“Yes Mr. Seiffert,” she said.
“I won’t be coming back today. See you tomorrow Martha.”
Seiffert opened the outer door and held the door for Allen. Allen pointed at the name stenciled on the door’s frosted glass.
“Ulciscor Investments, that’s a strange name,” Allen said. “Ulciscor, what is that?”
“Oh Mr. Ridley, do you attorneys still study Latin in school? Ulciscor is a Latin word—”
“Meaning vengeance,” said Allen, interrupting Seiffert. “Now I recognize it. What made you come up with that?”
“It’s a long story, Mr. Ridley. One day, when we both have time, I will give you the details. After you hear the story perhaps you can tell me if the name is suitable,” Seiffert said.
* * *
They entered the elevator together. Seiffert inserted a small key into the panel above the elevator buttons and turned it clockwise, he then pressed the THREE button three times in rapid succession. Allen counted down the numbers on the elevator as it made its descent.
The elevator passed through the third floor and did not stop, Seiffert turned to Allen. “Pardon me, but I need to make a quick stop before we go to the third floor.”
“No problem,” Allen said.
The elevator continued to move. When it reached ONE Allen braced himself for the elevator to stop and open. The elevator descended past the first floor and then stopped. Seiffert turned the key again and the doors opened to the dark basement.
Seiffert stepped out and Allen followed him. The fluorescent lights were coming on row by row.
Allen did not see the two men walk up behind him and grab his arms. They shoved him against the basement wall and handcuffed his hands behind his back. He tried to resist, but the two of them overpowered him.
Dwain emptied Allen’s pockets, grabbed his briefcase and removed Allen’s belt while Patrick pinned him against the wall.
They dragged him to the cage and slammed the door shut behind him. They held the door shut while Seiffert placed a large padlock on the cage’s gate and snapped it closed.
Allen Ridley was screaming. “What the hell is this about?”
“Vengeance, Mr. Ridley. Ulciscor! But no story today, Allen. Perhaps you have a story of your own to share.”
Ridley continued to scream. He hurled his body against the cage door and shouted obscenities at Seiffert and his nephews.
“Scream as much as you want Mr. Ridley,” Seiffert said. “You will just waste your breath and make yourself weary. I can assure you no one can hear you. This room is soundproof. I made sure of it.”
“Tell me the damn story!” shouted Ridley. “Why the hell you are doing this? Are you planning to kill me? Is this a kidnapping? I can tell you right now I don’t have any money. No one out there gives two shits about me, so don’t count on any ransom either. You would’ve been better off to grab someone with more money and connections.”
“Oh no, it’s not a kidnapping—there is not enough money to buy your release. I am not planning on killing you either—your death would be far too easy and less satisfying.
“This, Mr. Ridley, is your hell on earth,” Seiffert said. He gestured around the room with his hand like a circus ringmaster. “I built this just for you. So, welcome to hell, Allen Ridley. Welcome to hell.”
Allen screamed again and shouted.
He demanded to be released.
Seiffert walked behind the stainless steel autopsy table to the rows of medical instruments on the shelf behind it. Allen cried again when he realized the horrible nature of the stainless steel table in the room.
“What’s that table for?” he whimpered.
“All in due time, Mr. Ridley,” Seiffert said. He grabbed something from the shelf behind the table. Allen focused on every move of Seiffert, but he could not make out what Seiffert was holding.
“Now Mr. Ridley, I believe those handcuffs must be uncomfortable. If you will turn around and press your hands against the cage, I will remove them.”
Allen turned and faced away from Seiffert. His breaths had become whimpering sobs. His whole body was shaking. He pressed his wrists against the cage. Dwain reached in his pocket for the handcuff key, but Seiffert held up a hand and motioned for him to stop.
Seiffert reached into the cage and pulled the handcuffs nearer. He reached and grabbed the little finger on Allen’s right hand. He pulled it from the cage. In Seiffert’s right hand was a stainless steel instrument which resembled pruning shears. Using the tool he clipped off the first joint of Allen’s little finger.
Allen howled.
The soundproofing swallowed his screams.
Dead sound, not even an echo.
Patrick laughed. “Told you it wouldn’t cost you an arm and a leg.”
Seiffert frowned at Patrick and shook his head. This was no time for humor.
Allen continued to scream. He found his voice and shouted at Seiffert, “You cut off my damn finger!”
“Not your finger Allen, just the first joint. And this…this is just the beginning.”
Seiffert motioned for Dwain to hand him the handcuff key. “Turn around again. I promise this time I will unlock the cuffs. You’re bleeding badly and that finger of yours needs attention. It’s just a small wound, but it needs to be tended to before you lose too much blood.”
Allen looked at him. He didn’t trust him. Seiffert handed the shears to Dwain. Dwain moved away from the cage and held them up so Allen could see.
Seiffert held up his hands too. He showed Allen that he was holding the handcuff key and nothing else. Allen turned around and placed his shaking hands against the cage again, and Seiffert unlocked the cuffs.
Allen brought his hands forward and looked at his bleeding finger. Blood streamed from his hand. The blood dropped and pooled on the floor of his cage.
Seiffert walked to the shelf and picked up gauze, cotton pads, alcohol, and iodine. He placed everything on a tray and slid it through the food pass to the inside of Allen’s cage.
“Are you going to help me?” Allen asked.
“No, Allen. You are in hell. And in hell one must learn to survive without help.”
Seiffert walked over to the wall and flipped the light switches. The room was dark except for a spotlight which bathed Allen’s cell in white, hot light.
Seiffert said, “Allen, the light is on a timer. You have thirty minutes to take care of your wound. After that, the room will be dark. Enjoy your first night in hell.”
Seiffert turned and disappeared into the darkness with Dwain and Patrick.
Allen turned to the sink. His body still trembling and the finger throbbing in pain. He worked to get the bottle of alcohol open with his left hand and his teeth. He poured it on his finger. The alcohol burned like a hot ember. Allen ripped open the package of gauze pads in a similar fashion and held several of the pads against the bleeding finger.
He pulled the bloody pads away to look. The bleeding appeared to be slowing. Allen saw his finger’s bone inside the cut and almost fainted. He changed pads and held pressure on the wound. After several minutes, he poured iodine over the pads and continued to apply pressure.
Allen sat on the cage’s floor. The light went out. He was in total darkness except for the small red and green lights of the smoke detector above his cell.
Allen Ridley sobbed.
* * *
Upstairs, Seiffert opened Allen’s briefcase, removed the laptop computer and placed it on his desk. He took out the remaining contents and inspected each item. Seiffert then turned his attention to Allen’s wallet and gave it the same meticulous examination. Seiffert removed the credit cards and cash and put them in his desk drawer. He tossed the wallet into the open briefcase, closed it and handed it to Dwain.
Seiffert started Allen’s laptop computer. A screen popped up asking for a password. Seiffert turned to his own computer and opened a program.
The program which Marie had placed on Allen’s laptop weeks before recorded All
en’s computer activity. The program emailed Seiffert daily with the data. Seiffert’s computer contained a program which decoded everything and provided Seiffert with all of Allen’s usernames and passwords. Allen’s email, bank accounts, and credit card information, Seiffert could access everything.
Seiffert booked a ticket online from Tallahassee to Atlanta under Allen’s name using one of Allen’s credit cards. Seiffert printed out the e-ticket, from a desk drawer he removed a Georgia driver’s license. It showed Allen’s name but Dwain’s picture and birth date. Seiffert handed the fake license, Allen’s car keys and e-ticket to Dwain.
“Okay, here’s the drill,” Seiffert said. “Take the briefcase and burn it to nothing but ash. The ticket is for a one-way flight to Atlanta. Drive Allen’s vehicle to the Tallahassee airport. You are flying out from there because Valdosta is too small. Someone at the airport here may realize that you are not the real Allen Ridley.
“Wear gloves when you unlock the car and as you drive. Wipe the keys when you get to Atlanta and drop them in a trash can. Martha will drive to the Atlanta airport to pick you up and bring you back here.”
Lewis Seiffert waited for Dwain to leave. He flipped on the camera pointed at Allen’s cage in the basement. It was dark there now, but he heard Allen crying in the darkness.
Seiffert had no remorse, no sympathy for Allen. He thought of how his Allison must have suffered when Allen stole her life.
Seiffert’s plan was to make Allen suffer much, much longer. There was no time limit, he would punish Allen until his dying day.
After I’m gone Dwain, Patrick, and Marie can keep it going.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Allen couldn’t sleep. He sat in the darkness trying to make sense of everything.
A former client or their ex?
Kidnap?
The factory in China?
After several hours of trying to decide why, he fell asleep—his body and mind, exhausted.
Allen Ridley woke to the spotlight shining in his cage and the throbbing in his finger. The gauze pad was stiff and caked with dried blood. Allen did not dare remove the pad for fear the bleeding would start again.
A cheery voice beyond the spotlight said, “Oh, I see you are awake and didn’t bleed to death. My uncle will be happy about that.”
Patrick passed a tray containing a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon and grits to Allen through the food pass. Sitting on one side were plastic eating utensils and an empty plastic cup.
“Now eat. You will disappoint my uncle if you die from starvation.”
Patrick walked closer and Allen saw his face. Allen recognized him and said in a strained whisper, “You’re the bartender from the pub.”
“Right you are, sir. Give this man a cigar,” Patrick said, chuckling.
“You seem like a nice guy. I’m not sure what this is about, but I’m sure it’s a mistake. Can you please tell me what’s going on here?” asked Allen.
“I would if I could, but I can’t, so I won’t. The pleasure of telling you belongs to my uncle. Finish your breakfast. He will be here soon and he wants you wide-awake and full of fun.”
“Just tell me this. Are you going to kill me?”
“Nope, not gonna kill you, but you’re gonna wish you were dead.”
“I almost bled to death. What if I had died?”
“Bled to death? Not even close. It’s just a li’l old cut. Besides, we had our eyes and ears on you,” Patrick said and pointed to the smoke detector in front of the cage.
Patrick left and switched on the remaining lights in the room.
Allen ate but using only his left hand was difficult. Allen finished and pushed the tray back through the pass.
Patrick pushed a button on the wall. Three buzzers sounded upstairs, two in each of Seiffert’s offices and the other in his apartment.
Lewis Seiffert was upstairs having breakfast with Marie. He had questions about Jimmy Miller’s first day on the job. Marie gave him the report. Jimmy had solved the problems with Handy Lumber and Seiffert was happy with the news. Seiffert heard the signal from the basement and told his niece he had business downstairs which needed his attention.
She assumed he meant the clinic. Marie was not aware that he had Allen Ridley caged in the basement. Marie told him to run along, she would clean up the kitchen and go to work.
Seiffert took the elevator to the basement, exited and walked to Allen’s cage.
“Good morning, Mr. Ridley,” he said. “I hope you had an unpleasant evening. And guess what? Things are about to become more unbearable.”
“Please, please. Just tell me why I am here,” Allen pleaded.
“Okay,” said Seiffert. “Let’s begin with a game of questions and answers, shall we?”
From a cabinet, he pulled out a long fiberglass rod with two brass prongs on the end.
“This, Mr. Ridley, is a cattle prod. It can deliver five thousand, very painful volts. The rod is long enough to reach you anywhere in the cage so you can’t escape it. Here, let me show you.” Seiffert pushed the fiberglass pole through the cage. He pressed a button on the handle with his thumb. The rod buzzed. He touched Allen on the arm with it and Allen screamed in pain.
“Shocking isn’t it?” Seiffert laughed.
“Now, here’s how we play the game. I ask you a question and you answer. If you tell me the truth, we go the next question. If you lie, you get another shock from the prod. We will keep going until you tell me the whole truth. If this doesn’t work, we will move onto something…more severe.” Seiffert shouted, “Do you understand Mr. Ridley?”
Allen nodded. He rubbed his arm.
“Okay, let’s begin. Allen, have you ever killed anyone?” asked Seiffert.
“No,” Allen said.
“Not a good answer,” said Seiffert. He inserted the cattle prod into the cage. Allen tried to find a place to escape it. It zapped the back of the Allen’s neck and he fell to the floor, writhing in pain.
“I will ask this one more time. Take your time and do not lie. Have you ever killed anyone?”
Allen did not know how to answer.
Only Dottie. But what is the connection?
“Yes,” Allen said. “I have killed someone.”
“Good! Now we are making progress. Who did you kill?”
“My sister Dottie, I drowned her.”
Allen’s confession surprised Seiffert. He did not expect this answer.
“Anyone else?” he asked.
This is not about Dottie. What does he want?
“No, just Dottie,” Allen said.
Once again, the prod entered the cage found its target. This time on Allen’s hand.
Allen howled in pain.
“Anyone else? Did you murder someone else?”
Allen took a deep breath, trying to regain his voice and his courage. He almost refused to answer but then shouted a defiant, “No! No one else!”
Seiffert touched the button on the grip of the stock prod and it buzzed again. He shoved it in the cage but released his grip. The buzzing stopped.
“Let’s try this a different way and see if it will refresh your memory,” he said. “Thirty-six years ago the carnival came to Valdosta and someone murdered a young girl. Do you remember that?”
“Yes,” said Allen, “I remember that.”
“Did you kill her? Did you murder my little girl?” He screamed at Allen again. “And don’t you lie, you worthless piece of filth. What I have planned for you next will make the cattle prod seem like a carousel ride.”
“Okay, I won’t lie to you, but please don’t hurt me until I say everything I need to say, all right?” Allen begged.
Seiffert nodded.
“I remember the carnival and the murder, but I did not kill your daughter. Why do you think that? I planned to go to the carnival that weekend with my buddies, but we scored some booze and went camping by the river instead. I swear to you it’s the truth.”
Lewis Seiffert looked at Allen and stu
died his face. Doubts crept into his mind. He needed time to think. Seiffert rubbed his hand over his bald head. He handed the prod to Patrick and went to the elevator.
* * *
Seiffert marched into his seventh-floor office and slammed the door.
Something is not right, but what?
He believed he could crack Allen—force him to confess with a minimal amount of forced pain.
Either Allen could handle more pain than he had calculated and was still lying or he had told the truth. He shuddered when he considered the latter. For years, he directed his anger and hate at one person, years and months of planning wasted if he was wrong.
Lewis Seiffert and his family needed closure. He wondered if they would ever find it.
Seiffert reached into a cabinet, pulled out a stack of file folders and slammed them on his desk. The contents of the files burned in his memory. But he wanted to look at them one more time, with an open mind—not biased against Allen Ridley.
Seiffert examined the files, stopping to look at every page. He read every word and studied every photograph. He pulled a few pages and pictures from the files and placed them to the side. Seiffert closed the file and stared at the ceiling.
The phone rang and broke his concentration—Marie. She told him that Jimmy wanted to stop by and have lunch with him. He almost told Marie to have him wait until another day but reconsidered.
“Tell him to meet me in the pub restaurant at noon.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Seiffert and Jimmy walked into Ashley’s Pub at the same time but through different doors. They shook hands and Seiffert motioned for Jimmy to take a booth away from the other diners.
“Thanks for meeting me today,” Jimmy said. “I wanted to thank you once again for the job. It’s been my dream for years.”
“No thanks needed, you are the perfect fit,” Seiffert said.
“There is another issue. Um…the company is out of money. I suspect Allen was waiting for payment from Handy Lumber for the last shipment, but the bank account has less than five thousand dollars. I will need more money to make payroll and expenses for the next few weeks.”
Carnies and Wildcats: Ulciscor Page 20