Not Alone

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Not Alone Page 14

by Frederic Martin


  Bronco was feeling pretty good. His trip down south set him up nicely with good stock to sell, and he was still in pretty good with the suppliers in the city. He had worked for them for many years until he moved up here ten months ago. He felt he could set up his own territory in this quiet, virgin Vermont college town. It was small stuff for the big timers down south, but it was a growing business for him here. He knew that if sales went too well here, they would want to move in and control more of it. For now, they were happy to let him have it, but he could tell they were starting to get the scent of opportunity. He wouldn’t have much more time with the area all to himself.

  Meanwhile, he had it easy—a small, quiet town without much police coverage. There were two police cruisers at most during the day and only one at night. Frankly, the college campus security was tighter than the town police. That’s why he did most of his business in town. It was pathetic, really. All he had to do was wait in his car until the night police cruiser sweep went by, and he could head the other direction, knowing it would be half an hour before the cop car would ever be back near the park. Then he would just ring the customer once, and they would show up at the park. They’d make the exchange, and then he would go home richer. Some nights he would do two or three customers. He started letting Jack do the day customers by himself—just joints and small bags of dope. Small change, really, but it brought in new heroin customers. Day work was the risky part, but Jack was good at it, and if he got arrested? He was only 17, he’d probably get let off, Bronco thought, but if he didn’t, well, there were plenty of kids to take his place. Didn’t matter to Bronco. The real money was heroin. He wasn’t going to let Jack handle that or even let him know how the deals went down. If Jack got arrested, Bronco was clean, clean, clean. Jack didn’t even know his real name, he only knew him as a phone number and as a guy named “Bronco.” Obscurity and anonymity were the keys to his freedom and prosperity. He would kill to keep that.

  Tonight, it was just regular customers. Big customers. They always bought 20 or 30 bags at a time. No problem, easy money. He checked the time. Time to go. He dialed a number on a cell phone and let it ring twice then immediately hung up. He got up from the bench and walked calmly and easily toward the restrooms. Behind the restrooms, in the parking lot, he knew he’d find his customers waiting.

  He walked over to the parking lot at an easy pace, just enjoying the night, but he was casing out everything. If there was anything suspicious, he would just keep going and wait for another night.

  Tonight was quiet. There was nothing he could see, and it looked like another routine deal. Still, the quieter it was, the more uneasy he was. He wondered if he wasn’t getting jumpy. His father had warned him not to get jumpy. Didn’t matter what happened, always stay cool, his dad had said. It made people more comfortable when you were cool, and when they are comfortable, that is when you have the advantage. Always. “Don’t forget that,” his father had said. And Bronco hadn’t. His dad may have been an abusive, sadistic, bastard-of-a-father, but he was street smart.

  Bronco rounded the restroom and lit up a cigarette. It was more suspicious when you tried to conceal yourself. It was better to act like you had nothing to hide. The light of a cigarette actually lowered suspicion rather than raised it. Again, one of his dad’s bits of advice.

  It was also a signal to the couple in the car. They got out and greeted him like a buddy. The guy even lit a cigarette. They chatted a bit and then they did the exchange, completely natural. He liked these guys. They had money, they never bitched about the price, and they knew the drill.

  A little bit of chit chat, and then it was all over. They got in their car and left, and he ground out his cigarette (never look like you’re in a hurry to leave, his dad said) and started back across the park to his car. He was completely clean. All he had was a wallet, newly fattened with fresh cash, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and car keys. Cops could stop him now, and no worries.

  He tapped out another cigarette as he walked and reached into his pocket for his lighter. But it wasn’t there. He patted his pockets, looked around on the ground. Damn it, that was a sweet lighter, too—not a disposable one. A real silver-jacketed lighter. He’d had it a long time. It was almost a good luck charm, and he’d hate to lose it. He backtracked toward the parking lot, looking at the ground as he went. When he heard a crack and snap, he stopped and looked up. Standing directly in front of him was a girl dressed all in black.

  It was so unexpected he almost thought he was dreaming. Where did she come from? And what the hell was a girl, practically a kid, doing out in the park in the middle of the night? And what was that thing hanging around her neck? And why was she dressed like that?

  Act cool, he said to himself. Make her comfortable. “Hey, missy. What are you doing out here so late? Do your parents know where you are?” As he said this he stepped casually towards her. She backed up. He stopped, stunned. He could see what was hanging from her neck—a night vision camera. He looked back up to her face—it was covered in black . . . what . . . soot? Makeup? Shit, this wasn’t just an innocent kid sneaking out at night for fun. Was she here when he was doing the deal? Bronco could feel his expression harden, and he was having trouble keeping cool. “Out taking pictures this late are you? Animals? I didn’t see any flashes. Is that some sort of . . . fuck!”

  That last word came as he lunged out to grab the night vision camera, but the girl was off like a gazelle. “Damn it!” said Bronco, and he went after her. That was definitely a night vision camera. He knew it. His dad had had one like it. That damn girl was spying on him and had nearly gotten away with it. If it hadn’t been for his lighter, he would have gone home feeling all secure only to wake up to police banging on his door the next morning.

  Bronco was pissed. He didn’t care if it was a kid, she had just messed with his business and he was not going to let her get away with it. But he had to get her first. And damn, was she fast! He couldn’t believe it, he thought he’d have her in the first 50 feet, and now she was halfway through the park and pulling away from him. A burst of rage at possibly being out-smarted by a little kid gave him a boost of speed, but still, it looked like she was getting away. She was dodging and weaving and going around obstacles he couldn’t even see. It was like she had everything memorized.

  And then he heard a thwack and an “uh!” The sound of footsteps stopped. He slowed down and moved quietly up to where he had heard the sound. The girl was lying in the shadows on the ground completely knocked out. He stepped closer but had to duck under a branch. She must have run straight into it.

  Bronco didn’t dwell on his good luck. He took it as a sign that it was simply meant to be. He was oddly superstitious about these things. He took a quick look around to see if there was any witness to what had happened. There was no one. He wasn’t surprised. It was after midnight, and the whole chase didn’t take more than fifteen seconds. He took a moment to just listen and scan every nook where someone could be hidden. Nothing.

  He reached down and pulled the night vision camera from around the girl’s neck. She was limp, but breathing. He examined the camera and could just make out the familiar controls using the dim light of a distant streetlight. He turned it on and hit the playback button. He held the eyepiece up to his face and after another couple of seconds, lowered the camera and hit the stop button.

  Shit. This was incriminating. He couldn’t just let this go; he had to do something about it. He looked down at the girl. She was limp as a rag doll, but his car was more than 50 yards away. He had been lucky so far, and he was pretty sure there had been no witnesses, but anything or anyone could show up or drive by at just the wrong moment.

  He quickly considered his options. He could take the camera or, better yet, erase it and just leave it there. That would leave no evidence. On the other hand, could he really erase it? He knew forensic detectives had a way of looking at erased files. The only way to really erase it was to destroy it, or take it with him. Either way, i
t was risky. Someone would find her in the morning, if she didn’t wake first and go home and call the cops. She would tell them what had happened. They probably wouldn’t believe her without hard evidence, and without the images on the night vision camera, she didn’t have any. Or did she? Did she have any other evidence? If she took this much trouble to get night camera footage, she must not have felt she had enough evidence without it. But suppose she had a little, and then this incident, too? If they did believe even part of it, at the very least they would try to find him and question him.

  He supposed he could just kill her where she lay, and leave her. That would tie the killing to the park, though, and lead to questioning people who came to the park and maybe to his clients and from them maybe to him.

  He could take her back to his apartment. That would buy him more time. She would be missed, probably later in the morning, and then there would be a search, but they wouldn’t know even where to start to look.

  He looked at her again. She had almost gotten away, fair and square. Again, he was oddly superstitious. If he made her a captive instead of killing her outright, it was like he was giving her a sporting chance. That somehow would make it okay to kill her later, if he had to. It also dawned on him that he had the perfect place to keep her, at least for a week if he had to.

  He made up his mind, but he was wasting time. A small moan came from the girl. She was starting to regain consciousness. He lifted her off the ground and carried her like she was a sleepy child. If he was stopped by anyone, he could just say he found her lying on the ground and was taking her to the hospital. He took one quick look at the ground to make sure nothing was left behind, and then he sauntered as naturally as he could through the most shadowy parts of the park toward his car. He opened the back door and slid her carefully in, laying her on the back seat. Then he walked around the car and slipped into the driver’s seat and closed the door. He reached down under the front seat and pulled out a silver roll of duct tape. He peeled off a piece and leaned over the seat and put it across her mouth. He grabbed a couple of zip ties from under the seat and bound her feet and then her hands behind her back. Always carry duct tape and zip ties, his father said. Always. Bastard knew what he was talking about.

  Bronco took a close look at the girl. A nasty bump was rising under a red scrape on her forehead. She was breathing and moaning a little, but she was still out of it. She’d probably stay that way until he got home, he thought. He threw a jacket and newspaper over her to make it not quite so obvious that he had a captive in the back. He thought about putting her in the trunk, but he’d already spent too much time hanging around. No, he was much better off just getting out of there quickly. The less time you mess around, he thought, the less chance you have of being spotted.

  He started the car and headed home. He just made one stop—in the restroom parking lot, where he found his lighter on the ground. Bronco lit a cigarette for the ride back.

  All Blue could remember were snapshots of things—streetlights going by, cigarette smoke, vinyl car seat. She had an aching forehead and she was woozy and couldn’t focus very well. She was aware that she was in a car and that she had tape across her mouth. She could feel that her hands and feet were bound but she was too dizzy to think straight or be afraid. She felt like she was in a fuzzy dream.

  The next snapshot was being carried in the dark from the backseat of the car and through the side door of a yellow house.

  And then she woke up in a bed in the dark. Her head was on a soft pillow and she had a blanket over her. It was comforting, even though she didn’t know where she was. Her hands and feet were still bound and the tape was still across her mouth. Her head ached and she felt dizzy but awake enough to be able to look around her. She tried to pierce the darkness with her eyes but it was hard with the pounding in her head. There was the very faintest glow from a shaded window, the light from the moon making the pane into a white square. She slowly made out the shape of a small bedroom. She identified a dresser on one wall and a nightstand next to the bed. There was a door across from her. It beckoned escape. A little flutter of hope started to well in her chest, but along with it was the growing realization of her predicament. And the danger she was in. Her eyes erupted in a reflexive cry, “Will . . . ?” A sharp pain in her head stopped the vox short.

  The pain throbbed for a minute but then subsided. When she could think straight again, she ventured getting out of bed. She moved her legs toward the edge of the bed, but they stopped short, contained by an unyielding tether. At the same time, a sound of movement inside the room brought her wide-awake. She stared hard in the direction of the sound and then froze.

  A dark, unidentifiable mass near the door came alive like a living shadow. It grunted, “Hmm, you’re finally awake.”

  The mass expanded up and resolved itself into the shape of a person. It moved over towards her and as it did it leaked chiss, “Let’s see what we have here,” then spoke, “So I suppose you’re wondering where you are, but I bet you can guess who I am.”

  Of course she knew. Even in the dark, there was no mistaking the voice or the chiss she had be surveilling all summer.

  He went on, speaking in a reassuring tone but maintaining the slightest undercurrent of menace. “You are in a nice safe, secure spot, for now, and I’m not going to hurt you. At least, I won’t hurt you as long as you cooperate.”

  Bronco squatted down next to the bed, and Blue could finally make out his familiar features.

  “So I’d like to think you’ll cooperate. Can I count on you to cooperate?” Bronco was looking straight at her. His chiss came through loud and clear. A little too loud and clear for Blue. “Please don’t get hysterical on me, little girl, I could break that skinny neck in two seconds if I had to. But I suppose a little H would do for now to keep you sedated.”

  Blue involuntarily jerked her head back and took in a sharp breath. The comfort of the bed and the notion of feeling safe evaporated. Bronco’s thoughts were hard and cold, devoid of any empathy or humanity, and they sent a chill down Blue’s spine. She suddenly realized that this guy was more dangerous than she had ever imagined.

  Bronco acted startled at her reaction. “Hmmm, maybe I should just go straight to the H . . .”

  Blue started to shake her head, but realized this was the wrong reaction. She switched to nodding her head desperately. She wanted to show that she would cooperate. She realized she had to be extremely careful around this guy.

  He gave her a puzzled look. “So, you’ll cooperate then?” he asked.

  Blue nodded again, more calmly. She relaxed her body and expression a little.

  Bronco apparently took this as a sign of assent. “Okay, then. This isn’t very hard. I just need you to relax and sleep through until morning. You need sleep after that knock on your head. I know what it’s like. I’ve been knocked in the head.” He was speaking in a conspiratorial tone. She could tell he was trying to manipulate her. “It wasn’t me that hit you on the head, by the way, you ran into a tree branch. Do you remember?”

  Blue shook her head. She remembered up to the point she started running but nothing after that.

  “Yep, you ran like the dickens, right into that branch. I nearly hit it myself. So, you get some sleep, and you keep quiet. It’ll do you good. But just remember, I’ll be listening and watching all the time. I’ve got a little video camera over there on the dresser and I can check it any time on my phone. You see that?” He pointed up the dresser, “It’s got a motion sensor on it, too, so I’ll know the minute you start moving around.”

  There was a small surveillance camera on a tripod. Now she really felt defeated. How could she possibly get away, and if she did, where was she? She wasn’t even sure she could stand or run if she did get away. He wasn’t wrong. She needed the rest if she was going to be able to make a move later. It would be much easier to run and find help in the daylight anyway, since she didn’t know where she was. She fell back onto the pillow, which was starting to feel
comforting again.

  Bronco was apparently satisfied with her reaction. “Okay then. That’s what we like to see. I’ll be very close by, so don’t dream up anything dramatic.” He got up and walked over to the door and then added. “You get dramatic, I get dramatic,” he said. “Broken legs and arms are very dramatic. I don’t mind breaking arms and legs. I’ve had plenty of practice.” Then he shut the door.

  She shuddered. It wasn’t what he said. It was the way he said it—without any hint of humanity. She was in deep trouble.

  21

  Sleepless

  Will couldn’t sleep. What Blue had said the night before kept him tossing and turning, his head buzzing with thoughts. Maybe she’s right, maybe there are times when you just have to break rules, take drastic action. Maybe I’m just being a coward. No, this is nuts, we are just kids. We need to tell cops . . . adults . . . someone!

  He considered which adult he would tell—Mom? No, she worked at the school and she had a legal obligation to tell the authorities if a kid was involved in any suspected drug activity going on. Blue would be screwed. Who were the ‘authorities’ anyway? The FBI? The cops? The DFC? Any of them would be bad for Blue. It would probably get the O’Days in trouble, too. The cops? Well, maybe Chief Hannah would overlook Blue’s involvement, but even she needed evidence to act on anything.

 

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