Call Me Lydia

by MaryAnn Myers

  Tony gave her a reassuring look. "Answer it."

  "But...?"

  "Answer it. Maybe it's just Sharon."

  Lydia hesitated, then took the phone and pushed down on the line. "Hello."

  "May I speak to Tony Armato?" a woman, sounding young, asked. "This is his sister Rosa."

  A wave of relief washed over Lydia. "Tony, it's for you. It's your sister."

  Tony told her to take a message, saying he' d call her later, and Lydia relayed that. "He's in a meeting."

  "But it's very urgent. I need to talk to him right away."

  Lydia covered the phone. "Tony, she says it's urgent."

  "I don't care. I've got enough on my mind right now." He turned his back to her. "Just take a goddamned message! All right?"

  Lydia swallowed and got back on the line. This was awkward. "Um, I'm sorry. But he really can't come to the phone."

  "Fine...just tell him it's about Cindy. She's gone into labor and wants him there."

  Lydia lowered her eyes to the table, drawing her breath in as every drop of blood drained from her face. "Um...just a minute. I think um…." She fumbled with the hold button, focusing on it as she cleared her throat.

  Tony had turned and was now staring at her.

  She looked across the room at him. "I think you'd better talk to her. She needs to tell you about this uh…." The name Cindy echoed in her head. "This woman that's having a baby..."

  Tony glanced down at the floor, shaking his head as he sighed heavily, then walked over and reached for the phone.

  Lydia held it tightly. "Tony, is she having your baby?"

  Tony looked away, running his fingers through his hair, and when he looked back, reaching for the phone, she had her answer.

  The receiver dropped from her hand, and turning, she grabbed her purse and started for the door. It seemed miles away. Miles and miles, and out in the hall, she had to catch her breath. It hurt. Everything hurt. Her chest. Her head.

  "Oh Jesus!" she gasped. "What am I gonna do?"

  She took the back stairs to her old office, going for the bottle of Scotch, slugged a mouthful and left the same way, down the back stairs. In her car, she downed another.

  Meanwhile, Tony was waiting for a second call, and when it came, he was told, "She's left the building and we're on her."

  "Okay…." he said, anxious to get on with this. "Now we get Miller over here." He handed John the phone, pressing down on the next line. "Call him."

  John hesitated. He couldn't trust his voice. "She looked destroyed...."

  Tony just stared at him for a second. "It got her out of here, John. That's what's important." Now wasn't the time for regrets. "Call him."

  * * *

  Instead of going home, Lydia pulled onto the turnpike, stopping to get a toll ticket, and slugged some more Scotch as she drove on. She decided to go east instead of west at the last second, screeching her tires as she veered recklessly, and the car behind her did the same.

  She glanced in her rearview mirror at it and put her blinker on to go over into the passing lane, talking to herself. "A baby! That bastard! That rotten bastard! Bob was right about him. How could I have been so stupid?"

  The car behind her switched too, and noticing that as she glanced in the mirror again, it was like deja’vu. "Oh shit!" She pulled over into the right lane and slowed a little, hoping the car would pass. But it didn't, and that confirmed it.

  She put her foot to the floor, which the Porsche obliged with a burst of speed. But that goddamned car stayed right with her, although it looked like a clunker. She wondered how - glancing at it again and again, when from out of nowhere, a red, flashing, emergency light appeared on its roof.

  "No way!" she said. She wasn't stopping; they could flash all they want. The next exit couldn't be far, and that's where she was going. Up ahead, just when she was starting to put some distance between them, who knows how many miles, were two black and white squad cars, cutting across the median, to block both lanes. After that, things got even fuzzier.

  She slowed down and edged onto the berm, and the clunker pulled in right behind her. There were flashing lights everywhere, and there was a policeman at her window, asking to see her license.

  She reached for her purse, and feeling around inside, looked up blankly. "Um...my wallet's gone."

  The policeman leaned slightly, with one hand on his revolver, and looked inside her car.

  "It was here..." Lydia stammered. "Honest." Then the two men who'd been following her walked up. "Besides, I was only trying to get away from them."

  "Ma'am, these men are police officers. You're not sup­posed to try to get away from them."

  Lydia glanced from one to the next. They were dressed casually, looking like normal guys, and at a second glance, one looked familiar. Everything was so confusing, even more so when the three of them stepped away and started talking among themselves. Cars were whizzing by; semis were vi­brating the road.

  "Ma'am, may I see your purse?"

  They were back. Lydia looked at them as if they were crazy. "Why? That's not allowed?"

  "Ma'am," the policeman insisted, motioning, with one hand on his revolver again.

  Lydia handed it to him begrudgingly. As he opened it, she looked at the other two men. The one was familiar. She tried to place him.

  "Ma'am, do you have a permit for this gun?"

  Lydia nodded. "In my wallet." No sooner said, she got a sick feeling in her stomach. No wallet. "Honest. Can't you check? I just bought it."

  The policeman drew a deep breath. "Ma'am, I'm afraid we're going to have to take you down to the station."

  "Why?" Lydia gasped.

  "Why?" The patrolman almost laughed. "Carrying a con­cealed weapon for one. Speeding, driving under the influence...."

  Lydia leaned forward, letting her head rest on the steering wheel. "Of all days. How fitting."

  Again the officers talked among themselves, their voices seemingly miles away amidst the cars and trucks whooshing by. Miles away and shrouded in a fog, like a bad dream. A dream about to get worse.

  "Ma'am, Officer Jackson and his partner will be taking you in. Would you get out of your car, please?"

  Lydia looked up. "No! I don't want to go with them! I want to go with you!"

  "Ma'am, don't make me add resisting arrest, too."

  "But..." Lydia sputtered. "They might not even be real cops. See, you don't understand. Someone's been following me. And then they were following me."

  The policeman opened her door. "I assure you, these men are real cops. Now please...."

  Lydia got out, feeling lightheaded. As one of the men took her by the arm, she glanced over her shoulder. "What about my car?"

  "Officer Rinaldi will drive it in, don't worry."

  Lydia nodded, and in the back seat of the clunker then, she looked around. The police scanner and its garbled sounds had a somewhat calming effect, so she started rationalizing her situation. After all, she had been speeding, and she had been drinking.

  She rested her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes, until another garbled sound came over the scanner, startling her. That's when she noticed this Officer Jackson staring at her in his rearview mirror.

  "Is it all right if I sleep on the way?" she asked, yawning and sounding like a child at bedtime.

  Officer Jackson nodded, smiling as he took a good long look at her. "Sure, go right ahead."

  Lydia nestled down a little to get more comfortable, dozing off almost instantly, and the next thing she knew, someone was tapping her on the arm. She opened her eyes and focused on Officer Jackson, then turned, expecting to be at the police station. But they were far from it. They were outside a motel. Room number twelve. The last in the row.

  Bile burned her throat. "What's going on?"

  "Don't be afraid."

  Don't be afraid? Lydia's eyes widened. How could she not be? Suddenly the other so-called officer, the one she thought looked familiar, pulled her Porsche
in next to them and got out and opened the door for her.

  "Please..." she said, backing away, "tell me what's going on."

  "Just come with me."

  Lydia edged back further. "No!"

  "Come on. No one's going to hurt you. You're under protective custody."

  "Then take me to the station," Lydia insisted, feeling around behind her for the door handle.

  "You'll be more comfortable here," he said, practically getting in himself to take hold of her arm.

  Lydia turned. There was no door handle.

  "Come on...."

  "But I really think you should take me to the police station."

  "There's no need for you to go anywhere but here. No report. No arrest."

  "Who are you?"

  Officer Rinaldi smiled. "Someone who's going to make sure you don't get hurt. Now come on."

  Officer Jackson reached over the seat, nudging her, and moving very slowly, she got out…her heart pounding in her ears. Loud, so loud. This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening. When they were almost to the door, she saw an old man coming out of one of the rooms up at the other end.

  "Call the police!" she shouted. "These men are...."

  Instantly, a hand covered her mouth, she was surrounded and shoved, and then she was in the room, with the door locked behind them.

  Jackson motioned for her to sit down, Rinaldi peeked out through the side of the drapes, and as she edged over to the chair, looking around frantically, she heard them saying something about hoping she hadn't blown their cover and having to find another place.

  She stared down at the worn path on the floor, trying to catch her breath. Find another place? When she looked up, Rinaldi was taking his jacket off, exposing a gun strapped under his arm.

  "I need to go to the bathroom," she said.

  Jackson pointed to it, and she stood up unsteadily. "Can I have my purse?" It was on the table behind them.

  They both nodded. Taking it with her, she went in and shut the door, leaning back against it. Her gun! She tore open her purse. But of course the gun was gone, and turning to lock the door, her only hope, she gasped. It looked like it had been busted with a sledgehammer.

  Then came a knock, and she jumped. "Are you all right in there?"

  She managed a feeble, "Yes," then walked over to rinse her face, combing her hair after that, like a robot going through programmed paces, and finally went back out.

  Rinaldi was on the phone. "Yes, we have her," he was saying. "Yes, she's fine."

  Lydia sat down in a chair on the other side of the bed. She was not fine. She was terrified, unable to make sense of any of this. And the Scotch in her blood wasn't helping. Who was he telling she was fine? Who was he talking to?

  Then it dawned on her. How stupid. I've been kidnapped. Oh my God, that's it, she thought. I've been kidnapped. Probably because of that goddamned article about being a millionaire.

  She stared down at her hands and, when he hung up, darted her eyes across the room. "What are you going to do to me?"

  Rinaldi just looked at her for a second, shaking his head, and it was then that Lydia realized he wasn't familiar at all. She'd never seen him before. He just reminded her of Tony. Same eyes. Same actions. Only his hair, shoulder length and wavy, was different.

  "Nothing, Lydia." He walked over and sat down on the bed in front of her. "We're just going to keep an eye on you for a while."

  Lydia edged back in her chair. "How do you know my name? I never told you my name."

  Rinaldi ran his fingers through the sides of his hair and sighed heavily. "I know who you are. I know all about you."

  "I'm being held for ransom, aren't I?"

  "No." He smiled. "You're not. And I assure you, even though we don't look the part, we're on the right side of the law, and nothing is going to happen to you."

  "Then why am I here?"

  "I'm sorry, I can't tell you that. Not until this is over."

  Over? Lydia stared, silenced by the implication.

  "Listen," he said. "My name's Frank, and that's Dave." He motioned to him. "And I promise you, you're being held for your own good. Nothing is going to happen to you. Nothing."

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Tony started pacing the floor as soon they got up to John's office. Jan and Sylvia had been sent home, the building was under surveillance, the room was bugged, and there was nothing to do now but wait.

  He couldn't stand it, and John and Reed watching his every move only made it worse. "I'll be right back," he told them. "I want to double-check the back stairway."

  He wanted to make sure it was locked. The last thing they needed was for the janitor to come up. As he passed by accounting on his way back, he thought he heard something.

  He stopped, listened for a second and, hearing it again, opened the door and peeked in. The lights were off, making it impossible to see past the first two desks, but the noise was

  obviously coming from somewhere toward the back. A soft, tapping noise.

  He slid his hand up and down the wall, feeling for the light switch. Nothing.

  The tapping continued.

  He glanced down the hall toward John's office, hesitating, then eased into the room. The tapping stopped. He held his breath, hoping he hadn't been heard. The room got even darker then, the computer screen having been turned off, and now there was the sound of shuffling feet coming his way. He braced himself and waited. Then he lunged out and grabbed whoever it was around the neck and started backing up toward the door.

  Elbows pounded at his ribs, his shins were being kicked repeatedly, and as he tightened his grip, his face was clawed. Like razors. He let go and fell back against the door, bringing his hands to his face, only to get a kick in the thigh, which barely missed his groin. With that, he lost it. One blow and this person hit the floor with a thud.

  He fumbled around, finally finding the light, and when he turned, he gasped. "Oh my God!"

  It was a woman. He'd just decked a woman.

  "Jesus Christ." He leaned down and, turning her face, recognized her immediately as one of the women from second shift. A grandmother yet.

  He opened the door and yelled for Reed, and he and John came running, only to stop dead at his side. "What happened?"

  Tony shook his head, staring down at her, saying how he'd hit her, and just then she stirred, moaning as she opened her eyes. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. When she moved to get up, Tony reached down to help her.

  "What were you doing in here?"

  The woman raised her hands to her lip, shaking her head. It was then you could see that most of her fingernails had been bent back to the quick, blood oozing out from under them.

  Tony guided her to a chair. "Are you all right?"

  She nodded, but still looked dazed, and he turned to John and Reed then, whose mouths dropped.

  "Your face!"

  Tony waved them off, giving them a number to call. "Tell them we need someone up here. Now!"

  While John made the phone call, Reed insisted on taking a closer look at the cuts on Tony's face. "Three are bad," he said, cringing. "Really bad. The rest I don't know. Maybe them too. They're all pretty deep."

  Tony pushed his hand away when he pressed too close to one. He reached for the box of tissues on Sylvia's desk, handing the woman a few sheets and taking some for himself.

  “I’ll bet that's how Lydia got hurt the other day," Reed said, turning away squeamishly when Tony started dabbing at the deepest of the cuts.

  "I never meant to hurt her!" the woman blurted out. "But I knew I did. My fingernail...."

  Tony looked at her for a moment, remembering how she would bring in homemade cookies and candies. She was always the one baking a cake when someone on her line had a birthday, always smiling.

  John hung up the phone, saying someone would be right up, and in less than a minute, a detective was on the scene, asking questions.

  Tony explained what happened, and Reed checked the comput
er to see what she'd been doing. "The payroll. Some­thing with the payroll."

  The woman started crying. "I had to! They have Dan! They said they would kill him if I didn't!"

  Tony drew a breath and looked off. Up until now, he'd only feared what the extent of all of this might be. Now he knew. He glanced at John and Reed, then walked over to the file cabinet, propping his elbow on it as he ran his fingers through his hair.

  John questioned the woman. "Dan? You mean...?"

  "Dan Morris," she sobbed.

  Tony stared at the floor, thinking about everything that led up to this.

  "My brother," she said.

  Tony looked at her, feeling sorry for her, and when the detective got on the phone for further instructions, he intervened. "What if she talks? What if she tells you what she knows?"

  The detective held the phone to his chest, looking from one to the other before giving a slight nod, and Tony walked over to her.

  "You need to cooperate with them - it's as simple as that. You talk, and they'll...."

  The detective kind of cleared his throat, shaking his head. Tony had to be careful.

  The two of them looked at each other. "Come on!" Tony said. "You think she belongs in jail?"

  All this took place as the woman trembled, terrified of what would happen to Dan.

  The detective stared, no nod, he didn't shake his head, nothing, and Tony pulled up a chair and sat down in front of the woman. He softened his voice.

  "Listen to me. I've been to prison. And they're all alike. You don't want to go there. You don't belong there."

  "But what about Dan?" the woman said, weeping.

  Tony motioned over his shoulder at the detective, who was still holding the phone to his chest. "You need their help. It's the only way."

  "But…."

  Tony searched her eyes. He wanted one name. Just one. And it had to come unsolicited.

  "But...Bob Miller said he'd kill Dan if I didn't...."

  Tony stared. Had she said it? Yes, distinctly. He looked at John and Reed. From there it was up to the detective.

  The woman had taken over for her brother, monitoring the accounting and making adjustments as instructed, and Bob Miller was waiting for her call.