Louise looked at him for a minute, giving him the same kind of look a parent might give her misbehaving child. “You said Grits & Clits was the product of a mentally challenged child molester eating crayons and shitting out words.”
“Whoa,” Lewis said. “That’s harsh.”
Louise nodded. “Right?”
Harlan shrugged. “I stand by what I said.”
“Wow,” Eliza said. “What a complete dick.”
“Yeah,” Stephen said. “No wonder your brother kidnapped him. Jesus Christ.”
“Hmm,” Harlan said. “You said our attacker’s name was Billy, right? I’m guessing he’s the one responsible for that Chlamydia Kamikaze book.” He looked at Eliza. “And if you’re his sister,that must make you Eliza. The so-called ‘interior designer’. No wonder the insides of the books look so shitty.”
“Fuck you.”
He nodded to Louise. “And you’re obviously Louise Truesdale.” He looked to Stephen. “And you must be our wonderful editor-in-chief, Mr. Nick Twig.”
“No, I’m Stephen, man.”
“Who?”
“I, uh, do photography sometimes.”
“Then where’s your loyal commander? Where is Nick?”
17. UGH
Officer Joseph Nous was having a bad day. Twice in a row he’d been called to an assault-in-progress, and both times the perpetrators got away. The second time, he even walked past them, even talked to them, and still let them continue on their way. Then he tried to arrest the man who’d been assaulted, the big biker guy. That hadn’t gone over too well. The biker was threatening to sue the police department now. Joseph was dreading his inevitable return to the station. His captain was going to kick his ass. And maybe he deserved it. Only a moron would let two criminals stroll right past him.
He was ready to go home. He wanted to snuggle with his wiener dog and forget about all his many, many inadequacies. Unfortunately, his shift wasn’t even close to over. It’d never be over. Even in death, he’d have to wear this stupid uniform. He’d have to walk around with this pointless badge. Have to carry a gun he knew he would never use, not even if it meant saving someone’s life. He was a coward. An idiot. He knew it and so did everybody else.
He headed for his speeding-trap, thinking he’d had enough bullshit for one day. He was just going to read The Cumming of Christ and relax. If someone wanted to speed past him, then screw it, let them speed. He wasn’t going after anyone else today. If the mafia executed the Governor in front of his squad car, he wouldn’t look up from his book. He was officially done.
First a kidnapping, and now a gas station brawl? Who kidnaps people anymore? Who fights in gas stations? The whole world was inhabited by savages. And it was supposed to be his job to protect them? How could you protect something that wanted so desperately to destroy itself? You couldn’t. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. In high school, he was so nervous he shit his pants during his graduation speech. How could he be expected to stop a kidnapper?
According to dispatch, nobody had a clue who this kidnapper even was, anyway, nor the man he attacked in front of the coffee shop. They had video surveillance of their faces, and the news was currently broadcasting the images on TV, so hopefully that would lead to someone recognizing one of them.
But at least they knew the identity of the man who’d been driving the car and stopped to help, thanks to an outside camera being able to read the license plate numbers. The car belonged to a Mrs. Helga Hill, who had been murdered two days ago in her home. The primary suspect was her currently missing husband, Lewis Hill.
18. THE SUPERMAN OF CHRISTIANS LOVES METH
The publishing company duct taped the hostages’ mouths and dragged them into the closet. It was their best temporary solution. Maybe it could be their permanent solution. Just leave them in there until they eventually suffocated or starved to death. Buy a bunch of nice smelling candles to block out the scent of decay. Eventually they would just be bones, and they could use them as Halloween decorations. Win-win.
Louise brought up this option to the others, but they didn’t seem to be on board. Bummer.
“All right, then what’s your brilliant plan?” she asked, leaning back in the kitchen chair. They were all at the table, drinking shitty coffee from unwashed mugs they’d stolen from Denny’s months ago. It was a drastic downgrade from the gas station cappuccino. The kitchen was typically used for business meetings. Today it was being used to debate kidnapper etiquette.
“I just don’t get why Billy would do this in the first place,” Stephen said. “I mean, yeah, he’s been a dick online and stuff, but holy shit, kidnapping? This is way over our heads. We’re all going to prison.”
“He was high as hell this morning,” Eliza said. “Wasn’t in his right mind at all. He said he’d been up all night, doing meth with some bartender.”
Louise laughed. “The one from Nightscapes?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“That dude was ultra-Christian. Like, the Superman of Christians.”
“Well, the Superman of Christians loves meth, apparently.”
Louise laughed and drank coffee. Stephen sat still, his coffee long cold and untouched, his skin pale and sweaty.
“Whatever Billy did, it’s already done,” Eliza said. “And whether we like it or not, we are definitely involved.”
“I am not involved in any of this,” Stephen said.
“Dude, you waved a knife at them,” Louise said. “Not to mention the fact we just robbed a gas station this morning. Why not add another offense to our beautiful, growing list?”
“Good point.”
“Wait, what?” Eliza said.
Louise shrugged. “Just a little assault and robbery this morning. No big deal.”
Stephen raised his hand. “Uh, it was totally a big deal. What are you talking about?”
Louise dismissed him with an eye-roll. “I’m telling you guys. Let them rot for eternity in the closet.”
Stephen gulped. “That’s not even funny.”
“What if we let them go?” Eliza asked. “Right now, just untie them, and walk ’em out the front door? Do you think they’d rat us out?”
Louise shook her head. “I don’t know about the one dude, but that Harlan motherfucker most definitely would. You’ve read his reviews. Fuck him.”
“Well, if we can’t let them go, then . . . what are we going to do?”
Hands trembling, Stephen said, “Maybe we could bribe them.”
Louise laughed. “Bribe them with what? We run a small press. None of us have any money.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Maybe Eliza could fuck them in exchange for their silence,” Louise suggested.
“Fuck you,” Eliza said.
“No, not me. Fuck them.”
“Who are we fucking?” Nick asked, standing in the walkway between the living room and kitchen.
Everybody at the table jumped at the sound of his voice, then settled down when they realized it was only their faithful editor-in-chief and not the police.
“Oh my God,” Stephen said. “I almost just had a heart attack.”
“How long have you been here?” Eliza asked.
“Just walked in.” Nick took a bite of a scone.
Louise smiled, genuinely excited. “Wait until you find out what kind of fucking crazy shit you’ve missed.”
Nick nodded. “I have one question, first.”
“But wait, you—”
“Where are the people Billy kidnapped?”
The table was quiet for a moment, until Eliza asked, “Where have you been?”
Nick held up the half-eaten scone. “Coffee shop.”
19. THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID
They drank more shitty coffee and thought about the situation. Billy was still missing in action. Nick wondered if he’d ever see him again. If he did, he was pretty sure he’d punch him in the face.
If it wasn’t for Eliza, Billy wouldn’t even be involved with the compan
y. The guy wrote one book and it sucked, but Nick still published it, because the press needed Eliza’s formatting skills. She was cheap and local, plus she was a friend. Going with somebody else would be a disaster, so yeah, he published Billy’s novella, Attack of the Chlamydia Kamikazes, and a year later it still hadn’t received a single sale on Amazon. Yet he acted like he was this big bad author, doing whatever the fuck he pleased. Like kidnapping reviewers, for instance. Sure, a reviewer who was a complete asshole and probably deserved a good kidnapping, but still, Nick had to clean up the mess.
Harlan Anderson. He’d been a pain in Nick’s ass for four years now, since he started up Books I’d Like to Fuck. Harlan had been one of the original writers to submit a manuscript during BILF’s first month of open submissions. Harlan had also been the first writer Nick declined.
He still remembered Harlan’s novel submission. He was reminded of it every time Harlan wrote some shit about the press on his stupid blog. Harlan’s novel, That’s What She Said, was perhaps the dumbest goddamn book Nick had ever read. It was basically fifty thousand words written in free verse, one line with a planted innuendo and the following line always being, “THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID!” It went on like that for fifty thousand motherfucking words. Like if scientists tried to create a spambot based off the mind of Michael Scott from The Office. Since then, Nick had published some definitely strange shit, but nothing as pitiful as Harlan Anderson’s self-proclaimed magnum opus.
Admittedly, the rejection letter had been a bit harsh, but this was back before Nick had any idea what the hell he was doing. It was his original intention to respond to every single manuscript with a long, personalized rejection. He never meant to be mean, but he was an asshole by nature. What kind of human being suggests to another human being they should toss their keyboard into the ocean?
In any case, that rejection had marked Harlan as an enemy for life. Once Nick began publishing actual titles, Harlan would somehow review them all—which he openly admitted to illegally downloading—and not once had he said anything positive.
The first book Harlan had reviewed was Nick’s own novel, The Trampoline Incident. Harlan bashed him for publishing his own writing under his publishing company, calling Nick a piece of shit, two-bit criminal who couldn’t cut it with normal writers, so he had to hide behind a faux company he invented. It had definitely hurt Nick, as it was the first review he’d ever received for any of his writing, anywhere. Maybe some of it hit home. Maybe Harlan had a point. But then the review ended with Harlan suggesting Nick toss his keyboard into the ocean, and he finally realized who this guy really was, and that anything he said was just bitter resentment, so fuck him.
And fuck him again for making Nick feel guilty for the kidnapping. The asshole should have known words have consequences. Sure, these consequences were a bit extreme, but this was reality—everything was extreme.
Nick wheeled his huge, classroom-sized whiteboard into the kitchen. The majority of the board was occupied with sloppy, schizophrenic scribblings of publication schedules, marketing plans, and upcoming local book festivals. Nick erased a grocery list at the top right corner and wrote, in big capital letters: KIDNAPPING PLAN.
“Okay,” he said, pacing in front of the board, “the way I see it, we only have a few options here. Because let’s face it, we are now kidnappers. All of us.”
Stephen groaned. Louise smiled.
“The moment we allowed Billy to bring those two into this apartment, we became accessories. This makes us just as involved as he is.”
“So, what’re our options?” Eliza asked.
“Okay, so, we could just let them go,” Nick said. “Maybe they won’t say anything to the police, but they probably will.”
On the board, he wrote: RELEASE THE HOSTAGES.
“Or we could bribe them into not talking, except none of us have any money.”
BRIBERY.
“Or, another option, we never let them go. We keep them forever, as our prisoners.”
LIFETIME IMPRISONMENT.
“Holy shit, that’s fucked up,” Eliza said.
Stephen buried his face in his hands.
Louise sat up straight. “I already suggested that, but nobody was down, man. I even thought we could use their bones as Halloween decorations. Smart, right?”
Nick nodded, knowing how insane they all sounded and not knowing what to do about it. Some days were crazier than other days, and today was definitely an ‘everything is batshit’ kind of day. Half of him felt like he was still asleep. None of this was real. His body moved on autopilot while his mind drifted to the clouds.
“I don’t know,” Nick said. “Maybe we could take them to Sergio’s uncle’s cabin. Hell.”
“And the other options?” Eliza asked.
“Well.” Nick paused a moment, not believing what he was about to say. “We could kill them.”
On the board, he wrote: MURDER.
Stephen vomited all over the table. Everybody screamed.
20. HEADS ARE GONNA ROLL
Lewis hadn’t intended to murder his wife. Sure, he’d killed people in the past, no problem, but his wife was never supposed to become a victim. In fact, he loved his wife. She was the most beautiful woman on the planet. He would have done anything for her. But then she discovered the videos he’d saved on his laptop, and after that she found the severed heads in the basement, so yeah, obviously he had to kill her. Sometimes these things happened.
If he hadn’t come home from work early that day, he would probably be in prison right now. Helga would have undoubtedly called the police, if she’d been given a chance. But fate had other plans. Work ended early that day due to some bogus Ebola scare tactics puked out by the media, so Lewis drove home, thinking he’d surprise his wife in bed, make love to her, then take her out for a nice meal. Except when he came home, he couldn’t find her. He looked everywhere. She was gone. He went into his office—despite the fact that she knew she wasn’t allowed in there—and of course he didn’t find her there. But he did notice his laptop was powered on, and on the screen played one of his homemade snuff films.
He froze. As fast as a tree branch snapping, everything was ruined. The life he’d worked so hard to build was destroyed. Now he’d have to leave, get as far away as he could, and make a new life. He’d always expected this would happen, but not so soon. He needed more time to plan, more time to spend with his wife, whom he loved.
She wasn’t supposed to die now. She was never supposed to die.
He found her in the basement. She was going through the deep freezer he stored his deer meat in. All the deer meat was now on the floor, and she was standing above the freezer, staring at its other contents.
The heads.
Lewis thought about saying something, thought about apologizing. But it would have only made what he had to do that much more difficult. His life was already difficult enough, thank you.
He calmly tiptoed down the basement steps, walked up to his wife, and slit her throat. When the life had drained out of her and the tears had drained out of him, he collected one of his saws and proceeded to add a new, unexpected addition to his head collection.
Before he left, Lewis stored his heads in a duffle bag and hid the bag in the trunk of his car. He didn’t know how much distance he could gain before someone discovered his wife’s headless corpse, but he was willing to bet he’d at least make it across state lines, if not farther. His wife wasn’t exactly the most social type, plus she was unemployed, so there was no real reason to panic just yet. The only flaw in this plan was Helga’s obnoxious bitch of a mother, who talked to her on the phone at least once a day. After a few days of not answering her calls, she’d either send someone to the house or fly down herself. Then the shit would hit the fan.
Hopefully, Lewis would be in Mexico by then.
Of course, he hadn’t expected this slight kidnapping detour. This had definitely thrown him off his itinerary. He’d been driving for over two days and had only stoppe
d to fall asleep in truck stop parking lots. He hadn’t eaten since he left home. His body was overheated, rotting, dying. So he got off the highway, thinking he’d stop for a burger or something. He doubted the police were after him yet. Helga’s headless corpse was still at home, being feasted on by insects. Only instead of a burger, he stumbled across some lunatic beating the shit out of another guy. In all honesty, he probably wouldn’t have even stopped if they hadn’t been right in the middle of the road. The burger joint was in sight, but he couldn’t fit his car around them, so he was left without a choice. He got out and grabbed the psycho off the fat guy, thinking how good it’d feel to decapitate the both of them. Except it didn’t come to that. The man had some kind of superhuman strength. Maybe it was drugs. Maybe it was just insanity. Lewis understood insanity. Insanity fueled humanity. In any case, Lewis was quickly overpowered, and soon he was on the ground next to the fat guy, getting his face punched in.
He kind of found it funny. This is what happened when you tried to be nice, when you tried to help someone else out. You got the shit kicked out of you. You got kidnapped.
Ah well. It wasn’t that big of a deal. These dumbasses clearly had no idea what they were doing. It was only a matter of time before they slipped up, and then he’d be back on his way to Mexico, his collection in the trunk a little heavier.
He only hoped his heads were okay. Those things were priceless.
21. HALLOWEEN DECORATIONS
So, let’s say we kill them,” Nick said, already knowing it would never come to that. He’d rather go to prison than have to resort to murder, or allow any of his friends the same fate. Except maybe Billy. That fucker. Wherever he was hiding. But still, it was a fair option, and Nick felt he ought to let the fantasy play out so they could move on to serious ideas.
How to Successfully Kidnap Strangers Page 6