Songs for Perri

by Nancy Radke

  It was easier to think it than to do it.

  The gag was yanked roughly from her mouth and she gasped in air, shaking her head when one asked where Walt was. Good! They didn't have him.

  Another slap rocked her head and loosened some teeth. "Come on, lovely, we're not here to play games. Tell us where your old man is."

  Ignorance! "He never told me. He changed hotels after he was kidnapped, but he never told me where. He never tells me anything. He says it's safer."

  "Oh, yeah? Then where is Alvaro?"

  "Alvaro?"

  Another blow from the older man brought tears to her eyes. "Don't play dumb. We know you saw him."

  "Then why ask where he is? I served as messenger only...I never asked for names and the people I saw kept changing locations."

  She saw the blow coming this time, but had not Joe's ability to roll with the punch. White spots danced in the darkness. Their voices sounded strange, as if from a distance.

  The black veil lifted, and she raised her head. They had carried her into the other room and sat her at a rickety table holding six beer cans and an empty box of crackers. Across the room, a TV set on a box.

  The window was barred, but she could hear the ocean and see between the buildings a tiny portion of the divided street called the Olas Altas. The knowledge sparked an ember of hope.

  How could she tell Walt and Hugo?

  The oldest man, in his mid-fifties, his belly hanging over half-buttoned pants, brought her a tablet and a pen. He was short, but burly...heavy with either muscle or fat.

  "You write what we tell you," he commanded. "Exactly. No extra words. ‘If you want me back, Walt is to bring Alvaro outside the ballpark midnight tonight for an exchange. No one else.’ Sign it."

  "My brother could—”

  "No! It must be your step-father! Now write."

  She picked up the pen; hesitated. Her instinctive reaction was not to cooperate. This was what they wanted. Therefore she should refuse to do it. If nothing else, it might force them to change their plans.

  They weren't after money...they were after Alvaro. Weren't they? Or were they after Walt, too? They could just as easily keep her and get Walt and Alvaro also. And Owen and Hugo. And then kill them all. "No."

  "Write or else!"

  That was what she was afraid of. But helping these thugs would be the worse thing she could do. "No!"

  This time the younger one hit her. She woke to find herself on the floor of the back room again, but this time her hands were tied in front. The gag was in place, but not so tight, and she managed to work it around enough to untie it.

  Everything hurt. The spy business had nothing to recommend it. The only ones it made happy were the dentists who had to fix your teeth afterwards. And maybe the doctors who patched bullet holes. Perri sobbed silently to herself. If there was an afterwards.

  Trying to ignore her aching jaw, Perri reflected on what they had said. They had known she had talked to Alvaro. So they must know where he was.

  That meant they wanted Walt. They knew he would allow himself to be exchanged for her.

  Yet that didn't make sense either. If they knew where Alvaro was, all they'd have to do was wait until Walt and Alvaro got together and kill them both. They couldn't know that Joe had planned to send Walt out on the plane last night.

  The only other possible explanation was that they were lying; they didn't know. Whoever had kidnapped Walt the first time had beaten Joe to find out where Alvaro was. This group had been trying to get her to say where he was by claiming they already knew.

  It had almost worked. She had been tempted to tell them to go to the restaurant then and pick him up. She hadn't because Owen was there with him.

  As usual when she was nervous she fiddled with the pendant, her fingers clutching the smooth ivory surface. Her mother had used it to carry a message. Maybe she could, too.

  Standing up, she tiptoed over to the barred windows. There were two of them. Out the first, she could see nothing except a two-storied blue house.

  All right. Think! she lectured herself. What makes it different? She studied it for awhile before realizing two things. The window grill had an unusual scroll work of fish forms. The roof was flat, with no red tiles. Nothing else.

  The house she was in was white. Nothing unusual about that.

  Hurrying over to the east window, she looked down into a courtyard littered with concrete rubble, completely enclosed by a wall topped with broken bottles. Far beyond it were the towering lights of the baseball park.

  Not much to indicate where she was, even if she could get a message out.

  Now if it were possible to put a sign in the window...

  Perri kicked hopefully at the rubble. Five tin cans, some with their labels on, old electrical wire, chunks and chunks of concrete, broken pieces of wood, and...a bent nail.

  In her mind there arose the memory of tin cans tied to a car's bumper at a friend's wedding. Immediately she knew how to mark this house.

  With their labels stripped off, the cans would reflect the light enough to catch the eye. Using a chunk of concrete as a hammer, Perri punched two holes in each can with the nail and strung them on the wire. Soon they were dangling out the east window.

  Now to write a message and put it in the pendant...and get it to Hugo.

  For the next few minutes, she searched every inch of the bare room, but could find nothing to write with. The pen in the other room was essential. Should she try to get it? As soon as she stepped in, they would know she was conscious again. If nothing else, they'd replace that horrible gag. Yet she had to try.

  Tearing off a piece of label that was white on both sides, Perri folded it in half, rolled it tightly and placed it in the pendant. Blanking her mind against the possibility of failure, she opened the door.

  The older man was gone. The younger one sat at the table with chair tipped back, his attention on an old "Dukes of Hazard" show dubbed in Spanish. He glanced up briefly as she entered, scowled at her and motioned her to sit down, which she did...opposite him.

  Where was the pen?

  It wasn't where she had left it. Leaning forward, Perri could see it next to him. Even as she did so, he picked it up, playing with it as he watched TV.

  Don't give up now, she scolded herself. He's not that aware of what he's doing. You have to replace it with something else.

  Beer? The cans were all open, probably empty. Stretching out her hands, Perri shook one, then another, as if looking for a drink. In the process, she successfully knocked two off the table.

  Growling an obscenity, the young man set the pen down, and stooped to retrieve the cans. Grabbing the pen, she slid it out of sight, between her arm and the table top.

  As he raised up, she held her breath. Would he remember he had held the pen?

  He set the cans down with a bang and a threatening look, as if to warn her to keep quiet. Then he turned his attention to the "Dukes," giving her only a cursory glance now and then.

  During a chase scene, Perri slipped out the paper. Her hands slippery with a cold sweat, she quickly sketched in the neighboring house with fish scrolled grill, ball park and ocean. On the opposite side she wrote: "Near Olas Altas. Tin cans— E. window." There was no room for more information. Shoving the rolled-up paper back inside, she closed the pendant.

  This was what Crystal must have done. Where had she see the Scorpion? Who was he? One of these men? Mouth drier than ever, Perri sat back to wait. Now to get the pendant to Hugo...somehow.

  The "Dukes" were still being chased in the "Robert E. Lee" when the older man returned, scowling.

  "I talked to one of them on the phone. He wants proof we've got her."

  "I said he would. Shall we make her phone them?"

  "I won't say anything," Perri told them defiantly, her fingers clutching the pendant. "You won't prove anything to him."

  "Then you'll write—”

  "No. I won't do anything to help you," Perri declared, still playing wi
th the pendant. Would they think to send it? Tossing her head defiantly, she let it go so that it swung for a moment across her breasts.

  They both glared at her. Perri's spirits sagged. The suspense was making her faint, the blood pounding loudly in her ears.

  "You'll do as you're told, even if we have to—”

  "We'll send her finger," the younger man snarled.

  "You want to wait until he checks fingerprints?" Perri retorted, amazed she could get the words past the constriction in her throat.

  The older man pulled out a switchblade. "If you won't talk—”

  "We'll send her necklace," the younger man declared, triumphantly. "He'll recognize that!" He turned to Perri, lifting his hand threateningly. "Take it off, or we'll cut it off!"

  Hands shaking—out of eagerness, not fear—she had difficulty with the clasp. She threw it at the younger man, masking her emotions with feigned anger.

  They wrote a note to send with it, setting up the exchange time for midnight. Her hands were re-tied behind her back, and she was gagged again with the hated rag.

  Returned to the back room, Perri settled down on the cold floor for a long wait, her face sore and puffy...like bread dough someone had vigorously punched down.

  Would the pendant get through? It was and looked valuable...one of a kind. Perri had several times been offered a goodly sum of money for it. If only it didn't get lost or stolen along the way.

  Joe would know to open it...if it got to him. There was nothing for her to do but wait.

  Dearest Joe...Hugo. What was he really like, when he wasn't playing a part? Would she still love him...as much, or more?

  The tiled floor was highly uncomfortable. From time to time she stood up and walked over to the window, looking out, hopefully, yet knowing that if her message did get through and somehow Joe and Walt could find the house, they wouldn't show themselves.

  And if it didn't?

  Retrieving the nail, Perri sat in the window with her back to the bars and dug at mortar. It was old and crumbly. If she was successful in loosing a couple, would she be able to make herself jump down into the concrete courtyard? And then what would she do?

  Closing her mind against the future, she resumed scratching. One thing at a time.

  The afternoon dragged on. No one bothered with her. The sun had shifted, throwing the cans into shadow. They would be harder to see.

  It made her all the more determined. She stayed at the window, stopping only when her fingers grew tired and she was in danger of dropping the nail. Then she would turn and stare out at the freedom beyond the courtyard, wishing this whole thing over.

  Thus it was that she saw Hugo, sitting high up in an open double decker bus, pass slowly by, his eyes searching the houses. Unable to reach through and swing the cans, Perri could only hope he saw them.

  The bus passed out of view while Perri watched helplessly. There were other people on it, looking like tourists. Perri wondered how Hugo had gotten the tour bus driver to go up and down the streets...and what the tourists were thinking of such a route.

  Since he was adept at talking his way into things—including her heart—he had probably given them a reasonable explanation; even a romantic one.

  The day passed...the hours creeping slowly by until Perri sank back in a semi-conscious daze upon the floor. The lack of water, coupled with the strain and effort to loose the bars, made her faint. She had gotten one to wiggle, but it was embedded too deeply to slide out.

  It was dark when she was alerted by a series of muted thuds, like someone was digging outside. Then Joe appeared at the window, a prospector’s hammer in one hand. He held a knife through the bars with the other.

  "How many are there?" he asked, cutting her free when she eagerly backed up to where he could reach her. Quickly she undid the gag that had cut into her bruised mouth.

  "Two. They're watching TV."

  "Good. They won't hear us." Bracing himself on the deep window ledge, he pulled a rope up after him and tied it to one of the side bars. After making a loop in the rope to put his foot into, Joe went to work with the hammer, using its point to chip away around the bars. He worked with speed, yet quietness.

  "Are you okay? Have they hurt you?" he asked.

  "They hit me a few times...when I refused to do what they wanted. But I had to, so they would send the pendant."

  "Nothing else?"

  "No...they pretty much left me alone."

  He wrenched the bars loose. "That was good thinking on their part. Saved their necks." Shoving the bars through the opening, he crawled inside, hugging her against him in a fiercely exulting embrace. She almost cried in relief.

  "Let's go; down the rope," he whispered.

  Perri hesitated. She knew how far it was to the ground. Maybe she wouldn't jump out of a plane for him after all. "Do I have to?" she asked, her voice magnifying her doubts. It suddenly seemed safer in the room.

  "I forgot." He didn't even sound upset. Quickly he pulled the rope up and in. "I'll tie you on and lower you down...real slow. Hurry up."

  Obediently she let him tie the rope around her waist and practically shove her through the opening. Then she was dropping through the darkness, eyes closed; spinning slowly, bumping against the wall—

  When she had crawled out on the mast, it had been to save his life, not hers. Plus she had been in shock. To do this when fully functional was another matter. She could feel the scream of panic forming in her throat—

  Without warning, the rope was released. Her worst nightmare engulfed her as the slow decent became a swift free-fall into the dark void.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Perri's scream changed to an explosive grunt as she was caught, then dropped unceremoniously on the ground. At the same time she heard shots in the room above.

  "Over the fence." It was Owen and he didn't wait to untie her, but climbed hand over hand up the rope and through the window.

  More shots followed.

  She couldn't get the rope untied! Frantically Perri tugged at the knot. Why had he tied it so tight? And what was happening up there? Again there was tension on the rope as someone descended. Ducking, she barely missed getting a shoe in the face.

  "Hurry up, love!" It was Hugo...Joe.

  "I can't untie—”

  "Here." He gave the free end a tug and it released, making her shudder at what now seemed a loose knot. Couldn't he have tied her more securely?

  Owen landed beside them. The two men boosted Perri over the wall—the glass at that point having been covered by a heavy canvas—and quickly joined her.

  Walt was sitting in a car at the curb and they joined him. The long strain caught up with her, and she began to shake with reaction.

  She could barely climb into the vehicle. Both Owen and Joe helped, Joe climbing in first, then lifting her up and cradling her across his lap, his arms— Hugo's arms— strong around her... comforting and secure.

  "Let's go directly backstage," he suggested, and Owen drove off at a good clip along the edge of town and back toward the hotel.

  After Perri managed to stop her chattering teeth, she said, "I take it...you got the pendant." Her mouth was still dry.

  "Right." Walt pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to her. "Hand delivered; but by a boy so young he couldn't describe the man who paid him to bring it. Owen came over as soon as we discovered you were gone."

  "Thanks, Owen."

  "Glad I could help for a change. Walt told them we had to have positive proof they had you, thinking to buy time. As soon as we got the pendant, Joe looked inside."

  "Clever child," Joe said, his praise warming her. "Should we make her an agent?" he teased.

  "No!" Walt and Owen spoke together, with Perri's "No" quickly tacked on behind.

  "I agree," Joe said, chuckling at the quickness of their reply.

  "They used Anna to get me to open my door. Is she all right?"

  Joe's expression hardened, grim. "I'm afraid not. They knifed her and left
her for dead."

  "Oh, no!"

  "I thought it was you, when I first saw her." He paused, his face bleak. "A moment I don't care to relive. I patched her up, took her to the hospital. She was still alive when I last heard."

  "But why...?"

  "No witnesses, love. She had seen them."

  "So had I."

  "Right."

  The cold certainty with which he spoke made Perri tremble. The nightmare was continuing. She pressed closer into the shelter of his arms. "What happened up there?"

  "They opened the door as I started to lower you. I had to get my gun out to shoot. I was faster than them, but only because I dropped you. Was it bad?"

  "Bad enough. Owen caught me."

  "Thanks, Owen. You came in just in time."

  "Anytime."

  Perri breathed in relief. To be back in Hugo's arms, after such an ordeal, was wonderful.

  She didn't like being used as a hostage or a punching bag. It had been pure luck that the man had decided to send her pendant.

  "What would you have done?" she asked, mentioning the exchange.

  "Luckily, we didn't have to plan anything. But I'd probably have dressed up as Alvaro and tried to fool them until we got you close enough where Owen could grab you," Joe stated matter-of-factly. "It could have turned nasty."

  Perri shuddered. Danger was part of his job. He and Owen could easily lose their lives.

  His arm around her had not lessened its comforting presence, the grip as secure as when they had first entered the car. That also was part of his job. She needed to keep that in mind.

  Perri rested her bruised face against his shoulder, feeling the bandages he still wore wrapped around his ribs. He was holding her securely, but it could be just in comradeship...not love. Not after what Walt had said.

  Walt and Owen and Joe. The three men she loved. All in the same dangerous business. At least they would help protect each other...when they could.

  Would she be able to clamp down on her new knowledge of what their job was like...and be able to watch them go out on assignments, without going to pieces? Would she be able to dredge up enough prayer — and humor — to survive the worry?