Hot rocks, p.13
Hot Rocks, page 13
Two others jumped from the white Mercury that blocked my driveway. I groaned as I recognized Bruce. My best guess was the third man would be Lodo. Shit. Déjà vu all over again. My opinion of the key word on my badge—investigator—sailed downhill as I realized I’d fallen into a trap like the ditziest heroine in the lowest budget movie. If I escaped this one, I vowed to change my hair color to platinum blond. Might as well appear the way I behaved.
“Good morning, Ms. Bowman,” Bruce said.
Apparently, he’d recovered from his flight the previous night and again displayed his gentlemanly persona.
“Good morning, Bruce,” I said, proving I could also be gracious. “I see you didn’t injure yourself when you dashed out my back door.” Never hurts to rub it in a bit.
“No, but it’s kind of you to notice. Now, can we pick up where we left off? You were about to join us on a trip to chat with the boss.” He waved his jacket pocket like in the movies, then scanned the neighborhood. “You’re not expecting any guardian angels this morning, are you?”
Instead of answering, I stared at him. I assumed the pocket waving was to convince me his hand held a pistol. Probably the same one he had the previous night. I could well remember the business end of that one. Ominous.
When I inspected the man beside Bruce, I saw the same hand position. Non-surprises filled the day. And Gerald, who I knew had a cannon suitable for taking out tanks and fortified positions, now had his hand in his pocket. Guess they were bashful about neighbors observing my abduction. I have days when I’m not the brightest bulb in the marquee, but that day was not one of them. That day I was brilliant. Only used a few seconds to make the right decision. “Your car or mine?”
Bruce smiled. “Mine. Lodo enjoys the feel of the Mercury, and you know the rule. Driver gets his choice.” The pocket wave again. “Shall we go?”
“By all means.” I marched toward his vehicle, acting like we were off to a business brunch. Maybe they’d relax around a woman acting like a compliant wimp.
A moment later, I was in the middle position of the backseat squeezed in tight between Bruce and Gerald, the muzzles of their guns pressed into my sides. Guess they thought pinning me with their bodies meant I couldn’t escape.
“Hey guys,” I said, “you get any closer, and I’ll have to name my firstborn after you. Which do you prefer, Bruce Gerald or Gerald Bruce?”
That produced strange looks from both of them, but they did scoot over a bit—not much, but enough to allow a deep breath. I took one.
Bruce leaned away from me far enough to say, “Gerald, check her purse. We wouldn’t want her to get hurt by trying anything silly.”
Gerald followed instructions and displayed my pistol, pepper spray, and handcuffs. “Looks like we tied into one tough lady.”
“Facsimiles,” I said. “I got them at Toys R Us.”
“Uh-huh.” That came from Bruce, who didn’t seem to believe me. He switched topics. “I’m sure you understand you have to wear a blindfold. A professional like you probably has a photographic memory. The boss doesn’t want you to know where we’re meeting. He’s a nut on his privacy.”
“Of course,” I said like it was a situation I encountered every day. “Not too tight though. I’d hate to miss anything he says because you gave me a headache. That’s happened in previous kidnappings, you know.”
He gave me a look that said I was a kook, but played the game. “I understand. Your comfort is my most important consideration.”
The world went black as he slipped a sleep mask over my eyes. Then I felt him fumbling behind my head. I assumed he was adding a blindfold. Probably afraid I had X-ray vision or something. When he finished, I knew I’d have no clue where we were going. Total darkness.
To add insult to injury, I felt cold steel slip around my wrists. Handcuffs. I wondered whether they were mine, and if the key was in my purse.
The car careened along as I tried to keep count of rights and lefts versus time spent without turning. That proved to be as impossible as it sounds. Soon, I’d lost track of time and location. For all I knew, we could have been in Palm Beach or in the middle of Homestead. About the only thing I was sure of was we hadn’t traveled too far east—there’s an ocean out there—or west—the Everglades gets in the way. Had to be north or south. An advantage or disadvantage of living in South Florida, depending on your needs at the time, there’s very little land east or west. However, in the north-south axis of the tri-county area, there were still lots of places where the boss could live.
One problem I had with keeping track of our trip was my mind kept leaping to what would happen when we stopped. I feared it was no mistake my abductors made no attempt to hide their faces. It might be an indication I’d soon be swimming with the fishes—or feeding the alligators. On the plus side though, was the fact they chose to blindfold me. Doubts swirled.
thirty-one
After an indeterminate amount of time, the car slowed, pulled onto what I took to be a driveway, then moved at a few miles per hour. I began timing the off-road strip by counting Mississippis. I reached twenty before we came to a stop after bouncing over what felt like two speed bumps. A grinding sound followed—garage door, I thought—then the Mercury lurched forward again before stopping and the engine dying.
“Home,” Bruce said. “Now, Ms. Bowman, watch your step as we go into the house.”
From the other side of me came a chuckle. “Not possible. The blindfold stays on. She can’t watch anything.”
I held out my wrists. “I walk better with both hands for balance. You can take these off.”
“Wish I could. But certain protocols must be followed. If you prefer, I could cuff your arms behind you.”
“That’s okay,” I said, chuckling. “I’ll live with what we have.”
Gerald laughed. “You gotta like this chick. She’s got balls.” He hesitated, then broke out in louder laughter.
Bruce joined Gerald in the mirth. If Lodo had a reaction, it was lost to me.
“Yes, she is gutsy,” Bruce said. “Now, Ms. Bowman, you’ll have to trust me. Lean on me, and I’ll keep you from falling. When I tell you to step up or step down, do it. There are stairs to negotiate. We’re in the garage, and you’ll have to step up to enter the house—one step. Next, we encounter three down. We’ll go up again, four of them. Don’t worry about remembering. I’ll prompt you as we come to them. And,” he hesitated, “if you tell the boss what he wants to know, we’ll have the same situation coming out. If not, you won’t have to concern yourself with stumbling.”
“I don’t suppose you’d like to give me a forecast of what happens if the boss is not happy with my answers.”
“Remember when you were in school and the motto was Cooperate and Graduate. Graduation for you will be my dropping you at your house. No cooperation, no graduation.” His words carried a note of finality.
I forced a smile. “Well, graduation sounds like the best alternative. Lead on, McDuff.”
“Yeah, we’d better get in there. Undoubtedly, the boss heard the garage door open and is waiting for us. He wasn’t in the best of moods when we left this morning. He’s still upset that I didn’t deliver you last night.”
Several stumbles later, Bruce settled me onto a soft leather chair in what felt like a spacious, multi-windowed room. Either the boss was using a sunlamp or the sun streamed in. Thinking of the time—mid to late morning—I assumed the windows faced east. But what did I know? Since the blindfold remained in place, it could have been a sunroom with windows on three sides, a tanning salon, or a gazebo. We hadn’t walked across grass, but could have negotiated a breezeway without my knowing it. I had considered counting my steps, but threw the idea away. What purpose would it serve?
“Ms. Bowman. So nice to have you as my guest,” a new voice said. “Would you like something to drink—water, maybe a soda? I assume the hour is too early for anything alcoholic. You need only name your choice, and Lodo will do your bidding.”
The speech was well-modulated, a bit gravelly. It reminded me of the bass-voiced types who do voiceovers or read scripts to the ostensible movement of an animal’s lips. If there was an accent, I didn’t find it.
“A diet soda would be nice,” I said, playing the game. “And removing this blindfold and the cuffs will make my day much brighter.”
My host chuckled. “A wonderful play on words. I enjoy a person who understands the art of repartee. I should have brought up the visual impairment. Lodo, get Ms. Bowman a diet cola while I apologize for my bad manners.” There was a distinct change in his tone—from one speaking to a guest to one commanding a servant. He continued. “Bruce, take off her blindfold and the handcuffs. I’m sure Ms. Bowman will be more comfortable without them.”
“Yes, sir.”
I felt someone fumbling with the knot behind my head, then the sleep mask lifted. Light flooded in, blinding me. The first thing that came into focus was Bruce standing in front of me with a handcuff key in his fingers. A moment later, my hands were free. Next, I saw Gerald leaning against a doorjamb, a revolver cradled in his large right hand. So much for my initial thought of making a break for it. My internal alarm cranked up a couple of notches. The situation did not bode well for my spending the night with David as I preferred.
“Thank you,” I said, rubbing my eyes, then my wrists. I’ve always believed you are as you act. If I didn’t let them see my fear, I wouldn’t be afraid—or something like that.
“You’re welcome. You realize they must be replaced when you leave.”
I looked for the voice, but saw only a speaker above the door. Mr. Boss was not in my presence.
Lodo entered from outside and handed me an iced soft drink in a plastic cup, then assumed Gerald’s position at the door. I took the opportunity to study Lodo, memorizing his features. African American with a shaved head. Brown skin tone, not dark. He towered above me. I figured about six-two with a body that bulged his clothes—and not from fat. Attractive guy except for a nasty scar on his cheek. Looked like he came in second in a knife fight. Or maybe he won, but only after receiving a mark for life. If he decided to give up his career in crime, he fit the profile of a professional wrestler.
I scanned from Lodo to Gerald to Bruce. Not a trio to make a girl’s heart go pitter-pat—except in abject fear.
A quick look around told me my luck continued its downslide. We were in a room with cement walls, fluorescent lighting, and one door, against which Lodo leaned. The lighting reminded me of a tanning salon—brilliant. That explained the sunlight I thought I felt when we entered.
My three roommates wore sunglasses. I assumed it was not to hide their identities since we were well past that stage.
I squinted at Bruce. “How about a pair of shades for me?”
“Sorry, Ms. Bowman,” the speaker above the door said. “Your eyes will adjust in a few minutes. I’ve often found that studying a person’s eyes tells me more than their words.” He hesitated. “If you’ve finished examining the place, you know there is no way out except through Lodo. And I assure you, Lodo is an impenetrable obstacle. Also, inspect the area carefully and you’ll see there are enough cameras to ensure I have a clear shot of your face at all times. The eyes, remember?”
“So, you’re sitting someplace comfortable while I swelter here with your friends?” I said as I followed his suggestion. I did a quick count and spotted eight lenses before I quit. I had heard that the camera puts five pounds on a person. That meant I was in danger of gaining a quick forty.
“Don’t overact, Ms. Bowman,” he said in a colder tone. “It doesn’t become you. The room is seventy-two degrees. My employees are there to make you comfortable. If you need something, you need only ask. Of course,” he interrupted himself by chuckling, “I reserve the right to say no.”
“First thing you can do is show yourself. Second is tell me who you are.”
“It’s bad manners not to please a guest, but I have to refuse you on count number one. I have no intention of letting you see me. Enjoy your view of Bruce, Gerald, and Lodo. I’m sure you’ve memorized their features by now. As for who I am, I’ll meet you halfway. You may call me Mr. T.”
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.
