Ensnared

by I N Foggarty

  ##

  The motorcycle purred gently, waiting with bated breath to be unleashed upon the waiting interstate. Soon, its rider thought, his eyes fixed upon the final stop light that lay between him, the bike and the open road. When it flickered to green, he twisted the throttle, released the clutch and allowed the bike to leave a small cloud of smoke behind it as it sped off down the endless strip of tarmac.

  In front of him, the last rays of sunlight flecked the sky with a crimson red, reminiscent of Anna’s hair… and strains of blood. The trip from Mark’s place back to the old factory had taken far longer than anticipated owing to the evening rush hour traffic. He had then been further delayed by Walker’s insistence that he be allowed to stop off for something to eat.

  “A man should at least been allowed to enjoy one last good meal before attempting daring heroics,” Walker had said with a toothy grin while he slurped down the largest bowl of chicken satay noodles Matt had ever seen. Apparently, Walker and his best friend, may he rest in peace, had made such a meal tradition before the final phase of a job.

  For Matt, it had simply been yet another delay and he had almost been tempted to leave the man to his food and take off. However, it had only been a passing thought. After leaving Mark’s he had given serious thought to whether or not he should continue on his own. In the end, he had thought better of it. For all his flaws, Walker had saved his life once already and had been indispensable to the entire escapade. He would not have even made it to the strip club without him and there was most certainly more danger awaiting him out in Kedron Valley. As much as he wanted to deny it, he needed the man’s help. After having eaten his weight in noodles and lambasting Matt for having the ‘sodden cheek’ to have eaten without him, Walker had climbed into the sidecar and told Matt to follow the signs for Interstate 80. That had been the last thing said between them.

  Something about riding the motorcycle felt completely liberating Matt thought, pushing the bike up to the speed limit. He had never ridden for this long before, yet even after two stints culminating in about two hours’ worth of riding time he still felt the same rush. Once Anna was safe he would need to have a serious conversation with his parents about getting one of his own. Assuming they would allow him out of his room before he turned old and grey. The thought of how his mom and dad must be feeling right now still ate at him. I had no other choice he kept telling himself. He had been belittled by the vice principal and then fobbed off by the police. Janine, though lending him her ear, had become irate and unwilling to help after Walker’s antics. What more could he have done? Even now, after all he had discovered, he still had no more solid proof than when he started.

  Evening slowly turned to night and Matt kept a steady pace along the interstate. The full trip out to Annawan came close to one hundred and fifty miles. The traffic out of the city had been reasonable he thought and so he would likely reach the town in just under two and a half hours. While Walker ate, they had thrashed out a plan of action. They would find a motel somewhere in the region of the I-78, for somewhere off that highway they hoped to find their elusive destination. Though desperate to find Anna, Walker’s logic and reasoning had once more been enough to sway him into heeding his course of action. It would be late by the time they arrived and without knowing where or even what they were looking for it would be like ‘finding the set of tits in a room full of balloons with the lights off’ as the hobo had so finely put it.

  What they were going to do in the morning to improve those odds Matt still did not know. With nothing more than a name and a circle on a map, that Walker theorised must have covered roughly fifteen square miles, their only hope would be to find someone who could shed some light on where and what it was. When he had raised this issue, the man had simply laughed. Apparently, in such circumstances the old motel owner and his wife, a very important aspect in reducing the chances of staying with a psycho, usually had the answers. Needless to say, Matt had not found his humour very funny.

  The miles passed and the city became a smaller and smaller blob of light in the mirror. The traffic slowly thinned down to the point where they were all alone. As night descended, Matt tore his eyes away from the road for a moment, to look briefly up at the star-filled sky. The moon looked nice tonight he thought, allowing his gaze linger for a second on its bright translucent surface. He must be getting close he thought, the bike continuing to eat up the dark tarmac. Up ahead a road sign told him that it was only fifteen miles to Annawan. He increased the throttle ever so slightly to help regulate his speed. I’m coming, Anna.

  When the town approached, he followed the signs for the I-78 and started heading north. After about ten minutes he felt a nudge from his right side. Averting his gaze from the road he could see Walker pointing to a building that sat not too far off in the distance. A bloody motel Matt realised when they drew closer. Well, it would have to do he thought as he passed beneath a broken neon sign proclaiming the motel to be called ‘The Wilk's” and guided the bike into a parking bay. When he let go of the handlebars his left arm spasmed and he instinctively clutched at it with his other hand.

  “That wound still hurting?” he heard the gruff voice of Walker say.

  “No…” he lied through gritted teeth. “My arms are just a bit stiff after having been in one position for over two hours.”

  Without warning, Walker set off towards the reception. “Suit yourself.”

  Matt turned the bike engine off and slowly started to ease the stiffness out of his left arm. The pain slowly ebbed but it served as a good reminder that he would have to re-dress the wound at some point. Carefully he climbed off the bike and chained it up. The last thing he needed was for it to be stolen. Not only would it mess up their plans but probably get him murdered by Mark in the process.

  Taking a moment to regain the feeling in his legs Matt then headed towards the reception himself. He was about to open the door when the hobo stepped out and closed it behind him.

  “We’re all sorted,” he said with a toothy grin and held a key out to Matt. “Separate rooms, you’re in 7 I’m in 8.”

  “You paid for separate rooms?” Matt asked in surprise. The thought of Walker paying for one room, let alone two smelled fishy to him.

  “Course I did.”

  Matt looked at the man pointedly. “There was no one there when you went in so you just reached over the counter and took two keys didn’t you.”

  “Matty!” the man replied indignantly. “What kind of man do you take me for?” He put his hand on the right side of his chest.

  Matt stared at him defiantly. “The kind that wouldn’t pay for anything if he could get it for nothing.”

  Walker sighed. “Ok, so technically we got our rooms courtesy of our friend Mr Gutiérrez, but I still paid the nice lady.”

  Matt shook his head and snatched the key from Walkers out-stretched hand. He knew it had not been a simple case of Walker paying the manager. Though truth be told, using money misappropriated from a criminal felt far better than seeing the owners out of pocket. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Following Walkers lead, Matt headed for room seven situated at the centre of an L-shaped bend in the row of quaint looking lodgings. Turning the key in the lock the door opened stiffly. The musty stench hit his nostrils before he even had time to cross the threshold. Turning on the lights revealed that the room had not been occupied or cleaned in some time. Though it was by no means a mess. The bed had been neatly made and all the other furnishings in their proper place. A vast improvement on last nights’ digs. Closing the door Matt headed straight for the window in order to alleviate some of the odours. He had to push hard in order to raise the bottom section upwards.

  Sitting down on what turned out to be a lumpy mattress he pulled out his phone. Sighing he turned it on. A barrage of missed phone calls and texts from every member of his family soon greeted him. There was even a few from Natalie and a solitary one from Mark, though that simply reminded him to look after his bike.
Guilt washed over him once more as he ignored the whole lot. He had not wanted to turn the device on, however, the lack of an alarm clock in the room necessitated it. Setting it for 7:00 am, he then put the ringer on silent and set it down on the surface of the boxy bedside table.

  Stripping down to his t-shirt and boxers he climbed under the moth-eaten sheets and lay his head down on a thin pillow that felt lumpier than the mattress. Rolling over he tried his right side first and then his back but it turned out that both were just as uncomfy; his left side being out of the question due to his arm but it would probably have been no better. Signing he eventually settled on his back. He did not feel tired but knew that his body had probably been running on adrenaline and that sleep of some sort was necessary. Closing his eyes a perfect picture of Anna formed in his mind. One of her rare, genuine smiles on her face. He reached a hand out to brush some loose strands of her soft hair out of her eyes and could feel a slight heat radiating from her cheeks as his fingers stroked them; she was blushing.

  He wrapped an arm around the small of her back. “Everything’s going to be ok, Anna,” he whispered.

  “I hope you’re right,” she replied softly. Their lips met.

  Passionately he returned the kiss. Anna’s soft lips were a taste of paradise. If this was a dream, he never wanted it to end.

  House calls

  The afternoon air had turned sticky under the sun's overbearing presence. What little cloud had lingered after mid-morning had long since moved on to pastures new. However, given the topsy-turvy nature of his life at present Ramone Gonzalez would not have been surprised if by evening rain came lashing down, followed by thundersnow to see in the night. Still, the heat outside the garage was nothing compared to the metaphorical volume that had just been given off in the basement.

  After returning with Jasper, the sawbones had set about his examination of the red-haired bitch. It had been a lengthy process in which, from what Ramone could see, Jasper’s latex-clad skeletal fingers managed to touch more or less every part of the girl. Ultimately, his findings had not been what Ramone needed to hear.

  Clinical exhaustion, malnourishment, potential tetanus along with some other, without proper tests, ‘unidentifiable’ infection had been the doctor’s diagnosis. Though it had been the docs bout of hollow laughter when Ramone had queried whether she would be well by tomorrow that had truly triggered the argument.

  “By tomorrow? My dear fellow, I’d have her hospitalised immediately if I were a common general practitioner,” Jasper had sneered. “Even then I would have my doubts.”

  More of the bastard’s price jacking bullshit Ramone had thought. Unfortunately, he had been out of cards and in dire need of the man’s help. “Do whatever it takes to make her well,” he had said in no uncertain terms.

  The wry smile that had formed on the doctor’s lips had been enough to tell him he was about to be fucked up the ass and pay for the privilege.

  “In order to do that I will need for her to be brought to my clinic. She needs care and treatment Ramone and like I said I am not sure how long it would take for her to be made ‘well’ as you so astutely put it.”

  Ramone had shaken his head. The idea of this man providing ‘care’ long-term somehow felt terrifying. “The bitch stays… you can treat her here.”

  The argument had continued until it became clear that Ramone would not back down and if Jasper wished to be paid then he would have to work around this inconvenience. When that thought had occurred to the Doc he had proceeded to administer his ‘treatment’, a big ass shot of something yellowy coloured in her arm followed by two bags of fluids with no further discussion but a lot of huffing and if Ramone was not mistaken a couple of longing looks.

  Once he had finished setting up the tubes into the girl’s right hand, Jasper had stood up, packed away his supplies and demanded his payment along with his promised ride back to the city. The resultant dispute had been loud enough to rouse Roca from his stupor. Though the sneaky sawbones had proclaimed that, under the circumstances, he had done all he could Ramone was no fool nor a nurse. He knew that the tubes running into the girl’s hand needed removing and that it would require the Doc to do it properly.

  Jasper had, of course, proclaimed this outrageous and that even a ‘Neanderthal like Roca’ could remove the IV, or whatever it was called and replace the bags; which it transpired would need to be done in about six hours’ time. Armed with this knowledge Ramone had refused to let the doc leave until the ‘treatment’ had been concluded. Jasper had protested but after an intense argument, an agreement was made that he would stay in return for ‘compensation’.

  This would likely to cost him every cent he had Ramone had cursed as he climbed the stairs. Outside he lit a smoke, took a long draw and stared out towards the horizon. How much time did they have left before the cops began to close in on them? He had been pondering this question along with the relevant factors all day. In the end, he had arrived at a worst-case scenario figure of about two days, based on his belief that the boy had not followed the dirt track to the highway when he escaped. For it had been the first thing he and Roca had checked in their search. In that regard, he reasoned that it would take him about a day to find someone who could help him contact the cops. After that, he would then have to go through the whole rigmarole of telling his story to them and then trying to lead them back to the garage, which would likely not happen until tomorrow at the earliest.

  It was a catch twenty-two situation. If he were intending to sell the red-haired bitch to the visitor, he would need to wait until she recovered enough to pass first impressions, but the longer he waited the higher the probability of being apprehended. He shook his head. Early afternoon tomorrow would probably be the latest he could afford to linger here. If the bitch or visitor were not ready by then he would have to move elsewhere or worse high tail it for the border. Finishing the roll-up Ramone flicked the butt away and withdrew his phone along with the scrap of paper given to him by the visitor. Hand shaking slightly, despite the intake of nicotine he dialled.

  After a few rings, the unmistakably airy tone of the visitor replied, “good afternoon.”

  “Hey is that…” Ramone paused, recalling that he had declined the offer of a name from the visitor on Monday. The silence stretched as both men waited.

  “Ahh,” the man said after a few seconds sparing Ramone from any further awkwardness. “Now let me see… Ramone, wasn’t it?”

  Before he could stop himself, Ramone asked the obligatory, “how do you know that?”

  The visitor lightly chuckled. “Of course. You decided to skip the pleasantries last time we spoke. Suffice it to say I make it a priority to know the name of anyone I give any sort of contact details to.” When he failed to answer the man continued. “Your comrade, Roca if I recall correctly, called you that during my visit.”

  Damn you, Roca, Ramone cursed internally, failing to recall the incident. The negotiation had not even commenced and already he found himself on the back foot.

  “You also have quite a distinct tone, are you aware of that?”

  Who the hell cared about that sort of rubbish he thought? He grunted as politely as he could, “no.” While the visitor took a moment to dissect his reply, Ramone attempted to move the conversation onto more important matters. “I thought I’d call to see if you were still interested in buying that girl. Our boss made up his mind and has decided to sell.”

  The disdain in the visitor's tone hit Ramone like one of Roca’s fists. “So quick to cut to the chase. How disappointing. Like the rest of the world, the art of conversation seems to be lost on you.” Ramone had to stifle the urge to say something that could put an end to the prospect of a deal before it had even been discussed. When he failed to add anything to the conversation the visitor continued. “Still it would be rude of me to condemn you without first giving you the chance to atone for your wrongdoings.”

  Ramone almost hurled, memories of the old preacher in the Juarez slums f
orcing their way into his head. Condemn and atone were words he had scarcely heard since being forced to stand in the crowd and listen to that old coot every Sunday morning.

  “So I, shall instead ask, how you are on this glorious Illinois afternoon?”

  Ramone gritted his teeth. The son of a bitch sounded so stuck up that it almost made him hang up and forget the whole thing entirely. Unfortunately, the dire nature of the situation meant that he would have to return every comment with a smile and a compliment. This really was like being back in church. “I’m fine,” he replied before hastily adding, “how about yourself?”

  Though he could not see the man on the other end an image of a thin smile forming on his face surfaced in his mind. “I am very well, thank you. I took a walk around my host’s estate after lunch. Such a wonderful piece of horticulture. I do wonder how he managed it.”

  Horti-what Ramone thought as he found his free hand reaching into a pocket for a smoke. Were there people who actually liked to listen to this bullshit?

  “Anyway, I digress. Now is there something you wish to speak with me about this afternoon? I’m sure you did not call just to hear me discuss my host’s exquisite botany.”

  The vein in Ramone’s temple began to throb. The bastard already knew exactly why he had called. Suppressing the urge to yell he reiterated his earlier remark. “Our boss has decided that the girl is up for sale, are you still interested?”

  “The girl?” The man paused for a moment in what Ramone could tell was mock confusion. “Ah yes, the one with the red hair. Quite the specimen if I remember correctly.”

  “That’s one way of putting it,” he grunted, feeling goose pimples form up his spine. Though it was stiflingly hot outside, the way the man said the word specimen filled him with the sort of cold chill he associated with Jasper. He turned to look at the door just in case the Doc had snuck up on him.