Hostage (32 page)

“I see,” replied Lyle, trying to contain his obvious interest as well as his suspicions. “But why call me?”

“Because I need some help—and you have a vested interest, so to speak.”

Todd turned around again, searching the street for any suspicious vehicles. He’d come to understand that being closeted, as he had been for so many years, had made him permanently paranoid, for there was once a time when he’d feared nothing more than his own sexuality. And while he’d worked so hard for so long at running from that truth, the reality had at last come into focus.

Just as the car behind them was now coming into view as a real truth that had to be dealt with.

Lyle continued, saying, “Okay, but the police and the FBI would be the logical choice. You could even get your cameras and be the real hero.”

“Let’s just say things have gotten radically more personal.”

“How so?”

“The guy I’ve been dating just…” Todd could barely force himself to say it. “… just found out he’s HIV positive. And I’m afraid he’s somehow mixed up in all this.” Todd eyed the familiar car about three vehicles back and shook his head. “Actually, I’m not really sure what’s going on, so for now I need to keep the FBI out of this.”

Glancing in his rearview mirror, Lyle asked, “Do you see something back there?”

“Yeah. A silver four-door Chrysler. If I’m not mistaken it’s the same car from last night—and chances are it’s the FBI.”

“Shit, they’ve probably been following you all morning.”

“No way. I checked. I double-checked. There was no way anyone tailed me from the station. It had to have been you—they must have followed you from your house.”

“No, I made sure of that,” Lyle said calmly as he steered into the other lane and passed a van. “They must have been waiting when I pulled up to Calhoun Square.”

“Then your phone must be tapped.”

“Or yours.”

Todd countered, “But I called you from a pay phone.”

“Okay, maybe. But maybe they put a bug on your car.” Lyle grinned slightly. “Shall we lose them?”

“Absolutely.”

“Brace yourself.”

As they approached the busy intersection of Lake and Lyndale, an old business district lined with brick buildings and now swarming with buses, cars, and a few motorcycles, Todd made sure his seat belt was snug. He wondered how Lyle was going to handle this, and he soon had his answer when the light ahead turned yellow and Lyle failed to slow. Instead, Lyle accelerated and whipped the car back to the right, whooshing past a Ford Escort and racing toward the crossroads. Oh, shit, thought Todd, grabbing on to his seat. He glanced at the speedometer, saw the needle still rising. The light ahead popped red. And just as the east-west traffic cleared, just as the north-south traffic began to move, Lyle shot through. A car on Todd’s right slammed on its brakes and horn. A motorcycle skidded to the side. Todd was sure they were going to be broadsided, but Lyle whipped through like a race-car driver. Behind them the traffic hesitated, then proceeded, flooding the intersection once again.

Todd turned around, saw the silver Chrysler’s unsuccessful attempt to swim through a gnarly jam at the red light, and said, “I think you did it.”

“Let’s just make sure.”

He swerved around a food-delivery truck unloading in front of a restaurant, slammed on the brakes, and jerked the wheel to the right. With a screech of tires Lyle made a ninety-degree turn into an alley, hit the gas, and bombed down the narrow passage. Someone emerged from a back door pushing a wheeled garbage container.

“Crap,” muttered Lyle, veering to the left as much as he could in the narrow passage.

The guy leapt back into the building just as Lyle clipped the garbage can with his front fender. As if a stick of dynamite had exploded, the whole container flew into the air and burst open. As trash rained down, Lyle sped down the alley, burst onto 31st Street, screeched to the right, then raced left through another yellow light and down Lyndale Avenue.

“There,” said Lyle, easing back on the gas and checking his rearview mirror. “That ought to do.”

Todd took a deep breath, turned around, and looked out the back window. Behind them cars and trucks just puttered along, none of them a silver Chrysler.

“Where did you take driver’s ed? A stock car track?” quipped Todd. “Now, if you just keep going straight south we can make it to the Megamall in fifteen minutes, maybe less.”

Ohhhhh, shit, thought Elliot,
dashing away from the pond. This was not cool. Definitely not cool.

“Hey, you!” shouted the old guard, rushing around a mound of shrubs after him. “Stop!”

“Leave me alone!” cried out Elliot. “You don’t understand, I’m sick! I’m really sick!”

“Stop!”

“For Christ’s sake, man, you don’t have to get all Twisted Sister about it! I’m sorry, I just wanted some flowers for a dead friend, that’s all!”

He rushed past a drinking fountain, down a sloping path, and swooped around a merry-go-round. Glancing back, he saw the guard hobbling after him and barking something into his walkie-talkie. Yikes. Matthew wasn’t going to like this, not a bit! And that thought alone made Elliot freeze. Oh, no, he thought, glancing around. Straight ahead was the roller coaster. Over there on the left was the log-flume ride. And right there the haunted house. But which way did he need to go? How the hell did he get out of the amusement park, and where the hell was that door that would take him back down to Matthew and their hidden chamber?

“A1, he’s right over there!” shouted the older guard.

Elliot turned, saw the hunky guard, the same one from before, his face no longer sweet and sympathetic. No, the guy realized he’d been duped and was madder than hell.

“Oh, hi!” called Elliot from across the merry-go-round. “I’m… I’m still looking for Sis. You haven’t seen her, have you?”

“Stop right there, buddy!”

“Oh, no. I… I think I need to go.”

“Freeze!”

Yeah, right, thought Elliot. He turned and dashed off, following another path past a cotton-candy stand, around a hot-dog joint, and then bolting toward a gaping exit framed with balloons. If he could only get out of here, if he could only get back into the corridor, then he’d get his bearings. Oh, crap. Matthew was going to kill him. Jeez, and all he’d wanted was a nice muffin.

Chugging along, Elliot glanced over his shoulder as he ran and saw the two guards gaining on him. He wasn’t going to be able to escape them, no way. Not with the pain in his knees and his lungs. Starting to slow, he clasped a hand to his chest. He just couldn’t get enough air, and he took a big gulp. Oh, God, breathing hurt so bad, like knives cutting into his chest. He coughed into his hand and felt a splatter of moisture.

“Oh, big ish,” he muttered, staring at the spray of blood on his palm.

He heard the steps closing in on him, looked back, and knew he had only moments. Oh, jeez, he thought, glancing desperately from side to side. Just to his right was the tiny Cookie Log Cabin, inside of which a blond girl in a frilly gingham dress was shoveling big chocolate chip cookies from a cookie sheet. Elliot dashed over, ripped open the screen door, and burst into the tiny kitchen.

“Hi!” said Elliot, rushing right up to the table of hot treats.

Surprised, she looked up, the spatula in her right hand. “Oh, hi. We’re not open yet, but do you want a cookie? This is the kitchen, you see. The counter’s right over there,” she explained with a wave of her kitchen utensil. “You just go back out the door and—”

“No, I don’t want anything.”

He looked out, saw that the guards were only fifteen, twenty feet away. Elliot rolled his eyes. What choice did he have?

“You don’t know me, but I’m really a very nice person,” he began, hurrying around the table.

“Huh?”

“I mean I’m sorry to do this and everything.” Reaching the corner, he lunged for her and grabbed her by the arm. “But what else can I do?”

“Hey, stop it!” she shouted, swatting at him with the spatula.

These days Elliot barely had enough strength to pick up a chair, but somehow he managed to get around and twist her arm behind her back. She kicked and twisted, and Elliot had no other choice but to wrench her arm upward. She screamed and Elliot lessened the pressure, then two seconds later the two guards rushed through the door of the miniature log cabin.

“Stop!” screamed Elliot. “You guys stop right there or… or I’m going to hurt her!”

“Hey, just be cool!” ordered Al, the younger guard, who surveyed the situation, clearly noting that Elliot had nothing, not a gun or even a knife. “Now, just calm down and let her go.”

“No fucking way!” shouted Elliot, using every muscle as he struggled to control the bucking young woman. “You have to do what I say!”

“It’s over, buddy,” said the older guard. “Just calm down and release the young lady.”

“Guess again, asshole!” snapped Elliot.

Al started forward. “Do like he says and let her go.”

“Stop!” screamed Elliot. “I have AIDS. And if you come one step closer I’m going to bite this girl and make her sick too!”

As if she’d just been slapped, the young woman was suddenly quite still. “Oh… oh, I don’t want to get hurt!”

“I will! I’ll do it! I’m one of the guys who kidnapped Congressman Clariton yesterday—and I’m nuts, man!”

Al froze. “Just calm down.”

“Oh, God!” cried the woman.

“I’m really nuts!” yelled Elliot at the guards. “Just look at me! Just look at how sick and scrawny I am! I’ll make her like this, I’ll give her AIDS if you… if you…” He glanced to the side, saw the walk-in refrigerator. “I’ll bite her if you don’t go in there!”

“Oh, dear Lord,” moaned the older guard.

“Shit,” muttered Al.

Elliot ordered, “Go on, get in that refrigerator or I’ll come after you guys too! I’ll slice off my finger and spray AIDS blood all over you!”

The two guards looked at one another, grumbled. Elliot had won, just as he knew he would, for he’d come to learn that the fear of AIDS alone was as powerful a weapon as kryptonite was against Superman. The younger guard shrugged. Of course there was nothing they could do.

“Move it!” barked Elliot, hoping he could keep it up, this anger, this fake show of force.

The two men started toward the refrigerator, edging along the work counter and the rows of hot chocolate chip cookies, right up to the large stainless steel door. Al pulled the handle, opened the door, and a cloud of cold air fumbled out, pooling around his feet.

“You won’t get away with this!” said Al, looking over at Elliot. “We’ll get you!”

“Oh, like, I’m really afraid, Mr. Clint Eastwood man. Like, go ahead and make my day, Mr. Heterosexual Macho man.”

Elliot shook his head. Oh, brother. What kind of wienie did they think he was? Threats didn’t bother him—for Christ’s sake, he didn’t just have one foot in the grave, and he wasn’t knee-deep either. Nope, he was waist-high and sinking all the time. He only wanted to get out of here and get back to Matthew, who’d probably woken up by now. And, man, oh, man, wouldn’t he go tilt when he saw that Elliot wasn’t around?

“Now, just shut the fuck up and get in the fucking fridge,” shouted Elliot, “before I play vampire and bite this young virgin in the neck!”

“Oh!” she cried. “I… I don’t want to get AIDS!”

The two guards, looking glum and sheepish, proceeded into the walk-in. Okay, okay, thought Elliot, now what?

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said quietly into the young woman’s ear as he nudged her toward the refrigerator. “Guess you’re going to have to go in there too.”

“Just… just don’t hurt me!”

“No prob. Just do like I say, okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Sure.”

Keeping her arm pinned behind her back, Elliot walked her over, then peered in. It wasn’t a big walk-in, just enough for racks of premade cookie dough and other supplies, and the two guards stood there, clearly disgusted with the situation.

“Hmm, what do I want you to do?” began Elliot. “I know—turn around, that’s it. I want you two guys to turn around and not move. Got it?”

“Sure,” said the older guard.

“Okay, so do it. Turn around. Turn around now!” yelled Elliot, who then watched as the two men rotated their backs to him. “Very nice. Now the young lady here is going to join you, and then I’m going to shut the door. Got it? I warn you, though, don’t try anything fancy. If you do I’m going to claw and spit and bleed all over all of you, got it? Huh? Well, do you?”

“Yes,” said Al.

“Good.” Elliot realized something. “Say, will those walkie-talkie things work from inside there? Will you be able to call out?”

Again Al said, “Yes.”

“Then you wait five minutes before you call for help, okay? Not sooner, not a second sooner.”

After all, he wanted to get away, but he certainly didn’t want them to freeze to death. The guards were just doing their jobs and the young woman was just doing hers, baking cookies by the dozens. It would be bad enough in there, all dark and everything, not to mention freezing cold. Once Elliot had been stuck in an elevator when the power had gone out, and it certainly wasn’t any fun. No way. And this walk-in refrigerator, he was sure, would be lots worse.