by Jax Colt
I leave April’s side for a moment, stepping to the curb to hail a cab. The street is nearly empty. I can still hear that hotdog guy calling out mantra a couple of blocks back. I wave at a passing taxi, and then another one, but they’re both full. My feet start to ache as another cluster of cabs pass me by and I’m starting to feel the return of reality. And hunger.
I look back to complain about the pain my new stiletto heels are causing. That’s when I see April staring in shock at the road behind me. A vehicle screeches to a halt and car doors slam in unison. Someone shoves roughly past me. I swear no one knows how to be polite these days. Christ. Four big guys in ski masks have stormed the pavement. My stomach drops when one takes hold of April’s arm. He’s got a gun and he’s holding it to the back of her neck. All of a sudden bad manners have become the least of my worries.
5
Carrie
I want to scream, but nothing comes out. April looks terrified, and God, she should be. Her attacker is huge. Worst of all, he’s not alone. The hulks are all dressed in black, wielding dirty guns. April’s pale cheek already has a dark grease mark where he’s pressing the weapon. I know I need to do something, but all my training doesn’t make enough of a dent in my growing fear.
I’m paralyzed. Everything I’ve learned in the dojo deserts me. My mind is blank and my stomach seizes. Time slows down. The men say nothing to each other, but it’s clear they’re working together. One signals the other to ease up on her face. April’s captor doesn’t look too willing at first. Eventually he grunts and lowers the weapon to her back. The streetlight is above us, and I get a crystal clear view of the mangled burns on his hands. He puts one arm around her neck. She’s beginning to choke. Her eyes are bulging, and her face is going pink as she suffocates.
April makes eye contact with me for a second. She twists and groans as she tries to breathe. The man laughs at her weak attempt to break free. He practically picks her up by the neck and shakes her body like a wet towel. A scream slips from her mouth, and he silences her with two fast bashes to the temple with the butt of his revolver. Her head tips back. April is unconscious, or close to it. Blood is gushing from the wound as the man re-holsters the weapon at his waist. I’m sickened at her limp form, draped almost suggestively against him. There’s one breast close to being completely exposed from her halter top, and it’s the sight of it that snaps me out of my trance.
I look around. The street is quiet. It must be close to four in the morning, and the only cars on the road in this split second are those parked along the pavement. There’s a trash can close by, and I wonder if there are any bottles inside. For some reason the men are not at all interested in me. They’re all honed in on April. I take advantage of the lack of attention and silently edge toward the garbage can, moving slowly to avoid their attention in case they change their minds and stop ignoring me. So far, so good. I keep inching closer. My heart is pounding, but I know I have to do something to help my best friend.
April is my closest friend. She’s probably the only person who really understands me. We tend to annoy each other at times, but I love her, and I know she’s not strong enough for this. They will kill her and she won’t put up a fight. She wouldn’t know how, and flailing arms won’t cut it with this crew of roughnecks. April spends her life in vet clinics and horseback riding. She’s never learned to protect herself. She never had any need to, other than to fend off the eager boys at times. In fact she couldn’t understand why I was so devoted to Judo.
I rummage in the trash with one hand, going by touch and trying not to make a sound as the nightmare plays out like a movie in front of my eyes. This can’t be real, but it is. I can see the blood on her dress and the pain in her face as she starts to come to. My hand finally settles around the neck of a wine bottle, but before I can do a thing they begin to drag her toward the car. April is struggling again, her feet kicking uselessly at the two thugs who now have her. They wrestle her toward the vehicle with almost no effort.
I smash the bottle against the steel trash can. It shatters, and now I’m armed. The noise spurs her on and simultaneously riles them up.
“Carrie!” she screams through the chokehold on her neck.
By then they’ve seen me standing there staring with my broken bottle and my short skirt. There’s a sense of urgency in the air as the other two begin to move quickly into an attack formation. These guys are trained, but they’re not the only ones. My vision clears as I look down at my jagged glass stake. Hurrying now, the two who are carrying her, swing April’s slender and weakened body backwards and violently stuff her into the trunk of the black sedan. The two slam the trunk down and begin to talk into an earpiece as they each walk to either side of the car and get into the front seats. The other two keep approaching me. Who else could they be talking to? Or are they talking to each other? Ice freezes each vertebrae of my spine, and I’m locked in place for a split second, watching their black-clad bodies advance toward me.
It’s all happening so fast, but so slowly. I can hear their heavy breathing and see the pockets in their shirts rise and fall. My vision is clear as my training kicks in, and without thinking too much, I know what to do. I take a vital second to plant my feet in a fighter’s stance. It’s all I can do to stabilize myself before they tackle me. The three of us go down hard. Too bad they don’t realize my Judo training gives me an advantage on the floor. I scramble away as one gets hold of my foot. Bad move for him. I kick back hard, and my heel connects with his eye, and then I hear him grunt. He rolls away from me toward the wall, bloody, and my confidence is now right where it should be.
Just then I’m stunned by a slap to the back of head. My face bounces off the concrete, and I feel pressure in my ears. Tears pour from my eyes and of all things, I notice a piece of ancient bubble gum on the pavement next to my face. I’m stunned by the pain shooting down my neck, but I make sure not to move, needing to trick them into thinking I’m down.
I lie there for a second, ignoring the pain. Their guns must be in the car, otherwise I’d probably already be dead. The only other reason they may not have shot me right then was we were out in the middle of Times Square and people would probably take notice of gunshots. Who knows. My mind hones in on what’s around me as I calculate the best course of action. One of the thugs is lying nearby, still holding his head. There’s blood pouring out the eyehole of his ski mask. The other two are still in the front seat of the car, with one revving the engine and the other yelling something. That means I have to contend with one guy for now.
Adrenaline pumps through my veins and fuels a primal anger. Wild rage has me up and off the pavement. I’m pissed that they spoiled our vacation and our night out. I’m angry that they roughed up April and probably has her clinging to life in that trunk. I’m fuming now. Baring my teeth, I run headfirst at the guy on my left, bottle extended. He’s busy looking over at the car. The bottle, then my body, slams into his chest. I may not be tall, but I’m no lightweight, and I hear the wind go out of him. He’s off balance. I plunge my knee once and then twice into his groin for extra measure.
Big boy goes down, and I feel a rush of pride. Yeah! Except shit, two strong hands are now around my neck. The guy from the passenger side is now behind me and in my confusion, the bottle falls from my hand. The pressure of his grip shocks me. My throat feels like it’s going to implode, and my lungs begin to heave for air.
Thank God for training. Thank God for repetition. Thank God for force of habit. I twist my pelvis on instinct and elbow him in the side. I know I’ve hit his liver when he falters, and I use that second to twist away some more, free myself and start to run like hell. His hands grab at my hair, and I feel a chunk of it rip out as I struggle to escape again. If the other guy gets up, or if the driver comes out, this is all over for me. The only way out is to forego the hair in his grasp, break free and run. I’m tiny compared to them, but I’m fast. I ran track in high school. Endless hours pounding the oval prepared me for what I have to do
next.
Running saved me back then, and I need it to save me now. If only I had proper shoes. With a grunt I break free and kick off my shoes. The man loses his grip on some of my hair. I’ll have a bald patch for sure, but I only have seconds to put some distance between us. April’s tiny purse bumps at my hip as I bolt. It nearly catches on the same trashcan and my stomach drops, certain it’s over, but then I’m free.
I’m halfway away across the empty street before I even know what’s happening. My lungs hurt, my head hurts, and my breath hitches with every step. I’m gasping in panic and fear. The sound is so loud I tell myself I’ll never be able to hide from them like this. I pump my arms desperately, speeding up, frantic to escape, but I’m sure they’re behind me. My bare feet seem clumsy. I’m sure I’m not fast enough to make it. I nearly trip and I cut myself, but the pain is secondary to the panic that’s surging through me. The anger is gone now, smacked out of me by that cold concrete beneath my sore feet. All there is right now is fear. Fear and cold sweat between my breasts.
They’ve got April and I’m next. I’m next. The words are looping in my brain as I clear another block and dart toward a mini mart. My skirt is nearly up around my waist now, but I don’t have the luxury of embarrassment. It’s life or death and I’m scared. The adrenaline is pounding as I look frantically through the cashier’s window. The store is lit but it must be closed. No one is there.
I start to think the men are coming up behind me. I run toward a row of parked cars, throwing myself at the back wheels of one. I manage to roll under an SUV before the impact of the fall really hits me. Blood is still pouring from my forehead and my head is swimming. I need to hide. I need to be invisible, so I try not to breathe or make a sound. Two pairs of black boots pass right by my head, and I nearly scream in fear. My arms are wrapped around my chest. I’m holding myself, starting to shake and praying for a miracle as they track backward and forward on both sides of the vehicles. They’re not giving up. The search for me is thorough enough that I know they will find me. I’m certain now these men taking April are not engaging in some random crime of opportunity.
The pain in my head begins to detach me from my body. I’m lying there bleeding and holding in the sobs as I start to realize that this could be it. I’m going to die. They need to find me and eliminate me. I’m a witness, and it’s only a matter of time. The sound of the approaching hot dog cart vendor is sweet music to my ears. He hollers and the four boots on the ground freeze. I hear a muffled conversation followed by the sound of running, and then two car doors slamming. The sedan with April guns its powerful motor, and the tires screech as those bastards take off. I’m left alone.
Shit. They’ve got April. My friend is going to die. The sobs finally come, wracking my body. I crumple against the dirty wheel of the car. I can smell the rubber and feel the pain. I need to sleep. I need to get away. I roll out from under the SUV and the hot dog guy sees me as he stops his cart to take for a smoke. His shocked expression makes me realize how serious this is. Every second counts. I can’t let April down. I need cops now. There’s no time to wait around. Those bastards have her.
I scramble out from underneath the car, ignoring his plea to sit down and have a bottle of water. Now is not the time for sitting. I start running again. I’ve no idea where I’m going, but help has to be nearby. This is Times Square. There has to be some police officers around here somewhere.
As I run I can hardly see the pavement ahead of me. My mind is full of things from the past. Images I haven’t seen in years start to flash in front of my eyes. It’s a horror show in my head. Every second is worse than the last but I run faster. The nerves in my back send a sharp pain down my legs. Something feels broken or twisted. I stop, trying to get a sense of where I am. I must have run twenty blocks by now. Barefoot and bleeding, I must look like a crazy person. Someone has to be around here to help. Anyone!
Up ahead, I see a patrol car turn into a driveway. The car quickly disappears behind a fence, but I start shrieking for their attention anyway. I run, tripping and nearly falling toward the gate just as it starts to close. The barbed wire on top rattles with the impact and I see it’s a parking lot full of police cars. I throw my body against the metal of the fence.
“I need some help,” I cry out before sinking to the pavement.
My voice comes out strangled. My hair is matted with blood, and my face is a mess. They must have heard me, because within seconds the gates start to slide open again.
Two female officers appear and pull me to my feet. Their voices cut through the fuzziness and fear in my head. Finally, I know I’m safe. I stumble past the rows of cars with them and wait for the roller door. They take me up a ramp and into the back caverns of the precinct. My eyesight fades in and out. I can hear them asking me questions but the voices are all a blur. I’m clutching April’s handbag and tugging at my skirt. Blood is still dripping down my forehead. The lights are too bright. The alcohol and the pain have left me shaking. I need to eat or to calm down or to close my eyes. I’m ushered into a small room with a table. The ladies leave me with a cup of water which is gone in a second. Are they watching me now through the glass pane? I feel desperation start to claw at the surface again.
“I need to see someone now!” I cry.
I’m up at the glass, leaving smudges on it with my demands. I start to panic. I can’t be alone right now. The door opens, and a young male officer walks in. He’s asking me what’s happened. All I can do is babble.
“April…they took her. My best friend was taken.”
He asks me who hit me. I tell him the men who took April did it.
“Are you married, ma’am?” he asks.
I realize if I don’t calm down, no one’s going to listen, so I say, “No, I’m not married. I was out with my friend and someone attacked us. They took my friend.”
The sobs come, as everything that’s happened in the last hour hits me at once. I choke up.
“Who were you with when it happened, ma’am?” he asks, his kind brown eyes showing some nervousness. I can tell he’s new.
Sobbing, I finally manage to get out my story while he takes notes. I tell him about April, about the club. I tell him how I got away, and I show him my injuries. He takes notes and seems sympathetic, but nothing more.
Another female officer with a camera comes in. She’s from the sexual abuse team. I tell her I don’t need a rape kit. I just need someone who will help find April. I know from watching TV that the first twenty-four hours of a kidnapping are the most important. If they don’t find her now, they may never find her. The female officer is firm as she leads me into another room. There’s a bed covered in plastic, and I lie there as a nurse looks over my injuries. Each is photographed as I describe again and again what happened. I’m tired and the tears are close. My throat hurts where the man who choked me did damage. Suddenly I don’t feel so tough at all. Sobbing, I cover my face. I don’t want her to see me cry, but she just lays a gloved hand on my back and lets me get it all out.
6
Blake
I’m finishing up my workout when my cell rings, interrupting the upbeat music pounding through my ear buds. It’s the officer at the front desk. My mind immediately jumps to the bum thief we were dealing with before, but it’s not that man he’s calling about.
“I’ve had a case come in with your name pretty much etched on it,” he says, sounding pleased. He’s not apologetic at all.
I let out a silent breath. It’s the end of my shift. I’m tired, I’m sweaty, and all I can think about is heading home to crash.
“What is it?” I swipe at the sweat running down my neck, and try to keep the irritation out of my voice. His reply is more cautious now. He knows I’m on edge, but continues anyway.
“It’s a suspected kidnapping on Times Square. Two females were out partying for the night. One victim was injured, but escaped. The other was taken, according to the witness account. She ran here. They’re both good-looking girls.
I think it’s a task force case, if you want the jump.”
He sounds like a puppy that’s brought me a stick. I know the sergeant is just trying to be a good cop, but I’m about done with looking at the faces of victims for now. Still, this is why I’m here. Sucking up my negative shit, I tell him I’ll wrap up and hit the showers. “I’ll be right up. Put her in room two to wait. I won’t be long.”
The beats flood my ears again, and I decide to do one more set of dead lifts. The weights feel good. I’m working my back. Checking my form in the mirror, I lift. I steel myself for another few hours on the job. My stomach growls for protein, but that has to wait too. I drop the weight bar and wipe down the bench press.
Towel in hand, I grab my water bottle and take a long chug of fluids before sending off a text to Brenda. I tell her I’ll pick George up from school if she can drop him off this morning. She works near the school so it shouldn’t be an issue. I’m hoping sometime I can still catch some sleep today, but for now, I need to hit the showers.
Cops start to trickle in now. They come into the locker rooms to change for their shift, heading in as they usually do, in groups of two or three. The laughter is raucous. I grin at a few jokes, and mock salute one of the others, but my mind is already on the case waiting upstairs. It’s a gutsy move to make a grab in Midtown. The chances of being seen are too high for most. This has to be professional job.
I grimace at the thought of dealing with another little rich girl’s daddy. Kidnappings are more common in Manhattan than most people know. Everyone is extorting everyone else for something these days. There’s even an option in most of the elite’s insurance policies that parents can check off to cover the cost of the cash if their loved ones get taken.