by Ben Follows
“What can you tell us about Jake Lavelle?” said Emerson.
Karen looked at Thompson’s burned hand. “What happened to him?”
“Burned himself,” said Emerson. “He’ll be fine.”
“Sure,” said Karen, sipping her wine. “What can I tell you about Jake Lavelle, beside the fact that he stood me up? He seemed like a nice enough guy, if a little weird in a quirky way. It was like he was trying too hard to be cool, you know what I mean? He came in last night with the chief. The chief—wait, I can’t get arrested for doing something the chief told me not to do?”
Emerson shook his head. “Unless it’s a felony, no.”
Karen nodded and took another sip of wine. “He told me not to give Jake any alcohol because of Jake arriving with his car totaled and wasted and spending the night in the drunk tank. We talked a bit, and he slipped me a napkin with a really cute message on it.” She took another long swig of wine and refilled her glass. “He seemed like a nice guy, so when he came in today and asked me out to dinner I said yes.”
“Anything suspicious?” asked Obrasey.
“Let me get to that. There were two things that I thought were odd. The first was that he asked me about Dirk Davidson.”
Emerson leaned forward. “The Dirk Davidson who was sent to a juvenile detention center?”
“That’s the one. You know about him?”
“The chief mentioned him. People around town don’t seem too enthused to have him around.”
Karen waved a hand. “People are too hard on him. He made a mistake. Don’t know why Jake would want anything to do with him, though.”
“Maybe he was just curious,” said Emerson. “But we’ll check him out anyway. And the other thing?”
Karen frowned for a moment before remembering. “Oh, right. Well, there was a big fight at the bar last night between some of the bikers and this other group of guys. Ended badly for everyone involved, but it also ended really quickly. Before anyone could react, it was over and ten guys were out cold on the ground.”
“How does that relate to Jake?”
“It might not, but the timing is strange. I kept glancing at him to see if he was looking at me. Vain, I know, but what can you do? Anyway, he was there before the fight talking with Carl Magnusson, and then after the fight he just wasn’t. Like poof! Gone. It might be a coincidence, but it seems strange, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” said Emerson. “Is there anything else you can tell us?”
“No, but if you find him can you tell him he isn’t getting a second chance. I’m not a doormat. He can’t stand me up like that.”
“We’ll be sure to do that,” said Emerson, standing.
“What is he suspected of doing, anyway?” said Karen, as though just realizing FBI agents were in her kitchen. “What is he involved with?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” said Emerson. “Thanks for your time. Here’s my card. If you think of anything else let me know.”
“Thanks,” said Karen, pouring herself another glass.
Emerson and Thompson left, leaving Obrasey with Karen.
“Go easy on that stuff, Karen.”
Karen looked over her glass at Obrasey. “You were so cool in school, Amanda. When did you get so fucking high and mighty?”
Obrasey smiled and left the house, feeling Karen’s gaze biting into her back.
It was getting late, but the FBI agents seemed restless and drove straight to the Fredericksons’ house. That was where they first learned about the private detective license, and Judith explained—never letting them over the threshold into the house—that it was all a big misunderstanding and that they shouldn’t be wasting taxpayer dollars on searching down a man who was doing what none of the law enforcement had dared to do: accept the possibility that her husband wasn’t an adulterer and give her some goddamn respect. The FBI agents were unable to break through the shell Judith had created around herself, and when she shut the door abruptly, they were left with only the knowledge Jake was claiming to be a private detective.
They visited the Magnussons’ and got the same response. Knox the Rottweiler stood just behind Carl in the doorway, echoing his owner’s emotions as he told them that if Jake had finally brought some credibility to the idea Frank was in danger or dead, then maybe it was a good thing he was suspected. He spent a good portion of the time berating Obrasey for not pursuing leads harder, considering Jake had found some serious leads in just two day’s time. Obrasey tried to defend herself, but Carl didn’t want to listen, and after a five-minute rant, he told them if they weren’t off his lawn in a minute he would be sicking Knox on them and slammed the door in their faces.
So the FBI agents and Obrasey ended up back at the police station with more evidence but no firm leads. They sat at a few empty desks in the vacated police station.
“He mentioned some shouting guy who was at the repair shop,” said Emerson. “I think Judith mentioned the same guy. Did you go into that at all?”
“I tried,” said Obrasey, “but the chief cut me off, didn’t give me access to the database.”
Emerson shrugged. “Without a name or a better description than 'loud guy' there isn’t anything we can do. Obrasey, you look exhausted. Go home and get some sleep. Meet us here at seven tomorrow morning. You’ve done well. It isn’t your fault that the town is against you.”
Obrasey knew he was trying to be nice, but the comment stung. She couldn’t help but remember what Karen had said.
When she got home, Zach was asleep on the couch, his broken leg still propped up in the same position. His head lolled to one side, and drool had pooled on his shoulder. She walked quietly past him and spent the next few hours unable to sleep, too many thoughts pounding around her head. Once again she wondered what she’d gotten herself involved in.
It was almost three when she managed to fall asleep, but her dreams were filled with questions she couldn’t answer or escape.
Chapter 19
“At least you’re finally losing some weight, eh, Frank?” said Dirk, slapping Frank’s face. “I’m sure Judith will be delighted.”
Frank’s eyes flickered open. He looked up at Dirk standing over him. Frank was filthy and weak, only having eaten the beans and water Dirk had been feeding him like a baby once a day. His clothes hung off his shrunken frame. A thin layer of dirt had gathered over his entire body, and his hair was thick with grease. Frank tried to raise his hands, but his bonds snapped them back against the metal chair. His right hand was missing two fingers, the index and the middle. The white bandages had long ago been stained the dark red of Frank’s blood. His eyes stuck shut, and he had to lean over and rub his eyes on his shoulder to clear them.
Dirk was standing a few feet away, arms crossed, smirking. As he did whenever he was woken, Frank looked around as though wishing this was a terrible dream.
Dirk reached out and pinched his arm. Frank jerked away.
“You’re not dreaming, buddy," said Dirk.
Frank avoided his gaze, choosing instead to look at the ground and then the ceiling for a change of pace. The sounds of hundreds of machines being set up above them were coming down the elevator shaft.
“Yeah, we’re making some progress with this place,” said Dirk, following his eyes. “Pretty soon it’s going to be a full, functioning steel-making factory. Pretty amazing what a few dedicated minds can do, isn’t it?”
“Please,” said Frank. “Why are you doing this to me? Let me go, I won’t tell anyone. Just let me go back to my family. I don’t have any money. No one will pay the ransom. I won’t tell them what you did to my fingers. Please.”
Dirk checked his phone. “They should be here soon. I was visiting Judith yesterday, you know?”
Frank looked up.
“She’s a real sweet lady, and the tulips are looking phenomenal. It’s the kind of thing that turns you into someone’s bitch in prison, but I’ve always loved gardening. I would love to give her some help. I have all the newest mag
azines, and I could help her, but she hates me for some reason. Apparently she doesn’t believe in second chances. That doesn’t seem fair, does it?” Dirk looked up. “Everyone deserves a second chance. Just because I did one bad thing doesn’t mean that I’m a bad person, does it?”
Frank looked down at the crusted blood on his wrists and the bloody stumps of his fingers. “Just let me go home.”
Dirk scowled at him. “You’re a really boring conversationalist, you know that? I’m trying to have a nice chat with you about life, and you’re giving me nothing. I would love to get to know you better. I’m opening up my heart to you, ass. Ah, here they are.”
The jerking sound of the freight elevator announced newcomers. Dirk stood beside Frank as the elevator lurched its way down.
“At least claustrophobia has never been an issue for you, huh?” said Dirk, elbowing Frank’s shoulder.
Frank pulled away as though repulsed.
“It’s nice and roomy here. Probably more space than your house. God, you're boring.”
The elevator lurched to a stop, and Dirk jogged forward to pull the gate to one side, as though a foreign king was arriving.
There were three people in the elevator. Two men Dirk knew, Dimitri and Paul, were flanking a third man with a bag over his head. He was enormous, at least a head taller than Dimitri, who was taller than Dirk. His hands were tied, and his dragging feet made him seem drugged.
Dirk said nothing as they led the new captive through the basement.
“Hello, Frank,” said Dimitri. “It’s so nice to see you again. We brought you a friend.”
Frank said nothing.
“Dirk, bring me a chair.”
Dirk ran to the edge of the subbasement and grabbed one of the metal chairs piled there. He hurried back, and Dimitri grabbed it out of his hands and placed it on the ground ten feet in front of Frank, facing him.
“Rope,” said Dimitri.
Dirk got him some. They dropped their charge into the chair, the bag still over his head.
“Who is that?” whispered Frank, barely audible. “Who else are you doing this to?”
Dimitri just smiled at him as they casually tied the hands of their captive to the chair. He made no effort to escape or squirm free of his bonds, although his fingers opened and closed to show he was awake.
After Dimitri was certain the bonds were secure, he placed one hand on the bag and looked over at Frank. Paul was standing behind the camera, closer to the elevator.
Dimitri grinned. “Are you ready, Frank? For all your questions to be answered? To learn why we’ve been doing this to you? You see, everything we’ve done so far has been to prepare you for this. To break you.”
Dirk watched Frank. He was sweating, as though he'd realized he’d rather not know the truth.
Dimitri pulled the bag off, revealing the face of the man. He had a square face and stubble all across his face.
Frank looked confused for just a moment before his eyes opened wide. “Stamper?” He voice wavered as he spoke. “No, it can’t be. What is happening?”
He looked up at Dimitri, who was grinning widely.
Stamper struggled to raise his head and look at Frank. His eyes were glassy, and he was barely able to stay conscious.
“Tanners…” Stamper said, each word a struggle. “I’m. Here. To. Kill. You.”
Stamper’s head slumped onto his chest, all his energy expended.
Frank was silent, staring at the man in front of him.
“What is happening?” he whispered.
“Well,” said Dimitri, “I guess the first thing is that we know exactly who you are. I heard all about you while I was working for Cuminskey, who’s now in charge of your little empire.”
“Cuminskey? That rat bastard.”
“I thought so too. But I'm not working for him anymore, and we both know you being alive leads to some serious problems for him. So here we have the moron he sent to kill you,” he held up Ed’s head with one hand, “and we have a new message for you to read. Help me move this chair.”
Dirk came over, and they dragged the chair with Ed on it. It made terrible screeching noises as it scraped along the ground. Soon Ed was set up beside Frank, so close that Frank could reach out with what remained of his right hand, still bound to the chair, and touch him.
Dimitri stepped forward and helped Dirk move a table in front of the two. There was a camera set up on it. “Make sure they’re both in the frame, Dirk.”
Dirk stood behind the camera in front of the two captives. “Should I start now?”
“Is the script ready?”
Dirk set up a music stand in front of Frank. There was a printed document on it.
Frank looked it over and his eyes opened wide. “Wait! Wait! You don’t know what you’re doing!”
“Camera ready? Make sure I’m outside the frame of the video except for my hand and the gun,” said Dimitri, standing beside Ed. Dirk nodded, hitting “record.” “Action!”
Dimitri held up Ed’s head by his hair, pulled a handgun out of a waist holster hidden underneath his shirt and put it to Ed’s head. Ed’s eyes were open, and he was muttering something indecipherable about killing Frank Tanners. Dimitri pulled the trigger, and the mumblings stopped. Frank recoiled as he was sprayed with blood, covering the right side of his body, and Ed slumped on top of him as Dimitri let go of his hair. Frank shivered and seemed about to hyperventilate, his breaths becoming rapid and fearful, losing all pretense of a calm and collected demeanor.
“Read the script, Frank,” said Dirk.
Dimitri reached in front of the camera and held up the current New York Times before pulling back and joining Dirk behind the camera.
“My name—“ Frank began, stuttering. “My name is Frank Tanners. Please don’t make me read this!”
“Read the script,” said Dirk.
“My name is Frank Tanners. For twelve years I led an organization of assassins, until I was betrayed and the organization was taken over by Nicholas Cuminskey, a man who only has the support of my followers because he was my second in command. I faked my own death but never gave him my blessing to take over. I’m still alive, and I am disappointed with what he’s done with the organization. Nicholas Cuminskey is not my successor. Please don’t make me say this!”
“Read the script!”
Frank swallowed hard. “This video will initially be sent to Nicholas Cuminskey alone. Hopefully, Nick, you are the only one who ever sees this and the only one who knows I’m alive. Because of Stamper’s involvement here,” Frank’s words started to become angry sputterings, and the words were indecipherable. He looked over at Ed, whose dead body was getting ever closer to him as his wrists strained against the restraints.
Dimitri stepped forward. “Restart from ‘because of Stamper’s involvement’ and get a grip on yourself. You’re acting like a child.”
Frank swallowed and nodded. “Because of Stamper’s involvement here, we are aware that you know, Nick. Please call this number as soon as possible,” Dirk held a piece of paper with a phone number on it in front of the lens for a few seconds and then removed it, “and my captors would like to make a deal to remedy this situation. This can benefit all parties involved, and we can both get rid…” He paused here, and Dimitri raised his gun. Stamper’s body was close enough for Frank to smell. “Do I really have to say this? Please don’t make me do this. I’ve changed! I have a wife and daughter. I just want to see them again.”
Dimitri said, “If you want even the remote chance of seeing them again, then you will read that line.”
Frank nodded and swallowed. “And we can both get rid of Frank Tanners.”
“Cut,” said Dimitri. “That was brilliant, Frank. Just brilliant. Thank god we didn’t need to cut off any more of your fingers. And those emotions. Just brilliant, Oscar-worthy, if I say so myself. We might even get you some real food for tonight. Dirk, Paul, come on. We have a factory to manage and a video to send to Cuminskey.”
> Dirk took the memory card out of the camera and followed Dimitri to the freight elevator.
“Wait!” shouted Frank. They turned back to look. “You can’t just leave me here with this dead psychopath on top of me! You have to move him!”
Dimitri took a few steps toward Frank and then shrugged. “Well, I don’t know what else we’re going to do with him. You’ll be joining him pretty soon, so I don’t see the point. It must be getting lonely down here, so now you have a friend to play with. You should be thanking me. See you soon.”
Dimitri and Dirk joined Paul at the elevator. Frank’s eyes followed them pleadingly as the doors closed. The elevator rose to the first subbasement. Behind him there were machines beginning production. There were no workers around, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was the appearance that the factory was moving toward opening day.
Paul said “memory card” as they exited the elevator.
Dirk put the chip in Paul’s outstretched hand.
“Thank you,” said Paul. “Dimitri, find anything about that Jake Lavelle kid?”
Dimitri nodded. “He lost my trail. I have guys scouting the area surrounding this place, and they all have his photo, but if you could get some more men sent over from Cuminskey, it would make it much easier.”
Paul nodded. “I’ll get the video uploaded and sent to him tonight.”
“Perfect.”
Chapter 20
Less than an hour later, the phone sitting on the center of the poker table in the office above the factory floor rang. Dimitri placed down his hand on the table, another losing hand, and grabbed it. He smiled when he saw the call display.
“Hello, Mr. Cuminskey?”
Dirk couldn’t make out the words on the other side of the line, but he could tell they were panicked, angry, even threatening.
“So you got our video?” said Dimitri casually. “What did you think?”
More angry yelling.
“Mr. Cuminskey, I’m sure Stamper was a key part of your operation, considering how effortlessly we captured him. I’m more than willing to make a deal to remedy this situation. I have hidden the video with certain people with instructions to send it to news outlets if anything happens to me, so don’t be too hasty with this. Listen to my offer then make your decision. What I want is protection from you, and I want an exclusive production deal. What we are doing here is bringing jobs back to America, bringing good, hardworking Americans jobs.