Bylines & Deadlines

by Kimberly Vinje

  “Red’s my lucky color,” she said as though she had been mortally wounded by Jack’s comments and looked at the clerk with a pleading expression. Jack looked at the clerk as if to say it’s not a big deal. “I always wear something red. Always.” She gave the clerk as sly smile and bit her lower lip. Megan wasn’t wearing any visible red which caused the clerks eyes to grow wide as they roamed over her. Flirting was easier when the target was this eager. She glanced at Jack. She remembered him doing their laundry and realized he knew she wasn’t wearing anything red.

  “Let me check, but I think we’ve got a red one out there, ma’am,” he scratched his dandruff drenched scalp as he stabbed at the keys with his pudgy little fingers.

  “Thanks. It really means a lot to me,” she said with an innocent smile. Jack took her by the arm and walked a step away from the counter.

  “All this and you’re worried about the color of the damned car?” She pulled her arm away again and stepped back to the counter. When it was time, Jack handed the man behind the counter a credit card and driver’s license - neither of them his. The man didn’t even look at them before swiping the card and punching in the license information and handing them back to Jack.

  As they walked toward the cars Jack thought out loud, “You know…the van we were in was red.”

  “Is it the van’s fault it was driven off the side of a mountain? Besides, we survived that, didn’t we?” she said nonchalantly.

  The ride was quiet, and Megan fidgeted with Will’s tie clip.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The house was isolated. It sat way off the road on acres of land and had a solid, brick fence around it with black, wrought iron gates that met at the driveway. Trees provided extra privacy. The house itself was a two story, white, colonial place. It had four tall, white columns running up the porch to the roof. Jack drove slowly past the house and looked at it carefully. He continued on and wound around so that the car was behind the house on another, minimally traveled road. Heavy trees and the wall-like fence separated them from the monstrous back yard. Jack pulled off the side of the road. He looked at her. She was staring at the tie clip.

  “Okay. We’re losing light, which may work to my advantage. I want you to take the car and go somewhere safe. Whatever you do, don’t go to the police - I don’t know who’s on his payroll. Half the force is driving cars my family gave them.”

  “Then what?” she said thinking, planning.

  “Do you still have the cell phone?”

  “How do you know I have a cell phone?”

  “Not much gets past me, Babe,” he said turned toward her with one arm resting on the top of the steering wheel.

  “I threw it in the garbage at the restaurant,” she admitted while looking at the little piece of gold in her hand. He nodded.

  “You go, and I’ll find you somehow to let you know when everything’s done,” he said checking the rear view mirror. She took a deep breath to keep the car from spinning around her. “If you don’t hear from me within 12 hours…”

  “Oh, God! Jack, I have to tell you something,” she felt sick to her stomach. Despite the heat from the car, she was still freezing.

  “What?”

  “Remember those guys from the hotel?”

  “Yeah?”

  ”I talked to them. They grabbed me at the gas station. They said they were the FBI and you were the bad guy and everything they said made sense. Actually, nothing made sense. I was so confused.”

  “Just tell me what happened,” he said. She could tell he was trying to avoid a conversation about her inner turmoil.

  “They had badges - I saw them. They asked me where we were going, and I told them. But something didn’t seem right and now I know what.” Her breathing had become heavy. Jack ran his fingers through his short, graying hair.

  “What?” he asked.

  “The badge. The type on the guy’s name didn’t match the rest of it - it was close but not exact. I know because of my background in journalism and type facing. Jack, I thought - shit, I don’t know what I thought. But you can’t go in now. They know,” she said reaching out her bandaged hand and putting it on his arm.

  “No, I’m tired of this. Somebody’s got to put a stop to this and it might as well be me. If I can’t stop them, I’m going to die trying,” he said in a low tone.

  “Jack, there’s more,” she said slowly.

  “More?” He looked at the hand on his arm.

  “I made some phone calls when I said I went to the bathroom. In minutes a news crew in a helicopter will be flying overhead. That’s why we needed a red car - so they knew what to look for when they got here. I figured if everyone knew I was here then you...they couldn’t hurt me. I also had Big Lou call Will, and I left him a voicemail. He knows where we are, too. I told him to call someone he trusted in the FBI,” she said. He sat quietly taking this in and processing it.

  “No, this could be good.” He shifted in his seat to face her more. “You’re sweating.” He put his hand on her forehead. “You have fever. Your hand is infected. I’m going in. Wait for the news crew and when they get here, have them take you to a hospital.”

  “You can’t go in,” she said.

  “I have to, Megan. Neither of us is ever going to be free again unless somebody does something to stop them. I have to do this for you, my mother and for me,” he took his right hand and put it on her left cheek. He moved his thumb back and forth over the feverish, chapped skin. He stared into her eyes until she closed them. “Remember, you need a doctor. If they don’t show up, you get out of here. At the first sign of trouble drive as fast as you can and don’t ever look back, okay?” he said solemnly. She opened her eyes, and as she did a tear fell. “Hey, we’re going to be okay,” he smiled. She nodded and wiped her face. Before she knew what was happening, he pulled her face to his and kissed her. Their lips were so chapped they were cracked, but that didn’t stop either of them. He abruptly pulled away and said, “See, ya.” And he was crossing the street and heading down a slope full of trees toward the wall before she could speak.

  She watched until he disappeared and decided to sit behind the wheel of the car just in case. She opened her door and walked around to the driver’s side. As she began to open the door she caught a flash of a reflection in the window. Before she could turn around, a hand knocked the door closed and away from her. She thought to scream, but the hand was over her mouth before she could. She tried to reach for her coat pocket for the gun but another hand beat her to it. She heard a voice say, “Come on. Let’s go.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Megan was shoved into the back seat of a black sedan. She felt pain in her left hand. Once she righted herself, she saw the back of a man’s head - the driver - and then glanced to her left and saw the man sitting next to her. One of the men was the guy who grabbed her at the gas station.

  “Where are we going?” she demanded. No answer. “Who are you?” Again, no response. Both men stared straight ahead. The car raced into the driveway of the house and through the open gate. Megan turned in her seat to see the gate close behind them. She looked down at the bandage on her hand. It was bleeding again. She glanced up at the man next to her. As much as it hurt, she squeezed her hand to produce more blood, adjusted the bandage and then put it on the black leather seat next to her. If anything was going to happen to her, she wanted her blood to be in as many places as possible. The car screeched to a halt on the side of the house, and she flew forward. She ran her hand along the back of the front seat and bent to touch the carpeting in the car. “Nice stop! Been watching too many cop shows lately? Let me give you a little tip - you’re the bad guys, and you end up dead or in jail. Didn’t Batman tell you crime doesn’t pay?”

  The doors flew open, and the man next to her grabbed her by her left arm. She put her bleeding hand on the arm of his black suit coat. He pulled her out of the car and nearly dragged her through the side door. “I can walk!” she yelped, and he let go as soon as the d
oor closed behind them. One man walked in front of her, the other behind as they passed down a long hall. She let her left hand casually brush up against the wall whenever she could. She reached her left hand out and tapped the man in front of her, “Hey! Where are we going?” She demanded again knowing it was futile but wanting to get traces of her blood on him as well. She had quietly “died” on the floor of a bar. This time, she wasn’t going down without a fight, she thought. No matter how scared she was, she was never going to show it. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

  They rounded the corner and walked through a living room area. She touched everything she could without drawing too much attention to herself - tables, a chair, a door frame. They walked into an office area. Behind the desk stood the man she had talked to outside the bathroom.

  “We meet again, Ms. Larkin. Welcome. Mr. Rawlings will join you shortly,” he said with a grin.

  “And short is something you’d know about,” she said confidently and flashed her best “I know something you don’t” smile. “Mind if I sit down? I’m exhausted. Plus, that will put us more on eye level,” she said and sat in one of the two wing-backed chairs in front of the desk. She rested her hand on the arm of the chair. The man behind the desk grinned with amusement.

  “You are a feisty little bitch, aren’t you?” he said smiling as if they were in a contest to see who could be the most over confident. “It’s a shame about your upcoming fatal accident. But then, you can’t kill a dead woman,” he said with mock pity in his voice. She was jelly inside, but managed the strongest front she could.

  “That will be all for now, Maestro,” a man’s voice said as it came through a door on the left side of the room. Maestro moved away from behind the desk and stood to the side. Megan knew instantly Robert Rawlings had come into the room - she remembered his face from the photos. He was in black dress pants and a blue dress shirt. His gray hair was streaked with black and slicked back revealing a bit of a widow’s peak. He had Jack’s eyes but without the kindness. She wondered how she could have missed the likenesses. He looked more like a handsome politician than a ruthless murderer. If he had looked as dangerous as he was, she would have melted through the chair and into the floor. Instead, she mustered her courage.

  “Hey, RJ. Good to see you,” she said. “What’s with the Maestro thing? Is it because maestros stand on boxes when they conduct?” Robert Rawlings laughed out loud.

  “That’s very funny,” he said. “Maestro conducts business for me, hence the name.”

  “Whatever,” she said sounding disappointed it wasn’t something more creative or demeaning. She spotted a candy dish on the desk. “Mind if I?” she asked, leaned forward and took a piece while wiping her hand on the edge of the mahogany desk. “I have a real sweet tooth.”

  “Help yourself,” he said and nodded to the dish. “I understand you’ve become quite friendly with my son.”

  “Ralston’s in jail. I have no intention of getting friendly with that animal. He’s a murderer, you know,” she said pretending not to know what he meant. “I don’t know if I’d be proud of him if I were you.”

  “You’re good at this game,” Rawlings said amused. “You know very well I’m talking about my other son, Jack.”

  “Jack’s your son?!” she said faking surprise. “No kidding? Huh! Who would have known? Would you have guessed that?” she asked Maestro. He didn’t answer. She shrugged. “So, let me get this straight. Your own son hates you enough to want you in prison?” She made a disapproving face that reminded her of Will’s secretary. “You must really suck at being a father. I wonder how he turned out so well with you as a dad. Must have been raised by someone else.” She popped a piece of candy in her mouth and chewed through her closed mouth smile. Rawlings was staring at her. She fought the panic back, so it wouldn’t show on her face.

  “You’re making this very easy for me,” he said.

  “I can be very helpful,” she said. “What am I doing?”

  “See, in a few minutes I’m going to place a call to the police and report two intruders in my home. When they get here, they’ll find two bodies shot dead - yours and my dear, long lost son Jack’s,” he said confidently and dramatically. “I’ll be heartbroken, of course.” She swallowed hard but managed to speak.

  “Wow. That does sound tragic. I bet you had some practice when you murdered your wife,” she said playfully but began to worry about Jack. “You’ll be able to tell your story to the news crew I’ve called. You might want to do something about your skin - I don’t know how the yellow will look on camera with the lights. Of course, I already told them my side of the story. You know - how you’ve been hunting me because I know what a filthy bastard you are, yada, yada, yada… Shhh… I’ll bet if you listen closely, you can hear the chopper overhead.” The room was quiet for a second. There it was - distant but there. She breathed a sigh of relief inside. “See? I can be very helpful,” she continued. “Oh, and I’m really sorry about the mess I’ve made,” she said as she raised her hand from the chair to reveal a blood spot. Mr. Rawlings looked down and saw the dark spot. His face remained stoic. “I’ve left quite a trail of blood since this goon over here made my hand start bleeding again.” She turned in her chair and spoke directly to the man standing behind her, “You are not a nice man. Does your mother know how you treat women?” Quick glances back and forth between the men let her know she was saying the right things. “I’m sure you wanted the house to look nice on TV, but what could I do?”

  “Well, it seems you’re more prepared than I anticipated,” he said looking down at the desk briefly and shuffling some papers.

  “You underestimated me, didn’t you?” she asked with mock disappointment nodding her head.

  “It appears so,” he said sounding more confident than she thought he should.

  “Hey, it happens to the best of them. Now, here’s the way I see it. If Jack and I don’t walk out of this house unharmed, a news crew is going to release the story that we disappeared here because our very red rental car is out on the street behind the house. I’m sure there are at least one or two straight cops or FBI agents who have been itching for an excuse to shoot your ass, so I’m sure you won’t have time to find all of the blood spots. You certainly won’t have time to get them all cleaned by the time this place is swarmed. I’m very thorough,” she added nearly in a sing-song voice. “I’ve even left a detailed message of the weekend’s events on some important people’s voice mails as a little insurance,” she talked slow and confidently now.

  The man shook his head slowly. “So you’re pretty sure you won this battle.”

  “No. No. I’m pretty sure I just won the war. See, if you manage to stay out of jail this time and anything happens to us, you’ll have a lot of explaining to do. Given our history, I don’t think you want that.” He looked at the men standing behind her.

  “Take her upstairs until I figure out what to do,” he said gruffly. “And make sure she doesn’t leave any more blood stains, you idiots.” The two men stepped forward from where they were standing behind her. One grabbed her arms and began duct taping her wrists together. Rawlings turned to Maestro, “Start cleaning house,” he said. Maestro nodded and disappeared.

  “Ouch! You know, you’re just giving me more to tell the authorities,” she said watching her wrists.

  Before she knew it, she was on her feet and being led back through the living room and up a grand staircase, down a hall and into a very pink bedroom. She heard RJ Rawlings call from downstairs. The men threw her into the room without binding her feet, locked the door and left her. Apparently, Rawlings and his goons were more concerned about what police would find downstairs than guarding her. She looked around. It was bright and floral from the wallpaper to the bed. She tried to rub her hand on the pastel flowers on the comforter, but it was harder now that her palms faced each other. She went to open a few dresser drawers. They were empty - must be a spare room, she thought. She went to the French doors and opene
d one. It led to a large balcony and an alarm sounded. What did she care? She had to get out.

  She walked quickly along the side of the house looking in windows and doors. She found Jack. He was in another room, duct taped at the wrists, ankles and mouth. He was obviously struggling to get free, on his side on a bed. She tried to open the French doors, but they were locked. He looked up startled and somewhat relieved. The sound of the helicopter grew louder. Megan looked around, but there wasn’t anything on the balcony she could throw through the glass. The flower pots were large and filled with dirt. She stepped back and kicked where the doors met and almost fell backwards. While her legs were strong from all those nights of running, the last several days had made her weaker. She took a deep breath and mustered all the strength she had. She kicked the doors again. She did it again. “Come on,” she screamed at herself as much as at the doors. It took her several tries, but she finally managed to kick the wooden door open.

  She rushed in and pulled the tape off Jack’s mouth and began working on the tape at his wrists. Once unbound, he worked on his ankles and then turned his attention to the tape around her wrists.

  “How did you get here?” he asked. He picked at the tape with what little fingernail he had then bit at it.

  “Long story,” she said. “Hurry up. That’s our ride,” she said.

  “But I didn’t find anything yet,” he insisted. He got the end of the tape lifted and unwrapped her wrists.

  “Jack, let’s get the hell out of here,” she pulled him in the direction of the door. He came out on the balcony with her and rushed to the ledge with her right behind him. He looked over.

  “I’ll go first. Once I’m on the ground, you climb over, and I’ll catch you,” he said as he swung a leg over the wall and touched the ledge on the other side. He held on with both arms as he swung the other leg over. He tried to use the traction from his snow boots to cling to the brick support column and inch his way down. Finally, he let go and fell on the thin layer of snow covering the concrete porch below. He jumped to his feet and yelled, “Come on.”