Retreat

by J. F. Gonzalez

  Then those terrified eyes turned to Joe and he gasped. “Oh God!” He dropped the receiver and raised his hands. “Please don’t shoot me!”

  “Who are you?” Joe said, taking another step into the room and keeping the gun trained on the man.

  “I...I’m Brian,” the man stammered. He was backing up against the wall. The wave of fear emanating from him was enormous. “Brian Gaiman. Listen, man, it’s not what you think—”

  “You work here?”

  Brian nodded. “Y-yeah.”

  “What do you do?”

  “Uh, I-I’m a maintenance guy.”

  “Maintenance?”

  “Yeah.” Brian Gaiman was breathing short, heavy, fast breaths. Joe knew by instinct that whoever this Brian Gaiman guy was, he wasn’t part of whatever was going down at Bent Creek. “I just work here man. That’s all. Please...”

  Joe stepped all the way inside the office and closed the door. The room became darker, but Joe’s vision had adjusted enough to where he could make out Brian’s figure perfectly. “Don’t move,” he said. “The minute you move, I plug one in your chest. Got me?”

  Brian stammered again, nodding furiously. “Uh-uh-uh ye-yeah-o-o-ok-okay.”

  “What are you doing in here?”

  “N-nu-nothing!”

  “Don’t lie to me! I heard you pawing through the desk and say that you were fucked. Then you tried the phone. I could tell you weren’t calling anybody ‘cause you were just randomly jabbing the keypad.”

  “Something must be wrong with the lines,” Brian said. His voice was wavering with nerves. “I can’t get an outside line!”

  “You can’t get an outside line?”

  “Uh uh.”

  “Whose office is this?”

  “Rick Nicholson’s.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “Director of Operations.”

  “Is he here?”

  Brian Gaiman nodded. “He’s in big trouble. Paul from Security...and a couple of Paul’s security guys...they came in and got him. Knocked him out, dragged him off somewhere.”

  “What?” Joe’s grip tightened on the handgun. “You better explain what the hell is going on right now. You understand me?”

  “Uh...yeah.” Brian licked his lips and seemed to calm himself down. “You’re not...you’re not one of them. Right?”

  He means I’m not part of this, Joe thought, as the realization of what was happening flitted through his senses. Somehow, Brian Gaiman had stumbled onto Bent Creek’s dark underbelly. “Just tell me everything you know as quickly as possible. And talk to me in a low voice.”

  “Okay,” Brian said. He still looked scared, but he was more calmed down now than when Joe first entered the office. In a lowered voice he told Joe what had happened to him; how he was working outside on the north side of the property when all of a sudden he was knocked unconscious; how he woke up in what he later learned was a metal freezer; his imprisonment; how he managed to escape and what he found in the freezer next to his that was running.

  When Brian got to that part Joe interrupted him. “There were cut up human body parts in the freezer next to you?”

  Brian nodded vigorously. “Oh God, yes.”

  “How many?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Could you tell if they were male or female?”

  “No.” Brian shook his head. He still had his hands raised over his head, his back against the wall. “I’m sorry, I was too scared!”

  “That’s okay,” Joe said. “Keep going.”

  Brian finished his story, telling Joe about his escape, how he snuck over to the Administrative area to try to get to a nice quiet place to call the police. He concluded with Rick Nicholson arriving and how he hid in the coat closet, still scared of being discovered. “I didn’t know if Rick was one of them,” he explained. “I had to...I had to make sure! But...” His voice broke. “I waited too long. Paul and two of his guys came and I stayed where I was and listened to the whole thing. They accused Rick of stealing some money and Rick, he didn’t know what they were talking about. I could tell by the tone of his voice. Then they...I don’t know how they did it, but they got him, knocked him out. Then they got him out of there.”

  “And you listened to all this in the coat closet?”

  Brian nodded. Joe could tell the younger man was shaking. Scared. “Y-yes.”

  “How long ago did this happen?”

  Brian shrugged, hands still raised in the air. “Maybe thirty, forty minutes ago.”

  “You were hiding in the closet the whole time?”

  “Yeah.” Brian licked his lips and swallowed. “As they were leaving they talked about coming back to search the offices. I stayed hidden. I didn’t know what else to do. I was scared. I wasn’t sure if...you know, if they were still out there. Or when they’d be back.”

  Joe considered this. Brian was telling him the truth. He felt it in his gut. It was in his face, in his eyes, in the way he spoke, his voice crackling with fear. That decided it for him. “Don’t move,” he said. “I’m just going to reach into my pocket for my cell phone.”

  Brian seemed to visibly relax a little. He nodded.

  Keeping the gun trained on Brian, Joe reached into his left breast pocket for his cell phone. He quickly called up the speed dial for Dean and put the phone to his ear. He kept his sight trained on Brian as Dean picked up. “Yeah?” Dean said.

  “The chair is against the wall,” Joe said.

  “Now? Are you sure?”

  “John has a long mustache,” Joe confirmed.

  “Fuck!” Joe heard Dean scrambling in the background. “I’ll be on the ground with a full deck in thirty.”

  “We’re going to need to do a complete shave,” Joe said, then disconnected. Not breaking his gaze from Brian Gaiman, Joe lowered his weapon. “I need you to listen to me very carefully,” he said.

  CHAPTER 38

  When Jim Munchel returned to the prep area of the kitchen, Anna glanced his way, heart racing, her senses fully alert and ready. Mitch had returned a few minutes ago with his wife Theresa. Anna had immediately sensed that she could ignore them as they stood over her and taunted her. She was more interested in what Jim Munchel was doing in the storeroom. She’d heard the muffled voices of conversation, had caught a few muffled screams, then everybody had left through another door except for the Johnson’s. They’d left the door open when they re-entered the kitchen area, and Anna was able to hear everything Jim was saying now. She listened carefully and was quickly brought up to speed.

  They had Rick Nicholson in there and it sounded like he was in the same situation as she.

  Theresa was caressing Anna’s left calf, talking to her husband. “Just feel her legs,” Theresa said. “She is going to be so mouthwatering.”

  Mitch’s hands had trailed to her left breast. She let it linger there, barely aware of it as he kneaded it gently, feeling its fullness. There was really nothing she could do about it anyway. Besides, her main threat right now was Jim Munchel. She listened to Jim talking to Rick in the storeroom, ignoring Mitch as he said, “I want this breast entirely to myself.”

  From the storeroom there was the sound of a wet gurgle and a strangled hiss, then the spatter of liquid as it hit the ground. Anna held her breath. Did Jim kill Rick? Her question was answered a moment later as Jim entered the kitchen, a bloody butcher knife clenched in his right fist.

  “Now that we have that out of the way,” Jim said, approaching the table. He nodded at Mitch and Theresa. “Where were we?”

  “Just savoring what we’re going to be tasting this week,” Theresa said. She grinned at Jim Munchel. She was running her hand up to Anna’s left thigh now.

  “Yes, of course,” Jim said. He placed the bloody butcher knife on the table and began rummaging among the cutlery for another. “I take it we still want to go with your original menu choice for this evening?”

  “Of course,” Theresa said.

  “I wish I could ha
ve the breast tonight,” Mitch said. He was twirling his thumb around Anna’s left nipple. Anna felt a wave of disgust with herself as it grew hard.

  “The breasts have to marinate overnight,” Jim said. He looked across the table at them, then his eyes focused on Anna’s and he smiled. “Don’t be so afraid, Miss King. We’re going to use every edible portion of your body this week, starting with the flesh from those luscious legs of yours.”

  “I’m not afraid,” Anna said. Her breathing was slowing down. She was directing all her mental energy, all of her willpower on keeping her fear at bay and formulating a plan of action for escape.

  “Brave girl,” Jim said, still smiling. “But I still sense a little fear in you. Correct?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Don’t be. I’ll make it as painless as possible. Rest assured that you will be providing nourishment and sustenance for weeks to come for two highly regarded and influential members of society. That should come as great comfort to you, that you will be a part of something big, something important, something powerful. Your contribution may appear small and insignificant to you now, but rest assured that it is very important, that you are contributing to something great.” Jim paused. He was fingering a clean, heavy-bladed knife. “Would you like to hear how you will be prepared tonight?”

  Anna said nothing. Her eyes were locked with Jim’s as he stepped around the table, gripping the knife.

  “Tonight, Mitch and Theresa will dine on your calves. I will slice two inch thick strips of meat from your calves and rub them with garlic salt, parsley flakes, and pepper. I will take a cold frying pan and fry some bacon, then brown the meat from your calves in the bacon fat. Once they’re browned, I’ll set them in the bottom of a baking dish for a moment. While the frying pan is hot, but not smoking, I’ll add water, sour cream, cider vinegar, sugar, soy sauce and a bay leaf. When this comes to a bubble, I will pour this over the calves. I will cover the baking dish with aluminum foil and bake it at 325 Fahrenheit for about one hour and forty minutes, or until the meat is well done. Then, I will add a garnish of garlic mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables and personally serve it to the Johnson’s table.” Jim paused, the grin never leaving his face. “They will enjoy it immensely.”

  Now Mitch was caressing her lower right leg. He leered down at her like a hungry wolf. “Boy, when you break it down like that, Chef, you really make me want to just dive in to her now.”

  Theresa gave out a little laugh.

  Anna felt her heart race again. Her eyes flicked from the Johnson’s to Chef Munchel, who began approaching her slowly. He raised the knife slightly, fingering the blade with his right hand.

  Anna directed her gaze at Mitch. “Well, I hope I’m worth it then. Too bad all your money was stolen.”

  Mitch laughed. “Nice play at distraction, dear.”

  “It’s not a distraction, it’s the truth. You’ve heard about the thefts taking place here among the guests for the past week, right?”

  “Of course,” Mitch said. Jim hung back a little, and she could tell he was waiting for Mitch to end this exchange. “We’ve all heard about it. And I’m not dumb enough to take your bait, my dear. Nobody stole any money from us.”

  “Think again,” Anna said, her gaze locked with Mitch’s. “That big check you wrote to Jim and Wayne for this feast is going to bounce, because all the money in that checking account is gone.”

  This seemed to stop Mitch in his tracks. He glanced quickly at Jim, who shrugged. Jim didn’t appear phased.

  “He paid you with a check, right?” Anna asked Jim Munchel.

  “What makes you think he paid me?”

  “Because you probably process the payments and funnel Wayne’s portion to him later,” Anna said, winging it now, hoping this was the case, for her sake. She knew she was taking a big gamble with assuming this, but she really had no choice—she was in a life-or-death situation here. “You’re the one with the restaurant, you have the business accounts set up for private catering events like this. Of course the checks would be made out to you. Mitch wrote you a check. Did you deposit it yet?”

  Mitch Johnson glanced at Jim Munchel, who seemed amused by this.

  “Well? Did you?”

  “Why would it matter to you?”

  “Answer the question!” Anna’s heart felt like it was going to burst out of her chest, it was racing so fast.

  “In a word, no.” Jim Munchel’s thumb flicked the blade of the knife. The metallic sound his thumbnail made against the steel blade was like Chinese water torture on Anna’s brain. “But the Johnson’s are good customers. I know their check is good, and besides—”

  “The check isn’t good anymore,” Anna persisted. “The money in that account is gone. Trust me.” Anna’s gaze locked with Jim Munchel’s and for the first time since her predicament, she felt the balance of power begin to shift.

  “This is bullshit,” Theresa Johnson said. She reached into her Gucci handbag and pulled out an iPhone. She began tapping at the display. “I’ll end this discussion right now, little Miss King.”

  Anna ignored Mitch and Jim as she watched Theresa Johnson access her bank account. She tried to suppress the grin as Theresa put in the account number and waited. Theresa’s features turned from one of smug annoyance to stunned shock in seconds. She looked at her husband in disbelief, then at Jim, then tapped the screen again. “This is impossible!”

  The grin Anna was trying to suppress made a brief appearance on her face, then settled into a look of defiant triumph. She kept her gaze trained on Theresa as she tapped at the screen again, her face looking increasingly shocked at what she was seeing. “This is impossible!”

  “What’s impossible?” Mitch asked. He didn’t sound so smug himself anymore.

  “What the—?” Theresa’s eyes were wide, her mouth an O of shock. She looked at Anna. “You little bitch!”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Mitch shouted at his wife. Jim Munchel took a step back; to Anna, the chef seemed to look out of place in the midst of what appeared to be a marital spat over money.

  Theresa turned to her husband. “The Citibank account has been cleared out! Savings, checking, all of it, it’s all gone!”

  Now it was Mitch’s turn to drop his jaw. “What?”

  “Look!” Theresa thrust the iPhone at him, holding it up to show him. Mitch looked at the display and that sense of power grew stronger as Anna watched the look on his face change.

  Mitch turned to Anna. “You...?”

  “What did I tell you?” Anna said. “Think I lied?”

  “Where’s our money?”

  Theresa was scrolling through the device, her features stunned. “Ten thousand out of checking, two million out of savings...it’s all gone!”

  “It’s not all gone,” Anna said. “I left you a couple bucks in each account.”

  “Where’s my money, you bitch!” Mitch leaned forward, eyes fiery with anger.

  Anna didn’t let Mitch’s newfound anger get her. She locked her gaze with him, not breaking it. “You thought you had me, didn’t you? Well, guess what? Now I have you! And if you kill me, the money that was sitting in your Citibank, your Wells Fargo, and your Morgan Stanley accounts will sit in my accounts forever. And you’ll never get it back!”

  At the mention of the other accounts, Mitch and Theresa froze. Jim Munchel was beginning to look uneasy. Theresa moaned. “Oh God, you can’t be serious...” She began to frantically scroll and tap at the iPhone. Anna watched her, feeling that she had the upper hand completely now. Mitch waited in silence while his wife called up another account. A moment later, confirmation. “No!”

  Anna grinned.

  CHAPTER 39

  Paul Westcott entered the dining room and began weaving his way between the tables toward the kitchen, when Chef Munchel and Mitch Johnson emerged from the pass, ready to meet him.

  “I came as quickly as I could,” Paul said. That was the truth, too. He’d spent most of the day asleep,
trying to rest up from the long night before.

  “We have a situation,” Jim Munchel said. He looked nervous.

  “What gives?” Paul tried to appear that he was in control, but inside he felt everything was coming apart. First Brian Gaiman disappeared—and they still hadn’t found him—and now this....whatever this was. The moment Jim roused him from sleep fifteen minutes ago and told him there was a problem, Paul wished he’d never taken on this job.

  As Jim brought Paul up to speed, he glanced toward the entrance to the kitchen from the galley. Theresa Johnson stood there, hanging back. She looked like she’d just learned a close blood relative had died unexpectedly. Mitch was harder to read—he was definitely shocked by something, but there was also a touch of anger about him. Paul listened to Jim, not showing any emotion as he learned what Anna King had revealed to them. “You were able to verify this?” he asked Jim Munchel, his mind still trying to comprehend that Anna had been responsible for the thefts the whole time. Anna? Anna King? That good-for-nothing, shit-for-brains waitress Alex wanted to fire because she was so bad at her job? That Anna?

  “Yes sir, I did,” Jim replied.

  Paul turned to Mitch. “Did you check the other accounts she mentioned?”

  “Theresa checked two of them,” Mitch answered. “They were cleaned out. She’s...she became too upset when checking the other one and the system locked her out. She kept typing her username and password in wrong.”

  Paul began to think about how to get themselves out of this. It was clear to him now that Rick Nicholson hadn’t been their thief after all—it had been Anna the whole time. How? Surely she would have had some kind of help in this. Paul clenched his fists in frustration, at a loss for what to do. “How much money total are we talking about?”

  “Almost ten million dollars,” Mitch said, his voice low, deadpan. He looked like he’d just been told his entire family had been wiped out in a holocaust.

  “Okay...” Paul nodded. “Take me back there. Let’s talk to her.”

  Jim and Mitch led Paul through the kitchen and to the rear prep area. Theresa joined them, hanging back a bit. She clung to her husband’s left arm, visibly shaken and shocked.