by Sam Cheever
Angie frowned into the night and stiffened her spine in anger at herself. “That's just silly.” She muttered aloud. Then she opened her mouth to invite him to bed.
A soft snore floated to her from the couch. She slammed her mouth closed and sighed. Then she got up and stripped the comforter from the bed, carrying it to the couch and draping it over him carefully so as not to wake him. She stood looking down at him for a minute while he slept. He looked pale and she wondered if that was his natural color, being a redhead, or if it was from being sick. The end of his nose was still a little red.
She reached down and touched his forehead and he did feel a little warm. But then she didn't know if that was normal for him too. His lashes formed two thick fringes across his cheeks and made her smile. He looked like a cute little boy when he slept. A tender feeling sat lightly on her heart for a brief flicker of time but she shook it off. They were virtual strangers dealing with a calamitous situation that was going to take every ounce of their attention and intuition to fix. She didn't have time for any soft, cozy heart farts.
She reluctantly returned to the bed, resuming the snuggling position with her new boyfriend. Jaws gave a tiny sigh and settled back to sleep on her shoulder. She kissed his soft head and nestled into the pillow with a sigh. She could get used to this.
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Chapter Four
The girl held the newspaper up under her chin and blew a bubble with her gum. She didn't look nearly scared enough for the photographer. “Come on lady, you gotta look scared or I'm gonna haff ta bloody ya up some."
The girl's response was to pop another bubble.
The tall photographer slid his gaze to a short, muscular man lounging near the door and jerked his head toward the girl tied to the chair. Louie Pescatoli walked over and slapped the girl in the back of the head with an open palm.
She gulped and swallowed her gum, then turned to scowl at him. “Asshole."
He raised his hand again and she didn't so much as wince. She stared at him with bold, hazel eyes. “You leave a mark on me and you're dead, loser.” She said through gritted teeth.
Louie sneered at her. “I can hurt you plenty without making no marks bitch."
She turned away and shrugged. “You better kill me then ‘cause I'll rip your tiny little balls off with my teeth and spit them in your face if you do."
Louie looked disgusted. “Nice mouth. Where'd you learn to talk like that. It's very unladylike you know."
The girl laughed. “So tell Sister Catherine. I'm sure she'll slap my knuckles with a ruler."
Louie whacked the back of her head again and the photographer shot the picture just as the girl's eyes widened in pain. “That oughta do it.” The muscular blond man said, pulling the Polaroid from the camera and setting it down on the table.
The two men stood over the picture and watched it develop like a couple of kids, exclaiming as the girl's outraged face emerged. “It's like frickin’ magic,” said Louie, and he slapped the photographer on his wide back in celebration.
Behind them the girl in the chair shook her head and muttered, “Flippin’ morons."
The tall blond man gathered up the photos and glanced at the girl. “I'll be glad to see the end of this assignment. He turned away and lowered his voice. “Just between you and me, she makes me nervous. Reminds me a little too much of my first wife."
Louie nodded. “I know what you mean, Julio."
"So how's the search going for those two bozos the boss wants offed?"
Louie swore. “They just disappeared. I think the boss is gonna cut off my nuts if we don't find ‘em soon."
Julio jerked his head toward the girl, who had opened the paper and was reading it like she was sitting in the dentist's office. “Her face is gonna be plastered all over the news and the papers by tonight. He doesn't want our nosy friends going to the police with any information we don't want ‘em to have.” He leaned into Louie and his posture was decidedly hostile. “I especially don't want Honeybun to give them any descriptions from that night. I'd have more to lose than anybody if he did."
Louie raised his hands in a sign of surrender and took a step back, away from the towering muscle man. “I hear ya Julio, I hear ya. We'll find ‘em don't worry."
Julio headed out of the room. “You better, or you'll have more to worry about than your nuts."
* * * *
* * * *
Breakfast was scrambled eggs with onion, cheese, and ham and melt in your mouth biscuits with honey. Angie popped a large bite of biscuit in her mouth and moaned, closing her eyes. When she'd swallowed she looked at Alastair and said, “Marry me."
He laughed.
"Where'd you learn to cook like this?"
He grabbed another biscuit off the plate in the middle of the table. “I realized at a very young age that with a name like Alastair Honeybun I'd better learn to cook or I'd never get any chicks."
Angie chuckled but, given the fact that he was built like a god and had a face like an angel, she seriously doubted the truth of that statement. “I guess it works, huh?"
He grinned. “You would actually marry me and become Angie Honeybun?"
She grimaced. “I'd have to see what other tools you had in your tool box before I could make that decision."
As soon as the words left her mouth she realized how they sounded and turned bright red.
Alastair laughed and saved her ass. “You should see me shop. I particularly like to shop for women's clothing."
"Done. Let's set the date."
He stood up. “We'll do that first thing when I get back."
Angie looked up, “Where you going?"
"I need a paper to read with my coffee. It's not Sunday without a paper."
Considering that people were trying to kill them ... well him anyway ... and the cops wanted to throw them in jail, it probably couldn't be considered your typical Sunday anyway, but she bit back the snide remark and started clearing off the table. “Keep an eye out for our friends."
* * * *
* * * *
The girl's picture was on A1, top of the fold of the Sunday paper. Detective Brita Muldane squinted at it for a full minute before she picked up the phone. The phone rang five times and then was answered with a brusque, “what?” in an angry sounding voice.
Brita bit her lip, wondering how she should ask what she needed to ask. “Hello. DA Burns? This is Detective Brita Muldane. I'm looking at the paper here."
"I know about the damn paper."
"I guess I don't need to ask you then if that is your daughter on the front page of the paper?"
The DA's response was colorful and not to be repeated in a room full of elderly women or children. Detective Muldane listened to a dial tone for a beat and then dropped the phone back into its cradle. “Alrighty then."
Brita's phone rang as soon as she hung it up, too fast for it to be the DA calling back to apologize. Not bloody likely anyway. She picked it up and smiled when she heard a familiar voice on the other end. “Percy, hey. I hope you're calling to tell me you want to see me tonight."
"Of course I am, beautiful. How ‘bout I pick you up around seven? I have an incredible hankering for a pizza and a case of icy cold beer."
Brita cradled the phone between her shoulder and her ear and pulled the stack of reports on her desk into a neat pile. “Only a case? Bad day, huh?"
Percy expelled his breath loudly and then chuckled. “I can't hide anything from you can I, Brit?"
She smiled. “Not that you try all that hard."
"Let's just say I could use some time away from the office. Like about a year."
Brita stood up and grabbed her coat. “The office? It's Sunday, why are you at work?"
"Don't even get me started. See you at seven?"
She smiled, “Absolutely."
Detective Muldane hung up the phone and headed out. She told the dispatcher where she was going and climbed into her beat up, light blue Taurus. The In
dianapolis Star wasn't too far away from the station. She could probably make it there in twenty minutes if traffic wasn't too bad.
* * * *
* * * *
Alastair choked on his coffee. Angie looked up from the crossword puzzle she was struggling to complete. “Are you okay?"
He shook his head and continued to cough until his face was nearly purple. She stood up and went to pound him on the back.
Still coughing, he pointed to the picture on the front page of the Indianapolis Star and said, in a strangled voice, “That's her. That's the girl I saw."
Angie grabbed the paper and quickly read the lead in to the article. “The DA's daughter? Holy shit! No wonder someone wants to stop you from giving information.” Angie squinted at the paper the girl held between her hands. There was no visible date. “Isn't she supposed to be holding the paper to show the date? What are these kidnappers, mentally handi-capable?"
Alastair took the page back from her and peered at it carefully. “Apparently the kidnappers wanted the police to know there was a sale at Macy's."
Angie grabbed it back, “There is?” Then she remembered that she had no clothes, no money, and no ability to shop because she was running for her life and from the law. She dropped the page and gave a long suffering sigh. Life just wasn't fair.
* * * *
* * * *
The reporter was bored, balding, and barely sociable. Brita didn't need to forge a long lasting friendship with the guy, but she did need him to respond in, at the very least, monosyllabic form. “Mr. Bratz, let me try asking this another way, when the picture arrived, was there a note attached to it?"
The man stuffed his ham and cheese on pumpernickel into an oversized mouth with wet, flabby lips and shook his head.
Damn her luck for having arrived at lunch time. Although, looking at the guy Brita decided he was never all that far from lunchtime. She tried again. “What about the envelope, was there any return address...” Yeah right. “...or anything about it that drew your attention?"
He swallowed and stuffed a handful of chips into the wet maw. “Nope.” A wet chunk of chip flew out of his mouth and landed on Brita's stylish jacket. She grimaced and flicked it with a well-manicured fingernail.
In frustration Brita blew out a breath and forced herself to lean toward him menacingly, it wasn't something she ever wanted to have to do again but once she was there she stiffened her spine and stayed long enough to ask the question that had been foremost in her mind since introducing herself to the non-communicative reporter. “Mr. Bratz, when you write your articles, you do use words right?” He looked at her for a long moment, his brows drooping in thought. Then he stuffed some more chips into his mouth and nodded.
Brita flattened her hand and sliced it over her head. She stood up. “Thanks, Mr. Bratz.” She said to his face, then, “for nothin',” came out against her will as she turned to leave.
* * * *
* * * *
The phone rang and the girl looked up as Julio answered it. “Hey Boss.” The big man's smile turned down at the corners as the voice on the other end plowed into him.
"Are you a total, flippin’ moron? What the hell is with that picture? The girl doesn't even look scared, she looks like she has gas but she certainly doesn't look like she's terrified of her kidnappers. And what's with the newspaper? Why don't I see a date on it? This picture could be from last year for all I know."
Julio held up an overlarge hand placatingly, as if the person on the other end of the line could see it. “That was Louie's idea, boss. And it's a good one too. He said the whole date on the newspaper thing was too clichéd. We saw that Macy's was having a sale yesterday so we used that to pinpoint the date. Genius huh?"
The girl in the chair rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Flippin’ morons."
"Yeah, that's genius. That really is. Are you two bloated skin bags aware that Macy's has a sale just about every other day?"
Julio's smile dropped away and he shuffled his big feet nervously. “Uh, no."
"Yeah, one day it's a purse sale, in honor of the beginning of summer. A few days ago they had a shoe sale, in honor of the end of winter. The week before that they had a sale to honor the full moon or some such stupidity. SHOPPING STORES HAVE SALES EVERY BLEEPIN’ DAY!"
Julio gulped and tried a sick smile. “It seemed like a good idea at the time, Boss."
The only response was a dial tone.
* * * *
* * * *
"So why would she be holding up a page that says, Sale at Macys?"
Alastair sipped his coffee and shook his head. They'd been going over the same information for an hour, ever since they'd seen the picture. “It doesn't make any sense."
Angie stared hard at the picture and chewed on her nail. “Maybe the date's there but you just can't see it because it's too small."
"Then what good does it do to hold the paper up?"
Angie shrugged.
They sat in silence for a minute before Alastair said. “I wonder if, after I went to the police and told them what I saw, they'd be so grateful they wouldn't arrest me for kidnapping the old lady."
Angie frowned. “We didn't kidnap her!"
Alastair shrugged, “We jumped uninvited into the cab that she was in and frightened her into driving it away from where her nephew was. You say potato, I say wild rice. Pure semantics."
Angie continued to frown. The whole kidnapping thing was really pissing her off. The old woman was sitting behind the damn wheel of the cab. Who knew she was just a little old lady without a driver's license. “Well, anyway, I don't think we have a choice. I'd rather take my chances with the police than those two thugs. Wouldn't you?"
Alastair grabbed her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “It'll be all right, I'll get my brother to represent us. He's a lawyer."
Angie sighed, “Isn't everyone?"
Alastair picked up the phone and started punching in numbers. Angie stood up and started toward the bathroom. She needed to get dressed but she had been resisting putting on the same clothes she'd worn the day before. She would have to insist to Alastair that they stop by her apartment and get her some clothes.
She heard the soft pitter pat of fat little feet behind her and turned to find Jaws following her into the bathroom. She smiled, “Hey little guy.” He whined in greeting and wagged his butt. She reached down and picked him up and he immediately snuggled his soft little head under her chin. “You are the sweetest baby aren't you?"
She heard Alastair arguing into the phone and realized their predicament wouldn't be an easy one to explain to loved ones. She didn't relish telling her sister about it. But she knew she'd have to tell her something because Cinnamon and her two kids, Derek and little Annie, were supposed to come to her apartment for dinner on Wednesday night.
At this point it didn't look like she'd be there.
Sighing, Angie set Jaws down so she could dress.
* * * *
* * * *
The news on the radio as they drove back toward Indianapolis was filled with the kidnapping of the DA's daughter. Apparently the police had all but shut Macy's down as a result of the picture in that morning's paper. A spokesman for the store lamented the loss of sales for the day, due to the claustrophobic presence of Indy's best. “We have sales almost every day,” whined the metro-sexual spokesman, “I don't know why the kidnappers had to pick on Macy's but I can promise you our room deodorant sale, in honor of environmental issues everywhere, had nothing to do with this girl's disappearance."
The DA was interviewed briefly. His gruff, disinterested tone was a stark counterpoint to the Macy's representative's whine. Nothing weak or whiny about the DA.
"He doesn't sound exactly crushed by his daughter's disappearance does he?” Angie said.
Alastair shrugged. “Everybody handles grief differently. Some people wail and gnash their teeth, some people get mad and go about their day. I think the DA is definitely a member of the second
group."
They were heading toward the law office where Alastair's older brother, Percival, also named for an old English lord of the manor, was waiting to discuss how they could approach the police with their predicament. Although Alastair seemed jumpy and nervous about the meeting, Angie was relieved to be doing something to get them off the streets and back into sane society.
Pecot, Pecot, and Rogers was located in a short, elegant brownstone on, swear to god, Easy Street. With its black wrought iron accoutrements and heavy wood doors, the building looked as if it had been squatting in that well to do spot of the city for centuries. It smelled of old money and power and gave off a feeling of staid maturity that was soothing to Angie in her currently chaotic state.
Percival Honeybun met them at the front desk and gave them both a hug. Angie tensed a bit at the easy familiarity of Alastair's brother but then realized he was probably that way with everyone. Something about the easy smile on his handsome face and the way he held himself, more slouched than stiff, invited people in rather than keeping them at bay. A unique trait in a lawyer.
They followed Percival down a densely carpeted hallway with creamy gold walls and expensive looking paintings hanging on the walls, and into a well appointed office. Angie assessed Alastair's older brother as they followed. He was very tall, probably around six foot three, with even brighter red hair than Alastair's, cut very close to his head. He wasn't bulky but he moved like someone who knew his way around a gym, with a certain muscular grace. All in all he was a very striking and handsome man.
He motioned them into black, puckered leather chairs and sat down behind a huge, cherry desk. He stared at his brother for a few beats, his dark blue gaze speculative, and then gave them a slow smile. “I have to admit I never thought I'd see you on the other side of this desk in a professional capacity, Stair."
Alistair frowned. “Right back atcha, bro."