Gideon

by Grant Rosenberg

  “Come on, Bro. I promised these guys I’d deliver and you gotta help me, or they’re gonna fuck me up bad. I got money and…”

  Moretti grabbed two of Charlie’s fingers that were wrapped around his arm and viciously snapped them backwards. While the sound of the bones breaking couldn’t be heard over the music, Charlie’s howl of pain loudly resonated throughout the VIP room. All heads turned in his direction.

  As Charlie grabbed his mangled fingers and backed away, Moretti was on his feet. His face was mottled with blooms of rage. He grabbed Charlie by his shirt and shouted in his face, spittle flying from his mouth. “You cocksucker! Who the fuck do you think you are?”

  Charlie lashed out with his good hand and caught Moretti with a tight jab to the solar plexus, momentarily knocking the wind out of him. Charlie looked around in panic. How quickly could he get the hell out of there? He’d come to score drugs and was now in a fistfight with one of the biggest dealers in the city. How did this go so wrong so fast?

  As these questions ran through his dense skull, Moretti let out a roar and attacked with an adrenaline-fueled rage, launching an all-out assault that turned Charlie into a human punching bag.

  Kelly was appalled and frightened by how quickly things had escalated, but recognized she wouldn’t get a better opportunity.

  As she opened her purse, she felt dizzy. She’d only drunk one glass of champagne and she’d never had a problem holding her alcohol. She chalked it up to her surroundings, the dull, muted thud of the music and the overwhelming stress.

  Kelly managed to slip a tiny vial out of her purse. It held the granules from two Zolpidem capsules. She’d planned to use only half of it, but figured that a double dose would work better, faster and not have deleterious effects. She dumped the entire contents into Moretti’s champagne. The miniscule grains fizzled and immediately dissolved. Perfect.

  This was going to work!

  Two husky bouncers made their way toward the melee, but the VIP crowd was on their feet, surrounding the gladiators and shouting encouragement to their boy Moretti.

  Charlie was reeling and fell back against a table, sending drinks flying. He managed to grab hold of a bottle of Grey Goose Cherry Noir by the neck and wildly swung it at Moretti’s head.

  Moretti stepped back, the bottle barely missing his face, then shot out a fierce kick to Charlie’s right knee. Charlie collapsed like a house of cards in a gusty wind, writhing in pain. The bouncers finally made it through and got to Charlie before Moretti could inflict more damage.

  As they dragged away a hobbling Charlie Brown, Moretti smoothed back his hair and turned back to Kelly at the table.

  “Is that bad enough for you?”

  “Tell me that wasn’t for my benefit.”

  “If I said yes, would you be impressed?”

  Kelly shook her head and truthfully responded, “I’d be terrified.”

  “Sorry that happened. People don’t usually come up to me and start a fight.”

  “I’m going to have a great story to tell the other teachers tomorrow.”

  He smiled. “I’m glad I could make your trip memorable.”

  Kelly was hit with a more powerful wave of dizziness and nausea.

  “Are you alright?”

  She nodded and forced a smile, then patted the seat next to her. “Why don’t you sit down?”

  Moretti shook his head. “I don’t like attracting attention. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Don’t you want to finish your drink? We just opened a new bottle.”

  “We can get Dom anywhere. I know a place that’s quiet.”

  Kelly’s mind was becoming increasingly muddled and her thoughts disjointed. A dozen tiny voices were whispering through the haze, but she couldn’t make them out. Despite a gnawing sense of foreboding, she felt completely helpless to do anything about it.

  “Sofie? You coming?” Moretti smiled, the picture of innocence. But, there was something behind the smile.

  Something unsettling.

  48

  Kelly didn’t know where she was or how she got there. She was wrapped in a cloud of confusion and had only vague recollections of Moretti half-guiding, half-carrying her out of the club. Her head reverberated with convoluted echoes of a conversation in Moretti’s car about where they were going, but she couldn’t coalesce that muddle into a coherent thought.

  She was reclining on a U-shaped leather sectional that took up one corner of a tastefully decorated living room. Paintings of the Tuscan countryside hung on the wall. Bookcases on either side of a massive flat screen were lined with Roman urns and water jugs.

  Kelly sat up and was instantly hit with a rush of vertigo. She felt like she was aboard a rowboat in the middle of a violently turbulent ocean, and had to physically brace herself so she wouldn’t tumble onto the floor. Something was drastically wrong and Kelly instinctively knew she was in danger. She closed her eyes and forced herself to concentrate, to fight through the swirling fog, and then she suddenly remembered. She was in the lion’s den.

  Moretti had brought her to his home.

  That definitely wasn’t part of the plan.

  How long had she been there? Why did her brain feel like it had been put through a blender? Her confusion led to anxiety, which in turn elevated her fear. She needed to get out of there. Now!

  Where was her purse? Her eyes desperately darted around the room, but her bag was nowhere to be found.

  Just then, Moretti entered the room from the kitchen, holding a bottle of Cristal and two flutes in one hand, and a large bottle of Fuji water in the other.

  “Ah, back to the land of the living,” he said.

  He crossed the room and set the bottles and glasses on a sleek coffee table in front of the sofa. “This is the good stuff,” he said, as he began uncorking the champagne.

  “How long have I been here?” Kelly was alarmed to hear herself slurring the words.

  “About a half hour. You were totally out of it. When we got here you said you needed to lie down for a minute, then collapsed on the couch.” Moretti wiggled the cork loose, then let it dramatically explode from the bottle like it was shot from a tiny cannon. Cristal bubbled forth in a display of opulent waste.

  He filled the flutes and slid one over to Kelly, who shook her head. “I’ve had enough.”

  Moretti grabbed the bottle of water, unscrewed the top and handed it to Kelly, who accepted it gratefully.

  She took a swig. It tasted fine. In fact, it tasted great. Kelly chugged down half of the bottle before she stopped to catch her breath. She was still groggy and slipping in and out of lucidity.

  Kelly turned to Moretti. “What did you do to me?”

  “What? I didn’t do anything,” he said with what appeared to be genuine innocence and concern.

  Kelly shook her head, trying to clean out the cobwebs and achieve a burst of clarity. It worked, at least long enough for her to realize… “Rohypnol! You gave me a roofie!”

  In retrospect, it was blatantly obvious. Her cognitive facilities were still too murky for her to understand that she’d gone from the hunter to the hunted, but she was clearheaded enough to be outraged.

  “Do I look like the kind of guy who needs to roofie a woman? That’s a total punk-ass move.” He took a sip of the Cristal and smiled his approval.

  Moretti was handsome and successful. He wasn’t the type to roofie a woman; or was he? At this point, Kelly had absolutely no idea.

  Moretti saw the confusion on her face and offered up an answer. “I’ve heard a few of the bartenders at The Patch have been known to spike drinks of women who are there alone. When bartenders get off their shift, they go for the kill. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was something in that spritzer you were drinking.”

  Kelly took a pause. Maybe he wasn’t the one who drugged her. Maybe she’d misjudged him.

  “Listen,” Moretti said, “you were in bad shape at the club, so I brought you back here so you could sleep it off. I would’ve taken
you to your hotel, but I don’t know where you’re staying.”

  Kelly drank more water, hoping it would dilute the drugs in her system, but in her current state of mind she couldn’t recall if Rohypnol reacted like that. In her current state of mind, she couldn’t spell Rohypnol.

  She put the bottle on the table. “I have to go. Where’s my purse?”

  Moretti shrugged. “No idea. Maybe you left it at the club.”

  Panic set in. “I need my phone. My wallet.”

  “You can use my phone and I’ll give you cash if you need it.” Moretti smiled. “I’m happy to take you to the hotel, but I seem to remember you wanting to know about my dirty secrets. Still interested?”

  So there it was. The lid to Pandora’s box being lifted once again, its wicked mysteries huddled in a dark corner, making vague promises about creeping into the light. Unfortunately, Kelly was in the dark as well. She had enough self-awareness to know that she lacked the mental dexterity it took to lead Moretti to admit he’d committed vehicular manslaughter… but you never knew where the conversation might go.

  Another crossroad, another decision.

  Kelly finished the remainder of her water and nodded. “Okay. Talk.”

  49

  Moretti downed his Cristal and slowly refilled his glass, letting the anticipation build. He was used to being in control, and he was clearly in the driver’s seat. He took a sip of champagne and smiled appreciatively, before he finally broke the silence.

  “I inherited a business from my uncle,” said Moretti. “He died of a heart attack not long ago and left behind a large diverse portfolio.”

  Kelly struggled to process what Moretti was saying. Her mind was in hyper-drive, aching to be an active participant in a dialogue that was unquestionably the most important of her life. “Portfolio? Like stocks and bonds?”

  He shook his head. “He had a hand in a lot of businesses. He was good at making money for himself and his partners. And he knew how to deal with the competition.”

  She was aware that Arthur Moretti was a criminal and that Tommy had followed in his footsteps. Getting Tommy to admit it was important. Or was it? Damn it! She had no idea. If only she could think clearly.

  “Deal with the competition?” she asked, hoping this would lead somewhere useful.

  Moretti took another sip, and nodded. “My uncle was very persuasive in laying out alternate business models. After a little coaxing, his new partners always agreed to terms.”

  Click. Even with a small percentage of her brain cells firing, that statement left no doubts.

  “It sounds like your uncle was a mobster or something.”

  Moretti smiled. “He was a businessman and entrepreneur.”

  Kelly felt another wave of fatigue, and once the wave crested it crashed hard, battering her with pounding ferocity.

  Moretti saw the confusion in Kelly’s eyes and he casually checked his watch. “I was waiting for that second hit to give you a little tune up,” he said with a satisfied grin.

  Kelly shook her head. It was becoming more and more difficult to stay awake. “In the water…?”

  Moretti’s smug look gave her the answer.

  Damn it! She was losing consciousness too fast. Still so much to learn.

  “Why?”

  “Isn’t it obvious, Kelly?”

  The mention of her name sent a sudden jolt of adrenaline through her entire being. Enough to push her consciousness to the surface for a few moments.

  Moretti saw it in her eyes and savored her moment of revelation. “I’ve known about you for months. You and poor Jessica. Once I found out about your father’s side-job, it wasn’t hard to gather info on his lovely daughters.”

  He smiled, downed his drink, and continued, “I’ve spent many nights thinking about what I was going to do with you, and now here we finally are.”

  He saw her panic, smelled her fear and despair. This was even better than he’d hoped for. Kelly tried to move, but the drug was coursing through her body and rendered her physically incapacitated.

  Moretti placed his hands on her shoulders, gently caressing her skin through the thin fabric. Kelly could barely muster a faint murmur of revulsion and was completely helpless to do anything to stop him.

  “I didn’t know you were going to dress up sexy for me. It makes this whole situation so much more… provocative.”

  Moretti dug his fingers deeply into Kelly’s shoulder. Pain rippled through her body, but she remained powerless to resist. “I hope you like it rough, although I don’t think you’re gonna remember much, except the agony.” He ripped her dress down the middle, exposing her breasts.

  “The night your father died was one of the best nights of my life,” he whispered huskily in her ear, “but this is gonna be a close second.”

  Kelly screamed. At least she thought she did, but no sound came from her mouth. She watched through heavy lids as Moretti hurriedly unbuckled his pants.

  She knew that she was going to die here tonight at the hand of the beast who killed her father. Her final thought before she blacked out was if she’d only confided in Pete, this nightmare wouldn’t be unfolding.

  A tear rolled down her face, followed by darkness.

  50

  The shrill ring of the phone shattered the silence. Pete bolted up in bed and grabbed his cell, checking the Caller ID. He hoped it was Kelly. He’d been trying to reach her all night with no luck. His fortunes hadn’t turned. The call was from work. Why would someone from the department be calling him at this hour? His thoughts went in a dozen different directions, all bad. No good news ever came in the middle of the night.

  Well, hardly ever.

  The voice on the other end of the line belonged to Victoria from the Forensics lab, and no voice ever sounded sweeter, especially when she informed Pete that the DNA results were back and the hairs from the headrest didn’t belong to the man who owned the stolen car. Now that the follicle analysis was coded, they could run the results through the FBI’s Combined DNA Index System. This usually took weeks, but Victoria had gone to school with a tech at CODIS and was optimistic she could get her request bumped up to the front of the very long line.

  Pete thanked her profusely and assured her that those Giants’ tickets would be in a luxury box. He knew the VP of Marketing at the ballpark, and while he didn’t make a habit of abusing that friendship, every once in a while he cashed in a chip.

  Victoria, now extremely motivated, said she’d call her friend in DC and roust his ass out of bed.

  Pete tried to go back to sleep, but knew it wouldn’t come. He was too jacked up with the hope that the next call would give him the name of the man who killed David Harper.

  Maybe this would be the “aha” moment where things suddenly fell into place. He fought the urge to call Kelly and wake her up in the middle of the night. He smiled as he pictured her curled up in her blankets, her hair splayed across the pillow and her face the model of serenity.

  51

  Kelly slowly opened her eyes. The lids were heavy and the lashes gummy. She ached all over, especially between her legs. Despite the fact her mind was still shrouded by the drugs, she knew she’d been raped. Maybe repeatedly. She could smell Moretti’s scent on her body, feel bruising on her neck and breasts where he’d savagely grabbed her, and the sharp outline of teeth where he’d bitten her.

  The Rohypnol effectively erased any memory of what had happened in the past few hours. She was thankful she couldn’t recall whatever heinous acts he’d committed and hoped those memories were permanently wiped clean. She’d clearly been violated, but the mental outrage and physical pain wouldn’t truly hit her until later.

  The last thing she remembered was Moretti ripping her dress, and then being awash with a sense of helplessness. However, he’d said something about her father. About his side-job. About his death. She wanted more information, some specific details, but at this point she was certain of two things: Moretti was guilty, and she was in imminent danger.r />
  Kelly struggled to sit up, which immediately set her head spinning. The Rohypnol urged her to lie back down and retreat into a shell of oblivion, but her survival instincts were stronger and pushed her to find some degree of lucidity. Kelly bit down hard on her lip, drawing blood, hoping that the pain would provide a jolt. It did, for at least a few moments.

  And then she realized she was alone. How had that simple fact evaded her until now? Feeling a blossom of hope, all she needed to do was make it to the door and disappear into the night. But first, she needed what was in her purse. Without it, she’d never get far.

  Kelly sluggishly surveyed the room, her eyes rolling in and out of focus. The purse was nowhere in sight. Had she left it at the club? Did Moretti stash it somewhere?

  It took all of her concentration and strength to lift herself off the couch. She could only manage one step before she collapsed to the carpet with a dull thud. Kelly struggled to raise her head a few inches so she could look underneath the couch, and her effort was rewarded with the discovery of her purse.

  As she reached out her hand, she heard a door open down the hall. If Moretti walked back in now, she was ripe for more abuse, or worse. She closed her eyes tight, childishly hoping that if she couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see her either. The next sound she heard was another door opening, then closing, followed by running water. He’d gone into the bathroom.