GUARDIAN ANGEL

by Jesse Jacobson

  "Barnabas doesn't get bad information," Jingles insisted. "If you call him this soon, he'll be pissed. Hang in there for a few more minutes."

  "Look," Rainhorse said. "There she is."

  Jingles looked toward the exit. A teen-aged girl walked through the doors and turned to her right. The picture he had didn’t do her justice. She was lean and shapely for certain, but not just pretty. She was stunning—movie star gorgeous. Approximately twenty-five people exited in a crowd at the same time. Rainhorse studied the photo he had of her. The long chestnut hair matched perfectly. It had to be her.

  He smiled when no one else from the group of departing passengers headed toward N Milwaukee. She seemed perfectly at ease walking by herself. Almost all of the people exiting at the same time as she headed to the parking lot. She was wearing headphones, obviously listening to music. Perfect for a stealth approach, he thought. He waited patiently until she reached the street corner. Then, as expected, she turned right.

  “She’s alone. Perfect. Ok, remember, we can’t let her see our faces and she can’t know our names,” Rainhorse reminded Jingles.

  “This ain’t my first rodeo, partner,” he retorted.

  "Go," Rainhorse commanded.

  Jingles started the van as Rainhorse slipped into the back, positioning himself by the side door. The van followed slowly from a distance as she walked down N Milwaukee Avenue toward W Diversey at a casual pace. She wore headphones and was pulling her wheeled luggage behind her.

  "There's no one around," Jingles said. "We have to get her before she reaches Diversey Avenue. We’ll get picked up by street cameras there."

  "Pull closer, now," Rainhorse commanded. “But be careful to stay just behind her. She’s wearing headphones. I don’t think she’ll hear us.”

  He felt the van moving quicker as Jingles sped up. The girl seemed oblivious to the presence of the van pacing her from behind. He shook his head. Kids and their music, Rainhorse thought to himself.

  "What do you see?" Rainhorse asked. Jingles checked the side mirrors and looked ahead.

  "All clear," Jingles said. "Do it now."

  In a quick fluid motion, Rainhorse opened the van door and stepped outside. The teenager was oblivious to his presence. The large Cheyenne approached her from behind with the quickness and grace of a mountain lion, slipped the bag over her head, jerking her backward in the process to throw her off balance. She screamed but the bag did its job of muffling her cry for help, even better than he imagined. She instinctively used both her hands to try to pull the bag away, which is what he counted on—it made it easier for him to pick her up. He wrapped both his arms around her waist, picking her one-hundred-ten-pound frame up as easily as a normal man would lift a sack of flour. She began to kick and struggle, but the big man was just too strong for her. He glanced quickly to his left and right. Spotting no one, he climbed into the van with the teenager in tow.

  He fell to the floor, pulling the girl with him, maintaining his grip around her.

  She struggled to get free but Rainhorse was far too strong.

  "Listen to me!" the big man commanded. “Can you hear me?”

  “Don’t hurt me,” she cried loudly, though the bag deadened the sound to a soft muffle.

  “Quit moving so I can talk to you,” Rainhorse said. “I won’t hurt you if you’re still, I promise.”

  She stopped kicking and nodded.

  “You are being kidnapped,” he began.

  The girl screamed and began flailing her arms and legs again.

  "Stop, stop, stop,” Rainhorse commanded. “I don't want to knock you unconscious but if you don't stop fighting me, I'll have to hit you over the head. Is that what you want?"

  The girl shook her head, and fell motionless. He could see the bag expand and contract. She was taking deep breaths.

  "That's it. Now listen, I have to retrieve your suitcase," he said. "The bag covering your head is for your own protection. You will not be able to remove it. Do not move; do not make sound, not single a peep. If you do, there will be unpleasant consequences. You understand?"

  He saw the material on the bag expand and contract again. He also smelled the scent of urine. He looked down at her jeans. The girl had pissed herself. She was clearly frightened beyond measure. Rainhorse repeated the question.

  "Do you understand?"

  She nodded; he could hear her muffled sobs.

  "Good," Rainhorse replied.

  He slowly stepped out of the van, retrieved the luggage and tossed it into the van. It landed beside her. Rainhorse got back in and closed the van door.

  "Move!" he yelled at Jingles as he climbed into the van. Jingles hit the gas. The tires squealed as the van took off. As the van sped away, Rainhorse caught a glimpse of an older couple walking up the street looking their way. He couldn’t tell if they took notice of the van because of the tire squeal or because they saw the abduction.

  “Dammit,” Rainhorse exclaimed. “You said there was no one in sight.”

  “There wasn’t,” Jingles fired back. “They just turned the corner. They couldn’t have seen anything.”

  “I hate surprises.”

  “Want to go back and pop them?”

  “No,” Rainhorse said. “I’ve never killed an innocent bystander and don’t intend to start now. Besides, two dead bodies would draw more attention than them going to the authorities saying they thought they saw something. Let’s just hope they didn’t get our license plate.”

  “They didn’t, I’m sure,” Jingles said. “Aren’t you going to tie her up?”

  He looked back at the girl, who had begun to kick and scream again, writhing and pulling at the bag which remained secured on her head. He could still hear muffled sobbing. He stood over her.

  “Yes,”he said. “Just step on it. I’ll take care of the girl.”

  Jingles gunned it and took a corner too fast. Rainhorse lost his balance as the van swerved. He fell on top of the girl. He caught himself, managing to prevent his full weight from crashing on her.

  She screamed and began clawing and kicking at him wildly.

  "Stop kicking!" Rainhorse cried out. "It was an accident. I lost my balance and fell on you."

  She screamed again and dug her fingernails into his arm as hard as she could.

  "Yeow," Rainhorse bellowed. “That hurt.”

  Blood began to drip down his arm from where she continued to dig in her nails. The big man tried to pull his arm away but she dug in further, making his arm bleed even more.

  "Let go," he commanded. He instinctively closed his fist and drew back to strike, but caught himself. He knew the tiny girl was scared to death. He also knew that a punch coming from his two-hundred-thirty-pound frame would seriously injure her.

  He hated this job. He had eliminated some of the most dangerous men in the world—drug smugglers, gun runners, heads of child prostitution rings, sex-slave traders, all competitors of his boss. But this? Kidnapping a young, innocent, helpless girl who was little more than a child? It was beneath his dignity.

  One of the girl’s flailing kicks landed on his cheekbone. He winced. He grabbed the young girl by the ear through the light material on the side. He twisted hard. She howled. Even muffled, the sound was clear enough to deliver the message—she was in pain. She released her grip on his arm, but continued to lash out at his face with her fingernails, scratching at his eyes. The nails of her index, middle and ring finger on her right hand dug into his cheek, just under his left eye. Rainhorse felt the burn of the scratches and the blood oozing down to his chin and neck.

  "Jesus! Dammit!" Rainhorse screamed as the young girl clawed at his eyes and cheeks.

  "Will you get control of that little bitch?" Jingles barked. “Smack her, will ya?”

  "We’re not supposed to hurt her," Rainhorse yelled back. He finally grabbed her wrists and twisted her arms behind her back. She continued to scream, but the bag reduced the high-pierced yells to a low rumble.

  "No one can hear you,"
Rainhorse said. "The bag on your head cuts the volume level of your voice by more than three-quarters, so save your breath. Calm down."

  She screamed again. Rainhorse held her arms in place. Even through the bag, he could hear the bloodcurdling pitch. He twisted her ear again. She shrieked in pain.

  "I can’t do this all day," he said, "Last chance. If you don't calm down, I'll knock you out, cold."

  She struggled for a few seconds more before beginning to calm.

  "That's it," he said. "Shhh. There's no reason to cause yourself any more pain."

  She finally seemed to relaxed. He could see her chest heaving up and down. She was hyperventilating; he knew her heart was pounding, but she was now still.

  He rolled her onto her stomach. Rainhorse retrieved three reusable cinch straps from his coat pocket. He gently slipped a cinch around each of the young girl's wrists and used the third to secure the first two together so she could not free her hands.

  Rainhorse grabbed her feet. She began kicking at him but he was able to hold onto her ankles long enough to use three more cinches to tether her ankles together.

  "There," he said, finally. "That ought to hold you."

  He rolled her onto her back, again. She squirmed and writhed on the floor trying to free herself.

  “All you’re going to do is develop burn marks on your wrists and ankles,” he said. “You can’t get free.”

  She struggled for another few seconds before her body relaxed. He looked at his forearm; it was a bloody mess. His face was burning where she'd scratched at his eyes and cheeks. Blood was trickling.

  He climbed onto the passenger seat and opened the glove box, pulling out a rag.

  "She's a feisty one," Jingles noted, giggling.

  "Ya think?" Rainhorse scoffed in reply. "I hate this shit."

  "Damn, she messed your face up, and good," Jingles said.

  “Thanks for the play-by-play,” the big man said.

  “If you had just slapped the little twat around a bit, like I said, it would have…”

  "Shut up and drive, asshole, or I'll slap you around," Rainhorse replied.

  Jingles started chuckling, "The world’s greatest assassin... taken down by a hundred-pound teenage girl, and a girl with a bag over her head, too. That's one for the books."

  “She’s more like a hundred and ten,” Rainhorse corrected.

  “Whatever,” Jingles replied, beginning to laugh.

  "I’m sick of hearing your voice. Shut up," Rainhorse commanded. "If you think I'm joking try saying something else."

  Jingles opened his mouth to respond but Rainhorse clenched his fist and drew his arm back, ready to strike.

  "I mean it, dipshit," the big man said, "I'll break your front teeth out of your mouth if you say another word before we get to the safe house."

  Jingles glared at Rainhorse, but made note of the man’s rock-hard massive fist, poised to strike. He turned his attention to the road.

  Rainhorse wiped his face. The scratches on his cheeks were superficial and the bleeding stopped quickly. He wrapped the cloth around the wound on his arm. He then moved back to the girl. She had stopped kicking and screaming but was still crying and breathing heavily.

  "Finally tuckered out?" he asked.

  She screamed something at him, but whatever she said was too muffled to understand. He was, however, fairly certain she tossed a few F-bombs in his direction. The fear had turned to anger.

  "That’s some mouth on you, girl. I need your wallet and ID," he said.

  She let out another unintelligible verbal barrage—more F-bombs and a few other four-letter words, he imagined.

  "I need to find your ID," he said. "It would be much less embarrassing for you if you just point out where it is, otherwise, I’ll have to search you. I won’t hurt you if you cooperate. You are not in a position to fight back. Make this easy on yourself. You be calm and I'll be calm. No one needs to get hurt. Deal?"

  He looked at her for a response. She continued to twist and struggle for another few seconds before falling still.

  “Smart. Now where is your ID?”

  She sat for a few seconds and then turned on her side and used the index finger on her bound hand to point to her rear pocket. He reached into it and pulled out a thin pink leather wallet. It contained only a credit card, a student ID card and thirty-eight dollars in cash. Rainhorse looked at the ID.

  "Lindsay Vanderbilt," he read aloud and looked toward Jingles. "We have our girl."

  Jingles giggled and looked back at Lindsay, "She sure is hot. I’d sure like to…"

  "She's sixteen, asshole.”

  “You mean to tell me you’ve never had a go with a young thing? You don’t know what you’re missing, man.”

  Jingles looked back at the girl again, “Damn, look at that. I’ll bet that tastes swee-eet.”

  “You’re an animal,” Rainhorse said. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Well, excuse me all to hell, Mr. High and Mighty.”

  “Turn around. Eyes on the road," Rainhorse barked.

  He turned back to Lindsay.

  “Listen, I need to talk to you,” he said. “Can you be still?”

  She nodded.

  “Good. I’m going to loosen the bag so we can talk. If you start screaming, you and I are going to have a big problem. Understand?”

  She nodded again.

  He unlocked the bag, pulling it over her mouth but keeping her eyes covered.

  “Listen carefully, this is important,” Rainhorse said. “With your arms tied behind your back I doubt you could figure a way to pull the bag away, but if you did, this little trip takes a whole new direction—one that you’d find very unpleasant. In order for this to end happy for you, it’s really important that you not see our faces. Do you understand?”

  She nodded.

  "Where's your cell phone?"

  She did not respond.

  "Speak up.”

  "Left jacket pocket," she replied, meekly. Rainhorse retrieved the phone; he hit the start button.

  "What's your passcode?"

  She didn't respond.

  "Don't make me ask again."

  "0-9-1-1," she replied.

  Rainhorse sighed, "No creativity at all."

  He entered the code and immediately went through her address book, "Steve Sanders is the only Steve I see, and he has a Chicago area code. Is this who you were visiting?"

  “No, I was visiting Maggie. Maggie Trumble,” she insisted.

  “Look, when you lie to me, it only makes things worse,” Rainhorse said. “You told your mother you were visiting Maggie, but I know you lied to her. You stopped in Chicago to visit your new boyfriend, Steve.”

  A look of surprise formed on Lindsay's mouth as it gaped open, "How did you know that?"

  "I'm psychic," Rainhorse said. “Is Steve Sanders the guy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  He opened a text window and typed in a text, "So sorry. Flight delayed. I have to head straight for Montana. So sorry I can't make it. Maybe I can catch you on the way back."

  He sent the text to Steve from her phone. Rainhorse noticed there was already two missed calls from him.

  "What did you do?" Lindsay asked.

  "I just explained to Steve, that you won't be joining her after all," he said.

  "Please, can't you just let me go?"

  "Hmpf," Rainhorse feigned in disappointment, "And we were just starting to get to know each other. You want to leave so soon?"

  "I didn't do anything, Mister," she said. "I just want to go home."

  She began to sob loudly.

  Rainhorse reached down and pulled the bag back over her mouth and locked it again, "Ok, enough small talk. You be a good girl now and stay quiet. Remember, you stay calm and I'll stay calm. You kick up a fuss, then I'll kick up a fuss. The only difference is, when I kick up a fuss, you get hurt. You don't want that, trust me. You got it?"

 
; She nodded.

  Jingles looked back at him again, "Why don't you just smack that little bitch? That'll put her in her place."

  "Why don't you do your job and get us to the garage?" Rainhorse replied, clearly irritated. "Back at the station, do you think anyone noticed us, besides the older couple?"

  "I don’t think so, but it all went fast," Jingles said. "I'm not sure what anyone may have seen."

  "Let's ditch the van as planned," Rainhorse said. "The garage is another mile or two up. Barnabas has another van waiting for us. Can't be too careful."

  “Woo hoo!” Jingles called out. “We did it partner!”

  “Let’s switch cars and get to the safe house before we celebrate,” Rainhorse replied.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Lindsay Vanderbilt had slept through the night. She had screamed and cried herself to exhaustion, Rainhorse thought. She hadn’t made a peep for hours. Good, the more she slept, the better.

  The kidnapping had been pulled off without a hitch, at least so far. He and Jingles had reached the garage about twenty minutes after they kidnapped the girl. The van was waiting right where Barnabas said it would be. The garage was dimly lit and there was no one in sight.

  Barnabas had paid a hefty sum to arrange for the surrounding street cameras to have a ‘sudden mechanical failure’ prior to their arrival. So, even if the old couple they saw at the station reported them to the police, and they used the cameras to find and track the white van, they would lose track of the vehicle three blocks before they reached their destination. They could never connect them to the dark green mini-van they exchanged it for when they left the garage.

  The girl appeared to be asleep on the couch. They had made it to the safe house without incident. They continuously checked for signs they were being followed. They weren’t—Rainhorse was sure of it. They listened to the police scanner for indications that someone had seen the van and reported it. There was no police chatter at all. The boyfriend had texted the girl back. He was pissed she didn’t visit him, but there was no sign he was suspicious. The mother had not yet called or texted at all. It was perfect. So far, it was smooth sailing.

  “Damn, she sure is fine,” Jingles said, standing over the girl, looking down at her. “I’d sure like to… you know…”