Speak Easy Speak Danger

by Sharon G Clark

  Okay. Time to focus on Fiona and Adam.

  Margaret assured all was cleared from her desk, pulled her handbag from the bottom desk drawer, and slung it on a shoulder. She crouched beside Adam. “Wanna talk?” He shook his head. “Worried Mrs. Goodman had come to take you away?” Adam shrugged. “Well, let me tell you, young man, you aren’t going anywhere. You belong to and with us, Adam Graham, always a part of the Cavanaugh clan. Okay?”

  Adam reached over and embraced her neck with small arms in a fierce grip. “Promise?” he asked.

  “Promise,” she said. “I’ll pop anyone in the nose if they try to take you from us. Not even Jack Dempsey could take you from me.” Adam released her and stood beside her and looked up, an expression of amazement lit his face. “If you think I’m tough, Auntie Fiona is even stronger.”

  “But she can’t see,” Adam said, his tone confused.

  “Don’t let that fool you. Auntie Fiona is ferocious when protecting her family. You know some of our secrets aren’t to be shared outside the house, right?” Adam nodded. “When you’re a little older, we’ll tell you the reason Fiona has her scars. How protective she can be for us. But it’s so secret, people might hurt her if they knew, so we have to keep the secrets in our heads and hearts. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Margaret extended her hand, which he took with a watery smile. “You ready to go home?” Adam placed his tiny hand in hers. Together they left the schoolhouse.

  The day was grey, and the wind was picking up speed. Margaret considered calling to see if Nicholas was around to pick them up, but figured they could make the few blocks to and over the Arkansas River to the opposite side before any storm arrived. It was nice to exercise her legs and spend time with Adam before she started supper to celebrate the end of the school year. Then a relaxing evening with the family. Inwardly, she gave a naughty grin. And a not so relaxing evening with Fiona.

  They walked about two blocks when a dirty, white, diaper-delivery van pulled up beside them. Two men got out. Margaret pulled Adam close to her when she recognized them as two of the bullies from the visit to Tessa’s shop over a month ago. The fat one pointed a gun at them. “Get inside,” he demanded. Before the scene registered, the other grabbed Adam and yanked him from her, thrust him into the man with the gun. She made a fist and slammed it into his face. He quirked a grin and returned the favor.

  “Love it when broad’s play rough,” he said. Margaret was woozy. When the man grabbed her at the waist and propelled her to the open doors of the van, Margaret used her nails to rake gashes down the left side of his face. His response was to toss her inside, where she landed on piles of laundry bags, filled with what smelled like soiled diapers. “Maybe we can have some fun together when this is over.” He climbed in beside her. “Hurry up, Donald,” he growled.

  “Damn, Walter. The kid won’t hold still,” Donald said. Adam fought to get free but never uttered a word.

  “Then sock him one,” Walter said.

  “No, please don’t,” Margaret said. At her words, Adam glanced at her. She held her arms out. Donald tossed him toward her. As Donald closed the back doors, Adam climbed over the bags and into her embrace. Walter got into the passenger seat, and Margaret glanced to the front, which opened to the driver’s seat. A laughing Thomas Gendry stared back at her. “Someone will call the police,” she said.

  “Let ’em. Langford is ready if they do,” Thomas said, his grin spreading.

  “What do you want with us?” Margaret held Adam tight to her chest. He nestled into her body. So this was really about Warren Langford and his further punishment of the Cavanaugh’s. “Warren not man enough to do this himself?”

  Thomas raised a shoulder. “He’s gonna come to Daddy’s telephone company. You and the kid can go after he’s done.”

  “And I’ve had some fun.” Walter leered at her, and she felt dirtier than the soiled cloth surrounding them.

  Thomas turned back to the steering wheel and drove. Over his shoulder, he said, “Better check with Langford. Don’t know how much he’s willing to ignore.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” Walter said, his eyes grazing over her insultingly.

  Margaret focused on the bloody furrows she’d given Walter, wondering if she and Adam would get out of this alive. Resolving to fight if she could, but accepted she may have to suffer Walter’s assault if it meant protecting Adam.

  She closed her eyes and kissed the top of Adam’s head in silent reassurance. Another attack planned for the woman Margaret loved with every fiber of her being. How much more could Fiona take? Would this be the day she lost her forever?

  The phone call made Fiona’s entire body tremble. Luckily, Nicholas was still at the house. His presence and help were a balm that kept her from cracking up or breaking down entirely. The caller had been Thomas, and he demanded Fiona come to the telephone company, alone, downtown. If not, he’d settle his dispute with Fiona by harming Margaret and Adam. What perceived feud did they share? Why take her family as hostages? Hell, she was blind—not that many knew—so it wouldn’t take much to ambush her. Holding back the panic after the call was nearly impossible. Fiona wondered how the spoiled little weasel got possession of her wife and son. He’d told her it wouldn’t do any good to call the police. That information let her know Warren, to whatever extent, was involved.

  Fiona and Nicholas drove to town. Often, Margaret stayed late to grade papers and prepare lessons plans, so Fiona hadn’t been overly concerned when she hadn’t arrived home on time. She hoped Adam enjoyed the day but worried how this turn of events could emotionally damage him.

  “That sonofabitch hurts Margaret or Adam, and I’ll kill him.”

  “You need to calm down, Fiona. Won’t be much use to them if you’re caught off guard,” Nicholas said. She appreciated his being the voice of reason. Didn’t change her stomach aching with the heavy ball of worry. “We have to think. You know this is a trap, right?”

  Fiona did know, which only added to her distress. This situation was so much like the one five years ago. That reminder had her seesawing between panic and rage. With Jimmy, Fiona was aware of the possible circumstances she walked into then. This time she didn’t just face a hateful opponent on her own. Margaret and Adam’s safety needed consideration. “Don’t have a lot of options. What are you suggesting?”

  “Well, Thomas made the call, which means Walter and Donald will probably be involved. His ego will want to play in front of his puppets. They’re known bullies, so will be relying on strength rather than smarts.” Nicholas must be getting closer to town as Fiona heard the increase in activity from the open car window. She wondered how much longer until they reached their destination. “I don’t think this is Thomas’s idea. If anything, his gripe is against Jo, not you. It leaves me to believe we’re dealing with Warren. Warren’s the one who thinks he has a legitimate grudge. But Warren isn’t going to show himself without cause. He has too much to lose. Which means he’ll be hiding until all his little ducks have positioned things in a neat little row.”

  “So, Warren could or couldn’t be there?” A headache was building from the stress. This had a worst-case scenario written all over it. Being a cop, Warren had a lot to lose if the situation and whatever he’d planned went badly. He couldn’t have loose ends. Couldn’t have his part in this get out to his superiors. If Warren was personally involved, he couldn’t leave witnesses, which meant them all. Fiona couldn’t see how she and her family would possibly get out of this alive if Warren and flunkies had their way. Fiona would make certain, if anyone suffered, it would be Warren.

  “Warren has an ego of his own,” Nicholas said. “I think he’ll want to take a risk—for the adrenaline rush if not his ego—and witness your downfall personally. Which gives us our advantage.”

  “Which is?”

  Nicholas chuckled. “His focus on the outcome and not the process.”

  “You’ve lost me. How does Warren’
s ego work in our favor?” Fiona’s emotions fluctuated all over the place. She couldn’t grasp what track Nicholas’s thoughts were taking.

  “Thomas called and told you to come, right?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Fiona grew frustrated. “Please, Nicholas, get to the point.”

  Nicholas’s tone grew conciliatory when he continued. “He gave no direction to leave whoever brought you outside, which means he doesn’t know you’re blind or didn’t consider a second person. Warren may also be unaware of your blindness in thinking he’d just taught you a lesson, not irreparable damage.”

  Fiona nodded, understanding. “I go in alone.”

  “Exactly. If you think you can pull off being sighted,” Nicholas said. “Either way, we’re outnumbered. We’ve as much an element of surprise as Thomas or Warren. There’s also the obvious fact you and I alone are brighter than the four of them put together.”

  “I can agree with your assessment, but remind you we don’t have their combined strength. Don’t forget the added disadvantage that one of us is blind.”

  “Hey, only when it comes to my heart,” Nicholas quipped.

  She chuckled, appreciated his use of levity to keep her from going over the hysterical edge. “We can assume my family is held on the third floor of the building too.”

  “How so?” Nicholas asked.

  “The telephone company is where she had the field trip earlier this month for her students. She told me the layout when she made the arrangements. Margaret explained the switchboard operators were located on the second floor. The first floor holds the offices and reception area, which will be closed this time of day. That leaves the third floor as the most likely place for anything close to nefarious. That floor is for maintaining the supplies and storage. Thomas, or Warren, will want to limit witnesses.”

  Fiona felt the car come to a stop, heard when Nicholas shut the engine off.

  “Why bring them back here? Why not stay at the school?” Nicholas asked. “Better chance of privacy, I would think.”

  She snorted. “Please tell me you don’t really expect to understand a disturbed mind. If I were to hazard a guess, it would be because Thomas’s father owns the building, so Thomas’s presence wouldn’t be unexpected. As for Warren, his appearance would be unremarkable, I guess, as a policeman. Also, the police station is located right across the street. Easier for him to step in and out with minimum detection.”

  Nicholas barked a laugh. “Take this as a compliment, Fiona, please. But it seems to me you understand the warped mind just fine.”

  “Thanks,” she said with sarcasm. “Are we here?”

  “Yes. So how about I get you close to the door, you go in and try to play nice with the idiots? Oh, and not get killed by Warren or Thomas. After a few moments, I’ll follow you inside.” He snickered. “Probably save the day and my godson. Hero of the hour.”

  Fiona shook her head. “You know, Nicholas, sometimes, like now, I want to throttle you.”

  “Aw, you do love me.”

  True to his word, Nicholas brought her close to the intended destination, explained the entrance was four strides ahead with the door on the right. “Okay, here goes nothing.”

  Randall couldn’t shake the feeling Sergeant Langford was up to no good. It went beyond believing Warren exuded icky from his pores. This feeling telegraphed the sergeant was up to something more insidious. Randall knew it in his bones. He glanced up toward the darkening skies. A storm was rolling in.

  He hadn’t expected to see Fiona and Nicholas standing outside the front entrance of the Telephone Company building. The same building Warren entered not too long ago. What the hell was going on? Hell, why was Nicholas walking away? He’d just left Fiona defenseless against someone as dangerous as Warren. She was only one woman, after all. And, hadn’t Jo—albeit with reluctance—stated Fiona lost her sight after an encounter with Warren?

  Before he could think better on the matter, logical thought to alert someone or bring help along, Randall crossed the street and entered the building.

  Then stopped immobile. The door closed, and the soles of Randall’s shoes squeaked on the linoleum from his abrupt halt. Donald and Walter stood in front of him with…were those finger gashes on his cheek? Both held Spalding bats, Donald, on his shoulder, and Walter repetitively slapped his against a palm. The sounds of slow footfalls—Fiona’s—echoed from the enclosed stairwell. If they let her through unhampered, then she waited for a different fate.

  “Looky here, Walter,” Donald said. “It’s Jo’s girlfriend, the cop.”

  Walter sniffed insultingly. “Nah. Randall here ain’t a girlfriend, just a sissy.” They inched their way to either side of him. Randall automatically reached for his service weapon. “Tsk, tsk,” Walter said. “Play nice.”

  A blow to the side of his head dropped Randall to a knee, one hand to the back of his head. He’d turned to watch Walter, while Donald took advantage. Luckily, for Randall, physical activity wasn’t the fatter man’s forte. The hit hurt like the dickens but didn’t incapacitate him.

  The distinctive click of a gun’s hammer pulled back caused Randall to stiffen in anticipation, and Donald and Walter to bite back the teasing laughter, gulping audibly. Okay, maybe not a bad sound to hear at all, he thought. Randall tried to turn and see who stood behind him, but the blow made him queasy and dizzy.

  “Would like to offer you the time to get hold of yourself but would prefer you to do so with all due haste, if you please.”

  Take my time but hurry, Randall thought with frustration. Only Mr. Tirrell would speak at odds like that and expect to be understood. With a deep breath through his nose, Randall got to his feet and pulled his weapon free from the holster. “Good job,” Nicholas said. He stood, his legs a bit wobblier than he’d like. “If you’ll keep an eye on the riff-raff.”

  “What the hell’s going on?” he demanded through gritted teeth.

  Nicholas shifted until he stood at the bottom of the staircase. He jutted his chin to where Donald and Walter now stood together. “Gendry has Margaret and Adam upstairs somewhere.”

  “Son of a—”

  “Exactly.” Nicholas placed a foot on the bottom step. “You okay here?”

  “Yeah, but I should go up there,” Randall said. “Sergeant Langford’s up there, too.”

  “Suspected as much.” Nicholas grinned. “I’d let you take this if you hadn’t just been clobbered with a bat. More than that, Braddock. If this doesn’t end well, you’ll need to make certain the true and correct version is given.” Without a sound, Nicholas was gone.

  “Hey, Randall,” Donald said. “We haven’t done anything.”

  “Except assault a police officer in the line of duty.”

  “Donald will make it up to you, won’t ya?” Walter suggested, then elbowed Donald in the rib with an elbow. “He’s got money. Oh, and Langford said it would be okay. So, we’re sorta helping the police. All you need is a little forgetfulness.”

  Randall smirked. “Gonna run through town in dresses?” Both stared in total incomprehension. “What it would take for this sissy to forget and let you go.” A too-long pause before understanding reached them. Hesitantly, they nodded. Randall shook his head sadly. “Aw, you took too long. Can’t believe either of you would find redemption.” During the conversation, Randall noted a door off to the side of the room that appeared to be the main office of the phone company. He needed to get upstairs, keep the situation from escalating. Keep the Cavanaugh’s safe.

  “We can take him,” Walter sneered.

  “Nervous hand. Gun could go off.” Randall grinned. “You’re my first target, Walter. Donald’s only got his flab to help him.” Donald whimpered. Short, firm waves of his weapon toward the right, Randall said, “Carefully boys, and walk backward.” They did. “Okay, stop,” he said. They were even with the door, a small square of wood reading: supply room, and a key seated in the lock. “Open it, Walter.” Walter’s hand t
rembled as he turned the knob. How quickly bullies transformed into babies with the turning of the table. The door opened. Randall felt a modicum of relief to find the closet, barely two square feet, held form papers on the only shelf, one bucket, and a stack of neatly folded rags. Nothing else. Nothing to aid in their immediate escape. “Inside, boys.”

  “What the hell, Braddock?” Donald sputtered, his expression registered panic. “I’m not going in there. I hate tight places. You know that from school.”

  “Should have thought of that before you assaulted a police officer and became accessories in a kidnapping.” Randall pulled back the hammer with his thumb. “Here are your two choices. One, I shoot you fleeing the scene. Two, you get in the closet.” Randall shrugged. “Closet gets you Walter’s company. If I shoot you, you’re the coroners’ problem. Oh yeah, and dead.” Donald pushed Walter into the closet and followed him inside. “Not my preferred choice, but I’ll honor it.”

  There was a pounding on the door from inside as soon as Randall closed the door, locked it, and pulled the key free. He shoved the key in his pocket. Donald’s strained voice sounded, muffled by the door. “Don’t forget about us here, Braddock.”

  Randall snickered. “I’ll try not to but, with this head wound, no guarantees.” The pounding became more insistent. He stuffed a chair, the top rail wedged beneath the doorknob. Then, he pushed and dragged a desk to wedge against the chair to hold it from slipping free.

  He felt better, Donald and Walter were out of commission. Randall headed for the stairs, his progress a lot slower than Nicholas’s, and quieter than Fiona’s. Every instinct told him to be cautious and prepared. The resolution to this situation was important to him. But more so for the Cavanaugh’s upstairs, and to Jo—whom he owed so much.

  Chapter Twenty-nine