by Joe Field
Tucked away in a remote section of the Louisiana bayou south of the city of Houma, the boat was accessible only by water. At Nash’s request, Doyle had described the location in painstaking detail after bragging about how he used to take women out there. Doyle even drew Nash a map to the location from a marina at the edge of Houma where his houseboat was docked.
Nearly thirty-six hours before, Nash had stolen a vehicle from the parking lot at the Dickinson Theodore Roosevelt Regional Airport. He placed an unconscious Gabby under some blankets in the backseat and headed south toward Houma. He had worried the entire drive about Doyle’s houseboat, and whether it had been moved, or if the keys he swiped from Doyle’s coat would actually work. He also worried about being pulled over by police, but with his former law enforcement training he knew how to avoid detection. He religiously maintained the speed limit, avoided toll roads and places with cameras, and took shot after shot of five-hour energy drinks to keep himself going while time was still on his side. He also hoped the car’s owner was gone for the holidays and that no one would notice it missing from the airport parking lot until long after Nash was done with it.
To his relief, he arrived uneventfully in Houma late at night. The houseboat was located exactly where Doyle told him it would be. He hid the stolen vehicle under a tarp at a nearby vacant warehouse and carried a comatose Gabby to the houseboat by way of Doyle’s crude map to the middle of nowhere.
Nash couldn’t think of a more terrible place to live than the bayous of Louisiana. Except for the fact that Gabby—his Gabby—was now with him. He had to fight the irresistible urge to go lay next to her. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on, with her radiant face and heart melting, bright green eyes.
Her body was a perfect temple, a symbol of all that was right in this world.
Nash knew it from afar, but up close he could confirm that she had small freckles on her cheeks and a beauty mark above her lip.
She was heavenly.
To pass the time while he waited for Gabby to wake up from the tranquilizers, Nash began a list of words to describe the bayou. Writing lists was one of his obsessions. He always chose seven things per category. It couldn’t be six or eight; it had to be exactly seven. He could write additional comments in parenthesis after the word, but only if it was a seven-word comment. It drove his parents and teachers crazy during his childhood.
THE BAYOU:
1. Fiery Gates of Hell
2. Sticky Air
3. Backwater
4. A Redneck’s Paradise (rest in peace hillbilly Doyle, nice houseboat)
5. Wicked Souls
6. Alligators Haven
7. Mosquitos (those vile little angry blood-sucking vampires)
Those words describe my hell, Nash thought. And it’s the last place on earth that anyone would ever expect a Texas Ranger, turned North Dakota roughneck, to be at this moment.
They’ll never find us here.
Nash knew the first few conversations with Gabby would be critical, and he had rehearsed what he would say to her for months. She was starting to stir, so he put on a fresh pot of coffee. Then he placed a fresh icepack on the arm of the couch.
That lazy hillbilly Doyle had yet to accomplish anything in his life before he died, but at least he had a well-stocked houseboat. There was enough food, water, and supplies for Nash and Gabby to live on for weeks. Nash was hoping it wouldn’t take that long to convince her.
“Where am I?” Gabby moaned. She tried to open one eye.
“You’re safe,” Nash replied.
“What have you done with me?” Gabby coughed. Her voice was weak from lack of use over the past two days.
“Please, try to get up slowly. The drugs will wear off soon, I promise.” Nash sat down on a chair next to the couch and faced Gabby. “Here is an icepack for your head. You hit it pretty hard.”
Just play it cool, Nash. You can do this.
Gabby refused to take it. “What drugs did you give me?”
“They were harmless—just something to help you sleep and make your head feel better. Would you like some fresh coffee?”
“I don’t want anything. I just want to go home.” Gabby refused to look him in the eyes. She lifted her hand to her head.
“How about just a small cup? The coffee will help you wake up and make you feel better, and maybe you can forget about that nasty bump on your head.”
Gabby looked down and saw her left ankle was chained to the table next to couch.
“Don’t worry,” Nash said quickly. “I’ll take it off for good, soon. For now, just let me know when you have to use the bathroom and I’ll remove it temporarily for you.”
“Where am I?”
“We can discuss everything later—for now, you need to get some food and coffee in you. Would you like some pasta or rice?”
“Where am I?” she repeated. “What have you done to me?”
“Hey, it’s okay,” he said, trying to be soothing. “We are in the middle of nowhere, but we are safe. All I have done is taken you on a little trip, but nobody has laid a finger on you. I promise. You gave that bump on your head to yourself when you tried to run me over with the RV.”
Gabby curled her one free leg up into a ball and clutched it with her arms as she turned away from him. “What do you want from me?”
“Just to talk, is all.” Sweat started to bead on Nash’s face. He knew this conversation would be difficult. “But first, I would like you to feel better—so please eat and drink something.”
“I’d rather die.”
“Gabby—”
“Don’t say my name,” she cut him off. “Don’t you dare say my name.”
“Okay, I’m sorry.” A mosquito bit Nash on the back of his neck. When he slapped it, Gabby startled. She tried to scoot farther away, but the chain prevented it.
“Sorry, Ga—,” he stopped himself. “Sorry, miss. I didn’t mean to cause you any pain or discomfort. My name is Declan Nash, but you can call me Dec.”
“I’ll call you the devil.” Gabby looked out into the darkness.
Nash, you fool. You’re blowing it.
He would try again later. “I’ll give you some time to be by yourself,” he said. “Please don’t hesitate to ask me for anything. Food, water, bathroom breaks, blankets, or anything else. Just let me know.”
Gabby didn’t respond. She shut her eyes and her lower lip curled up under her teeth as she fought back tears.
Nash slowly stood up and walked to the back of the houseboat and entered the bedroom. He turned around and looked at Gabby one more time, then shut the door.
Chapter 6
Williston, North Dakota
Cooper recently read an article about how Walmart stores had one of the highest rates of crimes of any location in a city—more than bars, casinos, parks, or gas stations. Most placed the blame on poor clientele and overnight RV squatters. Because of this, more police stations had started embedding officers at local Walmarts, including the store in Williston. It was lucky for Cooper, since the ready presence of a police officer had kept Mustache from taking a swing at him with that crowbar. The officers had referred to the man as Frederick Nickels, and Cooper overheard one officer comment about Nickels being high on meth again.
Meth, thought Cooper. That explains a lot.
The sound of keys jingling reverberated down the hallway at the Williams County Correctional Center in downtown Williston.
“Cooper Smith?” asked an officer.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“You’re up. It’s time for your one phone call.”
There was a backlog at the jail, and it took all day for Cooper to get processed. Tension and chatter filled the air, mostly involving the blizzard that was expected to strike later that night.
Cooper had explained to the officers how Nickels blindsided him in the parking lot and came after him with the crowbar. The officers questioned him intensively about the tomahawk, but Cooper explained it was his
only means of self-defense. The officers promised to review the security cameras from Walmart and get back to him. They said they would try to get to it that night.
Fat chance. You’re stuck here overnight.
Soojin answered on the first ring.
“Soojin, it’s me.”
“What number are you calling from?”
“It’s a long story.” Cooper cleared his throat.
“What happened?”
“Wellstone was hit in a Walmart parking lot this morning. The man who hit me got out of his truck and tried to club me with a crowbar. We were both arrested, and I’m in jail.”
“Wait, what?” Soojin asked in disbelief. “Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m fine.” Cooper shifted the phone receiver to the other ear. “Just glad the police were there in time so I didn’t have to use my tomahawk on that guy. Or worse, have him use his crowbar on my head.”
“But … but, why did he attack you?” asked Soojin.
“I really don’t know,” said Cooper. “But it sounds like the guy was on drugs and has a history of altercations like this. It was a rough way to start the trip, that’s for sure.”
Soojin sighed. “I have bad news, too. I tried to book tonight’s flight from MSP to Williston, but it was canceled because of the weather. They are saying it may be days before another flight is scheduled. I checked the road report and the interstates are scheduled to be shut down tonight, too. There is one more flight out to Bismarck, and that’s my only chance to get out closer to help find—”
“Gabby,” Cooper finished.
“Yes.”
“Okay, here’s what we can do. Once I’m cleared, I can talk to one of these officers about Gabby. I’ll try to get some answers and updates. In the meantime, do you think you could reach out to some of Gabby’s close friends or family members?”
“I’ve already tried to reach out to a few people, but they are all busy looking for her. I’ve been keeping up with the Facebook updates, but there isn’t much to go on right now. All we know is she was kidnapped from the recreation center on Saturday night by two men, and driven away in an RV. Every day that goes by . . .” Soojin’s voice trailed off.
“I know, we need to hurry—”
A knock on the door interrupted Cooper. “Wrap it up in there,” an officer instructed.
“Hun, I have to get going. I’ll hopefully be out of here by tomorrow morning, but in the meantime, stay positive. We are going to find Gabby.”
“We have to.”
◆◆◆
Just outside of Williston, the proud home of Mark and Sydney Hanson stood perched on a hill. Mark had served as North Dakota’s state senator from District One for thirty years. Sydney kept him grounded even as voices in Bismarck raised his name as a potential candidate for governor. They had lost their only son, James, as well as his wife, in a car accident sixteen years ago. Gabby, their only granddaughter, was nine at the time and had been staying at their home when the accident happened.
Mark and Sydney had raised Gabby like she was their own daughter, and the three of them shared a close-knit relationship. When Gabby expressed an interest in exploring politics in college, Mark made the introductions needed to set her up for a successful political career. One of his proudest moments came when she was elected to the Williston City Council. From there, he knew it was nothing but up for her.
Things were going well for their family until the day that Sydney went in to see the doctor after she experienced unexplained weight loss and severe abdominal pain. She was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and given less than five years to live. That was three years ago, and the family was still trying to come to terms with Sydney’s illness and the reality that pancreatic cancer took the lives of over ninety percent of its victims within five years. Sydney had already beat the odds by making it this far, and she tried to stay strong. But rounds of surgeries and chemotherapy left her weak and resting most of the time. She was starting to feel a little better as of late, and some of her energy seemed to be returning.
That was, until last Saturday night.
Deplorable savages, he thought. I’d put one between the eyes of each of them in a heartbeat if I could. Mark’s blood pressure began to rise again as he ruminated on it.
It was getting late, and Mark had left the porch light on. Sydney’s hands and eyes began to twitch after she learned the news. It was too much stress for her body to deal with. A constant stream of visitors had stopped by since local news outlets had broken the story, with endless calls and messages of support. With the upcoming storm approaching, Mark had told everyone involved in the search to go home and get some rest, but to continue to reach out to folks online in neighboring communities. All they needed was one clue that could help point to where Gabby was. Mark had already posted her picture all over North Dakota, including on billboards, flyers, and local television. Local, state, and federal law enforcement authorities had been in continual contact with Mark. They were working hard, but even they confessed things would slow down for at least the next day with the snowstorm.
Mark was exhausted, but he had to accept this meeting tonight if he was going to get extra state-level resources from Bismarck. Plus, he knew he couldn’t go too far from home with Sydney in her condition. He wanted so badly to be out there looking for Gabby, but he would have to settle for having other people lead the search parties. A set of car lights made their way up the driveway. After the vehicle stopped, the driver walked briskly up to the front door where Mark was waiting.
“Hello, Nate. Come on in, thanks for swinging by tonight.” Mark greeted Thompson with a handshake and patted him on the back as he welcomed him into his home.
“Mark, thanks for having me.” Thompson shook his coat off and slipped out of his boots. “I hate to drop in like this after all that has happened.”
“It’s no problem—we just have to keep the volume down a bit, as Syd is in bed already.”
Thompson lowered his voice. “Sure thing. How’s Sydney handling all this? How’s her health?”
Mark hung his head. “I have to admit she’s not doing very well. This has all been a bit too much for her to handle.”
Thompson slowly nodded. “Well, please pass on my regards to her—and let her know I’m praying for her.”
Mark forced a smile. “Thanks, I’ll let her know.”
“I’ll make it brief, for both our sakes. I don’t want to get caught in this storm, and you need to get some rest, too.”
“Looks like it will be a pretty nasty one—someone said maybe two feet of snow.” Mark shook his head. “Please come sit down in the living room. Can I get you some coffee?”
“No, that’s quite all right,” said Thompson. “I won’t be long.”
The two men sat down on couches that faced each other in front of the fire sizzling in Mark’s stone fireplace.
“I just wanted to let you know the governor and I are doing everything we can to mobilize additional officers and rescue crews to help find Gabby,” said Thompson. “We are going to get her back soon.”
“Syd and I sure do appreciate anything you can do for Gabby right now. The more help we have, the better chance we have of getting her back.” Mark leaned back and fought a yawn as he rubbed his eyes. “Why did you insist on coming up from Bismarck to see me when you could have just told me this on the phone?”
“Well, for two reasons. I wanted to come back home to Williston to prep our house for the storm, and I also wanted to talk to you face to face about our agreement.” Thompson looked away from Mark and gazed into the fire. “Now, before you say anything, just hear me out. You and I go way back—”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake. What is all this about?”
“As I was saying, we go way back. We were both born and raised here in Williston, and we served together for many years at the capital on behalf of District One. We also made our little deal with the devil, and we want to make sure you aren’t going to do anything rash with all that ha
s transpired over the past few days.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. Gabby was kidnapped!” Mark’s face burned red. “And by ‘we’ I assume you mean you and Rick. Do you think I am even thinking about that con job the two of you pulled on me?”
“Hey, calm down.” Thompson held up his hands in surrender as he looked down the hall. “I thought you said Syd was sleeping. Look, we just wanted to make sure when you are talking to all these news outlets and authorities that you don’t make any references to our special oil clients.”
“The fact that you have the gall to come into my home to talk about this right now is despicable,” Mark spat. “Do you think I care about your precious oil right now? Or how you and Rick padded your pockets with bribes any chance you could?”
“The oil is precious. It’s as good as gold as far as I’m concerned. But don’t forget that you looked the other way when we came to you in confidence about drilling on protected lands. We all benefited.”
“You fool! It’s not gold. It’s black gold. As black and dark as your soul has turned these past few years. Look what it’s done to you; I don’t even recognize the man in front of me. Worse, look what it’s done to Williston and our state. We used to be known as the Peace Garden State. What happened to that?”
“This is our 1849 California gold rush, and we have to take advantage of it,” Thompson insisted. “We were a sleepy, farming flyover state before we figured out how to juice the Bakken.”
“You know, I’m a lot older than you, and my parents heard the same thing during the first Bakken-crazed days back in the fifties. Then I heard the same thing about our last so-called oil boom in the eighties. What happened after those booms? Well, I think you know how both of those busts left our community in a world of hurt. It took us years to recover from those swings. We invested in infrastructure, schools, and shops, all to accommodate the out-of-state oil companies and workers. As soon as the oil dried up, they were gone in a millisecond.”
