Murder on a Saturday Night

by K. C. Sivils

  Sitting next to an angry Boucher who hadn't spoken to Anna for the past twenty minutes only served to drive home the point of what a fool she'd been. She'd convinced herself to stay with Nick for the children. Doing so had cost Anna her hard-earned fortune, her dignity, and self-respect, and now she found herself in a car hoping to rescue Becca and Katie from their kidnapper, all because of her worthless, self-centered husband.

  The man she’d convinced herself she had to love because he was the father of her children.

  “Boucher, promise me you won’t get angry.”

  ---

  From her side of the small room, Katie watched as Becca lay on the cot and shivered. It wasn't cold in the room, not enough that a person would shake the way Becca was. Katie had felt her friend's forehead, and it had been cool enough. Becca wasn’t sick, at least not from a virus or some bug she’d picked up.

  Becca shook from fear.

  Not the fear that was normal to the pair of young girls. Fear of getting caught doing something they shouldn’t at school or getting into trouble with their parents. Nor was it as dramatic as the fear of a boy not liking them in return or whether or not the two of them would be invited to the latest party on the weekend.

  This was real fear. Life and death fear. There was little doubt in either girl’s mind they’d been kidnapped because of who Becca’s father was. Meaning, Nick had angered somebody really dangerous this time. The situation they found themselves in wasn’t the same as one of the thrillers Becca’s mother stared in. Kidnappings often did not have a happy ending in real life.

  Katie also knew Becca understood all of this. She also knew Becca felt guilty that Katie had been grabbed by the kidnappers as well, the only reason being Becca had convinced Katie to sneak into the Devereaux home to find dirt on Nick.

  For the past hour, Katie’s emotions had fluctuated between anger at the situation and hate for Becca’s worthless father. In the back of her mind, Katie’s father’s voice had kept speaking to her. Reminding Katie that she, like every other person in the universe, had little control over the events in life. What Katie did control was her attitude, her effort, and most importantly, the choices she made.

  With their lives at stake, Katie chose not to hate her friend or be angry with Becca. It had been Katie's own choice to tag along. Now was not the time for recrimination or finger-pointing. Instead, Katie decided to be the friend Becca needed.

  “It’s going to be okay, Becca,” Katie suggested softly from her own cot.

  “You don’t know that.”

  "Yeah, I do. We always get ourselves into these jams, and we always find a way to get out."

  “This isn’t kid stuff, Katie. These people mean business.”

  Becca’s voice cracked as she spoke, betraying the extent of her fear. “Katie, I’m so sorry I talked you into going with me. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

  "Nope, I wouldn't," Katie replied with a firmness she didn't feel. "And if I wasn't, you'd have to face this all by yourself." She smiled at her friend. "Like I just said, Becca. We get into trouble together, and we get out of trouble together. This time, maybe it was your fault. Next time," Katie paused to keep her voice from cracking, "it'll be mine."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Her concentration broken by the buzz of not just her cell phone but that of Blondie’s as well, Amy grunted in frustration and slammed her textbook shut. She grabbed her phone just as the doorbell sounded.

  “Blondie, it’s got to be the pizza guy. Will you pay him?”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” was her roommate’s response from their bathroom. Amy looked at the caller ID and countered Blondie’s objection.

  "I just got a phone call from Heat, and I think I better take it."

  “Okay,” Blondie cheerfully answered. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Ignoring her roommate's warning, Amy answered their boss's call. Seconds later, as the doorbell rang for a second time, Blondie appeared, dressed in nothing save a pair of white towels. One was wrapped around her torso and barely covered her bottom and other strategic areas. A second towel was wrapped around her head, hiding her freshly washed hair from view.

  “Where’s the money? Oh, never mind,” Blondie cheerfully commented, bending over a bit too far to pick up the cash from the end table by the door.

  “Heat,” Amy whispered into the phone, “can you hold for just one second. I may have to hurt someone.”

  Disregarding Amy's threat, Blondie unlocked the deadbolt and threw the door to their apartment wide open. Standing with his back to the door was a high school boy, dressed in the uniform polo shirt of the girl's local pizzeria and his uniform cap. At the sound of the door opening, the kid turned to make his delivery.

  Amy had no doubt from the way the kid's eyes bulged Blondie had lowered the top of her towel a bit further. The youngster's mouth hung open as he stood there, holding the pizza box in front of him with both hands. Blondie giggled like a schoolgirl and stuffed the twenty-dollar bill down the front of the boy's shirt.

  "Keep the change," she informed him and slammed the door shut, taking a deep whiff of the smell of the still-hot pepperoni and sausage pizza. She wiggled her way over to the kitchen table, set the pizza box down, and then returned to deadbolt the door.

  “You didn’t even look to see who it was,” Amy admonished. “It could have been somebody neither of us wanted to see standing there.”

  “Yeah, well, you said it was the pizza guy,” Blondie pointed out.

  “HEY!” Heat’s voice sounded clearly from the speaker of Amy’s phone. “It’s YOUR boss,” he shouted.

  “Sorry, Heat,” Amy replied dutifully, putting the phone on speaker. “Blondie broke protocol on answering the door.” Pausing to give Blondie a snooty look, Amy proceeded to rat her friend out to Heat. “Didn’t bother to check who was at the door. Worse yet, Heat, she doesn’t have any clothes on.”

  Blondie hurried over to where Amy sat on the couch and plonked down. "Heat, Amy's lying," she protested. "I have a towel wrapped around me, and I've my hair up, in a towel, you know what I mean."

  Both girls could hear Boucher laughing in the background, causing both to wince at the thought of what he was thinking at the moment.

  “Amy, seriously,” Heat whined, “I don’t have time for this. Blondie, that was a really stupid thing to do. Listen to Amy when it comes to safety.”

  “Yes, Boss,” the pair answered in unison.

  His voice all business, Heat informed the pair of the reason he'd called. "I need you to do some research. I need the plans for the South Breeze Plantation. If you can't get me a floor plan, pictures, anything you can find will have to do."

  Blondie wrinkled her nose up at the mention of work while Amy smiled and cheerfully answered. “No problem, Heat. I’ll get on it tomorrow.”

  "You'll get on it now. Both of you. Boucher and I have to break into the place tonight, and we'd like to know where to look for the hostages. It would be helpful and possibly might prevent us from getting shot."

  Heat heard Amy’s frustrated sigh and Blondie’s grunt of disgust. He had no doubt the pair had made plans for a girl’s night out later in the evening.

  “I need this in an hour, two at the most. Is that clear?”

  “That’s impossible,” Amy protested on both girl’s behalf.

  “I pay you to do the impossible,” Heat quipped as he hung up.

  ---

  From his vantage point in the attic, the professional took another look through the scope at the long, dirt road, lined with live oaks on either side that led to the main approach to the old, decaying plantation home's main entrance.

  “I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you,” his employer informed the pro. “If Devereaux’s wife sends someone, they’ll likely sneak around and try to enter through the back.”

  “Possibly,” the man replied. “Or they might consider that to be obvious and do the thing nobody expects, like walk in through
the front door.”

  His employer was quiet for a few seconds, obviously considering the professional’s statement. “You have a point.”

  “It’s a bit academic. I’ve positioned motion detectors at key locations around the grounds. I’ll be able to locate any individuals who make an approach.”

  "Fair enough," came the response. "Just make sure if Anna Devereaux shows up, you don't take her out. I want her to be here and alive."

  “So long as she wears the red dress, it won’t be a problem.”

  His employer didn't respond. From behind, the professional could hear the man's heavy footsteps as he departed from the attic. Grinning, the professional smiled to himself. His employer did not have a sense of irony—the woman in red, the betrayer of the wanted man.

  ---

  “Did I hear Amy right,” Boucher asked thoughtfully.

  “Yes, and get that out of your mind this instant,” Heat warned.

  “Oh, James Benoit Heatley,” Boucher chuckled. “Once Momma Boucher’s boy gets a picture of somethin’ in his mind, it ain’t so easy to just forget it.”

  "Fair enough," Heat answered. "Add this to the picture. On Blondie's right, I'm checking my Sig Sauer. On her left, Momma Boucher's got her wood spoon out, and she's giving you the evil eye for those sinful, carnal thoughts you’re thinkin’ about Blondie.”

  “Ouch,” Boucher complained. “That ain’t right, Heat.”

  “Ain’t right you thinkin’ that way about Blondie. I’ve warned you.”

  "Okay, okay, Heat. But Blondie shouldn't be answering the door dressed like that." Boucher crossed his arms across his chest, pouting that his lecherous daydreaming had been brought to a sudden halt.

  Hoping Boucher would focus, Heat leaned with his back against the side of his Pilot and cast a glance towards the truck stop entrance. "The girls will have something for us in an hour."

  Boucher’s expression became serious as he joined Heat in leaning against the side of the Pilot. “Heat, please listen to reason. Call the local cops. Let’s not do this alone.”

  “No. Amy got another text. No cops. She has to come, alone, in a red dress.”

  “Yeah, about that, Heat. Don’t you think that’s a bit fishy? A red dress, the lady in red?”

  Heat ignored Boucher. “We’ll be there,” he pointed out. “Besides, it’s how she wants to do this.”

  “You’re not thinking with the right brain,” Boucher complained, leaving Heat standing next to the Pilot. “You can just stay here and wait for your princess. Momma Boucher’s baby boy is going to have some pie.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Sitting in the backseat behind Heat, Boucher was busy loading additional magazines for his 9mm Glock. Any observer would have thought Boucher was engaged in vascular surgery such was the expression of concentration on his face. Heat was engaged in the exact same activity in the driver's seat, feeding 9mm rounds into spare magazines for his Sig Saur P320. Both men had said what they had to say to each other and went about their tasks in silence.

  Parked behind Heat's Honda Pilot on the same side of the two-lane country road was Anna's SUV. She sat quietly in the driver's seat, ignoring the world around her. Dressed in an old red evening dress she happened to have picked up from the cleaners and never brought inside, Anna gave the appearance of being in the process of getting ready for an opening night premiere. She'd put her hair up more to get it out of the way than to make a fashion statement. Wisps of hair stuck out, giving her a slightly drunken appearance.

  Like the men, Anna and her mother had said to each other what they had to say. Minds had not been changed, and both were already feeling regret for some of what had been said: logic and thoughtful consideration when under emotional duress was not a strong suit either woman possessed.

  In the Pilot, Heat checked his Sig Saur a final time, inserted a magazine, and worked the action, putting a round in the chamber. Then, thumbing the latch to the cover of the storage space between the two front seats, he raised the lid and entered the combination into the gun safe he'd had installed. The lock clicked, and the safe door opened slightly, allowing Heat to gently pry the safe open. Inside was a snub-nosed .38. He checked to make sure it was fully loaded and then extracted the ankle holster stored in the safe. In a mere two minutes' time, the backup weapon was hidden away beneath his left pant leg.

  While Heat had been so engaged, Boucher had opened the rear hatchback door and began the process of putting on his bulletproof vest.

  “Heat, listen to reason,” Boucher pleaded. “Normally, it’s you or Garcia that talks sense to me.”

  Heat didn’t bother to even glance in Boucher’s direction.

  “Heat, you don’t have to do this.”

  "No, I don't. But if I don't, then you and Anna will just walk into whatever trap it is these whack jobs have set and get yourselves killed." With a grunt indicating his disgust, Boucher slammed the back of the Pilot shut. "You can get your vest yourself."

  Pulling his key fob from his pocket, Heat worked the release of the lock for the back of his Pilot as he got out of the driver's seat. He watched his friend walk down the narrow, single-lane gravel road dividing the field of sugar cane. Slipping his vest over his head, Heat realized Boucher was right. Their roles were reversed for once, with Boucher being the voice of reason.

  “He’s going to help, isn’t he?”

  Heat didn't bother to turn and look at Anna, who was standing behind him. Anna’s words touched a nerve, filling Heat with a mixture of emotions, most of them bad.

  "Yeah, Anna. He's going to help. Not because it's the sensible thing to do or even the right thing to do. Elijah is going to help because he's a loyal friend."

  Heat turned and glared at Anna. “More loyal than either of us deserve. Never forget that.”

  ---

  “Do I have to do everything for you?”

  Blondie covered her mouth with her hand, vainly trying to hide her amusement as she listened to Amy try to explain to their boss how to download and open the files they had just sent.

  “Heat, this is why you have to let me teach you some basics when it comes to computers.”

  Amy paused again, listening to Heat whine. She tugged her headpiece off and held it at arm’s length, sending Blondie into a fit of laughter.

  “Your expression,” Blondie said between giggles. “It’s like you smell something bad.”

  The faint sound of Heat’s voice disappeared, and Amy put the headset back on.

  "Are you done? Because I've got a test tomorrow, and I'd be happy to let you figure this out on your own, boss."

  Amy turned to look at Blondie with a roll of her eyes and shook her head in exasperation. She mouthed the words he’s clueless to her friend.

  “You’ve got the file open? Have you saved it to your drive?”

  A look of relief made a brief appearance on Amy’s countenance as she listened to Heat speak on the phone. The longer her employer spoke, the whiter Amy’s face became, alarming Blondie in the process. Without a word, Amy pulled her headset off and set it on her textbook.

  “What’s wrong, Amy? You look like you’ve seen a ghost? You shouldn’t be as white as you are, you bein’ Vietnamese and all.”

  “They wanted the plans to that plantation because they are going to try to rescue those two girls.”

  It was Blondie’s turn to turn pale. “Tell me Boucher talked Heat into getting lots and lots of local cops to help.”

  Amy shook her head no in response. “Heat just said if we don’t hear from him or Boucher by 8:00 am tomorrow morning to call the cops and an ambulance and send them to the plantation.”

  ---

  Katie’s stomach gurgled, announcing to the world that she was hungry. For once, she was glad to hear footsteps approaching the room that served as a prison cell for the two girls. Becca hadn’t stirred at the sound of the footsteps, simply sitting and staring off into space. The dull thunk of a key being shoved into a lock gave warning the d
oor was about to open. Becca finally took notice, blinking once and directing her blank stare at the door handle. As the door slowly opened, the wonderful smell of freshly grilled hamburgers wafted into the room, making Katie even more acutely aware of her hunger.

  Standing in the open doorway was the man who had grabbed the two girls at Becca's home. He was still dressed in all black and had pulled his balaclava down over his face. In his hands was a tray with two plates piled high with French fries, so hot steam was coming off them. Huge, homemade cheeseburgers, one on each plate, sat next to the fries.

  Keeping an eye on Katie, the man walked slowly to the middle of the room and sat the tray down. He reached into each of the pockets of his black jacket, withdrew two plastic bottles of Coke, and sat them down as well. Without a word, the man backed out of the room and closed the door behind him. Katie jumped at the sound of the padlock on the outside of the door clicking, announcing they were once again imprisoned in the room.

  Becca sat on her cot, staring at the doorknob. Worried, Katie left her cot and picked up the tray. She sat down next to her best friend and picked up one of the burgers, prayed a short prayer that it wasn’t laced with drugs of some kind, and took a huge bite. Warm juice ran down the corners of her mouth as the flavor of the burger entertained her tastebuds.

  "This is so good, Becca," Katie groaned in ecstasy. "Eat up, or I'll eat yours too."

  The threat seemed to register with Becca as she blinked several times and directed her gaze at the food before her. With caution, Becca reached for the fries and selected one. Tentatively, she took a small bite and chewed slowly, all the while staring at the food on the tray. Finally, she swallowed and tossed the remainder of the fry into her mouth and chewed it quickly, smiling at Katie as she did so.

  “You okay?”