Hot Rocks (14 page)

thirty-two

My first thought was
how insipid the whole situation was. Locked in a room with three thugs and a boss who hid from me. Then the utter stupidity of everything rushed in, and I laughed. “You must watch too many reruns. Mr. T? Is that a take-off from
The A-Team
?”

“The what? Oh, I get it. No, my people often call me Boss. Since that might seem farfetched for you, I thought you’d like something simpler. So, Mr. T it is.”

“Fantastic,” I said. “Okay, why are you hiding? I suppose it’s so I can’t pick you out of a police lineup.”

“Astute. Very astute. You’re living up to your reputation.”

I sipped my drink, thinking how polite everyone was. Not the types who’d try to turn you into a greasy smudge in a parking lot. More likely, they were of the long-swim-in-cement-boots persuasion. Everything civil until they pushed you out of the boat.

I set my glass on a small table to my right. “I don’t mean to sound like an ill-mannered guest, but I have plans for this afternoon. Could we move on to the reason I’m here? If it’s to waste
me
, you’re wasting valuable time.”

A gravelly chuckle came through the speaker. “Yes. I’m sure you’re curious, therefore I’ll get right to it.”

I let my eyes wander the room, taking in Bruce and Gerald who sat in chairs similar to mine. They looked relaxed, almost bored, but not so much they couldn’t raise the pistols they held. Lodo continued to lean against the door, scowling. A straight-backed chair was vacant. Best to take it slow and easy.

The boss
continued, “You interfered in my business, and I take that personally. My assumption is that it was not on purpose, or you’d be fish bait now. Don’t do anything to make me think I’m not a good judge of people.”

“Mr. … uh, T, you lost me. I assure you anything I did was quite unintentional. That is, if I knew what you’re talking about.”

He laughed, and his minions joined him.

“You were witness to the murder of one Benjamin Jacobs. He was an associate of mine. I wish to know who killed him.”

“Well, I sure don’t know. I’ve been trying to find out, and when I do …” Whoops. Intuition jumped in and said maybe that wasn’t the best line to pursue.

“I’m well aware of your efforts. That’s why I had you brought here.”

I heard the clink of ice cubes as he went silent. My guess was he had taken a sip of his drink. I did the same, figuring I may as well play the good guest.

He continued. “Bruce reported on your investigation of the woman who hired you, and the sketches and your conversations with the shopkeepers in the strip mall. The idea was good. Did you have any luck?”

“Nothing worthwhile,” I said, wondering at the tone of his questions. Did that mean he didn’t know about the death of Ms. Goldstein, whom I met as Maria Garcia? If so, I had an edge. All I had to do was find the best way to use it.

“Here’s what I suggest, Ms. Bowman. You’re only one person, albeit a talented one. However, what you lack, I have in abundance—manpower. We’re both looking for the same thing, Jacobs’ murderers. If we combine our efforts, we’ll have better luck and resolve it in a shorter period of time.” The clink of ice cubes again. “Does that sound logical?”

I assumed he was examining my eyes, waiting for an answer. Stalling seemed like a good move. “You mean, your … uh …
associates will work for me? They’ll follow my instructions? Take orders from me?”

Laughter filled the room and poured from the speaker. Rats. Guess I wouldn’t have a core of employees requiring me to subsidize their health care.

I squirmed as I waited for the laughter to die away. Bruce, Gerald, and the Boss seemed to be enjoying themselves. Even Lodo showed the threat of a smile. I won’t say I have a thin skin, but I don’t enjoy being the butt of a joke. Yeah, I should have expected it, but enough was enough. “If you guys are about finished, I’m ready to go home.”

“All in due time,” Mr. T said, a last chortle tingeing the words. “But first, we have to establish the rules of the game. They are really quite simple. I make them. You abide by them.” He paused amid a breathy sound indicating he had moved closer to the microphone. “Gerald, help her to the straight-backed chair.”

Before I could comment, hands slid under my armpits from the rear, and someone lifted me out of my comfortable seat and carried me across the room. Turning my head, I saw Gerald with a smile on his face. While I wasn’t thrilled with the trip, it was nice to know I was light enough to lift with little effort. Guess my diet had paid off.

Gerald bounced me onto the hard-bottomed chair, but remained behind me. All I heard was a minor grunt as if someone had set a case of beer into the trunk of a car.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Mr. T said. “Gerald, demonstrate rule number one.”

I began a turn toward Gerald, but not fast enough. An excruciating pain shot from my right kidney area as I flew out of the chair. My shoulder hit the floor hard, followed by my head. I lay there, hurting all over—or so it seemed—wondering what had happened. Realization came when I saw Gerald who stood beside me, his hand making a fist. He had sucker-punched me.

“That’s fine, Gerald. You can relax,” Mr. T said. “Catch your breath, Ms. Bowman. Rules two and three coming up.” Before I could scrabble away, he added, “Bruce, the pictures.”

I cringed when Bruce stepped toward me before registering he’d said pictures. How much could that hurt? As I was to find out, more than a kidney punch.

Bruce held out a photo. “Someone you might know.”

I sat up, eliciting a scream of pain from my side, and accepted the picture. It showed David getting into his car, the hospital in the background. He was dressed in a suit I’d seen him wear earlier in the week. “So?” I said. “What’s your point? I know where David works.”

“You may want to re-look,” Mr. T said. “A hint. Look in front of the car.”

I did and my stomach rolled. Although the likeness was out of focus, I recognized Gerald staring at the camera. His hand was in his pocket, reminding me of their behavior at my abduction—Bruce, Gerald, and Lodo with their hands inside their jackets. Then, I’d had every reason to think they clutched weapons. Same here.

“I see from your face,” Mr. T said, “you recognize Gerald’s proximity to your boyfriend. Since you’re a smart lady, I suspect you figured out that Gerald could have hurt him had he chosen to. Anything between a simple ass-kicking to killing him. Is that how you see it?”

Still staring at the picture, I opened my mouth, but he cut me off. “Lest there be any doubt in your mind, rest assured that Gerald is a good soldier.”

I raised my head toward the speaker. “If you—”

“Don’t bore me with idle threats. Next picture, Bruce.”

He shoved another in my direction.

thirty-three

I accepted the picture
with trepidation. More shots of David? No. It was a house in an older neighborhood—white clapboard construction, green grass in the front yard, nice landscaping. A man stood in the yard. In the same breath, I recognized the house and the man—my mother’s house and Lodo. Nausea assaulted me. I swallowed hard, forcing the bile down.

“Next,” Mr. T said.

Another picture floated toward me. I picked it up and an overwhelming weakness gripped me. It showed Gerald putting groceries into my mother’s car as she beamed at him.

“Want to see more?” the boss said. “We have others. Your mother is a nice lady. She was grateful when Gerald offered to help her. It would be a shame if she got hurt because her daughter is hardheaded and selfish.” He stopped talking, and quiet settled over the room.

I wanted to run and hide, cringe as I had when I saw evil as a young girl. Images of the night my father died rushed at me. Images of his struggle with a burglar. The sound of a gunshot, my father crumpling to the floor, the invader racing out the front door, never to pay for what he did. I was there, I saw it unfold, and all I wanted was to cover my eyes. I cried until my stomach hurt, over and over vowing
never again.
That was the night I decided to become a cop. That dream went down in flames when political correctness became the rule of the day. Police authorities might as well be the ones wearing handcuffs. I became a private investigator, figuring that was the next best thing. I couldn’t let the criminals win.

I pulled myself to my feet, knowing Mom would expect me to be tough, just as she was while raising my brother and me after Dad died. I crossed the room at my own pace and sat in the comfortable leather chair, the one I previously occupied. I had to assert myself again. Plus, even though it was only a few steps, it gave me a moment to calm my emotions, set my face, and harden my heart. Mr. T had never met anyone like me. It was time he found out I wasn’t some squishy thing that watched afternoon soaps and worried about how much cleavage to flash at the supermarket. “What’s your point?”

“My point, my dear Ms. Bowman, is that I can injure your mother. I can leave your doctor friend a cripple. Those would be for starters. It could get worse. I know people who’ll do anything for a price.”

“And your point is?” I repeated, hoping to conceal how threatened I felt.

“Don’t play hard-to-get with me. You know you’re going to cooperate. It’s only a matter of time—and how much pain I inflict. Let’s save ourselves trouble and agree now.”

I struggled for ideas, but couldn’t find one that showed promise. “What do you have in mind?” Joining him seemed the best of limited poor alternatives. I had no reason to doubt his threats.

“Excellent. I see you’re coming around. Here’s the deal. What I say from this moment forward is our little secret. I won’t tell anyone, and if you do, your mother and boyfriend pay. Understand?”

I gulped, swallowing what I wanted to say. “Yes.”

“As I said before, Mr. Jacobs worked for me. I am an importer. I employed Mr. Jacobs to make deliveries. On the day he died, he was to meet with a customer and turn over the briefcase he carried in exchange for a substantial sum of money. Needless to say, it did not go as planned. Someone intervened and took my merchandise.”

Jacobs was a delivery boy? A courier? Of what? “And left me unconscious beside the body,” I said, my mind swirling.

“Yes. At the time, I wondered where you popped in from. Bruce reported that you came out of nowhere, cut him off, and followed Jacobs around the city.”

“Bruce was there? Must have been an important delivery. What was Jacobs carrying?”

Another chuckle. “I learned a long time ago the best way to keep people honest is to watch them closely. Bruce’s job was to ensure Jacobs made the meet as scheduled. But you threw him off, and he had to hang back. You see, Ms. Bowman, in a perverse sort of way, you were responsible for Jacobs’ death and the loss of my merchandise. If you hadn’t gotten in the way, Bruce might have prevented both.”

“You forget I was a victim, too. And you didn’t tell me his cargo.”

“Again, most astute. What he was carrying is none of your business. A smart operator like you should find a clue in that and keep her nose out. As for your victimhood, I didn’t forget. I simply don’t care. If you hadn’t survived, you wouldn’t be here. The bottom line is because of you, my merchandise is missing.”

I looked at the camera over the door. “You don’t seem particularly aggrieved at the fate of your employee.”

“One of the costs of doing business, my dear. He was well-paid and knew the risks. But that’s past. Let’s live in the present. You weren’t killed and will help me recover my property. Agreed?”

“We’ll see.”

“Yes. We will. Gerald, prepare her for the trip home.”

In a twinkle, I was handcuffed and blindfolded. “Before you go, Ms. Bowman, be aware that one of my people will watch you every moment. You may find a hint of privacy when you are in the bathroom—but don’t be too sure of that.” His small laugh was sinister.

Nice to know he was enjoying himself. I wasn’t.

“Bruce will give you a phone number. You will report in once a day, more if you uncover anything. Rest assured that if you miss a day, or I have reason to believe you’re not cooperating, either your mother or your boyfriend will suffer—a little at first, but enough so you know I’m serious. I hope you won’t make me get too drastic with them. While pain is a necessary adjunct to my business, it’s not my favorite thrill—money is. Since I feel certain you only believe what you can see or touch, Bruce and Gerald will keep you apprised of what is happening to your mother and boyfriend. They take excellent videos.”

He stopped talking. Quiet reigned. It was as if his words had sucked the air out of the room. Even Bruce, Gerald, and Lodo appeared in suspended animation. I felt like if I breathed, the world would come crashing down and something terrible would happen to Mom and David. Evil swarmed around me, causing me to shudder. Chill bumps popped onto my arms. My mind rejected what he said, yet my heart said he would follow through on his words.

“Do you understand me, Ms. Bowman?”

Although I couldn’t see, I turned toward the speaker I knew hung on the wall, my mouth refusing to work.

“I had hoped it would not be necessary to prove I do not make idle threats, but if you insist …”

“No,” I said. “I … I understand. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Excellent. But before you go, Lodo, another sample.”

This time he picked me up and flung me across the room. Blindfolded, I was only able to stick my handcuffed hands out in the hopes of cushioning whatever I hit. Either fortuitously or on purpose, I landed in one of the soft chairs.

“Next time, Ms. Bowman,” Mr. T said, “you could hit a concrete wall. All you need is to be ambulatory to do my bidding. A few broken bones won’t slow you.”

thirty-four

The trip home was
a nightmare in Technicolor and Cinemascope. The blindfold kept me from focusing on anything that might divert the image of my mother in the parking lot with Gerald. Gerald, who threw people around like beach balls. Gerald, who could tape, handcuff, and break fingers in a flash. Gerald, who was soft-spoken and polite. Gerald, who could act the gentleman and assist my mother with her groceries. Gerald, who worked with evil, who surrounded himself with evil, who was evil. And what did I have to perform combat? My wits. That was it. Nothing more. And my subconscious reminded me their performance in the last few weeks had been less than exemplary.

The car slowed, then stopped, and I felt hands working at the handcuffs. A moment later, Bruce restored my vision.

“You can walk from here, Ms. Bowman,” Bruce said. “This is the telephone number you are to call at least once a day—no later than seven p.m.” He shoved a card into my hand. “Don’t try to identify the owner. Layers of false fronts block it. Before you penetrate the first, the boss will know you’re tampering and go after your mother or your doctor … or both.” He opened the rear door and started to slide out, then turned back to me. In a softer tone, he said, “Don’t toy with him. Don’t even think about it. I’ve learned to respect you. I’d hate to be the one who reduces you to putty by eliminating those you love.”

He finished exiting the car and waved me out. As soon as I stood upright, he jumped in, and they roared away. The license plate had a dark plastic cover over it rendering it unreadable.

Looking around, I realized I was a block from my house, so I set off hoofing it, hoping a smart next move would show itself. Best I could come up with was to finish the packing that had brought me home, only to be interrupted by the kidnappers. I studied my watch. Less than three hours had passed. Seemed impossible my world could turn upside down in such little time. But multiple revolutions seemed my M.O.

Turning the corner, I saw my car in the driveway where I left it. The house looked no different. It needed a coat of paint, and the shrubs deserved a pruning. My neighbors’ homes had not changed. The Jendells’ son’s bicycle lay in the front yard, the spot it occupied when not in use. Helen Jendell yelled at him often about it, Gus Jendell moved it when he mowed, but Gus Jr. never put it away.

On the other side, Ms. Isaacson sat on her small covered porch sipping from a glass. I suspected it was lemonade with a touch of vodka. Not that she was a drunk, but neighborhood gossip had her approaching lush-stage. She waved, and I returned it. Just like any other day.

How could everything be so normal when my life was so abnormal? I took a deep breath, shook my head and shoulders, and plowed on. Although it was probably safe to stay at my house since I had detailed instructions from Mr. T, I still chose to pack a few changes of clothes and complete my toiletries. The comfort of David’s arms appealed to me more.

But before I did anything else, I had to do something about Mom. What though? What could I tell her that wouldn’t bring out her mothering instincts? I could picture her showing up at my front door, ready to take on those who threatened me.

Once inside, I dialed her number, hoping some brainstorm swamped me and provided words that would move her out of danger. She answered, and we sparred with one another as mothers and daughters do the world over. Then I got serious. “Mom, I have something to tell you and something to ask you. Please don’t argue with me. Please just do what I ask. Will you do that?”

She chuckled, actually laughed at me. “Elizabeth, you’re running on like you did when you were thirteen and wanted a later curfew. Spit it out. Haven’t I always taken care of you? Is it a man? Did you meet someone? Please don’t elope. I want to be there this time. You’ve been single entirely too long. You know I love grandchildren. You—”

“Mom, please,” I said. “You’re babbling worse than I was. Give me a chance to tell you. First, it’s not a man. Well, actually I have met someone—”

“Wonderful. I knew you had. As soon as the phone rang, I knew it was good news. I knew—”

“Mom, you’re doing it again. I’m not calling because of him. I’m calling …” I swallowed and summoned my courage. “I want you to take a vacation. Grab one of your friends and take a long trip to some place you’ve always dreamed about. Didn’t you say you want to tour Alaska? There are great cruises, and you can get off and cross Alaska by train and dog sled.”

“Now who’s dissembling? What are you trying to say?”

“Sorry. I want you out of Dallas for a while. Take a tour. Visit Paris. Just get out of town.” Ouch, that was not the right way to handle it.

“Okay. What kind of mess have you gotten yourself in this time? Elizabeth, sometimes I just don’t think you’re going to make it. You’re so … so … I don’t even know how to say it.”

“Yes, Mom. We both know I’m a mess, but this is serious.” It took me another thirty minutes to convince her to get out of town. She finally agreed to visit my brother in Wisconsin, leaving the next day. That meant I would be indebted to him for the rest of my life—and he’d never let me forget it.

When I hung up, I felt better about her, but worse about me. Her repeated suggestions that I find another line of work had hung a guilt trip around my neck the size of the Antarctic glaciers. But at least I could assume she’d be safe. All I had left to worry about was David. Unless, of course, Mr. T had anticipated my move and had someone watching Mom—in which case, I’d accomplished nothing.