For the last few miles, the van bounced along a rut-filled dirt road, spewing dust that swirled around the vehicle and seeped in through the vents. Loreena tasted the grit between her teeth, and realized if her chances of finding help at the bar were limited, they were practically nonexistent out here. Their intention, obviously.
When the seats were suitably thick with the skin of the road, they came to a stop. Shawn removed the keys and walked around to open the sliding door.
“Long step,” he said.
Loreena ignored the courtesy. She still hadn’t figured out why this one was being nice to her. It had to be some tactic Frank was employing, some way to encourage her to help. She wasn’t falling for it.
Her shoes hit dirt, the heels sliding in deeper than the toes. Shawn closed the door, stepped in front of her, and extended his elbow. She hesitated, then took it, grateful for the gloves. Just the feel of his arm reminded her of his hand around her wrist, fingers digging into her bones, forcing her toward Dominic. A light breeze pushed her hair back from her face, the scent of sagebrush strong in the air. Ten steps up a slight incline, and then five wooden stairs, wide enough for the three of them to climb abreast, and then an open landing and a straw rug under their feet. Loreena’s toe hit something that clattered like metal. Water splashed.
“Dog dish,” Shawn explained.
The woman had a dog. Something about that sparked hope in Loreena’s breast.
The door opened with a slow, heavy scrape. “You’re late.”
The woman had a raspy, staccato voice, one that betrayed a long life of bars and whiskey and cigarettes. There was the scent of something baking, maybe bread, but sweeter.
“Mrs. Markos,” Shawn said.
“Mr. Daly.” She paused. “Raymond. Where were you for lunch yesterday?”
Ray grunted. “Busy, Ma. I’m not retired, you know.”
“Pie’s half gone now.”
“I’ll take the other half.”
Mrs. Markos stepped back, allowing them to enter. Ray plowed through first, knocking Loreena’s shoulder like a kid freshly home from school. Shawn followed, pushing her in front of him. Her shoes hit a smooth wood floor, then a thick rug, woven and oval-shaped. Five steps inside, Shawn stopped.
The woman shut the door behind them with a thud. “This is the girl?”
“Loreena Picket,” Shawn said.
Her name sounded clipped on his tongue, short and unimportant. Nothing like the way Dominic had said it.
The woman stepped in front of her. Loreena felt a steely gaze on her body. She smelled alcohol and cigarette smoke with a hint of menthol cream.
“I’m Yvonne Markos.”
Loreena kept her head down.
“Does she have to wear those things?”
“She’ll kill ya without ’em,” Ray called from the other side the house.
Just you, Loreena thought.
“Don’t touch her hands, and make sure she keeps the gloves on at all times.” Shawn fiddled in his pocket, rattling keys. He unlocked one cuff and pulled it off her wrist. Loreena felt her shoulders fall, the muscles relaxing. The other cuff he left in place, pulled her arm around in front, and secured both hands again in front of her waist. “Here. We’ll have guards at the doors.”
Mrs. Markos took the keys. “Your room’s upstairs.” She walked away, but Loreena remained where she was.
Shawn took her wrist. “She’ll need your arm,” he said.
The woman paused, and then came back. “Completely? She can’t see a thing?”
Shawn put Loreena’s hand on Mrs. Markos’s arm. Loreena recoiled at the jiggly skin and fragile bone. This body couldn’t weigh more than one hundred pounds. It was like being led by a skeleton. They walked two steps and started climbing stairs.
“It helps if you tell her how many,” Shawn called from behind them.
Mrs. Markos paused. “Sixteen altogether. We’ve climbed three.”
Loreena didn’t acknowledge her, but continued up the staircase, concentrating on placing her feet without falling. At the landing, she paused and turned back.
“How long do I have to stay here?” she asked, near tears.
“None of your business,” Ray called in his cracked voice, his mouth full.
“Couple days,” Shawn answered over him. “Frank will be needing you soon.” He paused. “And I’ll be back, to talk to you.”
Mrs. Markos started walking again, but Loreena resisted. Something made her want to go back down the stairs, take hold of Shawn’s arm, and insist on going with him, wherever that might be. Anything seemed better than being left here, in this monstrous house with this wicked little woman out in the middle of nowhere, Ray barking orders between swallows of food.
“Can’t stand here all day,” Mrs. Markos said.
Loreena hesitated, but when Shawn said no more, she turned and followed the woman down the hallway.
The first night in Mrs. Markos’s house, she actually slept some, as her room had a real bed and she could finally stretch her legs out. The shower, too, had felt good, and the old woman loaned her a nightgown that at least smelled clean. She’d even removed the cuffs before locking her in the room, allowing Loreena to sleep without them. Pure exhaustion took over, and she drifted into dark dreams filled with roaring motorcycles and sweaty, hairy arms holding her down, Dominic drifting away above her, always just out of reach.
The next day she put on the clothes the woman left on the dresser, a long skirt with an elastic waist and a button-up shirt that was too big, and waited to be let out. One of the guards held her while Mrs. Markos secured her hands again, and then the woman let her roam freely. Loreena pretended to familiarize herself with her surroundings while scouring the place for any weaknesses, any way she might escape. There were plenty of windows, but none of them opened, at least as far as she could tell. She checked the ones in her bedroom, the other upstairs rooms, the kitchen downstairs, and the utility room in the back. Guards stood at the front and back doors—she heard them talking, two at each station—and she could find no other exit. To go out a window, she’d have to break it, and judging by how stout they felt, that would be near impossible.
Next she searched for a phone, but there were none of those either. Plenty of jacks had been installed, but all were missing the connective wires, and nowhere did she feel the familiar curve of a handset. Surely the woman had one, but she obviously kept it hidden. The place seemed as if it were built specifically for keeping prisoners. Had Mr. Markos made it so during his years as part of whatever group this was? No doubt she wasn’t the first to wander the halls in search of a way out.
Mrs. Markos left her alone for the most part, disturbing her privacy only when she called her for meals. Loreena found it difficult to manage the silverware in handcuffs, but the food was good, much better than what she’d had from the bar, so she tried to eat, though she managed little more than half her plate. The presence of the dog—Brute, the woman called him—was the only bright spot. A tall golden retriever, he was happy to stand and let her pet him anytime she wanted. She was hesitant at first, but the feel of his silky fur on her arms made her want to bury her head in his neck and never come up for air.
The second day she tried to explore a little more. Her room had been decorated for a young girl—a granddaughter?—the pillows and comforter edged in lace, dolls and stuffed animals lining three shelves. The two wooden dressers were home to herds of ceramic elephants, rhinoceros, and giraffes. The closet held hanger after hanger of little girl clothes, the shirtsleeves only half as long as her arms, skirts with narrow waists and dresses with ribbons and bows.
The other two upstairs rooms were mostly bare, though one had a bed, a nightstand, and a tall upright dresser. The other was full of stacked boxes, and Loreena didn’t stay long enough to determine their contents. She didn’t dare enter Mrs. Markos’s room downstairs, but kept her investigations to the main hall, kitchen, and living room. The fireplace mantel stood devoid of pictures,
and only a few heavy frames decorated the walls. The place was more like a hotel than a home.
By the third day, she had grown restless. How worried her uncle must be! What torture he must be going through, wondering what had happened to her. Sometimes she thought Crystal would come to her senses and tell him, but she always dismissed that thought with a sigh. A girl who would trade one person for another could not be expected to admit such a thing to a reverend.
Alone in the granddaughter’s room, her thoughts turned to Dominic, as they did so many times a day, and the pain in her stomach flared, driving her to the restroom, where she lost her last meal. In a way, she had grown used to the emotional pain that racked her body, and in trying to expel whatever food she had managed to get down her throat, she felt some relief, as if just a hint of her guilt and sorrow was expelled along with it. Vomiting also left her tired, which helped her sleep.
When she realized escape was futile, she set to counting the steps between rooms so she might get around with a little more ease. Eight from the living room couch to the dining room table, and another four from the table to the back door. Seventeen from the back door to the staircase, and five from her room upstairs to the bathroom down the hall. Twenty-two from the back door to the front door, and twenty-six from her room to the front door. Over and over again she traced the routes, her hand on the wall or the banister or the furniture, until the map of the house was solid in her mind and she could maneuver almost as well as if she were in her own home. It was a relief to no longer suffer bruises from knocking into things, though sometimes she would forget, particularly when she woke in the middle of the night and tried to go down to her uncle’s room. When she turned the doorknob to find it locked, she remembered, and would go back to bed, clutching one of the granddaughter’s stuffed animals close to her breast.
On Loreena’s fourth night in the house, Mrs. Markos made sloppy Joes for dinner, one of Loreena’s favorites. The smell encouraged her to eat more than she had in days, and for the first time she cleared her plate. It was enough, but she nodded anyway when the woman asked if she wanted another, to make it easier.
“You get around good, for being blind,” Mrs. Markos said. “You been that way since you were born?”
“Since I was nine.”
The woman set her plate in front of her, steam wafting up from the meat. “You could see before that?”
Loreena nodded, placing the top bun on the sandwich and pressing down.
“Tough break.”
Chewing saved her from having to answer. She didn’t feel like commiserating with her jailer. The taste of the meat reminded her of the cheeseburger she’d had with Dominic, and her throat narrowed, so she kept chewing until the emotion passed and she could safely swallow.
“You have a granddaughter?” she said, hoping to get Mrs. Markos’s attention off how much she was eating, as she planned to leave the rest of the sandwich on her plate.
“My precious little angel.”
“She likes giraffes?”
“How’d you know that?”
“The figurines on the dresser.”
Swallowing, Mrs. Markos moved a paper napkin over her mouth. “She says she wants to go to Africa. Saw some show on TV about the animals over there.”
“What’s her name?”
“Allison. We call her Al. She’s like her daddy, in some ways.” Mrs. Markos slurped at her beverage. “Raymond, one of the men who brought you here.”
Loreena dropped her head to hide her face.
“Fearless little mite. Comes home from school with bruises and cuts all over her arms and neck and cheeks. She charges into whatever she’s doing, you know? Acts before she thinks. Ray was just like that. Still is.”
Loreena pushed the bun back and forth, imagining it sopping up the spilled meat.
“Hard to imagine a brute like him would have a precious little girl, isn’t it?” Mrs. Markos sighed. “Hard for me to imagine, and I’m his mother.”
There was no safe response. Loreena took a drink of water.
“I know my son. You don’t have to pretend you like him.”
Was the woman trying to draw her out? Loreena dared not say too much, but maybe if she made friends with Mrs. Markos, she wouldn’t have to continue wearing the cuffs. Easier to take advantage of a chance for escape if she could use her hands.
“Is he like your husband?” she asked.
Mrs. Markos chewed while she talked. “Louis had more in his head. He was president of the Grizzly Riders before he died. They all looked up to him.”
It was a relief she wouldn’t be crossing paths with another man like Raymond. “Grizzly Riders?”
“The motorcycle club. The bar you were at, it’s their headquarters.”
Motorcycle club. Saul had a bike, and Crystal insisted he would go nowhere without it. “Do you know my brother?”
“What’s his name?”
“Saul.” Loreena fingered the bread, squishing it flat. “He’s working with them, I think. The club, I mean.”
The woman scraped her fork against the plate. “I don’t have nothing to do with them anymore. The whole thing got my Louis killed, and it’s going to kill Raymond too.”
“You’re keeping me for them, aren’t you?”
The woman coughed, a smoker’s hack, and took another drink. “I do what I have to, to stay in Frank’s good graces. You don’t want to get on the bad side of that man.” She rested her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Whatever he wants you to do, just do it, okay? Easier to go along than land yourself in the hospital.”
The hospital? “Did he do that to you?”
“My husband did. Frank made him, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“Louis knew Frank was breathing down his neck, especially those last few years. Stress got to him. He thought Raymond would take over things, but Raymond…” She paused. “That wasn’t going to happen.”
Loreena put the flattened piece of bun in her mouth and chewed. The how and why of the woman’s injuries would be of no use to her. She had to keep the conversation casual. “What kind of business? You mean the bar?”
Mrs. Markos laughed, a throaty, rough sound. “That’s the smallest part of it. Louis started out with the bar, but the business is drugs.”
“Like marijuana?”
“Where’ve you been? Locked in a tower somewhere?”
Blushing, Loreena pulled off another piece of her bun, soaked up some of the spilled meat, and tucked it under the table, where Brute took it from her. “I’ve lived in a church most of my life.”
“That explains it.” Mrs. Markos took another drink.
“Then the men, they all—”
“They’d better not. Frank would fire them, or worse. You don’t inject what you sell. That’s the rules. It’s a business, not a holiday.”
Inject. What sort of drugs were these? “So then Saul…” She stopped. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
“Driving a new motorcycle? Have a shiny new girlfriend?”
Loreena lifted her head.
“Was he raised in the church, too?”
She nodded.
“He’s working for Frank, all right. He’s selling speed, girl.”
Speed. The remains of the bread went pasty on her tongue. “There was a man. Dirk. He came after my brother for money.”
“One of Frank’s watchdogs. I heard he was dead.”
Shifting in her chair, Loreena shrugged. “I don’t know. I only know he nearly killed Saul.”
The woman stopped chewing. In the kitchen, a clock ticked the seconds by. “You were there?” she said finally.
Loreena froze. Had she said too much?
“This thing they say you can do. That real? You do that to Dirk?”
Loreena didn’t know how to answer. That night, after the bar, Saul had advised her to lie. She figured she’d take that advice now. “He was beating up my brother. He was a big man. Not much I could do.” Several momen
ts passed before Mrs. Markos spoke again.
“I don’t give a damn. Kill the lot of them for all I care.” She went back to eating.
Burping quietly, Loreena covered her mouth. She couldn’t be sure if the woman was lying or not. Best to let it be. “So what would happen, I mean, if he wasn’t able to come up with the money?”
“He’d come up with it, or he’d be dead.”
“Would Frank really do that? He wouldn’t give him another chance?”
Mrs. Markos paused. “That’s why you came up here, wasn’t it? To find him?”
The cuffs wore painful grooves on her skin. Loreena pushed her plate away. “He left one night, suddenly. Didn’t take his bike.”
“Then he’s either dead or sent on assignment.”
There was that word again, the one Shawn had used. “What’s that mean?”
“If Frank had a dangerous assignment, something he didn’t want to risk his good men on, he might have sent your brother. Gives him a chance to redeem himself, and Frank builds power without much risk.”
“Builds power?”
“The Grizzlies own this area, about fifty miles out in all directions. Won’t find anyone that’ll stand up to them. But Frank wants to change that. One hundred miles out, he wants. That means stepping into the territory of another club.”
Brute jumped up and whined, and then woofed. Mrs. Markos dropped her fork on the plate and got up. “I think they’ve come for you.”
Loreena stiffened. Now? After dinner? She waited while the woman crossed the living room to check the window.
“It’s Frank. Go to the bathroom. I’ll delay him while you get yourself together.”
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