Pipe Dreams

by Destiny Allison

  CHAPTER 15

  Ramirez shifted positions, trying to ignore his thirst. The waiting was tedious, the day uncomfortably warm. As the long hours of the morning stretched into afternoon, he had kept his eyes trained on the fire station, but no one had come in or out of the building.

  His sweat had attracted a fly that hovered above his head. Ramirez cursed under his breath as missed the damn thing again. Suddenly, he jerked upright. Someone was singing. Forgetting the fly, he crawled to the edge of the alcove.

  A figure ambled down the center of the street, swinging something from his hand. As it drew closer, Ramirez recognized the savage he had seen from the tree. “Well, hello, Blondie,” he muttered. The man swaggered toward him, carrying the same long, metal pipe. Ramirez scuttled back into the shadows and un-holstered his gun. Then he grabbed his discarded jacket and drew himself into a standing position. The savage’s atonal humming was getting louder.

  Ramirez waited until the man passed before hurling the jacket into the street, where it landed with a thud. The savage turned at the sudden noise. “What the fuck?” he shouted, spotting the jacket. “Who’s back there?” Hefting the pipe, he hit the side of the building as he crested the short steps to the landing. The metal clanged against the stone.

  He came closer, peering into the shadows where Ramirez hid. Ramirez seized the opportunity to slam the butt of his gun on the savage’s head. Out cold, Blondie dropped to the ground. Ramirez climbed on top of him and cuffed his hands behind his back, noting the needle marks on the underside of his arms. Rolling him over, he dragged the limp savage further inside. Then, he risked being seen to snatch his jacket from the street.

  Back in the alcove, he waited for Blondie to stir. Grotesquely painted, barely clad, and decorated with jewelry made from bones, the savage was a strange anomaly in the already bizarre world of the inner-city. His track marks puzzled Ramirez. With the city cut off from the rest of the world, how did he get the drugs that fed his obvious addiction?

  When the savage groaned, Ramirez hefted his gun. “One word and I blow your head off,” he warned as the man opened his eyes. The cliché was effective. Blondie was silent. Crouching, Ramirez considered the situation. He couldn’t interrogate the man while they were in the alcove and the bright sun made it unsafe to move. Would Blondie’s cohorts come looking for him? Ramirez didn’t want to be in the area when they did. He scanned the street, weighing his options. The sticky coating on his parched tongue decided it. If he didn’t get water soon, he was going to be in serious trouble.

  “Stand up,” Ramirez ordered. “Now move. Quietly.” He shoved Blondie in front of him, keeping the gun at the back of his neck. A few blocks away, Ramirez spotted an old restaurant with a shattered front entry. He pushed Blondie through the opening, across the littered front room, and into the kitchen. There, he cuffed him to the bottom leg of a heavy shelving unit bolted into the floor.

  Rummaging through cabinets, he found a roll of plastic wrap which he used to secure a mice chewed rag over Blondie’s mouth. With the rest of the roll, he bound the savage’s feet together. Finally, he moved to the triple sink and turned on the tap, praying water still ran in this part of the city. After a minute, a brownish stream trickled out. Ramirez fingered his cross and uttered a few words of heartfelt gratitude. When the water ran clear, he leaned forward and drank. Then he dunked his entire head under the faucet. Refreshed and dripping, he surveyed his surroundings.

  The kitchen was small, shabby, and covered in grime, but the serving counter that separated it from the dining area allowed a little light into the space. Relaxing for the first time since he had entered Vanessa’s apartment, Ramirez explored the storeroom, shelves, and closets, finding little of use. He did manage to locate a plastic bottle that would hold water. After cleaning and filling it, he tucked it into his jacket pocket. He did not want to be without water again. Then he cleared a section of floor and stretched out on the chipped linoleum. Using his jacket as a headrest, he lay back and sank into an uneasy sleep.

  He woke in semi-darkness. Shaking off the sluggishness, he checked Blondie, who glared at him with sullen eyes. Even in the dim light, the glistening sweat on the savage’s brow was readily apparent. Ramirez grimaced. He needed the man coherent and functioning, but Blondie was demonstrating obvious symptoms of withdrawal.

  Ramirez crept across the dining room to the shattered front door. Soon, it would be dark enough to leave. He hurried back to the kitchen, unwrapped the plastic around the savage’s head, and removed the dirty cloth from his mouth.

  “Who are you?” Ramirez asked. The savage only glared in response, so he tried again. “Look, I just want the girl. If you help me with that, I’ll let you go.”

  “Here kitty, kitty, kitty,” the savage sneered.

  Ramirez slapped him, hard. “I’m not fucking around! Who’s in the fire station?” When the savage spit at him, Ramirez replaced the gag. “Have it your way, asshole,” he said. If Blondie wasn’t going to play nice, he wasn’t either. “Let’s just see what the girl’s people do to you, you son of a bitch. I bet they won’t be nearly as nice as I am.” With his pocket knife, he slit the wrapping that bound Blondie’s legs. Then he freed him from the shelf and motioned him through the door with the muzzle of his gun.

  Outside, the sun had set. The street was dark and Ramirez risked walking in the center of it. If someone made a move, being in the open would give him time to react. As they approached the spot where he had left Vanessa, he pushed Blondie toward the wrought iron fence bordering the park and cuffed him to the railing. Then he sidled along in a crouch until he arrived at the tree. Standing, he hissed Vanessa’s name. When she didn’t answer, he swore.

  Ramirez climbed onto the bench and made the short jump to the lowest branch. He hoisted himself up, swung a leg over the limb, and caught his breath. Placing his hands and feet carefully, he climbed as far as he could. She wasn’t there. In that moment, a deep despair swept through him. He had failed in every way that mattered. He’d lost the woman and the girl. High in the tree, he cursed the night. The weight of years and the ache of longing pressed against him, ripping a heart that had dared to hope into thin, brittle pieces.

  At long last, driven by hunger and duty, he dropped to the ground, retrieved the sweating, runny-nosed prisoner, and pushed him in the direction from which the girl and sentries had come. He would find Vanessa’s pursuers. If they had her, he would convince them to trade.

  A few blocks from the tree, he resecured Blondie to a railing and made his way to the center of the street. As he walked, he yelled, praying he remembered the signal correctly. “Aieeee, woo, woo, woo! Aieeee, woo, woo, woo!”

  At the edge of the park was an intersection. Ramirez stopped in the middle of it, exposing himself in all directions. He waited, listened, and called again. Minutes passed as he sang his cry to blank buildings and silent streets. There was not even an echo. Then something made him stiffen. Hairs stood up on his arms as he twisted his head back and forth, trying to discern the threat in the darkness.

  Someone slammed into his back and he crashed to the ground, struggling violently. A kick caught him on the jaw and he tasted blood. “Get his gun!” a voice shouted. Hands searched his body until they found his holster. A sharp click made Ramirez freeze. He put his hands flat on the ground and his attacker climbed off him. “Roll over,” a cold voice commanded.

  Ramirez obeyed. Someone bound his hands with a rough, nylon rope, placed a blindfold over his eyes, and instructed him to stand. He cooperated in silence. Blondie was safe where he was for the time being and Ramirez wouldn’t reveal more than necessary until he knew what had happened to Vanessa.

  One of the assailants grabbed his arm and dragged him forward. They did not travel far before they came to a stop. Ramirez was shoved into a tight space that widened gradually as they descended a slope. After a time, they stopped again. A door opened. He was forced into a chair. Someone removed the blindfold. In a small, windowless room, lit b
y a single, fluorescent fixture, the tall, skinny, black man and two sentries he had seen earlier in the day faced him.

  “You’re Detective Ramirez?” the black man asked.

  “How do you know my name?”

  “That’s not important.” The man motioned for one of the sentries to untie Ramirez’s hands. After rubbing them together to get the circulation going, Ramirez placed them in his lap, determined to keep his composure.

  “I’m Jeremy Thompson. Sorry for the blindfold and rope. Under the circumstances, we felt they were necessary.” Jeremy glanced nervously at the light above his head. Ramirez followed his gaze. The Fallen weren’t supposed to have electricity. If the administrators caught wind of their illegal wiring, it would be cut. The knowledge was to his advantage, but he wouldn’t use it, yet.

  Instead, Ramirez asked, “Is your man okay?”

  “What man?” Jeremy replied, scowling.

  “The man that disappeared in the building. The one you all came running to find.”

  Jeremy pursed his lips, stretching the thin skin on his face even tighter. A veil of sweat highlighted the sharp bones of his dark brow.

  “He didn’t disappear. He just got delayed.”

  “Glad to hear it. I mean it. Look, I took a big risk getting your attention. You took a big risk bringing me here.” Ramirez gestured at the fluorescent fixture before continuing.

  “You have something I want and I have something you want. This is your call. Do we jerk around all night, or can we put the bullshit aside and talk to each other? I don’t know who you are, or what you’ve done with Vanessa Kovalic, but I know where your girl is. Maybe I have what you need to get her back.” Ramirez narrowed his eyes to slits. Jeremy returned the glare, his body language as old as time. The unspoken dialogue between two men pushed to their limits, unwilling to back down, and locked in their own bravado, heightened the tension in the room.

  “Bullshit,” Jeremy said.

  “Fuck you. I didn’t come asking for trouble. I saw enough today to know that whoever you are, you’re organized and your people aren’t starving. I don’t know what that means and I don’t care. I only want the woman. If you have her, I’ll trade you for her and disappear. But if you don’t have her, you might as well kill me now.”

  Jeremy’s jaw dropped and his hard face twisted. Then his eyes softened and his shoulders slumped. “Okay. I hear you. Neither of us have time for bullshit. What do you have?” he asked.

  “No. I’m not saying a damn thing until I know about Vanessa.”

  “She’s fine.”

  “Prove it.”

  “I will, but first you have to give me something more than maybe. As you pointed out, we took a big risk bringing you here,” Jeremy said.

  “I took one of her kidnappers prisoner. I won’t tell you where he is until I’ve seen Vanessa. If you release her, I’ll bring you to him. I also know where they holed up with your girl. Is that enough of a maybe?”

  Jeremy’s eyes went wide. “You have one of the bone people? How the fuck did you do that?”

  “Yeah. I got one. Why do you call them bone people?”

  “Because bones are their symbol. Motherfuckers are cannibals.” Ramirez shuddered, revolted by something so unholy and vicious. He had heard rumors, but hadn’t believed them.

  “If you know where my girl is…” Jeremy said.

  “I know. I swear.”

  “What about the one you caught. Is he alive?”

  “Yeah. He’s alive. Or was the last time I saw him. Your turn. Where’s Vanessa?”

  Jeremy motioned to a sentry. The sentry ran out and the metal door slammed shut behind him. Ramirez sagged against the chair. Vanessa was alive. Until this moment, he hadn’t been certain. The realization sapped his remaining energy and he stared vacantly at the floor. Then he jerked upright. “Why did you take her? What’s Vanessa to you?”

  Before Jeremy could reply, the door opened. Vanessa stood like a statue against the tunnel dark. Clean clothes hugged her shapely body. Rich, auburn hair framed her oval face. Her electric beauty was a bright light in the sordid dim of dingy concrete and angry men.

  CHAPTER 16

  Lewis stormed around the bedroom, throwing things in every direction. He had misplaced a cufflink and descended into another of his blind rages.

  “How many fucking times!” he yelled as he pulled open a drawer, glanced inside, and threw it on the floor. “Fucking irresponsible, careless, un-fucking-believable imbeciles! Useless, worthless, pieces of shit!” A perfume bottle, hurled with considerable strength, crashed against the closet door, filling the room with its heavy scent. Lucy pulled the silk duvet farther over her head. Closing her eyes tightly, she stifled a whimper and crossed her fingers and toes.

  “Bastards! Repugnant smears of snail! Cunt. Fucking. Juice!” he screamed. A pot containing a blooming orchid exploded on the floor. The tirade continued for several minutes and then stopped as abruptly as it had begun. Lucy peeked from under the covers. Wreckage was everywhere, but Lewis was gone.

  She crawled out and surveyed the damage. Clothes, small pieces of furniture, papers, and books were strewn across the thick, champagne colored carpet. Shards from the perfume bottle and a porcelain vase sparkled in the bright light of a chandelier. Dirt from the broken pot stained a portion of the floor dark brown. The crushed and broken orchid lay nearby.

  Careful to avoid shattered glass, Lucy tiptoed to the intercom and buzzed the housekeeper’s room. She wrapped a robe around her naked body, eased her feet into a pair of slippers, and put things away. By the time Flores arrived with her cleaning carousel, the room was halfway decent. They salvaged what they could and threw the rest into a trash bag. Lucy vacuumed. Flores blotted up the perfume stain near the closet. While they worked, neither of them spoke. When finished, Lucy flung her arms around the other girl’s neck and hugged her.

  After Flores left, Lucy shed her robe in front of the large mirror over her vanity. Grabbing a tissue from its silver box, she wiped the sheen from her face. A powder puff erased the blush of her recent exertion, returning her complexion to its usual shade of pale. Sitting on the gold and maroon striped stool, she turned on her cosmetic light and applied liner, shadow, and mascara to make her eyes smoky and sensual. Lipstick brightened her already full lips. Satisfied with her face, Lucy used her fingers to apply rouge to her pink areolas, darkening them. After checking her body for blemishes, she grabbed a hairbrush and stroked her long, blond hair. She was still seated in front of the vanity when Lewis returned.

  “You’re dawdling, Lucy,” he said as he approached.

  “I’m sorry, Sir. I’m just finishing now.” Setting the brush down, she twisted her hair into a thick bun. Lewis alternated his gaze between the soft skin on her neck and her arms and breasts in the mirror. Stepping closer, he put his hands on her body and trailed them upward until they covered hers. “Let your hair down,” he murmured. His eyes darkened as the golden strands fell and he guided her hands to her breasts. “Caress them,” he commanded and she complied.

  He watched for a moment before pulling her into a standing position. Leaning forward, he buried his face in her hair, breathing in the fresh scent of her shampoo. Then he stepped back to unfasten the buttons on his shirt.

  When the intercom buzzed, he cursed. His dinner guests had arrived. Looking at Lucy’s reflection, he shoved her forward, pushing down on her back so her hands pressed against the vanity and her buttocks were in the air. He kicked the stool out of the way, unzipped his fly, and took her savagely, ignoring her faint whimpers. When finished, he reached for a tissue, wiped himself, and straightened his clothes. “Get dressed,” he said, striding from the room.

  Downstairs, Lewis joined his guests at the bar. A young server handed him a tumbler of single malt scotch. Glancing at the chief, he took an appreciative sip. Bowen wore a sport coat and good, white shirt. He did not wear a tie. Lewis simmered at the informality. Next to him, the old rabbi sat with his elbows on the bar,
oblivious to how ridiculous he looked in his navy blue uniform. Lewis addressed him first.

  “Mr. Cohen, it’s a pleasure as always.”

  “And I am honored to be a guest in your delightful home, though I must say I was surprised by your invitation. It has been a long time since we dined together,” the rabbi replied.

  “No, no. The invitation was long overdue. I hear you’ve managed to achieve something quite significant and it was the least I could do to show my appreciation. I’m anxious to hear the details. Perhaps, after dinner, you will share your success?”

  Isaac smiled, revealing nothing but a row of worn, yellow teeth. “All in good time, Lewis. All in good time.” He picked up the glass in front of him and held it to the light. “This is an excellent whiskey. I did not know the supply trucks were carrying such precious cargo.”

  Lewis hesitated. The rabbi had been indispensable in building the Design, Harry Rose’s loyalty to him knew no bounds, and Lewis needed him. Still, the whiskey might a have been a mistake.

  “Ah, well. They don’t. I simply had the foresight to lay in a large quantity of my favorite liquors. I only indulge in them on special occasions. Tonight qualifies as such an instance. Don’t you agree?”

  “Perhaps,” Isaac replied as he took another sip.

  “Oh, Isaac, your modesty is beautiful. Don’t you think it’s beautiful, Bowen?” Lewis turned to face the chief.

  “Yeah. Sure. The old man’s a hoot,” Bowen said.

  Flores appeared in the doorway to announce that dinner was served. On the way to the dining room, Lucy joined them wearing a short, lilac colored dress that shimmered when she moved. Her hair trailed down her back and almost to the hem of her skirt. The three men murmured appreciatively as they greeted her.

  They followed her across the hall, taking their places around the long, glass table where Flores and the bartender-turned-waiter served them. Over a succulent roast, they gossiped and chatted about trivial things. Lewis never combined meals with business. His mother had drilled that lesson into him hard. The scolding bitch was a stickler for etiquette. It hid the more banal aspects of their lives.