Desperate Measures

by Fern Michaels

  She was in the kitchen doorway, her eyes on the round circle she’d cleaned with the toilet tissue that afforded her a view of traffic on A1A. The corroded toaster with its frayed cord and damaged plug drew her to the table. “Watch this, Marshal,” Maddie said, picking up the toaster and heaving it toward the clean circle on the dirty window. She laughed when it smashed the glass and sailed through the window. She was smoking now, her smoldering anger no longer subdued as she looked around for something else to heave through the broken window. “What do you think of that Mr. Marshal?”

  He bolted forward and wrestled with her, trying to pull her out of the filthy kitchen. “I think you might have hurt someone is what I think,” he said as he struggled with her. “The police are going to be here pretty soon. Calm down.”

  “I told you to take your hands off me!” she shouted, and he backed off as she straightened and glared at him. “There was so goddamn much testosterone from the feds that day, I could goddamn well smell it! And this is the fucking result. Get out of my way, Marshal, before I do something we’re both going to regret!”

  “Miss Stern—”

  “Stop calling me Miss Stern. I’m not Miss Stern anymore. You people took away my name. You didn’t give me a new name. You promised me, you damn well promised me a new name in twenty-four hours. Did you give it to me? No, you did not. You’re liars. My fiance should be back by now, why hasn’t someone brought him to me? Adam Wagoner gave me his word. All you people do is lie to me.”

  The marshal backed away from Maddie, a look of stunned surprise on his face.

  “Gave you his word about what?” the marshal asked.

  “He promised he would allow Pete to get in touch with me. Like all your promises, it hasn’t materialized, has it?”

  “Didn’t anyone tell you about Wagoner?” the marshal demanded, a stupid look on his face.

  “Tell me what?” Maddie snarled.

  “He had a stroke and isn’t expected to live. I thought you knew. That’s part of the reason you’re here. Things got screwed up. Right now we’re all in a holding pattern.”

  “Maybe you are, but I’m not. Get out of my way. If you people are so damn inefficient, you don’t have any business trying to protect me. Who in the damn hell is minding the store? Am I stuck here until Mr. Wagoner dies and they appoint a successor?”

  “Look, sit down and I’ll make a call. I can’t let you leave here.”

  Rage, unlike anything Maddie ever experienced, ripped through her. She lashed out, kicking, screaming, and shrieking at the top of her lungs. The television on its rickety stand fell to the floor, the legs of the spindly table shooting off in the opposite direction. Maddie scrambled for one of them. She waved it menacingly as she danced around the ugly, smelly chair she’d been forced to sit in for days.

  “This makes it a little more even now, doesn’t it?” she said, waving the table leg wildly. It occurred to her at that moment to wonder why no one called or knocked on the door to see what all the ruckus was about. She realized it was the kind of place no one would investigate unless gunshots were heard or blood oozed from under the door.

  The gun was in the marshal’s hand, his voice quiet and placating when he said, “I want you to sit down, and I’m going to call my chief. Will you do that?”

  “No,” Maddie spat. “Call standing up. Do it now!” She swung the table leg, missing the gun in the marshal’s hand by an inch. She stalked him in a crouch, her eyes murderous. She could see the worry in his eyes. “You aren’t going to shoot me, so don’t pretend you are. You people need me. You’re supposed to be sucking up, doing what I want so I’ll do what you want, but it isn’t working that way. You have some major sucking up to do, Marshal, you and all those guys from the Big Apple, Justice, and the FBI.”

  Maddie’s rage, which had begun to abate, rivered through her again. “Go ahead, make that call and be quick about it.” She knew she was out of control and was going to do something terrible if her situation wasn’t remedied immediately. She started to cry, her shoulders shaking, as the marshal made the call. Her grip on the table leg never wavered.

  She started to scream again. “Tell that jackass you’re talking to that it’s at least a hundred and ten degrees in this cruddy room. I will not eat out of a paper bag again or drink out of a plastic cup. I want a bath and I want you out of my life. Get someone here or I swear to God, I’ll break this leg over your head and then I’m going to get one of those dull knives in the filthy kitchen and slice off your balls! That gun doesn’t scare me!” she shrilled.

  Her tirade, she realized, had prevented her from hearing what the marshal was saying to the person on the other end of the phone. She whacked the cigarette-scarred end table with the table leg. The grimy lamp with its pleated shade teetered and then fell to the floor. The electrical outlet sparked as a puff of gray smoke eddied out to the center of the tiny room.

  “Fire!” Maddie shrieked as she ran to the door. The marshal dropped the phone, stuck out his leg to trip her, and still somehow managed to rip the lamp cord from the wall socket. Maddie stumbled and went down to her knees, her hand still clutching the table leg. She tried to roll out of the way, but the marshal was too fast for her. She saw his arm snake out, knew he was going to hit her. She tried again to roll, but the marshal’s chair prevented free movement. She took the blow high over her left ear and appeared to black out.

  “I hit her! Jesus Christ, I hit a woman,” the marshal said into the mouthpiece. “You didn’t say anything about hitting a woman.” Sweat dripped from his face. “Now what?” he demanded. He listened, his face screwing up in disgust. “Since when do we treat witnesses like this? This woman is on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and no one told her about Wagoner. That’s not right. She has a right to expect everything we promised. I don’t like this, Bennett.” He listened again. “I will not tie her up. I don’t want a lawsuit. She’s pissed, I can tell you that. I would be too if I was in her place. She’s a goddamn human being. You want to sedate her, you come here and do it. The book doesn’t say anything about tying people up and sedating them. I’ll fucking quit before I do that!”

  Maddie groaned, rolled over and puked on the floor. She tried to sit up, but fell backward. She tried shaking her head to clear her vision.

  “Call me back,” the marshal said. “Jesus, Miss Stern, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

  “I told you, I’m not Miss Stern. You gave me a concussion. I belong in a hospital,” Maddie whimpered as her stomach heaved a second time.

  “I didn’t hit you that hard. Look, I panicked, and I’m sorry. Let me help you. You need to change your clothes, you vomited all over them.”

  “It’s all your fault. What did they say?”

  “They’re going to call me back.”

  “When?”

  “Any minute now.”

  Maddie snorted to show what she thought of his response. “Get your hands off of me,” she said as she wobbled to the bathroom.

  The water from the tap repulsed her. The cold water ran warm and was light brown in color. It seemed to match the rust stains in the sink. She used almost a whole roll of toilet paper drying her face, neck, and hands. She tossed her T-shirt in the scummy bathtub and pulled a clean, wrinkled one from her bag.

  Trembling, she sat down on the edge of the bathtub to sort out her thoughts. What had she accomplished? Nothing. Was she prepared to walk out of this cruddy apartment? Yes. Was she afraid? Yes. Petrified. None of this was right. She thought about Pete and Janny and started to cry all over again. The awful, sick feeling was back in her stomach. She had to stop vacillating and do something. She could no longer talk about it, think about it, or pretend she was going to do something. She needed to do something. She felt suddenly calm, sure of herself. “Anything,” she muttered to herself, “is better than this.”

  The marshal was standing by the door when Maddie walked into the living room. “I’m leaving,” she said. “I know you were trying to do your job, an
d I can accept that. Please, let me pass. Tell all those people I changed my mind. I heard you, you know. They want you to tie me up and give me sedatives. I heard you say you’d quit first. I don’t deserve this. Please, let me pass.”

  “Miss . . . think about what you’re doing. I won’t stop you if it’s what you really want to do. I couldn’t live with myself if I did what they want. You need to know the consequences.”

  “I know them. Step aside, Marshal.”

  The marshal stepped aside. Maddie walked through the doorway and down three flights of stairs that smelled of everything under the sun and things that came from under the ground. Florida’s August blanket-wet humidity slapped Maddie in the face the moment she walked through the grimy doorway that led to the street. The sound of the ocean waves across the street was music to her ears. The air smelled wonderful, better than any expensive perfume. She inhaled deeply.

  Maddie looked around, seeing sunburned tourists carrying their straw mats, beach chairs, and plastic bags full of sun lotions. It was the most wonderful sight in the world. She smiled at a rosy-looking couple dragging two children who were just as pink-skinned as their parents.

  People. Ordinary people going about their vacation business. A wave of giddiness rushed through her, to be replaced with a feeling of euphoria. She was outside. Walking down a crowded thoroughfare where no one paid any attention to her.

  God, it was wonderful.

  Maddie leaned up against the wall of a storefront to watch the busy vacationers. She knew the passersby were tourists, just the way she could spot the tourists in New York. In New York the tourists carried cameras and walked around with their heads stretched upward to look at the tall buildings. Here they wore flashy, colorful beachwear that reeked of newness. One man she noticed had a price tag dangling under his arm. A young couple passed close to her smelling of Noxzema and vinegar, supposed cures for sunburn.

  Maddie waited until there was a break in traffic before she crossed the street. She ran up to the beach and down to the water. She removed her sandals and waded into the frothy water at the edge. How could something so ordinary be so wonderful? She was light-headed with feeling. She savored each moment. She would not ever, ever, take things for granted again.

  She had to call Pete and find a way to place her ad in USA Today for Janny.

  She flapped her arms and wasn’t sure why she was doing it. She didn’t care if people looked at her. She waded farther out into the water, up to her knees. It was warm, but cooling at the same time. She loved the feeling.

  Pete. She had to call Pete. Pete would know what to do. He’d come and get her and somehow, some way, they’d find Janny. Pete wouldn’t let them steal her life. No way, no how.

  Maddie resisted the urge to look over her shoulder. She simply would not do that. She was out, and no one was going to drag her back. If they were going to kill her, let it be a surprise. Was surprise the right word? Maybe unexpected. Either way she’d be dead, so what did it matter?

  Maddie waited for the traffic to slow before she raced back across the street, her sandals in hand. As far as she could tell, no one was paying attention to her. She looked, she thought, like anyone else walking around. On the strip she paused long enough to get her bearings. Her eyes were sharp in the blinding sun. The ocean roared in her ears, the salty air tangy in her nostrils. She remembered the smell in Mrs. Ky’s store when she dropped to the floor, remembered the smell in the mean studio apartment she’d just left. She thought about rolls and rolls of toilet paper she’d used to dry herself with.

  She was in front of a ricky-ticky store that smelled of mildew, new merchandise, and coconut-scented suntan lotion. She peered through the beach towels and T-shirts draped in the window, knowing it would be ice cold inside. In the transom on top of the door an air conditioner dripped water. She walked inside and checked the merchandise, which was the same as virtually every other shop on the strip. She passed up canned sunshine, cartons of orange bubble gum balls, and tables full of rubber-thong sandals. Cheap ashtrays and glasses, cups and plates, all emblazoned with the name Fort Lauderdale were lined up three deep on portable shelves. She knew stock was replenished at the end of each day. Tourists couldn’t wait to buy cheap souvenirs to take home to family and friends. She headed for the back of the store, where the beachwear was displayed, and picked out a dark blue baseball cap and a pair of oversize dark sunglasses. She also bought a long coverall in a rainbow of colors, to be worn over a bathing suit. She stripped down in the dressing room and put it on, ripping off the tags. She bundled up her hair under her cap, scraped the small white printing off the sunglasses, and hung them over her nose. It wasn’t much in the way of a disguise, but for the moment it would do. On her way out she saw a huge straw bag with red flowers woven into the matting, and decided to purchase that too. Her purse went into it. Now she looked like any other tourist on the strip.

  Outside, she walked aimlessly, looking in windows, trying to spot a pay phone. Her heart started to beat fast when she saw a blue and white modern-looking pay phone stuck on a pole along the beach. She crossed the road. In a minute she’d hear Pete’s voice. The bills she’d exchanged for change clanked in the pocket of her beach coverall. She dialed Pete’s number and felt light-headed when his answering machine came on. Did she dare leave a message? Of course she dared, that was what this was all about. She waited for the operator to tell her how much change to deposit. She listened for the beep and then said, “Pete, it’s me ... they told me ... it wasn’t supposed to be like this.... They promised you’d get in touch. Janny and I believed . . . but only for a little while . . . I don’t know . . . Pete, please, come and get me. I’m afraid. The marshal hit me when I tried to leave. I heard them say they were going to tie me up and sedate me.... I walked out. I’ll try calling you again in a little while.... I love you, Pete.” She choked up. “I’m moving around so they won’t be able to find me. I have some money on me, not a lot. Pete, I didn’t do anything wrong and they’re treating me like a criminal. They say they’re protecting me. I can’t live like this. I can’t eat or sleep. All I do is think about you and Janny. They took her away too. I don’t even know where she is. That guy from the marshal’s office said he would call you, and now they said he’s dying. If anything happens to me, Pete, I want you to know I love you. Don’t let anything happen to Fairy Tales. Keep it going, okay?” There wasn’t anything else she had to say, so she hung up the phone. She waited a moment, and dropped in more change when the operator came on the line.

  Maddie walked away, her eyes sharp behind the dark glasses. God, it was hot. She needed a cool drink and some decent food. Sweat dripped down her body, but she didn’t care.

  A half mile farther down the beach she spotted another pay phone and decided to call Fairy Tales, hoping Pete might be there. She didn’t recognize the strange voice that answered. She asked for Pete and identified herself.

  “Maddie is that really you?”

  “Yes, it’s me. Who are you?”

  “Annie. Pete’s friend. He called me and asked me to come to the city and help out till you got back. He’s combing the city looking for you. Where are you?”

  “Do you know where he is now?”

  “Out with a detective he hired to find you. Where are you?” she repeated.

  “In Florida. I called his apartment and left a message. Will you tell him I’m trying to reach him? They have me in this . . . this program. I left. I’m on my own. How’s the store doing?” she asked wistfully.

  “Well, but probably not half as well as it would be doing if you were here. I’m doing my best to hold it together. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Just tell Pete I called and I’ll try and call him again.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “That depends on what you mean by all right. I’m alive. I have to go now. Tell Pete I love him.”

  “I’ll tell him as soon as I can. Take care of yourself, Maddie. Pete is worried sick about you. Maddie . . . a
re, you talking about the Witness Protection Program?”

  “Yes. I left it. I just walked out.”

  “Maddie, that’s dangerous. Think about going back. They’ll keep you safe.”

  “I can’t do that. They lied to me. I have to go now.”

  She was crying behind the dark glasses when she entered a small restaurant. She sat down, ordered a cola and a full meal, which she consumed so fast she thought she would get sick.

  Outside on the strip again she flagged down a cab and told the driver to take her to Miami.

  She could get lost in Miami. She could also get herself killed. She didn’t care. Right now she had the most precious thing in the world. The one thing most people took for granted, never thought twice about.

  Freedom.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  In New York, Pete headed for the busy delicatessen where he was to meet the private detective.

  Simon Jakes was the most unlikely detective he could imagine. He was short, round, a one-size-fits-all kind of shape. He was dressed in walking shorts and a Fruit of the Loom undershirt. His Dock-Siders were older, more worn than Pete’s. He was freshly shaved and smelled faintly of a woody glen. Sandy-colored hair curled around his ears and dripped onto his forehead. Pete guessed that the detective must have hated the curls, but had long ago given up trying to tame his wild mane. His eyes were sharp and piercing, his best feature.

  “Pete Sorenson,” Pete said, stretching out his hand.

  “Simon Jakes. I’ll have a pastrami on rye, double mustard, three pickles, a double side order of coleslaw, and coffee.”

  Pete flagged down a waitress and gave their order. “I need your help,” he said to the detective as the waitress moved away. “You come highly recommended. They said you’re expensive but worth the money.”

  “No two people put the same value on money. I’m good at what I do, if that’s what you mean. I’m a graduate of MIT. I like to think I’m a bit of an electronics wizard. I have my MBA and I’m working on my doctorate. Something tells me you’re either a CPA or an attorney. You have that look.”