An Arm and a Leg

by Olive Balla

  After unbuckling her belt, she placed it on top of her desk along with her side arm and shield. She propped the notepad against the terra-cotta colored coffee cup on Nick’s desk, placing it squarely in front of his chair so he’d see it first thing.

  With a look of determination on her face, Pritney pulled her jacket and cap off the rack that stood in the corner by the front door. She zipped the jacket, tugged the knit cap over her head, and took one last look around the office.

  Her gaze came to rest on Nick’s desk. Tentacles of emotion tugged at her heart as she studied the photo of a younger Nick and his now-dead father on horseback, herding cattle to pasture.

  Two equally handsome men. Nick would age well.

  But he wouldn’t be growing old with her. Nope, that was a done deal.

  The civilian Judy Pritney took in a long breath and slowly let it out through pursed lips. She slung her purse over her shoulder, picked up her tote bag, opened the door and stepped out into the cold mountain air.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “It wasn’t me killed your brother,” Larry said to the still-bound Frankie. “I told Mel not to shoot. But like I said, he sometimes takes a notion and does things on his own.”

  Frankie didn’t respond. The way Larry kept referring to them as a couple made her flesh crawl.

  One litany of the many from Uncle Mike’s survival training ran through Frankie’s mind: survive, evade, resist, and escape. Keep your thinking in resistance mode, but do whatever is required to survive while looking for an opportunity to escape. And at least one opportunity will usually present itself. She just had to watch for it and be willing to do whatever it took to capitalize on it.

  “I believe you, Larry.” Frankie carefully modulated her voice. There could be no patronizing, no false note to her words. If Larry thought she was manipulating him in any way, he might decide to leave her there.

  Larry’s smile was shy. “I got plans.” He glanced at his watch. “Got to go.”

  Frankie struggled to hold down the hysteria that kept creeping up her throat. “Larry please unbuckle my hands. Dr. Bellamy could come in at any minute.”

  “He’s doing an amputation, so he’ll be a while. I got to go get the car, but I’ll be right back. I want us to be on the way out of town within the next half hour.”

  “But I really need to clean up. I won’t feel comfortable until I do.”

  “Plenty of time for that once we’re on the road.”

  “Please…don’t leave me here.”

  But Larry was already out the door.

  The shush of the door closing behind Larry was immediately followed by a muffled thump. Frankie’s ears strained for other sounds, but when the noise was not repeated, she set to work on the partially loosened restraint.

  Although most likely only a few seconds passed, it seemed several minutes before she could pull her right hand free. She shook off the leather strap and reached to unbuckle her left hand just as the door was pushed open and Dr. Bellamy entered.

  “Brava.” Bellamy applauded in pseudo-adulation. “You had poor Larry eating out of your adorable little hand.”

  Dressed in blood-spattered green surgical garb, Bellamy carried a small fire extinguisher to the counter. When he set it down, several drops of a thick red liquid dripped onto the counter top.

  He turned toward Frankie, his eyes devoid of expression. “Don’t expect the lad to come to your rescue. Sadly, we had to dispose of your knight errant.”

  Think the unthinkable, Uncle Mike’s voice sounded in Frankie’s head.

  If Bellamy would just move a few inches closer…

  As if on cue, the doctor took a couple of steps toward the gurney. Like a coiled spring, Frankie’s hand shot toward the doctor’s crotch, her fingers poised to clamp down and twist with all her might. But the experiences of the past several hours had taken a toll on her speed and strength, and Bellamy recognized her intention before she could complete the move.

  “No, no, no.” The doctor chuckled and danced backward. “Mustn’t hurt the visitors.” Bellamy grabbed Frankie’s wrist and forced her hand back down to her side.

  She struggled, but he soon had her tightly buckled down again.

  “We hate to mention it, dear, but you really do smell. Judging by the smears on the floor, Larry did at least try to clean you up before we arrived.” Bellamy compressed his lips. “Your meddling has cost us a great deal of energy. Energy put to better use helping people who are in need.”

  “I may not know everything about what you do, but I know you’re not helping people.”

  “You wouldn’t begin to understand. We take in people no one wants, people either without family or whose families can’t be bothered to see after them. We feed them and take care of their medical needs.”

  “Right. You’re just a misunderstood philanthropist. I know better…I know about Esther Emory.”

  Bellamy arched one eyebrow. “Sarcasm? Impolitic, in light of your current situation. You have no idea the kind of work to which we have dedicated our life.”

  “I know you’re responsible for my brother’s death and for an attempt on my life. What you are is a liar and a delusional egomaniac.”

  “My, my. So pompous.” He moved his face to within inches of Frankie’s. “Your dear, departed brother was heavily involved in our little side business. Was, in fact, happy to receive money from it.”

  “Tim would never willingly be part of anything illegal or unethical.”

  Bellamy shot Frankie a look filled with mock sympathy. “And now who’s delusional? When we approached Tim with the idea of selling the body parts surgical hospitals are required by law to dispose of, he was happy to become our partner.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Really? Have you found his stash of money yet?”

  Frankie’s face must have mirrored her reaction to those words, because Bellamy continued his onslaught.

  “Where did you think he got it? You must have known he couldn’t possibly have saved that much from his paltry resident’s income.” Bellamy’s lips twisted in a sneer. “However, on to the issue at hand.”

  The doctor walked to the counter and studied the instruments there. He moved the pieces around on the cloth pad upon which they lay. Metal clinked against metal as he sifted through them.

  He made a tsk-tsk sound through his teeth. “All this disorder. We really must speak to the help.” He selected an instrument, returned to the gurney, and looked down his nose at Frankie. “We usually allow Mel to participate in matters of this nature. He’ll be disappointed when he learns what he missed, especially after what you did to his nose. But he is apparently off doing God-only-knows-what to God-only-knows-whom.” Bellamy turned the metal object over in his hands. “It’s probably just as well. His work is generally too messy for our taste. And we wouldn’t want to do anything to mar that lovely face.”

  Frankie’s eyes opened wide.

  Bellamy chuckled, a reflective look on his face. “We would have given a month’s income to see you in action. What did you use on him, a palm-heel strike to the nose? A straight-on punch? Perhaps a head-butt?” The doctor bent slightly and peered into Frankie’s face, as if looking through a microscope at some new-found species. “But now that we are aware of your apparent expertise in hand-to-hand, we’ll be doubly vigilant.”

  Bellamy held his chosen instrument in front of Frankie, rotating it so she could see it from all angles. The gleaming silver metal thing consisted of a handle of the same type found on scissors at one end, and a drinking straw body that ended in tiny pincer jaws at the other. He worked the handle, opening and closing the razor sharp instrument like a hungry little mouth.

  “This marvel of engineering is so small, yet can inflict such pain. Ever heard of what the ancient Chinese called the death of a thousand cuts? In this case, it would be a thousand tiny bites.” The doctor caressed Frankie’s lips with the cold metal. “Now, where shall we begin?”

  Frankie look
ed directly into the man’s eyes. She’d regained her composure, and other than her tightly fisted hands, nothing indicated she’d heard his words.

  “You are in possession of some things your suddenly-sanctimonious brother took from us.” Bellamy’s face reddened at Frankie’s continued silence. “Please do not waste our time denying it. We are aware that the police are in possession of the leg. But it means nothing without the accompanying documents. And according to our very reliable source, those are in your possession. You will tell us where to find them, or we will dissect you one millimeter at a time.”

  Gorge rose in Frankie’s throat, and she swallowed. The resultant gulp was loud enough for Bellamy to hear, because he smiled.

  “Let’s see, perhaps we’ll begin with the tender parts between your lovely toes.”

  Frankie could refuse to answer Bellamy’s questions. But he would torture her until she’d be ready to tell him anything he wanted to hear, and kill her anyway.

  “Okay.”

  A look of something akin to disappointment flashed across Bellamy’s face. He frowned down at the biopsy tool as he opened and closed it several more times.

  “I said okay. I’ll give you what I have.”

  Bellamy sighed. “Of course you will.” He stood up. “Where is it?”

  “It’s in my brother’s safe deposit box. But I’ll have to get it; they know me at the bank.”

  Bellamy leveled a suspicious look at his captive. He walked to the cabinet, replaced the tool, and left the room. When he returned, he’d removed the surgical garb and was wearing a yellow dress shirt and dark brown slacks.

  The doctor bent over and pulled up his left pant leg. When he stood, he held a derringer in his right hand. He pointed the weapon at Frankie.

  “Not to worry, we have a concealed carry permit. Wouldn’t want to do anything illegal.” Bellamy laughed, or at least that’s what Frankie thought he meant to do. The sound made her flesh crawl.

  The diminutive handgun appeared similar to one in Uncle Mike’s antique firearm collection. Although the weapon looked like a toy, each of its two stacked barrels would hold one deadly round.

  “Precious, isn’t it? Less than five inches long.” Bellamy held the weapon up for Frankie’s inspection. “So small it is lost in our palm, nearly invisible.”

  The doctor pointed the derringer at Frankie’s face. “This little sweetie is an American made .38 Special. Notice the chromed frame, fixed sights and big bore. What you can’t see is that it’s loaded with two copper jacketed, hollow point rounds. Do you know why we use hollow point bullets, Miss O’Neil?”

  Frankie raised her chin, commanding her face to remain devoid of expression. “The hole in the tip of the bullet makes the projectile expand upon impact. It results in the widest wound path possible.”

  Bellamy’s eyebrows rose. “Superior response. It would be such a pity to have to kill you. However, we will not hesitate if you do not do as you are told, understood?”

  Frankie nodded her head. “I don’t have the key to the safe deposit box with me.”

  The doctor again brought his face to within inches of Frankie’s. “Where is it? You’re beginning to piss us off, Miss O’Neil.”

  “It’s at the motel where I’ve been staying since my house caught fire.”

  “Ah yes, we heard about the fire. Do the police have any leads?”

  “If not, they soon will. You can’t think I’d be stupid enough to track you down on my own, do you?”

  Bellamy smirked and shook his head. “Such a clumsy attempt. But no matter, we’ve had our own personal exit plan in place for a good while. By the time anyone figures out what has happened, we will be sunning our oiled body and sipping mojitos in an undisclosed, non-extraditing location.”

  Wordlessly, the doctor walked back over to the counter and picked up the roll of gray tape Larry had left there. He returned to the gurney and loosened the restraint on Frankie’s left hand.

  “Now loosen the other hand.” He paused. “Take the tape and pull out a length of about twelve inches. No, no, don’t tear it off, keep it attached to the roll.”

  Frankie complied.

  “Wrap the free end of the tape around your right wrist a couple of times, that’s right. Now hold out both hands, wrists together.” Bellamy wrapped duct tape around both her wrists with one hand while keeping the derringer pointed at her temple with the other.

  “Now undo the restraints at your legs.”

  After several seconds of struggling, Frankie managed to sit upright. She fumbled with the buckles at her ankles, her fingers moving like thick sausages.

  Bellamy backed out of kicking range and motioned for Frankie to stand. She slid her legs over the side of the gurney and sat on its edge. Her vision swam, and her bound wrists caused her arms to stick out awkwardly in front of her.

  “If the things your brother took from us were to come to light, we would spend a great deal of time in prison. We share that information with you so you will understand that we have nothing to lose by ending your earthly existence. Do not make us shoot you, Miss O’Neil.”

  Frankie sat for several seconds before slipping off the gurney and standing beside it. Bellamy motioned toward the door, and the two exited the room. They stepped over Larry, who lay crumpled next to the door. Blood slowly dripped onto the floor from a gash on the side of his head. He didn’t appear to be breathing.

  Frankie walked ahead of Bellamy through the rear exit of the hospital and out into the darkness of night. The well-lit staff parking lot was dotted with a few other vehicles, but there was no one else in sight.

  The doctor motioned toward a black, late model Jaguar parked at the far end of the lot.

  “You drive.”

  “You’re kidding.” Frankie held her bound hands toward him.

  Bellamy ignored her protest and opened the door on the driver side. “We never kid. Get in.”

  Frankie managed to slide into the driver’s seat. She rested her bound wrists on top of the steering wheel while the doctor climbed into the passenger’s seat.

  “Start the engine.” Bellamy dangled the car keys in front of Frankie’s face.

  “You can’t seriously expect me to drive with my wrists taped like this. I can’t even hold on to the steering wheel. Besides, the seat is too far back—I can’t reach the pedals.”

  “You are in no position to make demands. However, as they say, safety first.”

  Bellamy stepped out of the car and walked around to the driver’s side. With the derringer unwaveringly aimed at her left eye, he adjusted the seat then returned to the passenger side.

  “Hold out your hands.” Making no effort to be gentle, he removed the tape bindings. He smiled as several layers of Frankie’s flesh come off with it. “You will not exceed the speed limit, nor will you do anything to attract anyone’s attention. We assure you that we are quite willing to shoot anyone who approaches us.”

  During the drive to the motel Frankie considered one escape plan after another. Perhaps she could speed so a policeman would pull them over. Maybe she could drive into a lamppost and take her chances on getting out of the wreckage ahead of Bellamy. Or maybe she could drive straight to the police station and lay on the car’s horn. But Bellamy had a weapon. And she had no doubt he would be all too happy to kill one or two innocent bystanders.

  She glanced at Bellamy. “The key to my room is in my purse. And unless Mel took it, it’s still out at the chicken farm.” She pulled into the motel parking lot, parked the car in the slot in front of her room, and turned off the engine. “I’ll have to get another key from the desk.”

  “So you say.” Bellamy sat still. Frankie could nearly hear the wheels of his mind grinding as he tried to decide how best to proceed.

  “Okay, Miss O’Neil, we shall go in together. Is there any need for us to repeat our threat?” Bellamy put the hand carrying the derringer into the pocket of his trousers.

  “No need.”

  The two walked side b
y side to the front desk. The young man behind the counter initially smiled in recognition of Frankie, but as they neared the desk and the young man got a closer look, his smile faded.

  Frankie could only imagine her appearance. Her torn clothes were filthy with dust from the cistern and stiff with Mina’s blood and her own dried vomit. Her hair had heaven-only-knew what kind of creepy crawlies tangled in it. She must smell like something dragged out of a landfill.

  “Hello.” Frankie addressed the desk clerk in a conversational tone. “I have a problem…I lost the key to my room. Could you make another one for me?”

  The young man’s eyes slid back and forth between Bellamy and Frankie. Regardless of her appearance, Bellamy’s impeccable dress obviously impressed him.

  “Sure thing. No problemo. Room two seventy, right?” The kid looked meaningfully at Bellamy, the look on his face telegraphing words to the effect of: whatever butters your biscuit. “And will you be needing a second key?”

  “No,” Frankie said, “just the one.”

  The young man keyed a new magnetic keycard and handed it to Frankie. She thanked him and slid the key into her pants pocket. She and Bellamy walked outside.

  Located on the second floor, Frankie’s room was only accessible via the outside stairs spaced about every thirty feet. She walked toward the stairs nearest her room with Bellamy close behind her.

  As they approached the door to her room, Frankie stuck her hand into her pocket for the key. Something pricked her finger, and pain shot up her hand. Mina’s barrette.

  Frankie withdrew the key, her mind swirling with ideas of how to use the small metallic weapon to her advantage.

  Bellamy motioned for her to unlock the door. “You will not make any sudden moves.”

  Frankie inserted the key card into the lock. When the tiny green light on the keypad blinked, she pushed the door open.

  Bellamy shoved the barrel of the derringer into her back. “After you.”

  Frankie considered smashing the door back into Bellamy’s face, but he stayed too close on her heels for that move. His proximity also negated her closing the door before he could get in.