Tremble

by Alison Foster

  Dropping the box in my hands to the ground, I quickly reach inside my back pocket to grab my phone.

  “What’s up?” I say after I see Shane’s number on the screen. Does the fool think he can still get me to change my mind?

  “Listen,” he says. “I’m on my way. I’m like two blocks from your place. Are you still there?”

  “What the fuck you want, Shane?”

  “I’ve been trying to call you. Stay put. I’d rather tell you in person.”

  I curse under my breath a few times as I start shoving boxes and bags on top of the suitcase, hoping to get in the car and drive away before Shane shows up. There’s nothing he can say that would make a difference. I’ll call him once I’m on my way.

  No such luck. His green Kawasaki Ninja swerves around the corner, speeding dangerously. The tires squeal as he comes to a sudden halt next to my car. He seems more than a little determined to catch me before I set off. It’s all pointless, but whatever. He can say his piece. Again.

  “Thank the lord,” he says sliding off his bike, removing his helmet. “I got here in time.”

  “What do you want, dude?” I say, slamming the back door successfully this time. “I’m already late.” It’s true. I planned to leave in the morning but fought with a hangover instead.

  “My guy with the Mongols says that the Morettis have your girl.”

  I pause with my key an inch away from the keyhole. I throw Shane a glance so dark he takes a step backwards. “What the fuck are you saying?”

  “The Morettis, they have Nora. They want McRae as bad as you do. They’ll want to use her to get to him. Only difference is that they don’t care how Nora comes out of this.”

  I’m not surprised. I feel immediate guilt for planning to leave at a time like this. The Morettis are like an open sore on humanity that won’t heal. I worked for that organization for a few months after coming back from the Middle East. I had to pay in blood to get out. It’s not the smartest syndicate, they survive solely due to their barbarism. They are the fucking lunatic fringe.

  “Get me your Mongol on the phone,” I tell Shane, putting my keys away.

  Shane hesitates. “You sure about this, Luke?”

  I put my hand on his shoulder. “McRae sure as hell won’t show up for his daughter. I proved that when I put the word out after taking her. The selfishness of cowards never ceases to amaze me. I can’t trust anyone else with Nora’s life.”

  “If you even survive this, Luke, you’ll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life.”

  “Don’t give me that, you fucking bullshit artist. You know me well enough. You knew when you brought this to me there would be hell to pay and I bet you want in on some of it.”

  I reach in his pocket to grab his phone.

  “Whoa, bro,” he protests. “That’s fucking intrusive. No hand jobs on the first date.”

  “Gimme your goddamn phone, Shane.”

  “Slow your roll,” he says, taking his phone out. “I’ll make the call.”

  “Just get me an audience with Vincent Moretti,” I say before punching the side of my car so hard it makes a dent.

  “Chill out, homie,” he says, putting the phone to his ear.

  I watch him like a hawk while he’s talking, first with his Mongols pal and then with a Moretti associate. I whisper to him what to say more than once. He ignores half my instructions but gets the job done.

  “All right,” Shane says. “They took the bait. You’re meeting with Vincent at six. Not even God can help you if this goes sideways.”

  “Agreed. Just remind Sarge he’s not God,” I say, examining my knuckles which have started to hurt.

  *

  Vincent Moretti is a feared man both in and out of his organization. He’s number two to his father, Marco, but he’s been running the show for some time now, often outside his father’s approval.

  He meets me in his office in the back of the coffee shop his family runs. Unlike most of the men in the family, he’s quite tall and has light brown hair thanks to an Irish mother. In other words, he sticks out and he likes it.

  “Have a seat, Mr. Dupree,” he says, smiling. This fake congeniality drove me insane the first time I met him three years ago. “My sources tell me you have something for me.”

  It’s hard not to laugh. His sources are a Mongol motorcycle gang “prospect” too young to have earned his patch yet.

  I take the seat offered and get straight to the point. “I can help you with McRae. I want the bastard as much as you do.”

  Moretti smiles again as he sits behind the desk. “Suppose I believe the part where you hate McRae. Most people who have ever met him share that perspective. But how can you, unlike all others, help us with this man?”

  My turn to smile. “The girl you have, his daughter, has a thing for me. If she knows where her father is, I’m your best chance to convince her to give him up. I know how to talk to her and I know what you will do to her if she does not cooperate. That puts me in the unique position to help.”

  He considers my words now. “You’ll be helping the girl, too, Mr. Dupree. That does cast a suspicion on why you’re really here.”

  “Not if I tell you the truth,” I say. “I’m here for the girl. Helping you gives me no great satisfaction. That’s real talk, Mr. Moretti.”

  The hard and severe quality of Moretti’s violent nature surfaces. “Took some balls to admit that,” he says. “If I were to allow you this opportunity, your life would hang in the balance as well as hers.”

  “No one lives forever,” I say, unbothered. “Get me in a room with her. Let me get the answers you want. Then when you catch McRae, let me be the first to punch him. That’s all I ask in return.”

  “And the girl?”

  I shrug. “She might ask to be the second to punch him.”

  “I don’t like loose ends,” he says.

  I exhale. “We’ll have something on her. Her knowledge of her father’s faked death puts her in line to face the full weight of his sins. She would be in collusion to every crime he ever committed. But my truth is I quite enjoy fucking her. And I want to continue doing that.”

  This makes Moretti laugh. “Your fucking generation,” he says. “A bunch of fucking heathens. Your candor is appreciated. If the girl ever becomes a problem, you will be counted on to steal her last breath.”

  Moretti opens the silver cigarette case on the desk to take out a cigarette. “I’d offer you one but I don’t think you smoke,” he says. “You probably shop at Whole Foods, too, like all these west coast yoga fucks, like my wife.”

  I shake my head. “Not my thing.”

  I watch him as he lights the cigarette and then puffs out a few rings of smoke. “All right,” he says. “We’ll give your way a try. It could save time if it works. You have twenty-four hours to get through to her. We’ll set it up so you can fuck her, too. I know how that helps me to clear my head. If you fail, we’ll take over and because of your candor, I’ll let you live. But then you’ll work for us. And in that eventuality, you might be needing to find a new piece of ass, because the one in question will be too cold for your liking. And, yeah, you can smack McRae around all you want before I snap the chicken’s neck.”

  We shake hands. As I turn to walk away, I fight against two distinct urges raging inside. First, the absolute need to punch his ugly mug to a pulp, and, second, to wipe my hand clean after shaking his hand.

  *

  The basement is damp. It smells of everything dead and dying: mold, rotting fungi, decay. There’s not enough light to make out what I’m stepping on but it feels squishy and gross.

  Moretti’s oversized goon that leads the way stops outside a metal door. “The bitch is in there,” he says as he unlocks the door.

  “I can take it from here,” I tell him. “You wait outside in case I need you.”

  “Knock yourself out,” he says, winking. “I’ll try not to listen.”

  I open the door to step inside the roo
m. It’s cold and humid in here and she’s in nothing but a T-shirt and underwear. A fan spins above her head, noisily. I can feel cold air coming in from a vent close to the ground.

  There’s a single lamp in one corner that casts long shadows across the floor. Nora sits on a folding chair, her hands tied behind her back, blindfolded and gagged with tape. My blood boils. Fucking brutes. They need their heads smashed in, but then I remember what I did to her.

  Along the wall there’s a new twin mattress still in plastic wrap. My skin crawls knowing they brought that in here so I can fuck her. She frantically turns her head blindly left and right when I take a couple of steps toward her. She does not know it’s me.

  I set my hand gently on her hair to calm her but it has the opposite effect. Her shoulders shake uncontrollably so I put my mouth close to her ear.

  “I’m going to remove the blindfold and the tape. I’m here to help.”

  All movement stops and I can’t tell if it’s because she’s recognized my voice or because she’s out-of-her-wits scared.

  Her eyes are wild with fear when I remove the blindfold. Her chest begins to quiver as she takes a glance at my face. I find the edge of the tape on her mouth and pull as gently as I can.

  She whimpers a little as the tape comes off.

  “Good,” I say, stroking her messy hair. “You’re doing great.”

  Her eyes flash pure hatred at me as she recovers from the surprise of seeing me. “You’re the devil,” she says, locking her eyes on mine.

  “It’s me, Lukas,” I say.

  She sighs and I recognize her toughness in her eyes. “Exactly.” She hisses at me like a little demon. I let her mumble, calling me names, venting her anger and frustration while I check the bonds that keep her hands tied to the chair behind her back.

  “You were late for the convention,” she says. It’s the conclusion to the string of insults she has thrown at me. She hangs her head down as tears roll down her cheeks.

  “What convention?” I ask, uncertain if she’s still rational.

  “You know, the coward’s convention,” she explains. “You’re speaking at eight, right after the Captain of Rwandan death squad.”

  Okay, she’s partially rational, at least. “I have nothing to do with this, Nora.”

  “Awe, you called me Nora,” she says. “My fucking Romeo.”

  I put a finger under her chin to lift it, fixing a stern expression on my face to get her attention. “I’ll be back at midnight,” I say. “Don’t fall asleep.”

  “What?” she says, blinking a few times in a row.

  She has cried so much there are permanent salty streaks across her face. Her red eyes and nose make me furious. I could hurt that guard real bad right now, leave his fucking heart beating on his chest.

  Shuffling feet and faint voices come from outside the room. “I’m sorry,” I say as I replace the tape over her mouth, making sure it’s not too tight.

  She fights me with all she has, throwing her weight to the side, trying to fall to the floor. I push the chair back against the wall before I blindfold her.

  I hate myself so much right now. I hate the whole fucking world. I wait a couple more minutes before I walk out of the room.

  Chapter 28

  Nora

  The blackness, the stinking smell, the cold—it’s overwhelming, soul-shattering. I try to swallow but my throat is so dry I can’t get the spit down. It hurts. Everything hurts. Inside and out. I’m a prisoner again, only three days after I thought I was free, and this time it is so much worse.

  I know I should probably be doing something right now instead of sitting still, like moving my legs or struggling against my binds, but I also know it would be of no use.

  Was Lukas really here earlier? Did I dream him up? Of course, he was here. I can still feel his breath against my ear, his words confusing me as they always do. I didn’t really know what hate was before I met him.

  My eyes hurt badly. I would give anything to be able to use them a little. Lukas told me to stay awake but sleep is my only chance at a moment’s peace.

  He’ll come back at midnight, he said. To interrogate me again no doubt. Beat my resistance down when I’m exhausted and frightened to my core.

  Yet, his voice was kind, his touch reassuring. I’m going mad, I know.

  Haven’t you figured it out yet, Nora? He’s killing me with kindness, fooling me with conflicting information and reactions, manipulating me.

  Shane told me Lukas has ties with the mob but I didn’t think it possible then that he’d use them to get his hands on me again, to create a hero scenario for himself. His hatred for my father must have transferred to a hatred for me.

  In his mind, I’m an extension of my father and the evil he created.

  What made me believe Lukas had regrets about what he did? No one does what he did to me that has anything like a heart or soul.

  A quick but quiet sound stops my thoughts. There’s someone outside the door. I feel the presence in my bones. Is it midnight? Is it Lukas?

  Why do I still hold out any hope for him? Why do I still look forward to seeing him? If they kill me, at least I’ll avoid the cost of a thousand therapists.

  The door opens. The moment I hear the steps I know it’s him. I learned the sound his feet make when I was his captive in the desert.

  He puts a hand on my cheek, gently, right at the edge of the tape.

  “Who’s there?” I say as soon as the tape comes off. I want him to think I don’t know it’s him. I’m not helping him with this hero charade.

  The blindfold comes off but everything remains black. A clicking sound and my vision returns instantly as a flashlight bursts to life.

  I squint. Lukas smiles nervously at me. “We have to go now,” he says. “Give me a second.”

  “Where?” I say but it comes off as a whisper, my throat hurts so much. I’m not sure he even heard me. Fear explodes inside my stomach when I feel cold metal against the skin on my wrists.

  “Stay still,” he says. “I can’t untie the knots. I’ll have to cut them.”

  I do as he says, having little energy for anything else. I feel the knife sliding against my wrists cutting the rope and not my skin.

  “Wait a second,” he says as I lean forward. He holds my hands and slowly places them on my lap. My wrists hurt so much, my shoulders, both my arms. I wonder why there’s a mattress here if I was never allowed to use it.

  I don’t want to know anything. I’m looking forward to the end.

  Lukas puts an arm around my waist as he lifts me to my feet. “Be quiet,” he says. “I’m going to get you out of here. I’ll take you somewhere safe.”

  How about a house in the desert? That was a barrel of laughs.

  I’m done analyzing what he says. A dog’s bark would be more profound. Everything he ever said to me was him saying he hates me. I got it. Message received. I follow him quietly like he wants. Why not?

  We go through the door and step out into a sort of hallway, dimly lit. I was blindfolded when they brought me here so this is all new. We come out into a bigger area.

  Lukas takes my hand, urging me to move faster. I don’t. Fuck him.

  We pass by a body of a man on the floor. I’m too worried about myself to care all that much, but then there’s another body as we turn a corner.

  “Are they dead?” I ask Lukas, my curiosity finally flickering.

  He looks back at me, kind of amused. “Probably not. They’re enjoying some non-voluntary sleep.”

  “Your work?” I ask, but he does not answer. The question was kind of rhetorical. Lukas is bad news.

  He brings his index finger to his lips to get me to stop. He opens a door and ushers me inside. It’s a laundry room. We wait in there for a minute or two and then we hear footsteps.

  Lukas winks at me. I’m shocked that he acts like we’re on friendly terms but I’m too horrified to ponder that oddity. My pulse accelerates as the footsteps get closer. The bodies will be di
scovered any moment now. What will that mean exactly? Is it all part of his staged plan?

  He pushes me against the wall before he walks out of the room, closing the door. My mind spins, panic returns for the first time in hours. Then I hear a thud. I’m terrified, but Lukas pops back into the room two seconds later.

  “All clear,” he says.

  I step out behind him. Third body lying on the floor. This one is breathing with difficulty. I’m starting to think this is real, then I remember I’m wrong at every turn when it comes to this man.

  We get to a back staircase and begin climbing the stairs at a fast pace until we are up on the roof. I take a moment to look around and get a sense of where we might be but there’s nothing out there to help me. More black. That’s all. I’ve narrowed it down to somewhere in the solar system.

  Lukas pulls me by the hand fast all the way to the edge of the roof. One look down and my head begins to spin. I’m at least four floors high. It’s probably too late to tell him I’m terrified of heights.

  He points at the fire escape beneath us and my body weakens. I can see through the thin wiry bars of the steps all the way down. My whirling mind tells me my knees will give out on me. Maybe I’ll fall to my death. At least it will all be over and I can get some rest.

  Next thing I know, Lukas wraps me up in his arms, keeping me steady on my feet. I hate myself for enjoying his warmth.

  “Don’t look down,” he says, knowingly. “I’ll go first. I’ll keep you safe.”

  He stretches one leg out until his foot lands on the narrow staircase. I take a deep breath in and follow his lead. We go down the fire escape slowly and he’s there to hold me all the way down.

  I take a deep breath of relief when my feet are on the ground. I feel a little silly being so scared of a fire escape after I was kidnapped and blindfolded and kept in a cold basement, but phobias are as mysterious as love.