, dilapidated buildings. The whole blasted landscape eerily illuminated by fires blazing from a scattering of trash cans.

  Squinting, I could now see that there were people huddled around the fires. Homeless. In twos and threes, warming their hands at the flames. Wrapped in old blankets.

  Finally, from the slope of the streets and the shining sliver of the Allegheny River visible to the east, I figured out where we were. Somewhere in the Hill District. Predominantly black and achingly poor, it was what playwright August Wilson once called “an amalgam of the unwanted.” Having been born here, he knew what he was talking about.

  Suddenly I thought of Eleanor Lowrey. She, too, had been born and raised in the Hill. And, like Wilson, she’d worked her way up and out of grinding poverty and the ravages of unfettered street violence to build a meaningful life.

  Th
e image of her in my mind brought me up short. It was crazy—absurd—given what Gloria Reese and I had just gone through. What we were still going through. But for a moment, I found myself wondering where Eleanor was. How she was doing. When, if ever, I’d see her again…

  A shout from Gloria abruptly shook these thoughts loose.

  “Danny! A phone!”

  I turned to find her walking briskly toward a pay phone attached to a pole about thirty yards away. I hurried to catch up. When I did, I found her standing in front of the chipped, graffiti-covered phone. Its receiver cord severed. Useless.

  “Dammit!” She pounded the top of the phone with her fist.

  Just then, the street was swept by the twin headlights of an approaching car. Gloria and I both turned at the same time.

  It was an old Ford Torino wagon, tailpipe scraping the asphalt as it lumbered slowly toward the corner. Though the streets were empty, the driver paused at the stop sign.

  Gloria gave me a quick smile, then bolted toward the car. I followed.

  Before the car started moving again, Gloria ran up to the driver’s side window and flashed her Bureau ID badge. By the time I came to stand behind her, the driver had slowly rolled down his window.

  It was a teenager, black, about sixteen or seventeen. He wore the uniform of a fast food chain. He also wore glasses and a pained, resigned expression.

  “Shit, man, am I gettin’ jacked?”

  I felt bad. He seemed like a nice kid, coming home from working the late shift. Life was probably tough enough for him, without two crazy white people commandeering his car.

  Which was exactly what Gloria told him we were going to do.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The first thing the Feds did—only minutes after Gloria and I stumbled into the FBI’s downtown office—was split us up. Two apparently senior colleagues, both older males, flanked Agent Reese as they hurried down the lobby corridor of the Federal Building, all talking at once. In the urgent mix of voices, I could make out Gloria detailing the location of the abandoned printing facility. She also identified our captors, Raymond Sykes and his men, explaining their obvious involvement in Lisa Campbell’s kidnapping.