by Paula Guran
“Well, well, sleeping beauty awakes. How’s your head, Baldwin?”
“Terrible, but nothing being untied and let go won’t fix.”
He wagged a finger at me, but didn’t seem irritated. I’d plainly have to step up my game.
“Sorry, Baldwin, we have conditions. Nothing too difficult, from one professional to another. We’ve been asked, my partner and I, to hold onto you for a little while. Your boss Rex is making someone nervous, so we’re sitting on you until he agrees to butt out.”
“Oh really,” I said. “That’s all?”
“We sent a message to your boss,” Shorty said, “So until he calls back, we take a load off and relax.”
He cut the ties on my hands, and I rubbed my wrists to get some feeling back in them.
“All right,” I said. “Is there any chance I could use the facilities? I’ve been out a while.”
There was an excellent chance, consisting of a stall with no door. There was a tiny window at the top of the cement block wall, boarded up. Plastic pipes, which could not be used as makeshift antennas. These guys were pros, or at least the landlords were.
I did what was necessary to maintain cover as I subvocalized.
«What is your assessment?»
“I get the feeling I’m only alive because you’re an unknown quantity. They’re expecting you to contact them and agree to their demands, but we’ll need to be careful, because if they shoot me and dump me in the Charles, you go with me.”
«I do not wish to ‘butt out.’ »
“Then we need to get out of here, either by getting me out or the police in. It looks like there’s a doorway over by their terminal, but making a break for it’s going to be tough. A distraction would be good, but I’ll need to be right there.”
«Noted.»
Stretch was sitting on my cot when I finished. “Hey Baldwin, you play cards?”
I did, and even taught them a rummy game my grandparents used to play with me. They provided water in a plastic cup, filled from the bathroom tap. Probably full of lead and arsenic, but it was what the doctor ordered. They were reasonably polite guys, Shorty and Stretch, though Stretch got a little more aggravated with every hand he lost. Me, I was getting nervous. Shorty got chatty when he won, so I let him win. The phrase “this cloak and dagger shit” got tossed around a bit, and I got the distinct feeling that they preferred a more direct approach instead of dissuasion. As I’d rather be grabbed than smashed most days, I couldn’t say I agreed. So I played and lost and waited for Rex to do his thing.
“So who is this guy Rex?” That was Shorty.
“A pain in the ass,” I replied.
“We gathered that. Our employer thinks so too. Funny thing, though, I’ve never heard of him.”
“He’ll be hurt.”
“I’m sure. Who is he?”
Rex reminded me of the drill, but I’ve got a good memory. “Private detective, lives in the Caribbean. Never met him in person. Doesn’t pay too promptly, but who does anymore?”
From across the room came a chime, then again. Stretch ran over to their little terminal. Shorty leaned over to me.
“Just in case you get any funny ideas,” he said in a conversational tone. “We’ve taken a few reasonable precautions. The person who hired us seems to think you’re some kind of computer whiz, so you might think you can put one over on us. This location is completely isolated from the network except via a locked-down line-of-sight link. It’s as close to untraceable as anyone short of the CIA is going to get. And this link is voice-only, no data.”
Stretch held a button pressed. “It’s Rex.”
«I have connected to their terminal, but have no outside access.»
Shorty folded his arms. “Put him on.”
Stretch nodded.
“This Claudius Rex?”
“It is,” came the familiar gruff voice. “And who is this?”
“Doesn’t matter who ‘this’ is, what matters is, ‘this’ has your boy Baldwin.”
“Intolerable. Release him immediately.”
“That comes later. We have business first. We—”
“Put him on.”
“You don’t need to talk to him.”
“Then I must conclude that he is deceased. Good day, sir.”
I enjoyed seeing the look of panic on Stretch’s face. “Hang on, hang on. Say something, you.” This last was to yours truly, I was pretty sure. “And stay there, you’re not coming near this equipment.”
You know, I’ve never been the type to perform on demand. I’m contrary. So I bit my tongue. I might have smiled at him, but if I did I assure you it was mere reflex, not cheek.
“Andy, is that you?” came Rex’s voice just as Shorty was starting to look steamed.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“What? Speak up.”
“Yeah,” I said louder, “It’s me.”
“He’s whispering. Why is he whispering? What have you done to him?”
“He ain’t whispering,” Stretch said, “he just ain’t near the microphone.”
“This is foolishness. I cannot conclude that a man is alive or dead according to some impostor whispering from across the street! Bring him to where I can hear him properly.”
“He’s not coming near this equipment,” Stretch hissed at Shorty.
“Stop dithering,” said Rex. “Do as I say or not, but stop wasting my time.”
Stretch folded his arms. “He’s not coming near this equipment.”
Shorty gritted his teeth. “Then we’ll stand between them. He can’t get through us both. No funny business, Baldwin! Voice only, no extra data.”
They cinched my hands behind my back with a plastic tie and frog-marched me across the basement, stopping me five paces from the terminal. I saw a little ways into the doorway—it looked open. Stretch and Shorty stood guard between me and the terminal, looking pissed.
“Yeah boss,” I said loudly, “it’s me.”
“Are you well?”
“So far, so good.”
“Excellent. You’re fired.”
Stretch spun and leaned away. “He hung up.”
Well, how do you like that.
“What was that, Baldwin?” Shorty demanded. “Some kind of code?”
“Yeah, it’s code for, ‘I’m fired.’ Probably for getting grabbed and being useless to him.”
Shorty looked fit to be tied. He didn’t move from his spot, but he turned halfway to the terminal and started shouting at Stretch. Despite being the taller of the two, Stretch looked a lot less imposing. That was my chance, and I took it: I jinked right toward their precious equipment, then took a hard left and made for the exit.
The doorway was clear, and made a single right angle: to an inward-opening door, padlocked on the inside. Old-fashioned key lock. “Damn it.”
Shorty didn’t look too pissed, but he looked more intimidating filling that doorway than before. Sadly, he didn’t get the villain memo about wearing his keyring outside his pants.
“I figured that was coming. You got it out of your system, Baldwin?”
“Oh, I probably got one more in me. I was thinking I might flush myself down the commode. Make a swim for it.”
“I’ll help you do it. Move.”
The cot wasn’t so comfortable taken face-first, but with my hands tied I didn’t have much of an option.
“And tell your boss that ‘you’re fired’ is a lousy signal to escape,” Shorty said as he walked off. “I expected better from you, Baldwin.”
Well, there it was. I, Andy Baldwin, had disappointed a kidnapper. It may not have been my lowest point, but it was a low one.
«Why did you not escape?»
“Door in the way,” I subbed into the mattress. “Mechanical lock. What’s our next plan?”
«I have no plan. What is your assessment?»
“Well, we can always fold.”
«Meaning what?»
“You call off the case, I tell them who and wha
t you are and make a deal to hand over the implant with you on it. I walk free and you go into the possession of a killer and thief.”
«Will they kill you?»
“They’ll try.”
«Unacceptable.»
“Well, hold on. Once you’re in the killer’s possession, you’ll know exactly who that is, and can call down the police and FBI and Army and J. Edgar Hoover’s ghost on their head. You’ll be stuck with the Army at that point, but they’ll treat you like a king. In gratitude, you might see fit to do me a personal favor and expose the guy who framed me. Nothing fancy, I’ll settle for a governor’s pardon instead of the full presidential.”
«I see. That could indeed achieve my goals, and yours.»
There was a long pause. I sat up and watched Shorty and Stretch swear at each other, each demanding the other go out and call their boss. Shorty lost that one; he stormed out the doorway and I heard him stomping up the stairs. So Shorty had a key, good to know.
«Is that the course you recommend?»
I didn’t answer right away. In the time since then, I’ve had many an opportunity to wish I’d answered differently. Mostly on long overnight stakeouts, come to think of it. But on the whole, looking back on how my life has gone since then, I think I was correct to say, “No, I only mention it for the sake of listing our options.”
«Your thoroughness is commendable, but let us determine what our other options are.»
Rex had already gotten control of their terminal, but he reported that it had no useful information and no outgoing communication capability. After a bit of computational reconnaissance, Rex reported that Shorty’s implant was locked up like Fort Knox and Rex couldn’t get access to his vulnerability database to find something to crack it. He could get into Stretch’s implant, but couldn’t get root access to most of his files or his logs. So we still didn’t know where we were, and Stretch was just as incommunicado as I was in that basement.
We decided on a plan, however desperate. Then the terminal came on.
“We’ve got Rex again,” Stretch called across the room. I heard the toilet flush.
“Gentlemen,” came Rex’s voice. “Perhaps I—”
Then the signal cut off. They swore at it and fiddled with the terminal.
A minute later, Stretch cheered. “Got him back!”
“What the devil do you mean by—” Click.
Stretch wandered back toward me, pulling his hair.
“What’s going on up there?” I said. “Is Rex yanking your chain?”
He shook his head and started to say something, then waved me off and went back to the other side of the room.
“Fine,” I mumbled. “But . . . ” and then I sort of mumbled into incoherence. That got Shorty’s attention. I shrugged at him and gave an exasperated look. Then I looked at him more closely, like I was studying a zit on his forehead. Frowned. Looked away with a skeptical expression. Looked back.
He came over. I heard another cut-off call in the background.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I said. “It’s just . . . Nah.”
He gave me a wary look. Good for him, but not so good for me. I faked a sneeze.
It’s tough to wipe your nose on your sleeve when your arms are tied behind your back. After a minute, Shorty sighed and came over with a handkerchief. That’s when I headbutted him in the face.
“That’s for Jack Flummery,” I said. My head hurt like crazy. There’s an art to headbutting someone without hurting yourself, or so I hear. I am evidently not an artist of that school.
I’d gotten Stretch’s attention, and he pulled a pistol I hadn’t noticed. That was a piece of intel I wished I’d had earlier. Instead of coming over to me, he stood by the doorway. That was more clever than I’d expected him to be, actually. So much for making another break for the exit.
Shorty clutched his nose, and blood ran out from between his fingers. “Who the hell is Jack Flummery?” he demanded.
“I knew you looked familiar, George Tabbot,” I lied. “Jack owes you another good one for that stunt you pulled in Reno.”
I’d braced myself for the retaliation, but it still hurt like hell: a good solid left to the spare tire put me on my knees trying not to puke. “I don’t know who Jack Flummery is,” Shorty said in a muffled voice, just before planting his sneaker on my back. I hit the floor hard.
“And my name’s not George Tabbot,” That he punctuated with a sharp kick in my gut. “And I’ve never even been to Reno. So fuck you, Baldwin, you fucking psycho.”
“My mistake,” I gasped.
“We got Rex back,” called Stretch.
“For real this time?” Shorty said, still standing over me.
“For real, sir, to use your detestable vernacular. I have decided against my better judgment to accept your deal.”
Shorty strode over to the terminal, dripping blood as he went, and elbowed Stretch aside. “Deal’s changed. I want five grand for dealing with Baldwin’s temper.”
“What has he done?”
“Nothing five grand won’t fix.”
“Andy, are you alive?”
“Just peachy,” I wheezed. I rolled over on my back, but that hurt worse. “Case of mistaken identity.”
“Foolish, Andy. That five thousand dollars is coming out of your paycheck.”
Stretch jumped in before I could reply that he’d fired me. “So it’s done? We’ve got a deal?”
“Wait. Mr. Baldwin’s implant contains information related to another, very important, ongoing case. I will take you at your word for needing to hold him for a week, but I wish to make arrangements for a copy of specific data so that I do not lose that client.”
“I can’t make that change.”
“Ridiculous. This is a reasonable accommodation—”
“I said I can’t make the change! It’s not up to me.” Shorty sounded clearer, which worried me a bit.
“Clear it with someone else if you must, but this is critical to me.”
Rex hung up, and my two abductors set to arguing quietly. “Just give him the signal,” was all I heard clearly. Stretch opened a closet and started yanking on a loop of rope hanging in it.
«What are they doing? Are they signaling their employer?»
Shorty came back for me then. He had Stretch’s gun out and he held it like he was used to it. “All right, Baldwin you heard him. We got a deal. But if you even think of trying something, we’ve got more than enough voice print by now to fake you being alive next time he calls.”
I got some rest, because there wasn’t much else to do. A faucet ran for a little while, and I heard Shorty swearing. A little while later I heard the flip and flutter of cards being shuffled and dealt out. I guess I was on the outs, since they didn’t invite me.
There was a chime at the terminal, and Stretch jumped up. Shorty kept a close eye on me. He looked a mess with blood down his shirt and his nose all swollen, but I hadn’t hurt him too bad.
A heavily digitized voice came on the speaker, “Have you contacted—” It cut off, and Stretch howled in frustration.
“It’s that damn laser link,” he said. “Probably pigeons or something. Go have a look.”
Shorty shook his head and gestured at the drying blood down his shirt. “Are you kidding? Look at me. I go outside looking like this, someone’s gonna call the cops. You go.”
Stretch stormed out of the basement. A little while later he came down and grumbled that it looked fine, just dirty.
Which is to say that Stretch, with the compromised implant hardware, was outside the dead zone for at least five minutes.
Shorty was waiting for him by the doorway in a chair he’d dragged over. “Something’s bothering me. Did we tell Rex what the deal was?”
“Huh?” Stretch gave him a confused look. “We must have. He accepted it.”
“Yeah, and we told Baldwin the deal, but . . . I don’t remember ever telling Rex what we wanted. The message was just to contact us.”
>
They both turned to look at me very intently. Stretch drew his pistol.
The terminal came to life again with a blast of static.
“Hello, Mr. Chase and Mr. Gibbon.” The two kidnappers both stiffened at Rex’s voice, and I saw Shorty’s knuckles turn white grasping the chair back. “I am afraid you have slipped up very badly. Our deal is off. The police are on their way to your location at 29 West Hammett Street, with an estimated arrival time of less than six minutes. You cannot escape with both your skins and with Mr. Baldwin.
“I am not interested in your arrests. In exchange for your leaving Mr. Baldwin with all of his belongings and his person intact, I will refrain from turning over your names, bank account numbers, and home addresses to the police, and will decline to assist them in prosecuting you if they manage to catch you anyway. There is neither room nor time for negotiation, and in any case my patience is exhausted. You have approximately five minutes. Act now.”
Being professionals, they spent little time on recriminations. Shorty yanked the processor box from its nest of cables at the terminal, Stretch gave some of the smooth surfaces a quick rub-down with a shirt, and they both high-tailed it.
Being jerks, they left me tied up.
Rex had played it loose with that time estimate. I figure I waited a good fifteen minutes before I heard sirens and then boots on the stairs. There was some rigmarole with a bullhorn and me shouting at the top of my lungs, but eventually a somewhat attractive young police officer came in and cut me free. After that I got to give my statement, taking my cues from Rex to say that I didn’t clearly see my attackers, though I gave myself some wiggle room to “suddenly remember” more details later if I had a mind to.
A bearded and ponytailed EMT gave me a quick once-over. He told me a hilarious little story from his time in the Navy (which sadly isn’t mine to repeat), and also told me I had two cracked ribs, a nice pattern of bruises, and a damn thick skull if I wouldn’t tell the nice officer who it was who grabbed me. I thanked him for the story and the treatment, politely ignored the advice, and smiled at them until they let me go on my way into the cool Boston evening.