Death by Denim (12 page)

He marched me out to the street where a sleek silver car waited at the curb, its domed blue light spinning in flashing circles from the dashboard. More neighbors huddled in a curious cluster on the sidewalk, watching and whispering at a safe distance.

The fake policeman yelled at them to go back to their business.
“Tornate ai vostri affari!”
He opened the door of the car and then pushed me forward, grabbing my skull like a bowling ball so that I wouldn’t smack my head on the top of the door frame—as if I didn’t have the intelligence to duck. His fingers dug into my scalp and I flinched, which must have made him think I was trying to break away from him because he pushed me even harder and the force of it made me stumble. I fell forward so that only the top part of my body made it onto the seat, my legs sprawled out behind me.

“Get up,” Black Eyes ordered. But since my hands were cuffed behind my back, it’s not like I could push myself up. I struggled to find my balance, let alone the momentum to rise to my feet. Impatient with my slow response, he grabbed one of my arms and yanked it back even harder. New pain ripped through my shoulders.

“Aaaah!”

“I said up!” he growled.

“Aspetti!”
a voice from out of the crowd shouted. Wait! It must have startled Black Eyes because his grip on my arm slipped. I dropped to my knees on the pavement with another burst of pain and twisted around just in time to see a tall figure break away from the crowd. I blinked quickly.

Seth?

Behind him, a hand reached out to pull him back. Pale skin. Short, dark hair. Seth’s mom, Elena. Her eyes grew wide and her lips formed one word—‘No!’ Seth pulled away from her and she threw a frantic glance behind her. I followed its path, but from my low vantage point, I couldn’t see much more than the top half of his head. Still, I knew it was Seth’s dad, Victor, Elena was looking toward, pleading with her eyes. He didn’t move.

Seth approached the police car slowly, holding his hands in plain sight.
“C’è uno sbaglio,”
he said. There has been a mistake.

The policeman turned with amazing speed and drew his pistol, leveling it at Seth’s head. “The mistake,” he said, “is yours.”

I
didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Seth was safe! Or at least he had been until he had the pistol pointed at him. I tried to push myself up, but I slipped and landed right back on my knees. Loose gravel on the cobblestones bit into my skin, but I didn’t care. Seth was alive. That was all that mattered.

My chest literally felt like it was swelling as I stared at him, I was so happy. His skin had taken on a sepia tone since I’d seen him last, like he’d spent a lot of time in the sun. And his dark hair had gotten longer, the ends curling against his collar and wisping over his ears. His eyes were the same intense blue, though, and still had the power to make me feel warm all over.

I wanted to call out to him, but I knew better. He could be going under another alias, so it wouldn’t be smart to use his name. I bit my tongue and watched helplessly as Black Eyes took an aggressive step toward him. He motioned with his gun for Seth to move forward.

“Hands on your head,” he ordered.

Seth clasped his hands and rested them on the top of his head as he had been told. His blue eyes locked with mine as he walked toward the car. He was acting much calmer than I felt. When he got close enough, he reached down to help me up.

“Leave her, Romeo.”

Seth ignored the guy and hooked a hand under my arm. I had just about gotten my feet under me when Black Eyes slammed his pistol against the back of Seth’s skull. Seth crumpled and we both went down. I fell sideways against the car so that my arms pulled back at an odd angle and the metal of the handcuffs cut into my skin. Seth tried to push himself up, but swayed and collapsed again. I had to clamp my mouth shut to keep from screaming his name.

The man, who I can genuinely say I hated by then, prodded Seth with his foot. “You will listen when I speak to you,” he said.
“Capisci?”

A murmuring rose around us. Men in their shirt-sleeves grumbled and shuffled their feet. Mamas in aprons and head scarves watched with wide eyes and whispered behind their hands. But no one moved to stop what was happening. I no longer saw Elena or Victor. I wondered—I hoped—that they had gone to get help.

The policeman turned his black eyes on the crowd.
“Non c’è niente da vedere!”
he shouted. There is nothing to see here! He ordered them back to their homes. Seth he left lying on the cobblestones. He stepped over him like he was a sack of trash and grabbed me by both arms to drag me to my feet. “Get in the car,” he ordered.

I considered resisting but I was afraid that if I made him angrier, he would take it out on Seth. I climbed awkwardly into the backseat while Black Eyes made Seth kneel on the road and place his hands on his head once more. Then he took each hand in turn and twisted it behind Seth’s back, snapping on another pair of handcuffs.

“In,” he said, pointing to the car. Seth struggled to his feet and then climbed into the back with me.

I wanted to throw my arms around him, but even if my hands hadn’t been bound and I could actually reach for him, I knew I wouldn’t do it. I pretended not to even recognize him as Seth settled onto the seat. Black Eyes hmmphed and slammed the door shut.

As the man walked around the car to the driver’s seat, I looked to Seth and hissed, “What is going on?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he whispered. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to warn—”

Seth cut me off with a shake of his head as the front door opened. The policeman slid into his seat and started the engine. Then he turned to glance at the backseat and smiled. It was the most sickening smile I’d ever seen in my life.

Seth and I couldn’t speak as we rode along. Even though there was a Plexiglas partition between the front and backseats, a little circle of small holes had been drilled through it, so it was not a soundproof barrier. I didn’t even dare to look at Seth too closely because I could see the policeman’s eyes in his rearview mirror as he drove, and he was watching us. I did slide my foot across the floor so that it was touching Seth’s, and Seth pressed his leg against mine, but that was as much communication as we dared.

While Seth sat stoically beside me, my heart was doing ninety and my hands were slick with sweat. I needed to take a cue from his example and not let Black Eyes know that I was terrified. He seemed like the kind of man who would feed on my fears like a shark with blood in the water.

I stared out the window, trying to keep my mind occupied, but it didn’t do much good. The passing landscape barely registered. I did notice obliquely a long stand of spear-shaped cypress trees at the edge of a green field, and the thought occurred to me that we were no longer in the city, but that’s about as far as the thought process went. I was too busy worrying about how Seth’s parents would know where we had gone. Wondering if Ryan had managed to rouse Agency support. Watching for any signs of imminent help.

In the front seat, Black Eyes began to hum. I didn’t even recognize what the song was, but I immediately hated the sound. My stomach twisted as I considered who he could be. My guess was that he worked for The Mole.

I stole a glance at Seth and he met my eye for just the briefest of moments before he quickly looked away again. For that instant, a connection passed between us, powerful and real. He was afraid as well; I could feel it. But I could also feel that he was even more determined we would get out of this thing together. I shifted on the seat, moving closer to him, and felt tentatively behind me. My fingers found his and we hooked them together, drawing strength from each other.

It wasn’t until I noticed that we were entering some kind of industrial area that I realized I hadn’t been paying much attention to our location. I had been too focused on what was inside the car to spare much thought for what was outside. By the time I snapped to and remembered what my mom had taught me, too much distance had passed for me to get my bearings.

I twisted around in my seat to check out the back window. All I could see were the red-tiled roofs in the distance and what looked like a lake far over to one side of the road. The plants and trees in the open spaces looked wild and untamed.

“Where are we?” I whispered to Seth.

He shrugged and shook his head. Not good. He didn’t know, either.

The policeman eased the car up to a closed gate. He inched forward until it slowly opened. Either the gate was on some kind of motion sensor—which wouldn’t provide the greatest security—or he had a remote in the car, or maybe someone inside opened the gate. Only there didn’t appear to be anyone inside. The place looked completely deserted as we drove along the short drive to the empty parking lot.

“The weekend,” Seth whispered. “They must be closed.”

I had no idea who “they” might be, but I had a feeling, judging from the weeds pushing up through the cracks in the parking lot and the broken windows in the building before us that the weekend had little to do with the desertion.

“What is this place?” I whispered. The building was maybe as long as two or three football fields with high, multipaned windows and a couple of smokestacks poking up from the rear. The bricks were black with soot and ivy snaked unchecked up the sides of the building. The tall letters on the side of the whitewashed walls proclaimed the business name to be GIORDANO.

He circled the car around one side toward a loading area with a long concrete dock with four distinct bays. Parked on the blacktop surrounding the dock were several cars and a couple of black SUVs. So the place wasn’t deserted after all. In fact, as our car inched forward into one of the empty bays, a trio of men with guns materialized from behind double swinging doors and watched us with interest. I looked to Seth and could tell by the way he stiffened in his seat that he had seen them, too.

Black Eyes killed the engine and stepped out of the car, slamming the door behind him. He climbed up onto the dock and carried on a long conversation with the men with guns. I couldn’t hear a word they were saying, but with all the effusive gesturing of hands and dark glances into the car where Seth and I waited, I could only guess that they were talking about us.

Finally, one of the men disappeared back through the swinging doors. When he returned, a cold seed of fear sank deep into my gut. He had not come back alone; trailing close behind was none other than the Marlboro Man. He shook our fake policeman’s hand and together they approached the car. I sat frozen in my seat, unable to do anything but watch in terror as they drew nearer.

“That man,” I whispered to Seth, but that was all I could say before the door opened. I hadn’t realized how stuffy it had become in the backseat until a cool rush of air filled the space. I took a deep breath and gave Seth’s fingers one last squeeze before he was pulled from the car.

I scooted toward the open door to follow him out when Black Eyes stopped me. “Not so quick, eh,
signorina
?”

All I could do was watch helplessly as he led Seth away. A cold sweat washed over me. I wanted to run after him, or at the very least demand to know where they were taking him, but I knew I shouldn’t say a word.

When he had disappeared through the swinging doors, Marlboro bent down to peer at me through the open door. He smiled, showing teeth that had been stained a sickening brownish yellow.

“Allora, signorina,”
he said. “You will come with me.”

He reached inside the car and grabbed my arm, dragging me from the seat. Once again, I was struck by the bitter, burnt-tar-and-farm-refuse smell about him. I turned my head away from him so that I could breathe as he pushed me toward the crumbling concrete stairs leading up to the dock.

“Where are we going?” I demanded. He just grunted and propelled me up the stairs and across the loading dock to the double swinging doors.

I tried again. “Where’s my friend?”

“Silenzio!”
he barked, and pushed me through the doors.

Inside was some kind of interior loading area. Several wooden pallets lay scattered about, some still bearing bales of mildewing cotton. Stacked against the wall were dusty bolts of an indigo fabric. Denim, I realized with a jolt.

The room tilted and my head buzzed as if a million insects had been set loose in my brain. Denim. Caraday said it had been manufactured in Varese—that the textile mill had been closed for years. My eyes widened in terror as I looked around at the dilapidated fixtures in the room. If I had any doubts before, I now knew who had orchestrated my false arrest.

My stomach heaved as I realized that I was likely standing in the very mill that produced the denim used to bind and gag Lévêque before he was thrown into the river.

“This way.” Marlboro yanked on my arm, indicating a long hallway crowded with wide, square rolling carts, all empty. A pungent odor hung in the air. Nothing terrible, just very strong. I wasn’t sure what it was, but something about it smelled familiar. Like the scent that comes from ironing a cotton shirt. But mixed with the hot cotton smell and Marlboro’s bitter stench was something much heavier. I guessed it might be the indigo dye they used on the denim, but I had no idea if I was right.