by Matt Hilton
Maddie began weeping. This time her grief wasn’t for Jacob, but for the death of all her plans and dreams. Toner pulled her into his embrace, trying to hush her, but also muttering to her that they should do as Tess said. Out of their earshot, Tess exhaled in relief. She turned to Hayley again. The girl had buried her head between her knees and wept softly. Tess aimed her words at Toner, ‘I’ll give you a minute or two to speak. Then we should get these kids out of here, before anyone else turns up.’
Without releasing Maddie, Mike Toner regarded Tess with glistening eyes. He mouthed his answer – ‘Thank you’ – and she realized he’d been searching for a safe way for his daughter out of this mess, and she’d offered a lifeline.
She returned to the landing, and ensuring a turn of heart wasn’t afoot, where one of the girls or Toner might slam the door behind her, she looked over the railings, seeking Po. There was no sign of him. Possibly he’d stepped outside to take a smoke now that the rain had seemingly diminished. ‘Hey down there,’ she called softly.
There was no answer.
‘Po?’ she said a little louder. ‘Po, are you there?’
She didn’t want to raise her voice further. For one she might alarm Hayley, Maddie and Toner, and even the slightest switch in mood could send them down a different route than she’d just talked them into; also, being the only domicile within hundreds of yards, they’d avoided alerting anyone nearby to trouble within the apartment, but that might change if she began hollering for Po. She wanted the cops involved but on her own terms. She took out her cellphone. Po’s number was on speed dial. She listened to his phone ringing, but there was no corresponding echo from below. Where had the fool man gotten to now? Her thought was fleeting, and unfair, because Po was no fool, and he wouldn’t have deserted his post without good reason. She was about to hang up, and rush to gather her charges together, when he finally answered.
‘Po?’ she asked into the hollow sound of an open line.
It was not Po’s voice that answered.
Almost wearily, Arlen Sampson said, ‘If you want to see your man alive again, you’ll do exactly what I tell you.’
THIRTY
In prison, a convict either develops the instinct to sense trouble and react to it, or they end up a victim. During his interment Po’s senses had saved his hide more than once when his fellow inmates had targeted him for extermination, and he still bore the scars on his forearms from when he’d fought off an attacker intent on taking his eyes with a makeshift knife. Even these days, years after his release from Louisiana State Penitentiary, Po felt the need to stay sharp, because he might no longer be confined but an attempt on his life was still as possible. Therefore he was conscious of the stealthy approach of the man despite the blustering wind rattling the roller shutters at the front of the building and patter of rain on asphalt.
Concealed in a sheath in his right boot, Po carried a blade. It was a multipurpose tool of his trade as a mechanic, but also a weapon of defense when necessary. He was tempted to draw the knife, but didn’t. Without first laying eyes on the one approaching he could accidentally threaten an innocent passerby, Jeff Lorton, or maybe even a cop sent to investigate the sudden frequent comings and goings of strangers in the usually quiet neighborhood. Up until now a police response to Maddie’s apartment had been avoided, and Po, for one, didn’t wish to be the cause of one now through imprudence. Nevertheless, he shook out his arms, and presented himself in the doorway to block the entrance. If Dom’s ugly mug were the one presented to him, he would punch first and ask questions later.
Whoever was approaching, their senses were on high alert too. They scuffed to a halt. The rain beat down, but Po was sure he could hear breathing. They had to be standing very close to the entrance, perhaps with their backs pressed to the wall next to the jamb, listening. It was not the action of an innocent bystander, but could still be misconstrued: maybe Jeff Lorton had arrived and was building the courage he needed to face his daughter. Po didn’t think so, but neither should he reach out, grab the skulker by the neck and drag him onto his blade. Not yet.
‘State your business, bra,’ Po said.
The scrape of a sole on the ground was the only hint his voice had caused alarm.
There was a measured few seconds of silence, before the man responded. ‘I only want to talk.’
‘You’re the guy from the van, right? The one who made sure Jacob Doyle was dead before you left the crash scene?’
‘That’s not how things happened.’
‘Are you armed?’
‘No.’
‘I am. Show me your hands.’
‘I’m here to explain what happened to Jacob, not to fight.’
‘Show me your hands,’ Po repeated, ‘or put ’em up. The choice is yours.’
The man stepped away from the wall, and faced Po from the safety of a couple of yards’ distance. Directly behind him stood the single forlorn tree under which Jacob used to shelter. He held up his empty palms. Po gave them only a cursory glance before his gaze tracked to other obvious places for a concealed weapon. The man made his search easier by holding up the tails of his coat, then pulling open his lapels showing there was no holstered gun under his armpit in the manner of Dom’s favored carrying position. ‘Happy now?’ the man asked.
‘Happy’s not a word I’d choose under these circumstances.’
‘Yes, the kid’s unfortunate death is a sad state of affairs.’
‘Depends on your perspective. From yours it’s one less witness to shut up. From mine, it means the heat’s about to come down on you and your bullying pals.’
‘Maybe you’re right on both counts, but the kid’s death saddens me all the same. It shouldn’t have happened, but it did; I want you to know I didn’t have anything to do with it.’
‘You had a different reason for chasing him?’
‘I planned on speaking with him again, appealing to his best interests to keep out of our way, and if that didn’t work, I hoped to appeal to his pocket.’
Po stepped outside. The shower had all but stopped in the last few seconds. The man retreated a step. ‘Is that how you hope to keep the rest of us silent, with a promise of reward for keepin’ our mouths shut? Sorry, bra, but if you knew my partner, you’d know no amount of gold would buy her.’
‘What does that say about you?’
‘I don’t need your dirty money. I just need you to leave these folks alone.’
‘If it were up to me, pal …’ said the man and shrugged.
There was no hint of deception in the man’s eyes. But Po had faced up to many opponents lacking the stomach for what they were forced into doing on another’s behalf, yet they still did their bidding all the same.
‘You’re your own man,’ said Po, ‘you could walk away. Blake and Kelly Ambrose are finished; this is your opportunity to get away before the shit comes down on them.’
At mention of his bosses the man involuntarily flinched in regret. ‘The Toners mentioned them by name, did they?’
‘They didn’t. They didn’t have to. My partner is a private investigator; she works things out.’
‘Unfortunate,’ said the man.
‘Unfortunate for them.’
‘Unfortunate for everyone.’ He breathed out his next words, sounding truly regretful. ‘This is out of control, no longer something I can put right again.’
‘So why waste your time and mine? Walk away, bra. Don’t make me your enemy.’
‘I’ve heard about you, Villere. You’ve an admirable reputation.’ He left things at that. It was enough for Po to judge the man as a formidable opponent. He’d shown no sign of fear or trepidation at his admission, and neither had he boasted about how he was the tougher guy. It meant that he was in control of himself, and believed also of the situation.
There was the faintest scuff of a shoe on the floor. Coming from inside the building it shouldn’t be cause for alarm. But the man’s calm demeanor – too calm – triggered Po’s response. He
began to twist towards the person sneaking up on him, but Temperance was not about to be caught lacking as she had when Po captured Dom. This time, she’d snuck in under the roller shutter, gaining access to the lobby behind Po through the garage’s access door to spring an ambush on him. In an instant her knife tip was a hair’s breadth from his jugular. If he moved to grapple her he’d skewer himself. She hissed a sour exhalation of victory into his face. Po returned his attention to the man. He’d drawn a pistol, most probably from a holster concealed in the hollow of his spine where Po couldn’t have spotted it, despite professing he was unarmed and him lifting and opening his jacket.
‘Don’t move,’ the man warned, still seemingly as indifferent as before, ‘and don’t try warning your partner.’
‘You goin’ to shoot me out here in the open, bra? You’ll have the cops here in minutes.’
Temperance again hissed in his face. ‘It’ll only take me a minute to go up there and slaughter everyone. What’s to stop Sampson shooting you? Oh, yeah! Me. I could slit you from ear to ear before he has to pull that trigger.’
Po sniffed in disregard. He held no immediate fear of her blade; the guy – Sampson – he was the one in charge. Po discretely cocked an elbow – a swift jab to her solar plexus and then let’s see how she’d manage to cut his throat. Sure, he might be encouraging a shot from Sampson, but he doubted it. If he were supposed to die by their hands, he’d already be dead. Nevertheless, he relaxed his elbow. Another thought had come to him, a better way to move things forward.
‘What now?’ he asked.
From her belt, Temperance pulled out a small cotton sack. Po regarded it with a curl of his lip. ‘Really?’ he asked.
‘Really,’ she snapped as she dragged it over his head. Her blade shifted so it stroked the nape of his neck.
‘Good, now follow my voice,’ Sampson ordered.
Po walked, but had no need of Sampson’s instructions, or the occasional nip of the blade in his skin, to walk around the front of the building. The van wasn’t parked outside the roller shutters this time, but at the far end of the building where the realtor’s signs were. After a door was yanked open, Po was forced to kneel on the van’s door ledge.
‘Hands behind your back,’ Temperance instructed.
Duct tape was wound repeatedly around his wrists.
He felt his captor root around at his belt, and then pat down his legs. She found the blade secreted in his boot sheath. ‘Nice,’ she commented, and for the first time in a voice that didn’t hold pure enmity.
‘Take care of it, I’ll be needin’ that back later,’ Po said.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it goes in the same hole in the ground you do.’ Her snarl was back.
His cellphone began ringing.
Sampson rooted around inside Po’s jacket and found the phone in his shirt pocket. Po heard his grunt of surprise at who was calling.
After only a moment’s reflection Sampson answered and said, ‘If you want to see your man alive again, you’ll do exactly what I tell you. If you involve the cops, the FBI, anybody, Villere will die screaming. Do you believe me? Good. Then listen closely. Hang up, keep your phone turned on, and wait for further instructions.’
Sampson ended the call. Po’s cell wasn’t returned to him. He was pushed inside the van and forced to lie belly down. Sampson knelt beside him. ‘Let’s hope your partner cares enough about you she does as she’s been warned,’ he said.
Tess, Po knew, loved him so fiercely she’d follow him into hell if she must. She wouldn’t involve the police; she wouldn’t tolerate their interference in getting him back safely.
THIRTY-ONE
Tess hurtled through the drizzle to the parking lot where Po had left his GMC. He had no reason to return to their car without her, the same way that Arlen Sampson had no reason to falsely claim that Po was his hostage. But she must check. Her reaction was the natural response of one who cared deeply for her partner, and was driven partly by denial, but mostly due to the lot offering a good vantage point for looking both directions. Broad Street and Front Street merged a little distance from her, then paralleled the Penobscot River a good distance: there was no sign of Po or his abductors along its entire length. In the opposite direction Broad Street took a dogleg turn and swept beneath the underpass: it was more likely that Po had been taken that way as it gave more direct access to the main routes out of Bangor. She checked what she could see of the traffic on the river bridge, but there was no saying that Po’s abductors would use that road out of town. Her first instinct was that he’d been snatched and taken to Blake and Kelly Ambrose. She’d concluded their center of activity was in Brunswick. The temptation was high to leap in the GMC and hurtle directly to a confrontation with them.
Mike Toner jogged across the road towards her. He was blowing hard from the unexpected race downstairs. Steam rose from his head even as everything else in the vicinity dripped.
‘Is it true? They’ve got him?’
Tess’s expression told him everything.
‘Oh, crap,’ he groaned, his hands snarling in his damp hair.
Tess looked both directions again.
‘Where in Brunswick would they take him?’ she asked.
He shook his head, fingers still tugging at his hair.
‘Think, Mike! Where would those people take him?’
‘I know where they took me,’ he admitted. ‘It wasn’t in Brunswick, though.’
‘Where?’ Tess got up almost in his face.
‘Rockland,’ he said. ‘The same place they snatched me from. They were waiting for me at the harbor and forced me into their van. We didn’t drive that far.’
‘You’re certain about that?’
‘Yes. I was taken to some deserted building. I got the impression it was on the headland to the north of the harbor; when I was loaded back in the van to be returned to my truck I was blindfolded, but I could still hear the surf crashing and boats thumping against a wharf.’
‘They took you to a deserted building so they could beat you?’
‘To torture me,’ he emphasized, ‘out of sight and hearing of any potential witnesses. It’s my guess they’ll do the same with your fella.’
Thinking furiously, Tess conjured a mental map of the Maine coast but couldn’t quite recall where Rockland was. She still had her cellphone clutched in one hand. She checked the screen for fear she’d missed a call during her frantic run from the building. If she rang Po’s number again, would Arlen Sampson answer? Would informing him she knew where he was going put Po in immediate peril, or would Sampson realize the game was up and release him? Her latter thought held no credence. She stabbed in Pinky’s number.
‘Yo, pretty Tess!’ he answered.
‘How far away are you, Pinky?’
‘From Maddie’s place? Half an hour at most, me.’
‘Po’s been taken?’
‘Say what?’ Pinky’s demeanor changed instantly.
‘He’s been taken.’
‘Those motherfuckers from yesterday?’
‘Yes.’ She didn’t correct herself. Pinky knew only of Dom and Temperance, not yet that Sampson was another player in the game. ‘They have him hostage, and have warned me about involving the police if I want him back alive.’
‘The wise thing to do would be to call the cops.’
‘Of course it would.’
‘But you’re not gonna, you.’
‘Of course I’m not.’
‘Give me ten minutes and I’ll be there.’ It was exaggeration, but Tess pictured him flooring the gas and racing towards Bangor at high speed – she didn’t want him to lose control on the slick roads the way Jacob evidently had.
‘No, wait. Don’t come here. Do you know how to get to Rockland?’
‘I don’t have the first clue, me.’
Tess sought Mike Toner for clarification.
‘There’s no quick route across country. From here you need to follow the Penobscot till you hit the coast,
then follow Route 1 through Belfast and Camden. It’s a ninety-minute drive at the best of times, in this weather …’
‘Belfast, you say?’ Pinky had overheard Toner’s directions. He had no idea he was only a mile or so shy of where Jacob Doyle recently died, or that the intersection he was approaching was the one taken from the scene by Temperance and Sampson earlier. ‘I just saw a sign for Belfast, me. Someplace called Plymouth, too. Will that road get me there?’
‘It will,’ Toner confirmed, ‘and at about the same time as us if we leave here now.’
‘Sounds like a plan, Tess,’ Pinky announced. ‘I’ll call you when I’m approaching town and we can meet, us. We’ll travel together from Belfast, yeah? If you hear from those fuckers in the meantime, you let me know, y’hear?’
‘See you there,’ she said and ended the call. It was better that she kept any calls short to avoid missing her next instruction from Sampson. She stared at Toner.
He squirmed.
‘What did you mean by us?’ she asked.
He looked over at the GMC, as if it were obvious. ‘I’m coming with you. You need me to show you where they’ve taken your partner.’
‘No, it’s too risky.’
‘You’ll never find him without me.’
‘You said you were blindfolded when you were there.’
‘Rockland isn’t exactly a big city, hell it’s hardly a town, and I’ve lived and worked there for the past three years. I’ve a good idea where it was I was taken to. I think the point of me wearing the hood was to encourage fear rather than conceal where I was.’