BLACK to Reality

by Russell Blake

  After another quarter of an hour, a handsome thirty-something man in a blue suit approached the table.

  “Roxie?” No trace of an accent.

  Roxie set her empty margarita glass down. “Yes?”

  “My name’s Tony. I have to apologize. Alex is running really late. He asked me to come get you and take you to the villa. He’s arranged for a private chef there.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, it’s all taken care of. Again, sorry, but air traffic conspired against him this time. Can I get you another drink, or would you like me to pay the bill so you can get going?”

  “Oh, wow, well, how long will he be?”

  “Maybe another half hour or so.” Tony smiled disarmingly and looked through the picture window at the surf, where the lights from the restaurant reflected off the surge.

  “Might as well pay up. There’s tequila at the villa, right?”

  “Of course. A full bar.”

  Roxie rose, and Tony tossed a twenty-dollar bill on the table and nodded to the waiter. He led her outside, where a forest green SUV waited. Tony moved to open the rear door for her.

  “Where’s Jacobs?” she asked and froze when she saw the ugly muzzle of a snub-nose revolver in Tony’s hand.

  “Get in. Make a sound, I’ll brain you. There’s nobody around to help you, so it’s a question of whether you want to get hurt or not,” he snarled, the vestige of civility gone. “And worse comes to worst, I’ll shoot you.”

  Roxie’s eyes widened as she took in the weapon, and then Tony’s powerful hand was on her arm, forcing her into the car. Another man sat on the rear bench seat, a pistol trained on her.

  “Relax, princess. Don’t make no trouble and you’ll be fine,” he snarled.

  “What is this?” she demanded as Tony slammed the door and moved to the driver’s seat.

  “What does it look like? Lonely hearts club meeting,” the man said.

  The big engine revved, and they were out of the parking area in seconds and on the road south, the air thick with salt and exhaust. Tony caught Roxie’s frightened glance in the rearview mirror. “Just do as we say and everything’ll be okay. You understand?”

  “Where’s Alex?”

  “You’re not a smart one, are you? Guess they weren’t handing out brains in the beauty line that day.”

  “He’s not waiting for me, is he?”

  “Here’s how this is going to work. We’re going to pull past a guard gate, where you’re not going to make a peep. You do, they’ll be scraping your brains off the window. Do you understand?”

  Roxie nodded, the pressure from the unidentified man’s gun in her ribs unmistakable. “Just don’t hurt me.”

  “Just take it nice and easy. It’ll be over before you know it.”

  “So this is a kidnapping?”

  “Keep your piehole shut. Capisce?” the gunman hissed.

  She didn’t say anything. Soon they were pulling down a long drive alongside a large hotel. At the guarded barrier she did as instructed, and Tony gave the security man a salute and offered a few words of Spanish. The guard laughed and waved them through, and then they were pulling down a gentle rise toward a marina where at least a hundred yachts rocked at the docks in the darkness. Tony drove to the far end of the parking area, cloaked in gloom, and killed the engine.

  “Put the tape over her mouth,” he ordered as he held his gun on her. The other man unrolled a strip of duct tape and plastered it across her face. Roxie glared hatred at him, and Tony chuckled. “You’re a handful, aren’t you? Come on. Let’s go.”

  The two men manhandled her out of the SUV and down a ramp to one of the shoreline security gates, where he swiped a card and pushed the steel door open. Halfway down the dock a fifty-eight-foot motor yacht brooded in the dark, the water in front of it silvered by the moon as it tugged at the dock lines. Tony stepped up a set of stairs and hopped aboard, then nodded to his companion. He pushed Roxie up, and Tony caught her as she almost went down, her feet slipping on the condensation.

  The interior of the yacht was spacious, the salon rich red teak. Tony led her below to the aft stateroom and, with a swift gesture, ripped the tape off her mouth, leaving a pink welt in its wake.

  “Ow. That hurt.”

  Tony ignored her. “These are the rules. No noise or it gets worse for you – much worse. No stupid escape or sabotage attempts, or I beat you senseless for fun. Just be a nice girl, keep quiet, and you’ll get out of this fine. Try anything and it’ll be your worst nightmare. My partner there would love a shot at you, if you know what I mean, so if you want to test me, there won’t be any second warning, just pain and him, all night long.” He paused to ensure it was sinking in. “This is for real. Do I need to knock out some teeth so you take me seriously?”

  Roxie shook her head, clearly terrified.

  “Good. There’s a little bathroom in there. None of the windows open, so don’t bother trying. And remember what I said – break one, you become a sex toy for big boy.”

  The door slammed behind Tony, and Roxie took in the dark surroundings. A platform bed occupied the center of the stateroom, and there were only two doors – the exit and the bathroom. She groped along the edge of the bed and felt for one of the small lamps mounted above it, but received nothing for her efforts but a click when she turned the switch. She felt inside of the fixture. No bulb. The other was the same story.

  The bathroom was pitch black, but as her eyes adjusted, she could make out the commode and a sink wedged next to a shower stall. Dim light filtered in through the high, small window, and she remembered Tony’s words about escape.

  Roxie sat on the bed and cried as the boat gently rocked from the swell inside the protected harbor. The heavy nylon lines groaned softly over her muffled sobs as her dream getaway with Alex transformed into a trip to hell.

  Up in the salon, Tony poured himself several fingers of Scotch over ice and sat in one of the two barrel chairs. “Toss her phone overboard, Bobby, and take a load off.”

  “You got it,” Bobby agreed and slipped the iPhone out of Roxie’s purse and moved up to the deck. Tony heard a muffled splash, and Bobby returned. “I hope there’s beer.”

  “I’m sure of it.”

  Bobby went to the refrigerator and grunted. “Dos what? What happened to Bud?”

  “Come on. Beer’s beer.”

  Bobby reluctantly opened a bottle and lowered himself onto the couch that sat beneath one of the salon’s windows.

  “What time do we call this Black bozo?”

  “The man said tomorrow at noon.”

  “Why wait?”

  “Because it’s after midnight, and the man wants him occupied tomorrow night. He’s got to miss the show. Didn’t I already explain this?”

  “Why don’t we just whack him? Why all the drama?” Bobby asked, then burped beer fumes.

  “You’re a pig.”

  Bobby burped again. “Oink.”

  “We whack him in the U.S. and that creates more problems. This way he just disappears.”

  “What about the girl? She’s seen our faces.”

  “Doesn’t matter. What happens in Mexico…”

  “Then let me at her now.”

  “That isn’t the deal. We’re supposed to wait until we hear about whether this worked. We may need to put her on the phone to convince the guy. I don’t want her in shock. Just hold your horses, all right?”

  “Damned shame. She’s a feisty-looking one, with that hair and them tats. I like ’em like that.”

  Down in the stateroom Roxie listened through the door, barely making out the words, but enough to understand that her hours were numbered. Shocked at the reality of her situation, she stood frozen, ear pressed against the slab of wood, as the captor named Bobby described exactly what he planned to do with her.

  Eventually the discussion ended, and she stumbled back to the bed, already queasy from the rocking, the walls seeming to close in as her mind raced to formulate a plan to save h
erself before Bobby came for her.

  Chapter 31

  Ed’s snores rumbled in the bedroom, Mugsy’s softer drones a contretemps, making for a polyrhythmic moonlight sonata. Black rolled over, half asleep, wondering what had woken him. Something tugged at his awareness, but he tried to ignore it. Finally, he threw off the blanket and staggered to the bathroom, his eyes narrowed to slits in the faint light from the window. When he was done, he returned to bed, where the blinking red LED on his cell phone on the night table indicated he’d received a message. Black fumbled it to life and peered at the screen. He’d gotten one text from a number he didn’t recognize.

  Curiosity got the better of him, and he opened the message box. When he read the contents, he blinked rapidly, trying to clear his head, and then read carefully again. Fully alert, he got up and edged to where his pants and shirt were draped over the back of a chair and pulled them on before slipping out the door, barefoot, phone in hand.

  The mansion was deathly quiet as he made his way down the stairs and outside to the pool deck. When he was far enough away from the house so he could talk without being overheard, he tapped a number in his speed dial. Stan’s voice sounded even raspier than it had the other night.

  “This better be good or I’m hanging up.”

  “I just got a text. I need your help,” Black said.

  “What? You can’t read?”

  “I’m serious. It’s from Roxie. She’s been kidnapped.”

  “Sure she has. Go sleep it off.”

  “I’m serious. The message says, ‘Help, kidnapped in Ensenada, on a boat in harbor next to big hotel. Boat name Downtime. Roxie.’ I don’t think this is a hoax.”

  “What’s she doing in Ensenada?” Stan demanded, sounding completely awake now in spite of it being three in the morning.

  “She had a dinner date with that Alex guy from the show.”

  “In Mexico? Doesn’t she know how dangerous it is down there?”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Let me think for a minute.”

  “Do you have any contacts with the police south of the border?”

  “Not really. They aren’t very cooperative with us. Something about our government arranging for guns to make their way to the cartels, to be used against the local cops, rubbed them the wrong way.”

  “Then how are we going to save her?”

  “I can try putting it through official channels. But they don’t move that quickly, if at all.” Stan paused. “You said she texted you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’d think the kidnappers would take her phone.”

  “Maybe they’re not tech savvy?”

  “They’d have to be brain dead. Did you try sending her a reply?”

  “No.”

  “Why don’t you? Verify it’s really her. Ask her something only she would know.”

  “Okay. Hang on a second.” Black typed in a fast question and pushed send. Twenty seconds later he got a response. “Dude, it’s her.”

  “Ask her how many kidnappers.”

  Black did so, then read the answer out loud. “Only two that she knows of. But there could be others.” Black heard Stan typing on his computer.

  “She said it’s a marina by a hotel?”

  “Yeah. They were going to some restaurant on the coast, north of town. Why?”

  “I’m on Google Earth, looking for marinas with a big hotel nearby. So far I only see one. Just a little north of the city. The main marina at the port is huge. Text her and ask her how big the marina is. How many boats.”

  Black did, and the response was immediate. “She guesses maybe a hundred. Mostly big.”

  “Bingo. That matches this one. Ask her what she’s texting on.”

  Black tapped in his message and waited. His phone pinged and vibrated.

  “Wrist phone her dragon lady gave her so she could always reach her.” Black paused. “Really? I thought that was just in Dick Tracy or something. They have wrist phones?”

  “You really don’t get out much, do you? They’re all the rage in some circles.”

  “Damn. She says to send help. She’s in danger.”

  “Christ almighty. Fine. You’re in Malibu, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you have a car?”

  “I’m not allowed to leave the house. And no, I don’t have a car.”

  “Sounds like you better decide whether you want to save Roxie or obey your curfew.”

  “Screw it. I’ll leave a note that I had a life or death emergency.”

  “I can be there in…give me an hour. I don’t suppose you have your passport with you?”

  “We’ll have to stop by my place.”

  “There goes another hour. We’re not going to be on the road till five or six at this rate. That won’t put us into Ensenada until nine or ten. Depends on rush hour in Mexico.”

  “Do you have a plan?”

  “You mean besides smuggling illegal firearms into Mexico and winging with an over-the-hill rocker to rescue his secretary?”

  “Hey. Who’s over the hill? I still have game.”

  “Sure you do, sport. I’ll pick you up in an hour. What’s the address?”

  Chapter 32

  Black was shivering from the chill at the bottom of the hill when Stan pulled up an hour and a half later in his 2011 Dodge Charger. Black was so used to seeing him in his undercover cruiser he had to do a double take at the apparition that seemed to float out of the fog.

  “How the hell does anyone see out here?” Stan griped as Black got in.

  “Beats me. Took you long enough, though.”

  “You try driving through pea soup. You’re lucky I didn’t wind up in the canyon.”

  Black pulled his door closed, and Stan eased the car forward. “It’s only like this for a few miles, but it’s rough going until we’re out of it.”

  “I’d rather get there late than not at all.”

  “You heard anything more?”

  “I got two more texts asking when we were going to rescue her.”

  “Have the kidnappers called?”

  “Not yet. Assuming they call me at all.”

  “Why else would they have snatched her? Does she have family in town?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “There’s your answer.”

  Black hesitated. “Maybe they want to get some cash out of Alex?”

  “Possible. But frankly, right now, my money would be on him luring her across the border to facilitate a grab.”

  “Stan, the man’s a star.”

  “Right. And everyone knows stars are never involved in anything shady. Just ask OJ.”

  “The last innocent man. You must be crabby.”

  “I don’t do well on less than four hours of sleep.”

  “I hear you.”

  Black was in and out of his apartment in under five minutes with his passport in his back pocket and his Glock in his belt holster. Stan glanced at the gun as he got into the car.

  “Possession of a firearm’s a felony down there.”

  “Only if they catch you. Last time I was in TJ they didn’t even stop the car.”

  “They aren’t looking for much going south. Better hope it’s our lucky day.”

  “You packing?”

  “Of course. But not my service piece. An old spare. Untraceable.”

  “You old lawbreaker, you.”

  “Damn right.”

  The ride through Tijuana was uneventful, but the roads to Ensenada were clogged with traffic, the closure of the toll road causing massive congestion. By the time they made it to the marina, it was ten a.m., and it took a fifty-dollar bill and a story about meeting a friend at his boat to get them through the gate. They parked on the gravel lot adjacent to the docks, and Stan handed Black a pair of small binoculars.

  “See if you can spot Downtime.”

  “I don’t know… There are a lot of boats here.”

  “Better get started.”<
br />
  Stan opened his car door and got out, stretching his legs with a sigh.

  Black glanced at him. “Where are you going?”

  “I need to use the john. I’m guessing there’s one up at the marina office.”

  “See if they have any coffee. I could use a gallon.”

  Ten minutes later Stan reappeared, accompanied by a short bald man with a swarthy complexion, who walked with him down to the nearest dock and unlocked the gate. Stan was gone for five minutes, and then the pair returned and repeated the performance at the next dock. Black was having a hard time seeing many of the transoms due to the angle, and was ready to get out of the car when Stan materialized by the rear fender.

  “The boat’s down on that dock,” he said, motioning with his head. “About halfway down. Big sucker.”

  “You see any guards?”

  “Nothing obvious.”

  “You have any thoughts on how to get aboard a boat in broad daylight without being shot to pieces by the kidnappers?”

  “One thing at a time. Let’s watch and wait. We might catch a break or see something we can use in our favor.”

  “So charging in guns blazing is out?”

  “For now. But if we do that, you’re going first.”

  “My turn for the bathroom run,” Black said. “Didn’t see any coffee?”

  “The dock master said there’s some in the hotel, but I didn’t want to sidetrack him.”

  “How did you get him to show you around?”

  “I told him I was thinking about moving my boat from Santa Monica and he got all flirty. Little peso signs blinking in his eyes.”

  Black trudged up the drive to the hotel, where he used the bathroom while waiting for one of the waiters in the downstairs restaurant to brew a pot of coffee. He bought two polystyrene cups of the rich dark roast and carried them past the large pool, where several couples were soaking up the late morning sun.

  Two hours later they were no closer to saving Roxie than they had been when they arrived. Black had sent her another text message, and she confirmed that it was still only the two captors onboard. There were only a few people around, mostly local boat cleaners going about their chores. Black was almost ready to go back to the hotel for another bathroom break when Downtime’s cabin door opened and a dark-haired man wearing a dress shirt and suit slacks emerged. He stretched his arms over his head and glanced around before moving to the transom and hoisting himself onto the stairs. Stan and Black watched him stroll to the end of the dock and up the gangplank to the security door, which he pushed open.