Back AT You

by John W. Mefford

  “You have an oldest?”

  He smacked his hands on the table. “That’s what I really want to talk to you about.”

  I’d recalled his last statement before the cops stuffed him in the police car. “You can’t take her back to her mother. Both of my daughters are…” That statement had lingered in my mind. It was why I’d, ultimately, called up Stan, hoping to understand what was really going on. Well, that and something about Gerald Bailey didn’t seem to fit the stereotype of a child kidnapper. I wasn’t sure if my intuition was throwing up false flags. Now, I was having even more doubts.

  “Keep going. This morning you were playing with Lila and…?”

  He nodded twice. “A guy knocks on our door. I open it, and he says he wants his damn money. I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about. We don’t typically carry much debt. If so, it’s paying off credit cards, like most people. I thought he was a quack—kind of looked like it too—so I start shutting the door on him. That asshole actually stuck his foot in the door, wouldn’t let me shut it. He shoved the door open and said if he didn’t get his five grand then something might happen to someone I cared about. He shifted his bloodshot eyes over to my daughter. I grabbed him and—” Gerald stopped, looked over his shoulder.

  “You might as well tell me everything, Gerald. If you’re really telling the truth, then it shouldn’t matter.”

  He let out a shaky breath. “I just told the guy that he better not come around the house anymore. And if he got near my daughter, I’d be forced to call the cops or, if needed, beat the shit out of him.” He shook his head, muttered something.

  “Care to share?”

  “Oh, the guy was so cocky, so brazen. He chuckled and walked off to his car. I just stood there, defiant-like. When he got in the car, he waved a gun where I could see it, and then yelled that he’d be back in an hour. And that I might want to talk to my wife and find out how serious he can be.”

  Gerald’s breathing picked up. He kept trying to rub his face, though he couldn’t because of the cuffs. His anxiety was difficult to watch.

  “It’s time for me to take him back to his cell,” the cop said, walking toward the table.

  I held up a hand. “Please hold off. We just need another five minutes.”

  “Ms. Nash, I’ve been told to give you fifteen minutes. I even gave you a five-minute warning.”

  “Two minutes, then. That’s all I’m asking for.”

  His eyes gave me the once-over. It made me more than a little uncomfortable. Did he think I was going to maybe flash him a breast just to get him to cooperate? He obviously didn’t know me very well, if that were the case.

  “Okay,” he finally said. “Two minutes.” He found his spot back in the corner.

  “Talk, Gerald,” I said.

  “So, I go wake up Jill and confront her about this guy who’s threatened to harm Lila. She frickin’ loses it. Says she doesn’t need my permission to do anything. It was making no sense. She hasn’t made sense in a long time, but this…this was different.” He poked his finger into the table. “We were talking about the safety of Lila. Isn’t protecting your child against bad people the most fundamental part of being a parent?”

  I nodded, motioned with my hand for him to keep talking. I knew the cop was counting seconds.

  “Jill and I started fighting—I didn’t back down this time. She wouldn’t tell me who this guy was, but I flat-out accused her that she owed money to her dealer. She told me I was full of it, but I knew she was lying. She said I was the one on drugs if I thought she’d interact with someone who might harm Lila. She was belligerent. I could see that she was in full-on ‘lie mode.’ I couldn’t trust a word that came out of her mouth.”

  “So you took Lila?”

  He nodded. “Didn’t even know where I was going. Just knew I couldn’t keep her there.”

  “Why didn’t you call the cops?”

  He moved his hands enough to clang the cuffs against the metal bar. “I don’t know. I guess I thought that Jill would lie her way out of it. And if this drug dealer didn’t come back in one hour, he’d come back five hours later, after the cops left, or the next day. I couldn’t trust anyone.”

  The cop walked over and started to unlock Gerald’s cuffs.

  “Quickly,” I said. “Tell me about your other child.”

  “Angel is fifteen. About two weeks ago, when I was out of town on a consulting gig, Jill shipped her off to her sister’s place. Said she needed a break from the pressure at school. I went along with it initially, but after a few days, I called out there, and Jill’s sister, Jenny, said Angel had made a new friend and wasn’t at the house. I tried over and over again to reach Angel, but she was never around.”

  The cop pulled Gerald up to a standing position.

  “Angel is a bit of a pistol, but I could never see her not talking to me for two weeks. It’s just not her.”

  The cop walked Gerald to the door.

  “What are you saying, Gerald?”

  Tears streamed down his face. “After what happened this morning, I’m worried that Jill did something…maybe gave Angel to this drug dealer as part of paying off her debt, and then got her sister to cover for her. Will you try to find her? Please. No one believes me.”

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  He was ushered out of the room. I sat in silence for a few minutes and pondered if I should believe Gerald Bailey.

  14

  Alex

  I finally reached the north side of LA, saw a sign for Pasadena to the west, but I headed east on the 210—I’d been brainwashed into using “the.” I hit the 15 and traversed north, leaving the glow of the big city lights behind me. As I made my way across the state, I thought more about my options with Carter and Nixon and the drugs in the back of my car. I knew they’d balk at an in-your-face threat—something like “give me the girls or I toss the drugs down a drain.” In fact, they might react violently against the girls. But what if something kept me from arriving at the compound? A flat tire, or some type of car trouble? They’d either be forced to bring the girls to me, or if one of them came alone, I felt reasonably confident I could take him. Of course, if more than one former president came to pick me up, then I was screwed.

  Too many ways to get screwed in this deal. No option was perfect, nor without some risk. That was the way all ops went. Ultimately, I’d have to rely on my experience and my instinct. And maybe a little bit of luck.

  A flash of light made me blink. I checked my rearview. A car was flashing its brights. But it was the swirling red and blue lights on top of the car that made my breath hitch.

  I had to think quickly. I was about to pass an exit, but I swerved right just before I ran into a metal barricade. I purposely didn’t hit the gas—I didn’t want the officer to think I was running from him. The frontage road was even darker than the interstate. We were in the mountains. I recalled seeing a sign for Mountain Pass. As I slowed the car, I spotted a dirt road off to the right. I pulled to a stop just near it, where weeds and chiseled boulders camouflaged the opening.

  Blood flooded my brain. I wasn’t exactly sure how to handle this. I might be the victim in this fucked-up ransom mission, but to a cop, I was a woman driving an old car across the mountains headed straight for Sin City, and in the trunk were two boxes of drugs. Over time, I’d probably be able to talk my way out of it—after he arrested me, brought me back to his station, and then put in a few calls. It might be well into the next day before everything got ironed out. How many hourly status calls would I miss? More importantly, how many could I afford to miss before Carter and Nixon retaliated against Erin and Becca?

  I watched in my side mirror as a cop walked toward my car. It was a male, that much I could see. “Brad…I’m doing this for Erin and Becca,” I said to myself. I unhooked my bra, slipped it through my sleeve, and then unbuttoned my shirt to my navel. Jennifer Lopez had nothing on me. I just had to hope this guy was straight and had a little bit of Grant Valdez
in him.

  I clicked the window button as he walked up and shined a flashlight in my face. I arched my back to provide the best cleavage shot.

  “Evening officer.” I smiled, batting my lashes.

  Through the glare, I could see the man reset his hat. The muscles in his forearms rippled. He leaned down to where I could see his face. His eyes went right to my chest.

  Bingo.

  “I’m Officer Massey.” He paused and looked around the inside of the car.

  “I hope you’re having a great night. Me? I’m just taking a leisurely drive to Las Vegas. I have a friend there, and we’re going to have some fun.”

  He nodded, his eyes back on my chest. He seemed to be contemplating his next move. If he asked for my driver’s license, I was screwed. The phrase of the day, apparently.

  I giggled.

  “Have you been drinking, miss?”

  “Oh God, no. I had an uncle who died after being hit by a drunken driver. That’s the last thing I would do. I’m just thinking about what me and my friend are planning to do once I get to Vegas.”

  He had his hands on his knees now. He looked back to his car and then to me. “And what’s that?”

  “We’re planning on going to one of those amateur strip clubs and just letting it all loose. The full monty.” I giggled for a second. Then, I stopped suddenly and put a hand to my face.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  I sniffled and conjured up tears. “It’s nothing...well, I guess it’s kind of something.”

  “If you want, I can call a female officer to the scene. We’ve been trained in dealing with people who are in emotional distress.”

  Was this guy that thick-headed?

  I reached out and touched his hand for a brief moment. “It’s not that. I’m just…” I lowered my head, then took in a deep breath that expanded my chest. When I looked up, I caught his eyes boring holes into my chest. He was actually licking his lips.

  “I just found out my husband was cheating on me.”

  “Oh…I’m, uh…sorry.”

  “Thank you. But I feel like such an idiot. I saw that he’d been direct-messaging someone on Facebook. I just didn’t know it was an old high-school girlfriend of his.”

  “I see.”

  “You’re probably wondering how I know all this. Well, I walked in on them three hours ago, humping each other like two dogs in heat.” More sniffles and tears.

  He handed me a tissue, and I wiped my face.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said.

  “It’s okay. I’ll be all right. He’s cheated on me five other times in our marriage. I was an ignorant fool. But now I’m going to get mine. I’m going to Vegas, and the first stud I see, I’m going to get laid.”

  I could see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. I gave him a very obvious once-over. “What’s your name?”

  “I told you. Officer Massey.”

  “No, your first name.”

  “Bruce.”

  “Bruce,” I said, gently biting my lower lip. “Well, my asshat husband will eventually feel my wrath. But right now…seriously, all I want to do is feel your rod.”

  His eyes got wide. He looked back to his car. “I’ll be back in a second.”

  He scampered back to his car and leaned in. The lights went off. He then ran up to my car and slipped into the passenger seat. He wasn’t wearing his hat any longer. His big ears looked like they could help him take flight. I tried not to chuckle.

  “Take a right down this dirt road before anyone sees us,” he said.

  I turned on the car and followed his directions. I stopped about a half mile down, put the car in park, and dove on top of him. I pretended to be pawing at his shirt as he kissed on my chest. He was like a high-school kid, so single-minded that he had no idea what was going on around him. Before he could spit or wind his watch, I’d unsnapped the button of his holster, pulled out his pistol, and jumped back into the driver’s seat.

  “What the hell you doing, lady?” He slowly raised his arms. Then, he began to whimper. “Are you going to kill me and leave me for dead in the middle of nowhere until the vultures eat my carcass?”

  “You have an active imagination, Bruce.”

  “Then what is this all about? I thought you were into me.” He sounded like a whiny teenager.

  I shook my head as I buttoned my shirt with my free hand. “You’re pretty gullible, Bruce.”

  “Are you going to steal my money? I only have twenty bucks on me. I guess you can have my credit cards, but my wife will have my ass if I lose those.”

  “Bruce, you’re not wearing a ring.”

  “You noticed.” His chin dropped to his chest.

  “Cheer up, Bruce. I’m not going to kill you or steal your money.”

  “Then what is this all about?”

  “Give me the keys to your car.”

  “Why?”

  I snapped my fingers, and he quickly produced the keys and put them in my hand.

  “Okay, now your handcuffs.”

  “My handcuffs?”

  “Are you hard of hearing?”

  He looked at the gun.

  I said, “I’m a trained professional. I know how to use this gun.” Of course, he wasn’t aware I had no intention of firing the weapon. It was all about power. Right now, I was wielding it so I could hopefully give myself a chance to save my daughter and her friend.

  The whining had stopped, and I could see his mental gears were beginning to crank a bit. “This is something much bigger than taking me, isn’t it?”

  “You’ll eventually find out what’s going on. For right now, I need you to cooperate. So, you either trust me and do as I ask, or I’ll be forced to put a bullet in your kneecap.”

  He huffed out a breath and set the cuffs on the seat.

  “The keys to your handcuffs, please.”

  He produced them as well, and I put everything he’d given me on the floorboard in front of me. Then, I paused a second and re-thought my plan.

  I grabbed the handcuffs and got out of the car, walked around to the other side, and opened his door. “Get out.”

  “Why?”

  “Just get out.”

  “Please tell me what’s going on? I’m sure I can help.”

  Yeah, right. “Bruce. I don’t have much time. Get out of the fucking car.”

  He did as I said, and I shut the door. “Take off your clothes, down to your underwear.”

  “What the hell is this all about?”

  He was confused, probably scared. I hated it more than he did, truth be told. But I couldn’t stop now. “Not your concern. Take off your clothes and throw them behind the rocks over there,” I said, motioning with my head.

  He did it, and I didn’t bother looking. “Get in the back seat.”

  He turned his palms to the dark sky, opened his mouth like he might say something, but shut his mouth and got in the car. I gave him the handcuffs. “Cuff yourself to the headrest.”

  “Seriously? What are you going to do to me?”

  “Stop asking questions. Just do it.” My voice had some steel to it, and he quickly complied with my request.

  I knew he probably had the strength to pull the headrest off the seat, but it would take some effort. During those few seconds, I’d have enough time to grab the gun and, if necessary, shoot him. Or maybe I’d shoot and miss—to simply scare the shit out of him. Whatever was needed at this point.

  He followed my instructions. I shut the back door, then walked around the car, slipped into the driver’s seat, and started up the Chrysler.

  “Are you going to tell me where you’re taking me? I mean, I thought you said this wasn’t about me.”

  I put the car in drive and started retracing my path down the dirt road toward the interstate.

  “So now you’re not talking to me,” he said, shaking his head. I could hear him muttering something, but I couldn’t pick it up. Probably cussing me out or regretting taking the bait I’d thr
own him.

  I reached the frontage road and spotted Bruce’s police car. I considered getting in and moving it out of sight, but I didn’t want to waste any more time. I made my way onto the interstate and continued my same path, moving east on the 15.

  After traveling a couple of miles, I caught Bruce grasping the headrest with his hand. I held the gun up so he could see it. “Don’t be a bad boy, Bruce. Bad boys will get punished. This is your last warning.”

  He dropped his head between his arms. “You were lying to me earlier, weren’t you?”

  I didn’t respond.

  “You’re going to kill me. Or maybe you have some place in the middle of nowhere, and you’re going to torture me because I jumped at the chance to have sex with you. It’s all because I’m married, right?”

  I was going to respond, but then he said, “Wait—Melody hired you, didn’t she? Crap. I actually love that woman, but I just can’t help myself sometimes.”

  Men. I wondered if my deceased husband, Mark, ever felt any remorse for his philandering. I wiped that from my thoughts. I traveled five more miles and found another exit that seemed to go nowhere. I took it and crawled along the dark frontage road. “There,” I said out loud. I took a right turn down a dirt road. After about a mile, the terrain became rocky. I went another half mile or so and then stopped the car.

  With the gun in my free hand, I opened Bruce’s door and handed him the key to the handcuffs. “Unlock the cuffs.”

  He did. Then I motioned for him to get out of the car. He held the cuffs and the key in front of him. I took the keys back and put them in my pocket. “Re-cuff your hands together.”

  “So, you are some psycho bitch.”

  “Maybe. Just do it.”

  He did it. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you? You’re going to make me pay for almost cheating on my wife. How do you know I would have followed through with it?”

  “Bruce, stop putting up a legal defense here. We both know you’d already crossed the line. If I were you, I’d do some serious thinking while you’re out here all alone.”