The Angel of the Abyss

by Hank Schwaeble

  “Yeah, but I'm not on the force anymore, so they probably don't see me as much of a threat. Leslie probably told them he'd trump up a bunch of charges, they're probably planting evidence now. I could see him cutting a deal where they'll drop everything if we agree to keep our mouths shut.”

  Hatcher shook his head. “Each one of them had a set of cuffs on them. Good old fashioned Smith & Wessons. But they used zip ties on us. Why do you think that is?”

  She shrugged. “We use them.”

  “Yeah, on crowds, or multiple arrests, and those are usually Jersey Cuffs or tactical cable restraints not available to the general public. These are probably the heaviest gauge you can buy at Home Depot.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I'm saying, they're using commercial zip ties so there won't be any handcuff marks. Disposable, untraceable. They don't plan on planting any evidence. They plan on planting us.”

  Amy stared at him, blinking several times. “That's... You don't know that.”

  “Yes, I do. And so do you.”

  Her eyes wandered over to the door, then across the floor, then back to him. “What do you propose we do?”

  Before Hatcher could respond, there was a noise at the door. A bump, some faint jingling, then a clank and a loud scrape. Hatcher could see a head bobbing in and out of view through the rectangle. The door pushed inward. Swollen guy glanced at the two of them, then stepped out of the way.

  Deborah walked in.

  She stood there for a moment, gaze drifting from Hatcher to Amy then back to Hatcher. “Shut the door,” she said, tossing the words over her shoulder. Swollen guy scowled, started to say something. “Just do it,” she said.

  The heavy sound of the door shutting reverberated off the walls.

  “I told you she was behind this,” Amy said.

  Deborah cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. “This is the thanks I get for showing up?”

  “Thanks?” Amy bounced forward. “Showing up? Why, you—”

  Hatcher stepped between them. “I texted her,” he said.

  “You what?”

  “In the car, when you got out to talk to them. I could see what was going down, so I used Leslie's phone, found her number, and tapped out a quick SOS.”

  “To her? In a jam you decide to text her?”

  “And then he dialed my number and left the phone on,” Deborah said. “Clever boy. That's how I knew where to find you. I heard them talking the whole way. Not a very nice group of fellows, if you ask me.”

  Amy glared. “Oh, and it's just a coincidence you happen to be buddy-buddy with them.”

  “No,” Deborah said, smiling. “I happen to be buddy-buddy with their boss. And it wasn't easy convincing him to tell them to let me in to talk to you. He's sort of a Nervous Nellie that way.”

  “Well, I don't buy any of it.” Amy shot Hatcher a look. “And I can't believe you would, either.”

  “Amy—”

  “Jesus, Hatcher! She was right there with Valentine! Right when he tried to kill us! She's responsible for the death of your brother! And she's the reason we're even here right now!” Amy shifted her gaze back to Deborah. “And she's literally a whore.”

  Deborah waved a hand. “Lucky for you, I don't consider your opinion worth acknowledging. But for the record, very few men on the planet can afford me, so I don't think that word technically applies. It would be like calling Thomas Edison an electrician.” She turned to Hatcher and ran her gaze down from his face to somewhere around his feet and back. “Jacob, Jacob, Jacob. What am I ever going to do with you?”

  “You could start by getting us out of here.”

  “Sorry, cutie.” She shook her head, frowning. “Can't help you there.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Dickie boy won't okay it, for one. I have influence, but I can't exactly order him around. Besides, as much as you make me all dewy—” she tilted her head to shoot a look at Amy, “others in my peer group see things differently. I'm afraid you're on your own. You do have my full moral support, though.”

  Amy took a step toward her. She kept her eyes on Deborah as she turned her head toward Hatcher. “I can't believe you actually thought this little sleaze was someone you could rely on for anything.”

  Deborah cocked her head, a bemused wrinkle creasing her brow. She leaned her face to within a few inches of Amy's, looking her over. “Do you have any idea how much he wants me? How much willpower it takes for him to not throw himself at me? If you did, you'd realize how considerate I've been to you.”

  Hatcher stepped forward, trying to insinuate himself between them. “Deborah—”

  “Can you tell when he's thinking of me?” she said, pressing past him. “Ask yourself, just because he's the one inside you, does it really mean you're the one inside him?”

  “Deborah, stop it. I mean it.”

  The woman shrugged, stepping back. “I'm not sure what he sees in you, but whatever it is, he won't see it for long. It doesn't matter how many times you dye your hair. I looked like this before you were born, and I'll look like this when your tits are hanging down to your knees and your gash is like a bucket of sand.”

  Amy gritted her teeth, eyes seething, but said nothing.

  Deborah smiled and turned away, walking to the door.

  “Why was Jonah's phone brought here?” Hatcher said.

  She stopped at the small window. She looked down, offering him her profile. “Yes, why? Good question. Why would anyone lead someone somewhere? Makes no sense. Unless it was because they didn't want that person to be somewhere else, in which case it would make perfect sense to lead them somewhere in the opposite direction, wouldn't it?”

  She slammed her fist three times against the door. As the lock disengaged and the bolt started to slide, she said, “Good luck, Hatcher. I hope you find a way out. I really do.”

  The door pushed open, Swollen guy stretching his large arm along it while clearing a path for her to leave. He stared at Hatcher and squeezed darts out between his lids.

  The door started to close.

  “Hey!” Hatcher said. “Would you mind loosening these ties, numb nuts? My hands are like ice from the lack of circulation.”

  The cop looked at him, eyes moving from side to side. He pulled back to see down the hall and said something Hatcher couldn't make out. Short-and-Stocky appeared at the door a moment later, holding it while Swollen guy entered.

  “Turn around,” he said.

  Hatcher turned. The cop yanked the ends of the zip ties, ratcheting them even tighter. He pulled on each separately, only stopping when they wouldn't tighten any more.

  “There you go,” he said. Then he left, sharing a chuckle with Short-and-Stocky before closing and bolting the door.

  As soon as the small window was clear, Amy hip-checked him hard enough to force him to take a few steps to regain his footing.

  “What the hell do you have going on with her?”

  “Nothing.”

  She stared him down, teeth gritting. “It sure as hell didn't sound like 'nothing’.”

  “She's messing with your head, Amy. That's what they do.”

  “Well she's doing a damn good job of it. And so are you. Why in God's name would you think to text her? Her?”

  “Because I didn't exactly have many options. And for whatever reason, regardless of all the trouble she's caused, I don't think she wants me dead. That's a big improvement over our present situation.”

  “Yeah, 'for whatever reason’. If my hands weren't zipped, I'd make myself puke.”

  “Look, it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “Uh-huh. Genius. Ranks right up there with insulting that lunkhead and demanding he loosen your ties in the same breath.”

  “Right,” Hatcher said. “About that. Let me ask you something. You
remember what I was telling you? About facing facts about their plans?”

  Amy took a breath, let it out as she looked at the door. “Yes.”

  “Do you understand I'm right?”

  “If you're asking me if I agree we need to get out of here, yes. Though if she was your bright idea for that, I don't see it happening.”

  “Forget about her,” he said, shaking his head. “I need you to stick with me here. I need you to understand the implications.”

  “What implications?”

  “They're not going to let us walk out of here.”

  She floated her gaze around the room. “Yeah, I think I get that.”

  “So, to do this, it's going to have to get... messy.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I'm saying, I need you to be okay with this.”

  “I'm a big girl, Hatcher,” she said, sighing wearily. “If you have to hurt someone, I know it won't be the first time.”

  “I'm not talking about hurting, Amy.”

  She held his eyes for a long moment. “Oh. Let's just hope it doesn't come to that.”

  Hatcher shook his head again. “You're not hearing me. Probably because I'm pussy-footing around the issue. You and I can identify them. We've even heard some names. We know they're connected to Leslie. They can't let us go.”

  “Just what are you trying to tell me?”

  “If we managed to get out of here, they would trump up charges, put out an APB or BOLO or whatever, and make us fugitives. When we eventually got picked up, we'd never make it to the arraignment.”

  “That's absurd. I could make some calls. We could—”

  “No. We couldn't. And what I'm talking about is what would happen if we could somehow escape without seriously injuring any of them. And the chances of that are around zero. That means we're talking in-for-a-penny, in-for-a-pound territory.”

  “You're saying you plan on killing them? All of them? Even if you don't have to?”

  “I'm saying that I want us to get out of here, and I need you to understand what it's going to take for us to accomplish that and not be hunted and eventually executed. As opposed to staying here and being promptly executed.”

  “Hatcher, I trust you. I may be mad as Hell at you right now over whatever is going on with that Deborah chick, but I know you're a good man. So that means I trust you to show restraint. You're not a murderer.”

  “Amy—”

  Before he could finish his thought, there was a clanking sound at the door, the tumble-slide of the lock, the chunky slide of the bolt. The door opened and Athletic guy walked in, phone to his ear. Swollen guy was behind him.

  “What did she talk to you about?” Athletic guy said, pulling the phone down and holding it to his chest.

  “Who?”

  “You know who. That woman. What did she want?”

  “Why didn't you ask her?”

  “I'm asking you.”

  Hatcher watched the man's eyes. “She told me she couldn't help us. She told me she didn't control your boss.”

  “That's it?”

  “You expecting something else?”

  The cop kept an eye-lock on him for a moment, then raised the phone. He turned and mumbled into it.

  “Oh, there was one other thing,” Hatcher said.

  Athletic cop twisted back again. He raised his chin a bit, waiting.

  “She said Dick Leslie was a pathetic lay. Something about him being so bad she'd be surprised if he could get himself off.”

  The cop's mouth wrinkled, one corner rising into a dimple. He spun on his heels and left, back to mumbling into the phone.

  “Hatcher,” Amy said, under her breath. “I hope pissing them off is—”

  He made a shushing sound, eyes on the door. It was still open. A few seconds later, Swollen guy walked in. He stared at Hatcher, smug peel to his lips, showing teeth. He walked over to Amy, eyes still on Hatcher's, and whispered something into her opposite ear. She flinched and jerked away, face tightening in disgust. Swollen guy took his gaze off Hatcher just long enough to run it over her body. He gave her a slow nod – Oh, yes, you'd better believe it's true – then flashed a grin at Hatcher again before leaving. The door thudded closed behind him.

  Amy stared at the door for a long moment. Hatcher said nothing, something telling him to let whatever was going through her mind run its course.

  “Remember all that stuff about showing restraint?” she said, finally. She took her eyes off the door and leveled them toward Hatcher's. “Forget every word of it.”

  Chapter 28

  “So,” Amy said. “What's this plan?”

  “I'd rather not try to explain. Let's just say hearing it wouldn't inspire confidence.”

  She took a breath and let it huff out. “What do I have to do?”

  “For now, just stand-by.”

  Hatcher glanced at the window box in the door, then took a step back and away from Amy to give himself some room. He inhaled deeply once, twice. He closed his eyes.

  Zip ties were strong. Ribbed strips of plastic cable fed through a ratchet. He figured the ones around his wrist were probably the strongest generally available to the public. But they weren't unbreakable. Hatcher was confident he could snap one, even restrained behind his back, given his relative arm strength and the right technique.

  The only thing that had him worried was that he had to snap two. They'd doubled up. Smart for them, bad for him.

  One more breath, then he extended his arms, raising them as far back as they would go, getting as much separation from his tailbone as he could. Breaking something was simply a matter of applying enough force to overcome the object's weakest point. These particular ties were likely industrial grade, the heaviest they could find that wouldn't indicate a link to law enforcement. That meant they'd be rated for somewhere around a hundred and twenty-five or hundred and thirty-five pounds. Generating that kind of force with your arms is tough enough. With two of them to deal with, it meant he had to double it. It was going to take somewhere between two hundred and fifty and three hundred pounds. That was asking a lot of himself.

  He pressed his arms back even farther, letting out a breath half way. Then he threw his arms forward as hard as he could, bowing his shoulders, visualizing getting his shoulders to meet in front of his chest as he slammed his secured hands against the small of his back.

  Nothing. The ties held firm. He tried one more time, concentrating even more intensely. Back, back, stretch, farther, slam. Same result.

  It was just what he'd expected. But he had to try.

  “Are you okay?”

  He nodded, though it wasn't exactly true. His hands were completely numb, for real. But for this to work, he needed the ties to be as tight as possible. “I'm going to need you to stand back,” he said.

  Another deep breath. He bent his knees slightly, closed his eyes again. He was dreading this. He flexed down into a crouch, pressing his arms out and sprung into the air, jumping as high as he could. Timing was everything. He kicked his legs forward and opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling light as he dropped onto his back, yanking his elbows apart and feeling himself plunge. He exhaled hard, slapping his arms forward just as his elbows slammed against the concrete, followed by the blunt force of his back.

  Something in his shoulder popped. The back of his skull bounced off the cement floor, sending a flurry of sparkles through his eyes. A sharp jolt of pain seared through his arm and up through his neck and he rolled onto his stomach, tasting the concrete.

  “Oh my god, Jake! Are you okay?”

  Hatcher didn't respond. He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on nothing but breathing in and out. Waiting for the worst of it to subside.

  “Oh, baby.” He felt her next to him, on her knees. “Please be okay. I... I can't even touch you.”

  A
few more seconds, a few more halting breaths. He pulled his knees under him and managed to push himself up.

  “You did it,” she said, staring at his hands. “Oh my God. That's unbelievable. You broke them.”

  Hatcher nodded, working his shoulder and wincing at the pain. He clenched and unclenched his fists, wiggled his fingers. He could feel the blood splashing back into the empty veins and capillaries, sharp pin pricks needling his fingertips and flashes of hot and cold running through his palms.

  “Now comes the hard part.”

  He climbed to his feet, pressing a hand against his knee for leverage. This was going to take some doing. He looked up at the light fixture, glanced at the door window. He shook his hands out a few times and looked at the light again. A metal cage around a fluorescent bulb. He raised his arms and jumped, snagging the cage with his fingers. He swung his body a bit, used the rising inertia to adjust his grip, one hand at a time. The cage was made of welded steel rods crossed against each other and shaped to fit the size of the fixture. It was attached to the ceiling with six carriage bolts. Hatcher couldn't tell what the ceiling was made of, but it was definitely solid.

  He moved one hand to the far end of the light cage and wedged two fingers in. The bulb was a long tube held in place by tube sockets at each end. It was hot. He tapped at the end, trying not to burn himself. Lightly first, then harder. After several tries, the prongs finally dislodged enough that the light went out.

  “Stand back,” Hatcher said, letting go and dropping to the floor. “Against the wall over there. They're going to be looking in as soon as they notice.”

  Amy didn't argue. She moved to the wall in the far corner where he'd indicated, pressing herself against it. Hatcher moved to the door, centering himself low beneath the window. An irregular box of light stretched across the room, slanting at the wall, fading into shadow at the edges. Hatcher pulled his top shirt off. He held the end of one sleeve in one hand and the bottom opposite corner in the other. He spread his hands apart and spun the shirt several times, twisting it into a rope-like length of cloth. He stretched it as far as the fabric would allow and curled both hands over once to wrap the ends of it one time through each.