by William Oday
Iridia grabbed his arm.
“Don’t do it, Mason! That’s a three million dollar super car!”
Mason turned and detached her hand from his arm.
“Never touch the driver, and I don’t care if it’s a hundred million dollar sculpture of carbon fiber. He better move it. Now.”
He turned back to the window just as the other driver ducked into his car. He came back out with a Heckler and Kock USP 45 pointed in the air. The gun bucked and nearly tore free in the man’s weak grip as he fired a round.
“I said get away from my Enzo!”
Mason reached across Iridia’s lap and yanked the recline lever. She fell back flat, out of harm’s way. Better safe than sorry.
“Stay down,” he said as he considered dropping this joker. He was certainly in the gray area of using justified lethal force. But this guy didn’t have it in him to kill someone. Mason knew the type. Waving a gun around only worked if nobody called your bluff.
This guy was all bluff.
Besides, Mason had already been in one gunfight that day, and that was one too many already. He’d resolve this another way. A far more satisfactory way.
Mason gunned it and let off the brake. The Bronco’s left front tire barely paused before climbing up over the quarter panel and onto the hood of the super car. The Bronco tilted up, like they were in a rocket about to blast into space.
The sound of crunching metal and shattering glass reminded them they were still on the ground. The front tire dropped to the street just as the back tire clawed up to continue the demolition. The Ferrari’s engine choked, coughed, and sputtered to silence.
The Bronco pulled forward and the rear tire dropped to the ground with a thump. Mason held his hand out the window, returning the crude gesture he’d received.
The driver’s impotent screams faded as they continued on, still canted up with two wheels on the barrier. They made the exit and pulled down the ramp. They passed wide-eyed people as they went.
“You just demolished a Ferrari Enzo, one of the most expensive cars in the world.”
Mason grinned. “Not worth a zinc penny now.”
They made it down the ramp and hit an intersection that wasn’t completely clogged. Mason eased the wheel to the left and the Bronco bucked as the tires dropped to the street.
He patted the dash. “I wouldn’t trade this baby for that Italian hunk of junk.”
“It wasn’t a hunk of junk.”
“It is now.”
Iridia didn’t respond.
Mason mashed the accelerator to the floor and, tires squealing, headed north a couple of streets to get some distance from the insane freeway. He whipped a left on Pico Boulevard and headed west toward Santa Monica. To the local airport there. The surface street traffic was thick, but at least it was moving.
He had no idea how she was going to get out of LA with the airspace shut down. For all he knew, that rule didn’t apply to the richest and most connected. Maybe she had a personal exemption waiting. The wealthiest often played by a different set of rules.
Even if she didn’t have a flight waiting, he frankly didn’t care. His job was to get her to the airport. One second after that, Iridia and all of her supermodel problems would be in the rear view mirror.
Mason almost smiled.
He didn’t though because as the thought of dumping her crossed his mind, another part of his brain caught something coming through on the police scanner.
Iridia levered her seat back upright.
“Hello? Earth to bodyguard. Are you even listening to me?”
“Quiet!”
Mason turned up the volume.
All units, code ten. Adam three-six, code three.
Three-six, code three, go ahead.
Adam three-six, vehicle is a two-door, early model, tan Ford Bronco. Westbound on Pico at Normandie. Suspect is a white male, early forties, one-hundred-eighty pounds. Wanted for LAPD Officer’s one-eight-seven. Presumed armed and dangerous. Break-
Go ahead.
Adam three-six, be advised ASD SWAT unit en route.
Copy. Three-six in pursuit.
A black and white in pursuit. Air Support Division SWAT en route. Jesus.
And they thought he killed a cop.
And they were coming for him.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Theresa shifted in the backseat, an uncomfortable edge digging into her butt. Her phone, in the back pocket of her pajamas. She almost reached for it. She wanted more than anything to call her dad and get away from these killers.
The short, muscled guy with the pocked face drove. The huge man that killed Max sat between her and Holly in the back seat. If she pulled her phone out, he’d just rip it out of her hand and probably toss it out the window. She’d have to wait for the right opportunity.
They drove east on Rose, leaving the more gentrified neighborhoods closer to the ocean. They continued on down Fourth Street, heading passed Indiana and into the rougher streets of Venice. Even with all the changes that had swept through the area, there were still a few blocks that none of the newcomers ventured through after dark.
They crossed Indiana and the homes immediately fell into disrepair. Like some invisible line held the future at bay. Behind them were remodeled houses occupied by the hipster avant-garde. In front of them stewed the dangerous soul of the old Venice.
The very character the hipsters clung to while at the same time wishing very much that bulldozers would level the place so new developments could be built. Ones that would raise their property values and make this neighborhood safe once and for all.
For now, this pocket of sporadic, violent defiance held. Small groups of sketchy looking men lingered on porches and street corners. Always in the shadows, just beyond the light.
The car stopped and the giant man dragged her and Holly out of the back seat.
Theresa’s skin crawled at his touch. Thankfully, long sleeves and pant legs covered her bare skin. Holly wasn’t so lucky. She wore some tiny, red shorts and a tight, black halter top that accented her ample chest. It didn’t matter on a girls’ night sleepover.
It mattered now.
Usually, Theresa was crazy jealous of her best friend’s curves. It was like God took her portion and gave them to Holly. The girl could turn heads wearing a cardboard box.
She wasn’t jealous of the attention now. Already, their captors had made big eyes. She had no idea what they had in mind, but Holly’s curves on display weren’t helping.
“Hey baby, where you goin?” a voice said from the shadows of a porch behind them. Four dark figures lounged on fold-up chairs. An old car sat in the yard with its front wheels on concrete blocks. A dilapidated chain-link fence surrounded the yard, as it did most yards in the area.
The lewd suggestion in the voice gave Theresa the shivers. Holly screamed when a pit bull slammed into the fence, it’s teeth bared, going crazy like it wanted to maul them. A hushed laugh floated over from a shadowed figure inside a darkened window covered by thick bars.
“Not quite like your neighbors, huh?”
The short brick of a guy holding Holly laughed as they dragged them across the street toward a two-story house that looked worse off than the other houses on the block.
Which was really saying something.
The street light on the corner didn’t work. It was surprising how dark a neighborhood could get without the reassuring glow of nearby lights.
A rusted chain-link fence bordered that small lot, too. The gate was open, the door detached and lying in the brown dirt that passed for a front yard. Thumping bass rolled out like thunder through a canyon. A group of three scary-looking guys chatted by the gate while another small group hung around the closed front door.
The house looked like it was built in the 60’s and hadn’t seen an ounce of upkeep since. Wood siding with traces of peeled paint. Half the windows covered with plywood. Two ragged couches up on the porch. Classic cars restored to perfection lined both sides
of the street. Chrome wheels so big and polished you could check your lipgloss in them.
If you were on a date instead of being kidnapped.
“Cesar,” one of the guys by the front gate said as he nodded to Theresa’s captor. His low-riding pants seemed to defy gravity as they clearly had no butt to cling to. A thick gold chain sparkled on his bare, broad chest. A sling ran across his chest and over his shoulder.
“How’s she doing?”
“Been out since a minute or two after I called.”
Cesar nodded.
“Stay at your post.”
The man with the huge gold chain rotated the sling around and a dangerous looking black rifle appeared in his hands.
“Seguro.”
Cesar smiled. “Carnal.”
The men by the gate parted like the sea before Moses. Cesar led their group inside the fence.
Theresa had the distinct impression they were entering a cage. One she didn’t know how to escape.
CHAPTER SIXTY
Every eye followed Holly as she stumbled forward. She jiggled in the worst way possible for this crowd. Theresa wished more than anything Holly preferred sleeping in a bath robe.
Holly tapped on the guy’s shoulder that pulled her along.
“Would you mind not throwing me in the dirt, please?”
He raised his eyebrows at her.
She continued, “What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t.”
“It’s just that I like to know the people kidnapping me and my best friend. You know, since we’re getting to spend so much quality time together.”
Theresa blanched. She knew Holly had to be just as terrified as she was. Especially after what happened to Max. But she didn’t act it. She acted like they were coming over dinner. Amazing.
“Evil.”
“Pardon me?” Holly asked.
“They call me Evil.”
Holly grimaced, her casual facade cracking a little.
“Nice name.”
Evil leered at her chest. “It fits.”
They marched up the steps and a group on the porch parted to make way. Evil kicked the door open and yelled something that got swallowed up by the audio assault from inside.
Cesar and Evil yanked them into another world.
The bass jabbed Theresa’s eardrums. Every beat a vibration that set her jaw on edge. The rank stink of body odor wrinkled her nose. A stronger scent masked it. Something earthy and dank. She’d never smoked it, but she’d bet money it was pot.
Holly looked back and pursed her lips. The tilt of her mouth reflected the masked anxiety.
They took a right into a dim living room. The only light came from illumination not designed to brighten. The end of cigarettes and rolled joints glowed hot orange as the holder sucked in a deep breath. Phone screens lit faces at odd angles. Many in that lit-from-below way that makes anyone look terrifying. Blinking stereo lights of different colors carved shapes out of other shadows.
A coffee table in the center of the room held an assortment of items, none of which was coffee. Empty and half-empty beer bottles littered the surface and the surrounding floor. A guy seated on the couch picked at a huge pile of clumped marijuana. The guy next to him chopped and sliced at a white ball the size of an olive. As he worked it with a credit card, powder crumbled off. Pills of different shapes and colors were scattered around like someone had spilled out the contents of a rainbow pharmacy.
Theresa’s stomach churned. Her palms dampened. Her heart pounded under her ribs. The suffocating air tickled her throat and burned her eyes.
Her mind numbed, she almost didn’t understand what was happening in the corner of the room.
A ragged leather chair, stuffing falling out of numerous tears, sat in the corner. Two people occupied it. That wasn’t strange. It was easily large enough to accommodate two people.
Theresa squinted through the haze, not believing it at first.
They were screwing! Right there in the chair. Right in front of everyone. A girl with her top off and back to them rode on top of the guy sitting under her. Her skirt was pulled up around her waist. She bounced up and down, almost like she was following the bass beat. A loose tourniquet wrapped around her upper arm like an Egyptian fashion bracelet. The dull yellow rubber accented with black splotches. A hypodermic needle lay on the floor next to the chair. The man underneath grabbed the girl’s hair and yanked down as he thrust up.
Theresa’s legs went weak. Like her bones turned to jelly and were ready to collapse. She swallowed hard and looked away, trying her best not to scream like a mental patient. Only a couple other people in the room seemed to notice the activity in the corner.
Cesar led them through the living room and into a kitchen in the back. He threw open the fridge and pulled out two forties. Forty ounce bottles of Miller High Life. He cracked the tops off and handed one to each of them.
“Life ain’t all bad, blancas. Drink up.”
Theresa hesitated, wondering if a polite ‘No thank you’ would fly.
“Drink,” he said in a voice so low it made the bass feel light.
Holly took a gulp from her bottle.
Theresa looked at hers. She brought the bottle to her lips and took a sip.
Disgusting.
Tasted like dog piss. How anyone could seriously enjoy this as a beverage was beyond her. She lowered the almost entirely full bottle.
Cesar lifted it back to her lips and leveled his eyes at her.
He didn’t negotiate. Max’s blood on the kitchen floor was the terrible proof.
Theresa took a few big drinks and sputtered as the foul taste bit her tongue and burned her throat. She coughed and some shot out her nose, doubling her over in a fit of coughing.
Cesar laughed hard and loud.
“Come on,” he said as he regained his grip on Theresa’s elbow. “Let’s go upstairs.”
Oh God, no.
Theresa knew what happened upstairs, where the bedrooms were.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
The grip on her elbow bordered on agony. Cesar’s fingers dug into her flesh like a steel claw. Theresa had tried pulling against his grip a few times and only succeeded in tightening the vise-like hold. She and Holly half-walked and half-stumbled out of the kitchen. They passed a bathroom on the right and the stench emanating from it made her stomach heave. She peeked in as they passed, knowing she shouldn’t but not able to stop herself.
A shirtless, chubby guy sat on the toilet taking a dump with the door wide open. Scratch that. There was no door. A huge vein in his forehead popped out as he strained. He noticed her and brought his fingers up to his mouth in a V. His tongue flicked out in a disgustingly suggestive motion.
She passed a number of people that stared at the two intruders with unveiled contempt. A girl with more black makeup than good sense stared as they approached.
Theresa tried to look away, but she couldn’t. It was like taking your eyes off a rabid dog. You wanted to know where it was. You especially wanted to know where its jaws were.
As Theresa angled her body to slip by, the girl leveled a shoulder through her chest and pinned her against the wall.
“What the fuck you lookin’ at?” She spat the words into her face. A thin knife appeared in her right hand and she waved it inches in front of Theresa’s cheek. “I’ll cut you, bitch!”
Cesar watched for a second, evidently waiting to see if the girl would make good on her promise. After a moment, he chuckled and stepped between them. He leaned down and practically swallowed the girl’s face with a rough kiss. She seemed to like it. He pulled her head back by the clump of her hair.
“Tranquilo, mija. She gonna get what she deserves.”
Theresa’s stomach clenched and vomit coughed up into her mouth. She snapped her mouth shut and swallowed it back down. Relief at being saved from the maniac knife girl mixed with that last part of what he said.
The part that didn’t sound like it ended any better.
They turned a corner and came up to a guy the size of a basketball player. A dangerous basketball player. He flashed a hand signal and Cesar nodded as they ascended to the second level.
Theresa marched up like she was in a nightmare. Where you keep moving forward and you can’t stop even when you know something terrible awaits. The dream pulls you forward, to the horrible ending that you know is as unavoidable as it is deadly.
Shag carpet worn bare in patches extended down the hall. The walls were a patchwork of holes and exposed wood beams. The single light in the center flickered, making it look exactly like a scene in a horror movie. A number of doors lined the hall. Some open and some closed. A guy stood by an open door at the end, facing them.
He looked like a soldier standing guard. Theresa realized that she’d passed through a few already. The ones at the gate. The ones on the porch. The guy at the stairs.
They were being taken deeper into the cage. A scream bubbled up in her throat. She swallowed it down, knowing it would result in nothing more than provoking a response from their captors.
Cesar paused at a closed door on the left, halfway down the hall. He opened it and peeked in.
Theresa glimpsed an older lady in bed with a girl around her own age sitting next to her. The lady was asleep, or maybe dead. Her skin was ghostly pale with purple and brown bruises all over. The girl wore a white dust mask. She dabbed a damp cloth on the older woman’s forehead.
Cesar said something she didn’t catch and then shut the door.
Cesar pushed them ahead. She didn’t want to know what was inside the far room. That was where this ended. That was where her options ran out.
The guard exchanged words with Cesar as they arrived. The whispered words mingled with the music filtering up from downstairs.
Theresa’s belly cramped. She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want other things to happen either. Things that might be worse than death.
They stepped inside.
Two bare light bulbs hung by cords from the ceiling. The small room had none of the usual bedroom furniture. No bed. Thank God there was no bed. No nightstand. No homework desk. No dog bed. No dresser full of clothes. No comfortable chair.
