Night Passenger

by David Stanley

  “Your deal, the exclusives; I’ll think about it.”

  “Don’t think too long, Thorne.”

  “Chris,” he said.

  “Okay.”

  “I gotta go,” he said, glancing at her mouth.

  “What would happen if you stayed?”

  “I think my car would get towed.”

  She smiled. “Damn right. That thing would get pounded.”

  He laughed. Her sense of humor was perfect. She walked in front of him, toward the exit. She moved slowly, and kept looking back at him over her shoulder. His height meant he was used to walking quickly. At this speed, he had to keep looking down to see where to place his feet. His eyes repeatedly passed over her ass and each time they did so, he remembered the view she’d provided him earlier. He’d taken in a lot more than he’d let himself believe. They were at the door now. She put herself in front of the handle, preventing him from leaving.

  “You’re not going to stop investigating me are you?”

  “No.”

  “I guess I’d be disappointed in you if you did.”

  “If I call you again, will you answer?”

  “I don’t know; does that go both ways?”

  Her eyes lit up. “Of course.”

  “Then, sure.”

  They stared silently at each other for several seconds.

  She was still blocking him.

  Again, his eyes dipped to look at her mouth.

  “Chris, there’s something I need you to do before you go.”

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  It was almost nine thirty when Thorne got back in his car. He’d been away from the mansion for over two and a half hours. Assuming Blake hadn’t killed them, the Ashcrofts would be losing their shit. He should’ve left a note saying he’d be back later; even a vague promise was better than none at all. Lauren might think he’d decided to leave without saying goodbye. Even the idea of it tempted him, just drive off and leave it all behind. He’d done his part hadn’t he? He didn’t owe the Ashcrofts a damn thing. He’d warned them and they'd chosen to do nothing. Whatever happened next was on their own heads, his conscience was clear.

  Up ahead, he saw the coffee place Lauren had taken him to before and without thinking, swung the Maserati into a spot out front. A good strong coffee was exactly what he needed, get his focus back. Then he’d be ready to face Lauren and finalize things there. He wasn’t one to run away from an awkward moment. It was time to leave, he could see that now. Los Angeles wouldn’t wait any longer. The line at the counter was short and soon he was back out on the street with a steaming Americano.

  Traffic was slow, and he was able to comfortably drive holding the cup in one hand, taking sips every now and then. The coffee stung his lip. He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw his lower lip was swollen.

  Jocelyn Cooper had bitten him.

  As Thorne turned off Cedar onto Laurel, he noticed something white flickering under one of the Maserati's wipers. The windshield had a dark tinted band at the edge of the glass and only a small amount of the object stuck up above it. He squinted to try and make it out. Too small to be a parking ticket, he thought. Looked like a business card. He'd had that before in L.A., people would walk along a street and stick their card under every wiper. Realtors and gardeners mostly, one time, a naked housekeeper. He almost smiled thinking about it, but he knew this wasn't going to be someone wanting a job. Not this time. He parked in front of a 7-Eleven, popped the driver's door and with his leg still inside the vehicle, reached across the glass and pulled the object out. He recognized it immediately. It was the security pass from the art gallery, with the ink cross in the upper left hand corner.

  Two words were written across the middle in precise capitals.

  WATCH IT

  Thorne looked around, his heart beating fast in his chest. Blake. He almost expected the man to be standing beside him, a gun pointed at his head. But of course there was nothing, just people going about their day. The card had to have been under the wiper for several minutes before he noticed it, Blake was long gone. He could’ve put it there when he was at the hotel, or while he was getting his coffee, it didn’t really matter. He got back inside the car, slammed the door and swore. Blake was never going away. Despite the risks of being identified from the footage and the mugshots Cabot had hung all around town, the man was going nowhere. The truth was, nobody ran from a $12 million payday, no matter what. He looked again at the card. Blake was a man of few words, that was for sure. It was a warning, pure and simple.

  Blake planned to make another run at the painting and wanted him not to interfere. He’d hit the truck tomorrow, take the Picasso as it returned to the gallery. Blake had reversed his own truck heist plan. If looking the other way was all it took to get Blake off his back, it’d be worth it. The painting was nothing to him, it never had been. All he cared about was Lauren. So long as Blake posed no threat to her he could have the painting and the twelve million dollars.

  He tossed the card onto the passenger seat and sighed.

  There was another message here. He'd been followed again, and this time he hadn't noticed the tail. It seemed impossible to him that anyone could do this given the mansion's isolation, but he hadn’t exactly been on top of his game the last couple of days and the Maserati was far from inconspicuous. If he'd wanted to, Blake could've killed him. An old tan station wagon pulled into a space next to Thorne. He found himself looking blankly at the driver, his mind a million miles away. The driver was wearing a cowboy hat and he remembered the Texan, Stockton. Somehow, he'd managed to forget all about him. He hadn't been at the kidnapping, or if he had, hadn't had a clear shot.

  Thorne backed the car out of the space and swung out onto Chestnut.

  He cursed himself for remembering Stockton, just thinking about him made his skin crawl. There was no defense against a sniper, they could hit you from any direction, at any time. All they needed was line of sight. Stockton could choose a spot then sit back and wait for him to enter his kill zone. The Texan could shoot him from a mile away and he'd never know what hit him. He turned the problem over. No. The fight in the woods had been more Blake's style. Hands on, brutal, and immediate. The two of them had unfinished business. Blake would never have someone else take him out, he'd want to do it himself.

  In a strange way, Thorne found this comforting.

  At Lincoln, an SCPD cruiser pulled out in front of him and Thorne eased back on the gas to let a gap build between them. No point looking for trouble. He took the ramp onto PCH, his head turning to watch the police car continue along Chestnut. As he swung back to face the highway, he caught sight of the security card on the passenger seat. It looked different. It had turned over when it landed and he saw the back of the plastic for the first time. There was a strip of duct tape on it. Thorne frowned. He hadn't thought to turn it over, he thought the card was the message. With the Maserati now merged into its lane, he reached for the card and ran his fingertips over the duct tape. There were two distinct bumps in the tape, one rectangular, the other circular.

  Blake had sent him something.

  Holding the steering wheel and the corner of the card with his left hand, he forced his right thumb nail under the corner of the tape and peeled it back. Something small and silver dropped on the floor between his legs and rolled out of sight. He glanced down to try and find it, but it had disappeared. For now, it would have to wait. Thorne turned his attention back to the duct tape and continued to peel, slower now. More careful. He only had to peel a small section to know what lay beneath: an SD memory card.

  His stomach lurched. Watch it.

  It wasn't a warning at all, it was a video.

  “Lauren,” he said.

  Blake had finally done it. While he’d been with Jocelyn, or on his way to her hotel room, Lauren was being kidnapped. This memory card was the proof of life. He called her cell phone. The dial tone went on and on, amplified by the car's built-in comms unit.

  “Answer, goddammit!”r />
  He braced for Blake to pick up. If his old friend really did have her, and he was growing more and more certain of it, then it followed that he had her cell too. She took the phone everywhere, Ashcroft had even joked about it. The dial tone stopped and Lauren's whispery voice poured out the speakers.

  Hi! I'm busy right now, you know what to do.

  He canceled the call and pressed the gas pedal to the floor. The car surged forward, his back sinking into the soft leather seat. There was something bad on that memory card, something unspeakable. He didn't want to see it but he knew he had to watch. Whatever it was, it might not be too late. There was still time to save her, he had to believe that. Why would Blake send a video if it were already too late? To torment him? He drove faster than he'd ever driven before, weaving in and out of traffic. Soon he was off the highway and onto the road that twisted its way north, into the pines.

  It took eighteen minutes to reach Ashcroft's mansion. From the outside, there was no sign of anything unusual. Lauren's car was parked out front where it always was, next to the senator's SUV. He realized that this didn't surprise him at all. They would've grabbed her in the woods while she was running. It was the perfect spot for a kidnapping for the same reason she liked it there: total privacy. Blake hadn't been after him that day; it was Lauren he'd been waiting for. It was so obvious to him now. Lauren gave Blake leverage.

  He slotted the Maserati in next to its twin on the far side of the doorway, rucking up an angry tide in the small stones as he braked. A cloud of dust floated on ahead of the car like a ghost and he watched it pass before he got out. Only now was he able to look down into the car's footwell and see what had dropped out from under the duct tape.

  A nickel.

  You make it sound like you're picking up a nickel someone dropped on the sidewalk.

  Blake had taken his line to heart, it amused him. Since then, it had become a private code referring to the painting's acquisition. What it meant here was not clear to him. He slammed the car door and ran into the house. The front door was unlocked. The front door was never unlocked. He went straight for his room, his feet echoing off the cold stone walls as he ran. The place was like a museum. In his room, he opened his laptop and sat down. The memory card contained two files: a movie, and a text document. Thinking it might give him advanced warning about the content of the movie, he opened the document first.

  Daryl’s parking lot, highway 9. 2 am. Bring painting. NO COPS.

  Of course.

  Blake wasn't taking another run at the painting. He was.

  Thorne moved the cursor over the video file and hesitated, his finger hovering over the touchpad. The movie was named you_did_this. The preview image was black. He sucked his swollen lip and double tapped the button. The screen went dark. He clicked play. Unlit concrete or asphalt, blurred as the camera zipped upward. An empty street. Early morning, somewhere abandoned and industrial. A single dim light shone in the corner of the frame. Out of the darkness, a figure approached wearing black clothing and a gorilla mask. The mask was covered in long hair that fanned out across the owner's chest and shoulders. The camera turned to follow, revealing the squat shape of the Audi sedan. The figure walked to the rear of the car and popped the trunk. Light spilled out from within, causing the focus to jump briefly before sharpening. A muted sound started up inside the trunk. Thorne had heard the sound several times before, in Iraq. It was the sound of someone screaming with their mouth taped shut.

  The figure looked down into the trunk, angled its head, then abruptly punched whoever was inside. The sound stopped. The figure bent over and reached into the car with both arms and dragged the occupant's body until it was in an upright position against the side wall of the trunk. A blood-soaked white pillowcase was tied around the neck with a belt, and a bed sheet had been wrapped around the body like an Egyptian mummy. Thorne didn't want to accept it, but the body was the right size to be Lauren Ashcroft. The figure turned toward the camera as if to set up a selfie, then twisted and again punched the covered head, causing it to snap back and lie over at an angle. Thorne swore, his own hands balling up into fists in front of him. Off-camera Blake said All right, that’s enough. Get that bitch outta there. The figure nodded, a small gesture almost hidden by the mask. Despite the small size of Lauren’s body, the figure struggled to get her out and Blake had to reach into shot and help lift her over the lip of the trunk and down onto the asphalt. She lay in her worm-like cocoon, silent and unmoving. Her feet were bare and deathly pale. The light inside the trunk illuminated her body and Blake walked around it to get a better angle. As he did so, Thorne saw the motorcycle boots the gorilla figure was wearing.

  Sara.

  Well, that figured. He hadn't pegged Stockton as a puncher of defenseless women. The camera jerked to one side then back again, before moving toward Sara who reached out and took it. The view snapped around and Thorne found himself looking at Blake who was again wearing his clown mask. It was a grim reminder of the botched kidnapping and it still bore some of Porter's blood. Blake reached down and picked up Lauren like she was a gym bag and flipped her up over his shoulder in a single movement. Her body sagged inside the sheets at what must have been her hips and a low moan issued from the pillowcase. Blake set off quickly, leaving Sara behind with the camera. Lauren's weight accentuated his limp, his right leg noticeably dragging on the backswing. There was the sound of the trunk closing and then Sara followed along behind Blake.

  The screen was dark again, the image pixelated and blurred.

  Thorne glanced at the progress bar; he was already halfway through the movie. He considered stopping it where it was. If he saw them kill Lauren he didn't know what he'd do. He didn't know if he could take them killing someone else he cared about and know he was responsible. He sighed. It was no use, he had to know. One way or another, the remaining four and a half minutes would probably determine how the remainder of his life played out. On screen, Blake opened the door of a large building and stepped inside. A blueish-white light shone up ahead. It flowed around the shifting bulk of his body and appeared to pulse like a living thing. Sara moved to one side and the scene opened out. They were in an old factory or warehouse. A single office chair was set up in the center of an open space, surrounded by a circle of LED storm lanterns.

  Next to the chair was a chainsaw.

  Thorne gripped his head tight in both hands. Not a chainsaw. He'd seen a lot of bad things, but he couldn't watch someone do that to Lauren, that was too much. Sara was moving again. For the first time, Thorne noticed there a tripod on the floor in front of the chair and the view moved toward it. She clipped the camera to it, leaving him with a static view of the chair, then she walked into shot. Blake lowered Lauren's sheet-wrapped body onto the floor and pulled something from his jacket pocket. Thorne heard the distinctive click-click-click sound of a box-cutter blade being pushed out. Help me get this shit offa her, Blake said, then, after a beat. Yeah, that's it. His arm lifted up to free a large section of sheeting. The cutting and tearing continued for several more seconds before Blake lifted Lauren up and over to the chair. His wide back blocked the view to the camera, with only her arms protruding. Thorne frowned. Before his thoughts could crystalize, they too were hidden, this time by Sara. Tape her wrists and ankles to the chair, Blake said. He'd backed up toward the camera to give her space, filling the frame with his ass. When he moved aside the camera focus drifted back to the seat. Thorne gasped.

  Kate Bloom was strapped into the chair.

  Her head moved unsteadily from side to side, her eyes blinking against the light from the lanterns. Above her left ear, her blonde hair was matted down with blood. Her face was heavily bruised and her nose had bled over her taped mouth to her chin. She appeared dizzy, with little idea of what was happening. She was wearing his Top Gun T-shirt. The movie was one of her favorites and she'd given him the T-shirt at the beginning of their relationship. Later, when it became old and faded, she'd refused to throw it out and instead kept it u
nder her pillow. She wore it at night when they were apart and, as far as he could tell, sprayed his aftershave on it. The T-shirt came down past her hips and almost covered the white briefs she wore underneath.

  Thorne felt sick. He could see it so clearly in his mind. They'd come for her while she was asleep, when she was least able to defend herself. Perhaps waking up with the pillowcase already tied over her head and the sheet being wound around her body. She’d stood no chance at all, no one would in that situation. Blake emerged out of the darkness behind Kate and rested his hands on her shoulders. She stiffened visibly, his touch surprising her. He leaned forward and thrust his left arm through the neck hole of the T-shirt and casually groped her breasts. Thorne clenched his teeth, his fury uncontrollable. Kate looked straight at the camera; her face flat, showing nothing. It would've taken a lot of self control for her to do that. Thorne had never been more proud. Getting no reaction, and apparently bored, Blake withdrew his arm and began to run his fingers roughly through her hair. She tried not to react to this either, but she flinched as he pulled back hair that blood had dried through. He gathered up the ends of her hair behind her head and fixed it into a tight ponytail with a rubber band.

  Blake stroked her exposed neck, his masked face hovering close.

  Sara picked up the chainsaw and pulled the starter. It took three pulls to start, then roared into life. Kate's eyes locked on the chainsaw. Sara walked behind Kate, who twisted her head first one way, then the other trying to see what was happening. Sara stayed there, in the blind spot, revving the chainsaw over and over. After several fruitless seconds, Kate stopped trying to see Sara and instead stared at Blake. Sara held the chainsaw out flat so that the spinning teeth were an inch from Kate's neck. Half an inch. The teeth edged closer and closer. Kate closed her eyes and tears rolled down both cheeks. Thorne had a hand over his mouth. He could no longer see a gap between the spinning teeth and her skin, they blurred into each other.

  Then, abruptly, the chainsaw was gone and its engine silent.