by Tony Lavely
Amy didn’t turn from her phone and everything appeared calm, so Beckie canceled her wave and turned toward the house.
After fifteen silent seconds of listening during which she reviewed the floor plan, she cracked open the back door. She spent a second scanning the kitchen, but then hurried to the door hiding the stairs to the basement. Once she’d pulled it to, she rushed down the steps to the cement floor, and then to the plywood stacked against the wall.
She took a moment to decide how to move the sheets to allow access to the hatch. She hadn’t turned the lights on; in the dim light from the small, high, dirty windows, the opening behind the hatch was a black pit.
A check of her phone’s battery icon and she thanked her lucky stars for remembering to plug it in last night after talking to Ian. She scrolled to the flashlight app and lit it up. Her first look down hinted the shaft was deep; the bottom was dark and dim. A steel ladder had been set in the outside of the basement wall. The shaft was perhaps two feet square; when she stepped through to stand on the rung below the opening, Beckie couldn’t stretch even one arm out, not even diagonally. However, keeping her arms tucked in, she fit with room to spare.
She lit the stairs down once more, then killed the flashlight and, one careful, tentative step at a time, she crawled into the ground.
One,
Two,
Three…
After twelve, her foot hit dirt. It wasn’t soft squishy dirt, and the smell of the dark wasn’t damp, or wet. Beckie reached out with her hands, then, since she found no boundary but the ladder, she grabbed her phone. The light showed a well-built tunnel, with metal walls and ceiling. Rusty metal, so she thought it was probably iron.
The light from the phone faded after only fifteen feet, so she couldn’t make a good decision without moving. The tunnel led away from the house, but she remembered nothing, no place where the tunnel might end. In the shed? Maybe… I guess. No hatches had been evident in the ground outside. While the tunnel was dry, standing still provided no other information.
She flashed the light once more and began the trek away from the ladder, one step at a time.
A minute took her forty steps. The second minute she didn’t count; those steps went a little faster. The phone showed a corner ten feet ahead, not a sharp corner, but a turn nonetheless.
Four feet before the corner, in the wall to her left, she found a doorframe with an iron door.
At first push, it seemed immobile, but as she threw her weight against it, it creaked and moved a smidge. Four more blows and while she held her aching shoulder, the door had swung far enough she could wriggle through the opening.
The space was six or eight feet square and as high as the tunnel, which meant her hair brushed the rusty plate above. The floor here was iron, too. A safe of the type Beckie remembered from cowboy movies stood at the wall away from her. Other than that, the room was empty. Beckie shut off all the questions the safe provoked and after checking her gloves, tried the handle. She wasn’t even disappointed when it remained unmoving.
However, the location… Not exactly in the house, but clearly an adjunct to it. She leaned against the unmoving door and contemplated. This seems like a good reason to make an offer. They’re asking seven hundred. I’ll talk to Ian about offering six-fifty.
Returning to the tunnel, she carefully traversed it to the far end, a second vertical shaft. When she climbed the fifteen steps on that ladder, she found a wooden door. Lifting it proved the shed was the terminus. She stuck her head out for a second before dropping the lid and engaging the latch to secure it. In two minutes, she’d returned to the basement.
As she pushed the plywood back over the hatch, her phone made the aggrieved chirp it reserved for a delayed text message. As her heart pounded, she swiped the icon.
Amy’d sent a single word. “Help”
Beckie ran up the basement stairs, but rather than breaking into an unknown scene, she lay her head against the door and listened. Unfortunately, her pounding heart made more noise in her ears than anything external; she eased the door open a crack until she could see… nothing!
She squirmed around the door and snuck to the dining room, where she recalled a window with a view of the driveway.
An SUV had been parked behind the MINI; three men stood, looking around. Amy lay on the gravel drive, and Beckie’s heart stopped for a second before again pounding. As it did, she felt her face flush and her fists tighten. You idiot! You’ve really screwed up! You saw the food… and Simmons said… And now ‘cause you didn’t think it through, Amy’s lying out there in the dirt. Again! She deserves better! So you better get your butt in gear and protect the hell outta her. If you can’t do that, send her home where someone will!
Her internal diatribe hadn’t taken very long; she swallowed her anger and stared out the window. From her vantage point, she guessed the men at the car might have plans, too.
One of them had knelt beside Amy, his hand at her neck. The second stood beside them; the third man held a pistol in one hand and a phone in the other. Inside, Beckie couldn’t hear his voice, but when he dropped the phone in his pocket, all three scanned the quadrant centered on the shed.
The man with the gun trotted to the shed and looked in, then trotted back. The other two picked Amy up and carried her toward the house.
Beckie raced to the kitchen and threw herself into one of the large pantries, the one with a louvered door. At least, she’d know if one of them headed toward her.
The front door opened, then slammed shut. Must have gone to the living room, she thought when no one appeared in the kitchen.
Muffled voices kept her still for minutes. The fact none of them were Amy’s bothered and frustrated her more and more. The sound of the front door again opening and slamming closed arrested her hand’s motion toward the handle.
This is stupid! None of them have come back here. Beckie reached again, grasping the door knob and turning it. She stole into the dining room as someone clomped down the stairs from the second floor. All the action must be here, she thought as she pressed her back into the wall beside the built-in cupboard. The footsteps from the stairs tramped into the front room; again, she could hear them talking, but not what was being said. Outside, a sedan had been added to the MINI and the SUV.
She snuck along the wall, careful not to touch anything that might be loose or squeaky. Finally she got to the archway leading to the entry, and beyond it, the front room. She stepped across the arch and flattened herself behind the conveniently placed grandfather clock. Have to be careful, she thought, as she looked through the glass panels which made up the clock’s sides and front. Long as they don’t see me move…
Through the glass and the foyer, she saw Amy lying not particularly gracefully on the ugly chintz sofa under the painting. One leg trailed off to the floor. While she had a thin trace of blood running from the corner of her mouth, all her clothes were in place, and the blood seemed to be from a split lip. Beckie sagged in relief watching the girl’s chest rise and fall.
A short but well-fed, swarthy man Beckie hadn’t seen outside walked by Amy, speaking to people out of sight. A Hispanic accent underlaid his voice. “… the phone you said there were two. What happened to the other one?”
The responding voice was faint and apologetic. “I was guessing ‘cause she hollered. And she’s too young. But I never saw anyone else.”
“Right. Just her.”
“Jesus! You jackasses get the hell out of here! Give me the key, then get out; let me figure out what to do.”
The three men who Beckie’d seen outside trooped out, looking neither left nor right as they slunk out the entry door. As Beckie watched the man bend over and check Amy’s pulse, she heard the SUV start and drive away. Apparently satisfied with her heartbeat, he brushed his hand across Amy’s cheek. Before he turned back, Beckie slipped across the archway and returned to the kitchen.
There, she caught her breath, then thought, He doesn’t know I’m here. Or
look all that fit. Maybe… She edged her way to the door into the front room. The man was standing with his back to her, looking out the window at the drive or the road. Amy was out of sight behind the sofa back. Beckie slip-slid across the pine floor to stand behind the man. She judged the distance between them.
She took a deep breath. “Hey! What you doing here?”
The man spun and tripped himself on the loose throw rug. As he caught his balance, Beckie swung her open hand, slapping him as hard as she could. The heel of her hand caught him where she wanted, at the point of his jaw, and her fingers smacked his ear. Before he recovered, she shoved him to lie awkwardly on the sofa, then leapt to land on his thighs, driving her thumbs into his eye sockets. Don’t want to push so hard they come out! Yet!
“Be still!” she shouted as she stuck her middle fingers in his ears for leverage. “Don’t move! If you can hear me, say yes.”
He tried to nod, but she shouted “Stop!” More quietly, she said, “Don’t… fucking… move. Speak. I know you can.”
“Yes,” he gasped. “What… what do you want? What are you doing? My eyes—”
“Your eyes will be fine as long as you don’t move. Must I repeat that?”
“No!” A muscle in his cheek twitched.
“Okay. What are you doing here? My friend. What did she do to aggravate you?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why is she out cold with a split lip and whatever else? I don’t have a lot of patience. Let’s start with who you are.”
“Talos. Emidio—”
“Talos?” Beckie almost let go. But wait… Wrong name! It was… Don… Don something. “Like I said, who is… Emidio?”
“Yes.”
I better watch out he doesn’t hyperventilate.
“My brother is Donato Talos. This is his home. His man told me someone was on the property.”
“On the property, looking at it, thinking to make an offer. But you attacked my friend! Why?”
She heard a rustle behind her, then a thud. “Amy, that you? How you feeling?”
“Hunhh.” A groan was stifled. “Lemme get up… So… my head hurts, my face hurts… but I’ve got all my clothes on…”
“For which our guest, Mr. Talos, can be grateful.”
Amy appeared in the corner of Beckie’s eye. The girl gasped. “What are you doing?”
She didn’t turn her head, but answered quickly to allay Amy’s fear. “Keeping him still until he answers my questions. As long as he wants vision for the rest of his life.”
“I do! I didn’t attack you!”
“I’m looking around,” Beckie said softly. “I don’t see anyone else here. The guys who were here left meek as you please when you gave the order. You might forgive me for thinking you tell them what to do.”
“I do, I do. But I don’t order them.”
“As I said, it looked very much like you do. Remember this? ‘You jackasses get the hell out of here!’ Tell me what you were doing if not ordering them.”
Amy moved beside her. Beckie said, “What…” as the girl loosed her belt. In a few seconds, her actions meant something: she’d slipped Abby’s ceramic blades out of the sheaths in the belt and held one out to Beckie.
“No. Come around behind the sofa and hold both of them against his throat. Emidio, assuming you’d like your eyes back…”
“Yes,” he croaked.
“My friend will place her knives at your throat. Her knives are very sharp. As long as you don’t move, they won’t hurt you because, unlike your buddies, she’s not a killer. Will you stay still for me?”
“Yes. Yes, of course!”
Beckie nodded to Amy, who laid the blades just under his jaw, the way Elena had taught her. Beckie nodded again. “I’m gonna let go your eyes now. I know you’ll want to rub them, but move only one hand. Don’t move your head. One at a time. Don’t move!”
She backed her left hand away from his face. Slowly, he moved his hand to rub his eyelid and cheek.
“Put that hand down and I’ll let go the other one.”
In two minutes, Emidio was sitting still. His eyes were tearing up but Beckie was sure he wasn’t crying. She was half-sitting, half-standing next to him. Amy was still standing behind him holding the blades. He was pressing his head back, away from the knives.
“Now, explain in small words just why your buddies attacked two women who are planning to make an offer to buy this place.”
He started to shake his head, but Beckie’s hand stopped him. He breathed deeply, then said, “Because they are idiots! There has been… trouble… here, so they took it on themselves to watch. Protection, I suppose.” She noticed the wet spot on his trousers. “I mean you no harm. Please…”
“Alright.” She put her hand on his forehead and pushed him away from the knives. When Amy came back around the end of the sofa, she handed Beckie one of the blades and continued to the second sofa. Beckie released Emidio and waved the blade in front of his face. “This is one of the knives, just so you know.” She stood and stared at him while she waved to get Amy’s attention. “Call Ms Simmons and ask her to meet us here. I want to see how much Emidio has been making up. Don’t tell her that, though. Tell her… Tell her I need one more piece of information before I decide.”
Amy took Beckie’s phone and scurried out of the room. The call took no time at all; Simmons would finish another meeting and come over.
The atmosphere in the room was tense for the forty-five minutes it took Simmons to return. Amy wanted to shout at Beckie, scream at her, but the look on her face while she stared Emidio down scared her.
I’ll… Crying’s not the answer, now. But I hav’ta understand why…
Beckie met Rosa Simmons at the door. “Thanks. I’m sorry to interrupt you again, but I need some help.” She walked the woman toward the front room. “I’m hoping you can intro—”
The real estate woman was standing flat-footed, mouth open, gaping. Like I feel, Amy commiserated. Simmons rallied to say, “Emidio! What are you doing here?”
“I guess that answers that question,” Beckie said. “Do you know him—”
“Of course! This is Emidio Talos, a friend and neighbor. Why?”
Beckie took Simmons’ arm and gently directed her to the sofa. She dropped down next to Emidio as Beckie turned and handed the knife to Amy. “Don’t put them away yet,” she whispered.
Amy wanted to scream, Why? Are we going to kill both of them?
Simmons had recovered her composure enough to ask Beckie, “What was the question between you and your decision?”
“Bear with me,” Beckie said. “It may take more than one. Can you vouch for Emidio Talos?”
“Of course! I have known him for years.”
“What does Emidio share with his brother?”
Simmons eyebrows rose. “With his… With Donato? Nothing I know of except a love of fine food. What does Donato have to do with this? This is not his property.”
“Oh,” Beckie said. “I had understood… from I guess older property records, he was still listed.”
Emidio was leaning back, once again sighing in relief. I wish I was.
“No,” Simmons said. “His wife, Maria Talos, is sole owner. We have the powers of attorney and the deed transfer documents. We would not have accepted the property for sale, otherwise. Since Donato is…”
Her “unavailable” overlapped Emidio’s “He’s in jail.”
Beckie stared at him before focusing on Simmons. “So,” Beckie continued, “am I to understand you would not expect Emidio and his brother to work together?”
Simmons snapped her head around to stare at Emidio, who immediately shook his head. “I would not. Even on family matters, they didn’t speak.” She faced Beckie. “Why?”
Beckie shrugged. “Being paranoid and without current information, I feared he meant to stop the sale.” She sat next to Amy. “Nothing more. Thank you.
“I am prepared to make a firm offer of six hundred fif
ty thousand dollars for the house and its contents, the shed and its contents, and the land as you described the property limits earlier.”
“How much of a deposit can you give me?”
“Give me the bank information; I will have seven hundred thousand transferred today. That should cover it all including the incidentals. I’ll expect the excess at closing.”
“You… you are paying cash?”
Beckie nodded, a little surprised. “Surely this is acceptable? And not all that uncommon?”
“Yes, yes.”
Amy thought, She’s not as good at lying as Beckie, as the woman’s skittish eyes and fingers betrayed her.
“I’ll call now, if you have…” Beckie took the card with the bank’s information and stood. “I’ll be back directly. Please stay,” she said to Emidio. “I have a few more questions you may be able to help with. Amy, please watch them.”
So I can kill them?
While Beckie was gone, the three sat, stolid, until Simmons and Emidio began a conversation which sounded more like neighborhood news than anything Amy was interested in.
On-line banking was great, but this transaction the bank wanted to discuss. Beckie gave them all the information they needed, and thanked them. As she wandered about outside answering questions designed to trick her into revealing she was not in fact the depositor she claimed to be, she ended up next to the privet hedge lining the drive. She followed it a little way toward the road before checking the time and then taking long strides to the house.
“Very well,” she told Simmons. “The money should be in your escrow account before five today. Set up the lawyers and all once the owner approves, if you will.”