by Sandra Cox
The apartment is spacious and well appointed. From the doorway, we can see a gleaming kitchen and large great room, with a wall-sized entertainment center. After we walk through all the rooms, Amy and I look at each other. “Weird.” We both say at the same time then burst into laughter.
“A little different from the cot in the bowels of the ship, huh?” I run my hand over a bronzed statue of a stallion sitting on the coffee table in the great room.
“Yeah. Pretty sweet digs.”
“No shi—” I catch myself.
Just then my stomach rumbles. “Let’s order something to eat. I’m starving.”
She looks me up and down. “I’m not surprised. You’ve dropped a lot of weight and you didn’t have any to spare to begin with.”
“Look who’s talking. How many pints of blood are you down?”
She waves a dismissive hand. “Now that you mention it, I’m hungry too.”
“Pizza?” I wiggle my eyebrows.
“Oh yeah.”
I call in the order. While we’re waiting, I check out the fridge. It’s stocked. I pull out sodas and find snacks in the cabinets. I pour us both Cokes, throw Amy a bag of chips, and take another for myself. We go into the living room, sink into the overstuffed couch, and put our feet up.
“What now?” The bag crackles as Amy rips it open.
I glance around uneasily. Surely the place isn’t bugged. Just in case, I rattle the chips as I talk. “We need to get the hell out of here. I need to get hold of Piper and tell her what’s going on then get the baby.”
“What about the jammers?” she whispers back. “I managed to snag a couple of watches and a mini-circuit mixer. I figure you can put them together, but I don’t know what to do about waterproofing them.”
“Wow, Amy. You’re amazing. I feel bad suggesting it after you went to all that trouble, but maybe we should just find an electronics shop and buy some that are already waterproofed.”
“How would we pay for them?”
The doorbell rings. I push myself off the sofa and open the door.
“Room service.” A young girl who looks to be Amy’s age hands me a pizza.
“Thanks.”
The smells wafting from the cardboard box nearly bring me to my knees.
I put it on the coffee table and we dig in.
Amy turns on the remote. “God, pizza and television. Do you realize we haven’t see TV in over eight months? Since we were sold from the lab.”
“I sure do.”
While Amy is sating herself with TV and pizza, I get up and roam around the apartment, thinking. Finally, I say, “I think we are going to have to borrow the capital from the company.”
Chapter 6
“You mean steal it?” Her mouth drops open and her eyebrows shoot up.
“I prefer to think of it as collecting back pay for wages.”
“Yeah, but I think the collecting of those wages could get us thrown in jail.”
“Leif wouldn’t let that happen.” I hope.
“If Leif finds out, it’ll be a non-issue. He’ll kill us.” She shoves a piece of pizza in her mouth.
“I wish there was some way I could shake down Craven. My conscience would be clear on that score.”
She swallows. “Yeah.”
“Would you rather go with the homemade device?”
“How do we waterproof them?”
“Good point. I’m going down to the bar to cozy up to the bartender and see if I can get a list of who’s who in the apartment complex.”
“More like you’ll be cozying up to the barmaid.”
“Oh ye of little faith.”
“Oh, I have faith in you alright.” She gives me an impudent smile and winks.
“Watch it, you.” I give her a fake growl. “Save me some pizza. I won’t be gone long.”
I go downstairs, saunter into the bar and hoist myself on a barstool then help myself to peanuts. “Beer?” The bartender wipes down the spotless counter with a damp white rag.
“Just a Coke.”
He frowns and looks at me closer. “Are you underage?”
I laugh. “Yeah.” Though that’s not why I don’t drink. My human side would love a beer, my dolph side, not so much.
He hands me a Coke. “I appreciate you being up front about it.”
The bartender lays a bill beside the man in an expensive-looking suit who is sitting next to me. The man scrawls his room number, 503, on the ticket. “Just keep a tab going,” he directs.
Another man slides onto the seat on my other side. He has the same prosperous look as the man on my left. “What’ll it be, Mr. Moss, the usual?” the bartender asks.
“Yeah, thanks, Tim.”
The bartender brings a short glass with a gold beverage in it—looks like Scotch—and a ticket. Mr. Moss signs room number 537.
I make a writing motion and Tim brings me a pen and my bill. Unfortunately, it doesn’t have a holder on it. I slide off the seat and manage to catch someone else signing. Room 317. Probably not one of the fat cats. I remember what Leif says about the serious money located on the fifth floor. Looks like he’s right.
I head for the desk and ask to borrow a pen. This time I get one with a holder on it. “Thanks.”
In the elevator, I head for five, tearing down the pen as the mechanical platform makes its smooth assent.
The pen in the trash, holder in my hand, I meander toward room 503. The door to 505 opens. I bend down as if to tie my shoe, straighten, and walk on. When the couple disappears, I go back to 503 and fiddle with the lock. It turns and I ease into the room.
Moving quickly through the living room, I go into the bedroom. There’s a built-in safe near the floor. I’ve got a good ear, but I’ve never tried to open a safe before. I squat down and try several combinations with no success. My heart rate picks up and I wipe my clammy hands on my pants and press my ear to the door. I still can’t hear the lock.
I trot into the bathroom, grab the glass sitting there, and press it to the safe, my ear to the glass. Click. I twirl past it twice, stop, then turn it counterclockwise again. The door opens.
My heart racing like a jackhammer, I blow in and out then look inside. If it’s empty, I don’t know what I’ll do.
A stack of bills is neatly arrayed in the safe. My body sags in relief. I didn’t know people really kept this kind of money lying around. I take ten hundred dollar bills off the top, shut the safe, and head for the door.
I have to remind myself these are the men who have Ames and I in human bondage. Bought like slaves on the block. Still I don’t like what I’m doing. My shirt is coated with sweat and sticking to my skin. But I’d do much worse if it meant getting my child out of Stranger’s clutches.
Strolling down the hall, my heart thudding, I bump into Mr. Moss in front of 537. I reach out my hand to steady him. Sliding my free hand into his coat pocket, I remove his wallet. “I’m sorry.”
He straightens his jacket. “Just watch where you are going.”
“I will, sir. Again my apologies.” As soon as I’m in the elevator, I rifle through his wallet then shove it in my pocket as an older woman gets on. She smiles at me then leans forward, concern on her features. “Young man, are you all right? You look a trifle flushed.”
I cough into my hand. “My sister’s got the flu and I’m not feeling that great myself.” She takes a step back. I nod and get off at the next floor. In a discreet corner with an oversized potted plant and desk, I pull out the billfold, hurriedly jot down the numbers from his credit card, and remove a couple of small bills. I get back on the elevator and head for the first floor and the reception desk where I hand the billfold over to the clerk. “I found this on the floor out in the lobby. Someone must have dropped it.”
He shakes his head, opens it, and pales. “Oh my God. This is Mr. Moss’s. Let me take your name. I’m sure he’ll want to reward you for finding it.”
“That�
�s not necessary. Just tell him to check it, to make sure everything’s there.”
The clerk examines it cautiously. “Looks like his credit cards and money are there, but I’ll be sure and mention it to him. Thanks again.”
“Sure thing.”
This time I don’t bother with the elevator but lope up the stairs, open the door and lean against it, hoping to regain my equilibrium.
“Joel, where have you been?”
I jump. “My nerves are shot.” I wipe my fingers across my forehead and notice they’re trembling. “I got us a small bankroll. We need to get those jammers and get out of here.”
“Now?”
“Yeah, now.”
“What’s going to be open? It’s one in the morning.”
“Let’s do a search.”
“Nothing is going to be open.” She moves her chin with each word for emphasis.
I cave. “You’re right. But first thing in the morning, we have to go.”
“Joel, what exactly did you do?” She looks at me, uneasy.
“Don’t worry. The guys I got an advance from can afford it.”
Her breath catches and she puts her hand over her mouth. “You didn’t go to a loan shark did you?”
I laugh. The muscles in my neck loosen. “Sharks, yes. Loan sharks, no. Any pizza left?”
“Yeah, I saved you half.”
I walk into the kitchen, pull it out of the box, and eat it cold. I’m exhausted and my arm is killing me. My bed seems a long way away. “I’m going to bed. First thing tomorrow morning, we’ll go get those jammers.”
“Okay. ’Night, bro.”
“’Night, Ames.” I force my stiff legs to move, one foot in front of the other. I fall into bed and am asleep before my head hits the pillow.
When I finally wake, the room is in shadows. Is it dawn? I check the clock then jump out of bed. Six PM!
I hit the head then move into the great room. “Ames.”
There’s no answer. “Amy.” Even though there’s no reason to be, I’m uneasy. In the kitchen, there’s a note on the counter.
There’s a leak on five. Leif is sending me out to check it. He says for you to get some rest.
I fix some coffee and sit down at the computer to do a search. There’s an electronics store a block away but the hours aren’t given. I jot down the address, run a comb through my hair, and head out the door.
Chapter 7
I run toward my destination. My breath makes a wheezing noise as I push air in and out of my lungs after the sprint down the block. Crap. There’s a closed sign on a small shop door that’s wedged between two larger, newer buildings, Bert’s Electronics painted on the glass in peeling gold letters. I knock.
There’s no response, so I walk down the alley to the back of the shop and pound on the door. Still no answer. Tension builds inside me. I have to get those jammers and get out of here. What if someone saw me last night? Regardless of the bravado I showed to Amy, I’ll be no good to her or to my child in jail.
A stray dog prowls around a dumpster on the lot next door before approaching me. It looks at me from sad brown eyes and whines. I can count each of his ribs. “I really don’t have time for you and I hate dumpster diving.” He keeps his distance but continues to whine.
My first and foremost priorities are my daughter and sister, but ignoring the dog would be like ignoring a dolphin caught in a net, something that would be impossible for me to do. I shake my head and open the dumpster. I toss him the remains of a fast food burger, then scrub my hands together. He wolfs it down, tail wagging.
I return to the front of the shop. The sun is down and the streetlights are on, casting a yellow glow on the cold gray pavement. Two young men stroll by and I walk slowly, letting them pass me. Once they have, I turn and move quickly back to the small store. No one else is on the street except for the dog standing at the entrance of the alley looking at me expectantly. “Later,” I tell him. The dog flops down.
I look in the window and see the mounted security camera and alarm. There’s no way I can break in without getting caught. My mouth goes dry and my chest tightens. I have nothing to lose. I blow out my breath, pick up a rock and toss it at the window then walk nonchalantly away as glass shatters and the alarm goes off.
The noise brings out a handful of people from the nearby pub. I join the onlookers and watch as a police car rolls up, sirens blaring. The dog melts into the shadows. A young man with brown hair sticking in all directions and thick black-rimmed glasses gets out of a taxi and hurries toward the front of the building. He and the police go inside.
Forty minutes later, the police leave and the onlookers, bored with the lack of excitement, disperse. I saunter over to the young man taping cardboard on the window. “Do you own this shop?”
“Yes,” His clothes are wrinkled and he has to stop what he’s doing to push his glasses back up on his nose.
“Well, since you’re here. I’d like to make a purchase.”
He looks at me suspiciously. “Did you break my window?”
I raise my eyebrows. “Why would I do that?”
“I’m wondering the same thing myself. Come back tomorrow. I ought to charge you for this window,” he mutters as he resumes duct-taping the cardboard.
“I’ll gladly pay for it, but I have to see you tonight. It’s extremely important. I’ll make it worth your while.” I hope I can, anyway.
“Money isn’t the main object here.”
I look at his frumpy clothes. “I can see that.”
He rolls his eyes and continues to tape cardboard over the window. “You aren’t exactly Mr. GQ yourself, you know.”
Forget about clothes.” I make a dismissive gesture. “I really need jammers, something that can block strong GPS signals. They need to be small, lightweight, and waterproof.”
He stops what he’s doing and turns, his curiosity aroused. “Waterproof and small? I just might have one. Though, I don’t often get requests for waterproofed jammers.”
I have him. “Let me in and I’ll tell you about it.”
“You win.” He motions toward the back of the shop. When the mutt follows us, the man throws up his hands and shakes his head.
“I take it you’re Bert.”
“That’s right.” He pulls up a couple of stools. The dog lies at my feet. Bert shifts his attention from the dog to me. “So what do you want?”
“What do you have?”
He looks at me, his eyes gleaming like a sixteen-year-old ready to show off his new car. He reaches under the counter and brings out an oversized watch.
“Nice.” I swallow my impatience. “Camera or GPS? What I need is a jammer.”
His grin widens. “It is.”
My muscles loosen. “It’s a jammer?”
“Yup, just like a water GPS system only the opposite.”
I reach for it, then hand it back hastily. “Is it activated?”
He points to the tiny black lever on the side. “Just pop it up. Want me to show you?”
“No. I got it.” The watch fascinates me. I can’t take my eyes off of it. “How much is it?”
“Four hundred.”
I swallow. It’s pretty much going to clean me out, but if I can get two of them, they’ll be worth every penny. “You got another?”
“You want two?” Behind the thick glasses, his eyes hold surprise.
“Yeah.”
“Let me see if I have another in the back.”
While he’s gone, I check his display rack. A burner phone catches my eye.
He comes back with a small package. “You’re in luck.”
Relief leaves me limp.
“That’ll be eight hundred and fifty-six dollars.”
I pull out the roll of money and lay nine hundred on the counter. “I need a burner too.”
My stomach rolls. I wonder if I’m turning a little green, because he says. “I’ve made enough off the jammers.
I’ll throw the burner in.”
“Thanks, man. I appreciate it,” I say with feeling. I have to figure out a way to get more money.
He puts the watches and the burner in a sack, adds a small zip lock bag, and hands it to me. I raise an eyebrow. “It’s a waterproof bag. I toss my wallet and phone in one when I’m in the water.”
“Great idea. Thanks.”
I lift a hand and walk toward the door. The dog follows me.
I turn and walk back to the counter, the dog at my feet. “You need a good watchdog. No one’s going to break in your shop with a dog around.”
He looks at the dog then at me and shakes his head. “No man, I’m a cat person. And that mutt’s just a hound.”
I lay down the money he’s just given me back.
“It’s not about the money. I’m not a dog person.”
“All you got to do is feed him and be kind to him, oh and get him neutered.” No point in bringing any more unwanted little mutts into the world. “You can’t buy loyalty.”
He lifts the money I placed on the counter, his manner skeptical. “Really?”
I laugh. “Not from an animal.”
“Dude, you’re killing me.” He mulls it over. “I guess I could leave him in the shop. Some of the clients are dog people. They’d love it. I’ll throw down a blanket in the back of the store. I’ve got a can of salmon he can have and I’ll pick up some food for him tomorrow. That work for you?” His voice is sarcastic, his gaze ironic.
I clap him on the shoulder. “You’re a good man.” I pick up a couple of his cards and tuck them in my pants pocket.
He picks up the meager supply of bills I laid on the table for the dog. “Here, take your money back. I’ve got a feeling you need it worse than I do.”
“I’m afraid you’re right about that. Thank you.” I shove the bills back into my pocket and head for the door. Once again, the dog follows.
“Dog, come,” Bert commands.
The dog stops and looks at me. “Go on. You’re home now,” I tell him.