Authors: John Gilstrap
"Just tell him I'm out here, will you? My name's April Simpson and I have money for him."
Thug Left perked up at this and took a half step closer. "Oh, yeah? And how much money do you have?"
This was April's cue to shrink away, but she refused. "Every penny that I owe him."
The middle thug pulled his partner back in line and held out his hand. "You can give it to me. I'll make sure he gets it."
This time it was April's turn to laugh. It sounded as forced as it felt, but she was making a point here. "I don't think so."
"You don't trust me?"
April recognized a tough moment when she saw one. This guy doing all the talking was obviously the one in charge, and neither he nor she could afford to have him lose face in front of his friends. "What's your name?" she said.
The middle thug answered, "Ricky," then looked surprised that he'd said anything.
"Look, Ricky, I don't want to make a big deal out of this, okay? And I'm sure your boss wouldn't be thrilled with me discussing his business out here on the street. Just do me the favor of telling him that April Simpson is here to give him the money he wants, and that I want to discuss the return of something to me." A frigid icicle of guilt stabbed her insides as she heard herself refer to Justin as an inanimate object.
Ricky considered this for a long moment, then finally nodded and made his way to the top of the concrete steps, where he disappeared behind the massive door, which she now saw was actually made of steel. Two minutes later, the door reopened, and Ricky beckoned for her to join him.
As she got to the top, with only ten feet to go till she was inside, Ricky blocked her path, lowering his voice as he said, "I'll be right there with you the whole time. Move funny and I'll fucking kill you, do you understand?"
The absolute coldness of his tone took her breath away. Suddenly unable to find words, she simply nodded, and Ricky let her pass, stepping in quickly behind her. Logan stood waiting for them in the foyer, wearing slippers and a bathrobe and sipping a glass of orange juice. Nearly as wide as he was tall-but not fat-Logan combined all the worst elements of his Irish bloodline. His red hair might have looked violet in a different light, and his big, round face joined his shoulders directly, seemingly without the intervention of a neck. A bulbous red nose completed the package, even redder than his ruddy complexion, and streaked with the road-map capillaries that showcased his affection for whiskey.
Logan's eyes narrowed as April stepped into the foyer, then widened again as he placed her face. "April!" he exclaimed as if meeting up with an old friend. "My God, I never thought I'd see you again."
April found herself embarrassed by the recognition and said nothing. Logan suddenly remembered his manners and stepped off to the side to usher her deeper into the house. She didn't move. Just being inside the door felt way too close to the spider's lair. Instead, she reached into her pocket and withdrew the manila envelope stuffed with cash. She counted out ten hundreds and thrust them toward her host. "Here's your money."
Logan looked genuinely confused. "You're here to buy something?"
"I'm here to pay my husband's debt."
Logan shot a look to Ricky and got a shrug in return. "Who is your husband?"
April's blood pressure shot up eighty points as her face flushed hot. My God, he doesn't even know. "He's the man your goons stole my son from."
Suddenly, a trace of recognition. "I'm not sure I know what you're talking about," Logan said warily.
"Kidnap that many toddlers, do you, that you can't keep them all straight?" She scared herself with her words, but stood strong nonetheless. She had a mission here, and she wasn't leaving without completing it.
Logan's eyes hardened. "Be very careful, April. Perhaps you've forgotten who you're speaking to."
"I haven't forgotten anything, you pig. I want my son back. Where is he?"
Logan chuckled and shot a glance to Ricky. "Let's say just for the sake of argument that I had your child. Do you think that I would take him without due cause?"
"There is no due cause," April spat. "Your business dealings with my husband have nothing to do with my son."
The Irishman's head cocked to the side. "Nor with you, yet here you are. Is your husband so afraid of me that he sends the missus to do his work?"
"I want him back." April was not about to let herself get side-tracked.
Logan held her eyes for a long moment, then gestured for the money. Their fingers touched as she passed the stack of bills, and she stifled the urge to wipe her hand.
The big Irishman counted the bills then frowned. "There's only a thousand dollars here." he said.
"That's what he owed you."
Logan laughed again. "My God, April, just what kind of man did you marry? The amount he stole from me was more like eighteen hundred. With reasonable interest, that comes to more like twenty-two hundred. Plus another thousand for expenses."
April felt the blood drain from her head and she reached out for a wall to balance herself. Neither man made a move to help. "Expenses," she gasped. "What kind of expense is there to take a little boy from his mother?"
"Surely you don't think I would take care of such a messy business myself," Logan scoffed. "I hired some special talent for that."
Special talent? Special talent! Jesus, he spoke of this atrocity as if it were some legitimate business. Couldn't he see? Justin was all she had in the world. He was her son!
Suddenly, all the fight evaporated. "Please," she begged. "I only want my little boy. My little Justin."
Logan handed the bills to Ricky, who stuffed them in his jacket pocket. Then, the big Irishman moved closer to April and put his hand gently on her shoulder. "You can have him as soon as you come up with the extra twenty-two hundred. Twenty-seven by this time tomorrow."
The feel of his paw made April shudder, and she used her forearm to knock his hand away. "Don't touch me," she growled.
Logan recoiled, then smirked. "Suit yourself, April."
"How can you do this?"
"How can I do what? How can I do what? Your husband robs me of my money, and you ask me how I can do this? I let the stupid motherfucker live, didn't I? All I want is my money, sweetheart. And you see? I already got a down payment, so this method works good for me." To his buddy, Logan added, "Ricky, grab her purse."
April didn't bother to fight as giant thug stripped the bag from her shoulder.
Logan accepted it from Ricky and opened it up. "What about the rest of what's in here? Is that for me, too? What do we got here?" Logan counted the bills quickly, riffling them like playing cards. "Another seven hundred and fifty bucks. See, April? Only two grand more and you're home free."
April couldn't take it anymore. Her fear and her grief welled up from a place deep inside her soul, and poured forth in a choking sob. "But I can't get that money," she gasped. "I already sold my car to get what you have. I've got nothing left."
"Look at me, April," Logan said quietly.
Her eyes came up to meet his. Where anger had burned just moments ago, her face showed only sadness.
"You've got to find it." Logan stroked the underside of her chin with his forefinger. "Rob a bank if you have to, I don't care. But you've got to find the money, because I'll only keep him alive for a week. Do you understand that? A week. Seven days from last night."
Logan smiled, and she looked away.
"Did your worthless fuck stick mention what happens if you go to the police, April?"
She cast her eyes down, but he rocked her chin back up.
"I need an answer."
April nodded. Even if she tried to say something, she knew that her voice wouldn't work.
"You'll never even see the body, April. You'll never, ever know for sure. And that will kill you, too."
DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING," Russell told Ranger George for the 874th time. Why was this such a difficult concept?
"I'm just looking," the ranger replied as he crouched down even farther.
Russell shot a look to Sarah, who interpreted it for what it was and said, "George, I need you to head down the trail and make sure that everybody finds their way, okay?"
George obeyed and left, looking like a kid who hadn't made the height cut on a roller coaster.
Russell smiled at Sarah. "Thanks. You were much more diplomatic than I would have been."
"He means well."
"They always do. That's why I always feel so bad for shooting them when they get in my way." Russell laughed to make sure she knew he was kidding.
"Ma'am, you don't belong here either," Tim declared, striking a dynamic pose with his fists on his hips.
Russell shot his assistant a glare that should have knocked him over, but the other man held his ground. "Tell you what, Tim. Why don't you head down there, too, and act as my liaison with Ranger
George?"
That one got him. Tim looked as if he'd been slapped. "You know I'm right, Russell. She doesn't belong here."
"As I'm sure your notes will so indicate. Now, if you don't mind doing as I asked ..."
"Send her." Tim nodded to Sarah. His voice took on a squeaky, adolescent quality that Russell found amusing.
"I'm sending you." He could have made up some excuse or tried to justify his decision, but he didn't feel like it. And while there was no denying that Sarah's presence at the crime scene bent the investigative protocols a bit, no protocol is more basic than the one which says that the assistant agent in charge has to do what the agent in charge tells him.
Tim created a new shade of red around his ears before he stalked off down the trail, leaving the two of them alone.
Sarah looked uneasy as hell. "Look, Agent Coates, I didn't mean to-"
"Don't worry about it. You've done nothing wrong. You're here because I invited you."
She looked confused. "You don't like him too much, do you?"
"Can't stand the son of a bitch. He's brash and rude and he won't keep his mouth closed long enough to learn something."
"Not everyone can be a shy, retiring type like you, huh?" She smiled again, and the effect was blinding. "You're not as tight as most feds I've known."
"I've loosened up a lot since I started wearing boxers."
This time she laughed for real, and Russell couldn't help but feel a little proud of himself for finally breaching the wall.
"You like being unpredictable, don't you?"
Russell shrugged. "I don't know what I like anymore. I've been doing this shit for too long. Pricks like Agent Burrows there are the future of the Bureau."
"He seems dedicated enough."
"Oh, dedication is his long suit." Russell laughed. "Just don't forget to check out exactly what it is he's dedicated to."
"And that would be ... ?"
"Himself. His own career. The number one social goal of the millennium. Advance your career at all costs."
Sarah cocked her head curiously. "I hear bitterness."
"You hear reality. Pragmatism." Russell felt no urge to elaborate.
Instead, he turned away from Sarah, and from the trail behind her, and directed his attention to their newest discovery.
He'd released the Combs couple as soon as they'd pointed out their campsite from the night before. They clearly didn't know anything, and if he found himself with questions later, he had their address and phone number.
Starting from that spot, the four of them-Russell, Sarah, Tim, and George-had spread out through the woods, looking for something that might possibly explain the sounds the couple had reported. For the longest time, they found only more woods. Then, about thirty minutes into the search, they'd struck the mother lode.
Russell walked to the edge of a roughly rectangular pit; maybe four feet by eight feet, and six or seven feet deep. Dirt had been stacked up high on both ends of the hole, and inside, it looked as if someone had done a makeshift job shoring it up with two-by-six lumber. Until the crime-scene technicians arrived, there wasn't much for him to do but stand and gawk.
Sarah joined him. "Is it a grave?"
"Maybe," Russell replied, but he didn't think so. If you want to bury a body, you just dig a hole and fill it in. The shoring materials spoke to a plan far more chilling.
Sarah leaned forward, her hands forming a tripod with her knees as she tried to get a closer look at the bottom of the pit, where a couple dozen little jars lay strewn about. "Is that baby food?"
Russell nodded. "That's what they look like to me."
"They were burying baby food jars? What are they, squirrels?"
It was Russell's turn to laugh. "No, I'm afraid our victim was being buried alive."
Sarah gasped, reflexively standing straight again, as if to put space between herself and the horrible thought of what had nearly happened here.
"The baby food is a new twist though," Russell went on. "Good idea, actually. Portable, reasonably nutritious, and requires no can opener. With that much food, a person could keep himself alive probably for a week or two."