Ensnared

by I N Foggarty

  Cautiously he lowered the revs to try to quiet the engine. Luckily Mark preferred a quiet exhaust. Coming to a standstill he took in the scene in front of him. The battered white van sat facing him and showed no sign of occupation. The other, the larger of the pair, sat perpendicular to the garage with its engine idling and back doors wide open. In the cab, Matt could just make out a man wearing dark shades in the driver’s seat.

  What was he going to do? At no point had he even considered the possibility that there could be more than just the two men alluded to in Mr Gutierrez’ ledger. Deep within his trainers, he became aware that the tips of his toes felt like they had been sculpted from ice. Cold started to creep across his skin and he felt a wave of panic crash down upon him. Dylan had been right, this was insane. Just one stupid teen who had borrowed a motorcycle under false pretences and ridden off under the delusion that he could prevail against fully grown, hardened criminals.

  The hard butt of Walker’s gun pressed into his chest. He had to get out of here. From beneath the open shutter, a group of people began to emerge. If they were about to leave he could go back to the motel, regroup and phone Janine. He needed the cops. Besides Dylan had told him he had seen only one track leading away from the building. Should either of the vans move they would no doubt drive straight towards him. Hastily he disengaged the clutch and slipped the bike into first. Slowly twisting the throttle, he caught sight of some sort of trolley, covered in a white sheet, trundling out of the building. His eyes widened upon realising a figure lay underneath it… a figure with crimson hair.

  ##

  Ramone stood motionless at the top of the stairwell, the itch in his sweaty palms becoming increasingly unbearable. To his right Roca sat perched atop an old wooden crate apparently, standing had been too much effort for the brick so early in the morning. The stupid, lustful grin plastered on his partners face filled Ramone with the urge to punch his lights out. It took genuine effort to suppress it. Soon he would have to extinguish those dim bulbs permanently. He had contemplated simply rendering Roca unconscious before making his getaway. Only his need for the maximum possible head start on Sergio put pay to that idea.

  In front of him, he watched a large white sheet being draped over the shaking form of the Anna girls shackled body. There was a low thud and Roca soon made his way over to stand beside him. The big man let out a cruel laugh. “Bitch’s gonna get everything she deserves eh, Rae.”

  There had been nothing remotely amusing or entertaining about the spectacle they had just endured and he did not even want to contemplate what fate awaited the girl. Where Pirelli had canvased twelve girls in mere moments, the visitor had taken his time and meticulously combed over every inch of her. Though he could still hear her last scream echoing inside his head it was her sobs that haunted him more.

  “Gentleman, I believe we are done here.” The sound of the visitor's silky tones, coupled with a sharp click of his fingers wrenched Ramone back to reality. “Let us step outside and discuss your payment, while I have the young lady loaded into our vehicle.”

  Unable to think of anything helpful to say Ramone blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “You gotta pay for the clothes you cut too. That’s extra.”

  The visitor’s men filed into line and began to troop out of the garage. The sound of the wheels of the gurney creaking made him cringe and instinctively his hand reached into his pocket for a smoke he did not have. This was it. In a few minutes, once the money had changed hands, he would have officially sold his soul. Tentatively he joined onto the tail end of the procession; Roca sticking close beside him.

  “Bet we can take him for the full hundred-K.”

  Ignoring the man he stepped outside. The sun was beating down and the sudden increase in temperature instantly made him feel even more uncomfortable, something a second ago he would not have thought possible. He barely had a chance to process anything more as the sound of an engine roaring from the far side of his van filled the air.

  ##

  The hollow snap of The Violator’s fingers echoed inside Anna’s skull, like a paving slab breaking in two. As her week-long headache resurfaced, bile burned the back of her throat once more. In vain she gave one last tug at the soft leather restraints that manacled her to the gurney; they gave no more than before. “No,” she whispered, the prickling sensation at the edge of her eyes returning. “Please…”

  Behind the blackness of her blindfold, images flickered in and out of focus until finally one of Matt, in pyjamas and a Woodlake Wolves hoodie with his hair sticking up in a mess and a smile on his face appeared. Her heart ached in a way that stole her breath and caused a fresh cascade of hot tears to flow down her face. Stinging the rope marks on her cheeks.

  Naked underneath the soft cotton draped over her, the leather of the gurney surface felt like a sheet of ice against her skin. It appeared that the headache had not been the only thing to have returned. There was a dull shudder as a pair of hands gripped the edges of the trolley and began to push, the wheels letting out a harsh screech similar to a fresh stick of chalk dragged across a chalkboard. Her heart skipped a beat and without even knowing that she had given the command her dirty, broken fingernails dug deep into the padded leather. Her body still, though it was that of a manikin.

  The gurney bobbled and the various metal components clinked against each other as it was slowly trundled over the uneven garage floor. She had read books about condemned criminals taking that final, fateful walk along death row to the execution room. Had any felt the same mix of terror and desperation that now wracked her body? Never had she contemplated wanting to trade places, yet from where she lay now they were perhaps the lucky ones. At least they had all known the destination… death. Other stories told of fates worse than death and it terrified her that her own would now follow a similar pattern. Her limbs began to shake uncontrollably.

  Anna felt a warm tingling in her toes that slowly began to rise up her legs. The sun she realised, taking her first mouthful of clean air since she had busted Dylan out. That night it had been delicious and brought with it a taste of freedom… hope. However, now it felt like the last meal that she could not enjoy, knowing what was to come… the horrors her body and soul would soon forcibly have to endure. Feeling the heat upon her uncovered face, Anna could just detect a slight change in the light level behind her now sodden blindfold. An ironic blessing given how torturous the sunlight had been the last time she had seen it.

  From somewhere far off to her left the fierce sound of an engine revving shattered the silence of the procession. Instinctively she turned her head in the direction from which it had come. The gurney stopped abruptly and she knew that everyone else around her had done the same. Though the combination of the engine and the tyres churning up dirt sounded loud, it was nothing compared to the voice that screamed over it all. One single word… a name… her name.

  “ANNA!”

  ##

  Like the embers of a furnace, the flames of passion and anger reignited inside Matt as though the scene before him stoked his tempestuous emotions and caused them to spiral out of control. The building fury quickly obliterated the fear like a fireball exploding through a wall of ice, breaking all previous thoughts into a thousand sharp shards and flooding him with a heat he struggled to control. Beneath him, the growl of the bike seemed to echo his frustration and confusion.

  This changed everything. Irrespective of who these people were or what plans they had, it had become abundantly clear that they were about to take Anna away. If he left now for help he might never find her again. Matt felt his heart clench and his breathing became ragged, adrenaline searing through him. He had reached the point of no return. Time and again he had let Anna down and knew deep in the pit of his stomach that he was just as much to blame for how events had unfolded as Dylan. He always found a way of blaming someone else, well, not this time.

  From the sidecar he could hear the muffled voice of Dylan, the helmet over his ears failing to block
out the other boy’s trepidation. “Matt…” the word almost sounded pleading. Ignoring him, his jaw clenched in defiance Matt flicked the front section of his helmet open. Twisting the throttle, he began to release the clutch. “Don’t, Matt!” The engine gave a ravenous roar and the tyres spun in the dirt. “MATT!”

  Drowning out Dylan’s scream with a combination of tyre squeal and engine revs the bike shot forwards. Collectively the eyes of the throng turned to face him, his presence now well and truly revealed. Opening up the throttle to its maximum Matt let loose all of the emotion clawing around in his chest in one ferocious yell. Filled it with the desperation the fear and the guilt. “ANNA!” he screamed wildly, frantically needing her to know he had come to save her… That he had not abandoned her.

  “MATT!” He heard the single word from over the noise of the engine. Yelled with a mixture of confusion and panic. “HELP!”

  The knowledge that Anna had heard him added fuel to the furnace. With renewed determination, Matt fixed his gaze on the trolly atop which she lay. Though clearly stunned by his sudden appearance, the group before him quickly began to react. Hastily the men at the very front of the procession, along with those at the very back motioned to draw guns. “Shit!” Matt cursed, instinctively lowering himself over the fuel tank. The first shot came from his left and he urged the bike to speed up. Without thinking, he aligned it with a group of three men at the rear end of the trolley. There were too many for him to deal with so he would have to thin their numbers down.

  Inside his gloves, he knew his knuckles had gone white. Anger turning so easily to hate. These people had Anna and could have done anything to her, hurt her. If he had to inflict grievous bodily harm upon them in order to save her then so be it. These bastards deserved everything he and a couple of hundred pounds of steel could do to them.

  A bullet flew past him, chinking the polished chrome of the right front fork. “ARGH!” Matt yelled as his targets attempted to avoid being flattened.

  The bike careened through the space the three men had occupied less than a fraction of a second before. All around him a cloud of dust and burning rubber rose up, obscuring his vision. Closing his eyes in an attempt to spare them from the air-borne impurities, Matt failed to disengage the clutch and the bike stalled. “Shit.”

  From his right, Dylan let out a harrowing scream that broke off suddenly as the boy's throat constricted. A heartbeat of silence followed, only broken by the unmistakable low rumble of a van engine igniting.

  Snapping his eyes open, it took Matt a moment for the dust to drift enough so he could see what was happening. He could just make out two men it suits hurriedly forcing the trolley containing Anna into the back of the black vehicle.

  “Oh no, you don’t!”

  Tearing open his jacket, he withdrew Walker’s handgun. Disengaging the safety, he sharply brought the weapon up to eye level.

  “Use the sight, aim with both eyes, relax and squeeze, don’t pull,” his sister's words whispered in his ear.

  Between the sights, the blonde haired head of a tall man transfigured into a soda can and as instructed he squeezed the trigger. The shot rang in his ears and the man spun just in time to see the bullet ricochet off the inside panel of the van door. For a split second, their eyes locked and Matt could see a thin, almost amused smile play on the man’s lips.

  “YOU BASTARD!”

  In a fit of blind rage, Janine’s teachings were driven from his head and he rattled off a pair of shots not bothering to properly aim and not caring, just needing to do something. How easy an instrument that had been a heavy unwelcome weight only hours ago now became an extension of his anger and his internal strife.

  From his left, the sound of another gun firing augmented that from Walker’s. Turning his head and preparing for the worst, he caught sight of a mountain of a man, a smoking gun that looked like a child’s plaything clutched in a thick hand; it was not pointed at him. A loud slam sounded and Matt snapped his head back in the direction of the van; the doors had been closed. As the vehicle's tyres struggled to gain traction, he looked at it in abject horror. They were about to high tail it, WITH ANNA!

  Clumsily stuffing the weapon back inside his jacket, Matt wrestled with the ignition, completely forgetting to disengage the clutch. The bike shuddered and the engine stalled again. “Shit!”

  Dylan had found his voice again and now screamed obscenities but he had no time for him. In front of him, the black van had already set off. Hastily he pulled in the clutch and restarted the bike, part of him not sure what he intended to do but all of him sure of one thing. This was not over yet.

  ##

  Through the cloud of drifting dirt, the sun reflected off the polished metalwork of the motorcycle’s frame, dazzling Ramone. The bike had shot towards himself, Roca and the visitor like a bullet leaving a gun barrel and with a similar intention to kill. Eyes fixed upon it, they had drawn their guns and got off a shot or two, as did at least one of the visitor's bodyguards. That had been before the realisation that the rider intended to run them down had dawned. Seizing Roca by one thick arm, he had thrown them both out of the way just in time to see the vehicle skid past.

  For a moment, he lay on the ground struggling for breath. The smell of burning rubber filling his nostrils. What the fuck, had been the first thought that came to mind as the dust began to dissipate. He raised a hand to shield his eyes. A shot rang out and he immediately ducked his head. Beside him, Roca had just managed to get to his feet. “Rae, that bastard’s stealing the bitches.”

  Ramone’s eyes widened and he caught sight of the Anna girl’s gurney being shoved into the back of the black van. The big man was right. Gun in hand the rider of the bike yelled a curse and let off a series of shots while beside him Roca followed suit. Scrambling to his feet Ramone could do nothing but watch the back doors to the van, containing his dreams, life and soul, banging shut. No, he thought desperately, firing a series of pointless shots. He had traded everything he possessed for one last chance at happiness and yet again stood by, observing it slip away.

  Heart hammering Ramone holstered his gun and ran towards his own van. If that son of a bitch thought he could take everything he had and run, he had another thing coming. Over his shoulder, he could hear the sound of the other van struggle for traction. Wrenching the door open he bundled himself into the driver’s seat and started the engine. His heart skipped a beat when Roca barrelled into the passenger side, just before his foot hit the gas pedal.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, Rae. Let me get in will ya.”

  Leaving his own cloud of dust behind him, he ignored the bricks comment. Up ahead the black van had already set off down the dirt track. His brain quickly did the math. Though the visitor’s vehicle looked newer, it was also larger and contained at least eight bodies. He might be stuck with El Roca, but he would wager that his van could outrun theirs. A twisted grin formed on his face, all thoughts of what he was actually pursuing pushed aside, the thrill of the chase taking hold. He would be on top of them before they had even got halfway to the highway.

  Riding the bumps, he hit the dirt track at speed. His eyes deviating from the path only for a split second to register that the motorcycle had set off after them. Only at that moment did he realise that the rider had a passenger housed in a sidecar. Whoever they were, they had made it abundantly clear what, or rather who, they were after. An image of the Anna girl flashed through his mind, lying naked, restrained and terrified atop that gurney. Although it had been by the visitor’s command it had been himself who had orchestrated the whole affair. Upon reflection, he could not imagine the extent of Maria’s fury if she were ever to find out how he had obtained the mon… He let out a hollow laugh that brought about a funny look from Roca. At present, selling his soul had not garnered him a single cent.

  Skidding around a corner Ramone could see the gap between himself and the black van had narrowed significantly. A few corners and he would be within striking distance. Reaching across Roca he
hammered a fist against the glove compartment, it popped open to reveal a selection of semi-automatic magazines. “Roca, load up. Aim for the tyres.”

  The look on the big man’s face told him that he wanted to be sick again. However, he seized one of the clips, reloaded his gun and rolled down the window. Veering the van off track he caught some air and cut the next corner. A horrid screech sounded from the chassis as they landed and Ramone’s entire body jostled from side to side. Still, the manoeuvre had served its purpose; they were now within a few car lengths of the black vehicle’s rear bumper. A loud belch erupted from Roca and Ramone had a suspicion that the big man had needed to suppress the urge to hurl.

  The smell of gunpowder filled the cab, Roca having leant out the window to open fire. Taking the wheel in one hand Ramone followed suit. Only when the click to signal he had run out of ammo sounded did he bring his arm back inside. It was a pointless exercise. With all the twists and bumps in the track, hitting the back or sides of the vehicle would be impossible, let alone the tyres. Cursing he shoved the gun back into its holster. Bullets would get them nowhere. Gripping the wheel in both hands, he hit the gas pedal and shortened the gap.

  “What are ya doing, Rae?” Roca asked in slight alarm, hauling his thick arm back into the cab.

  “I’m going to take this bastard out!” he yelled, the front fender brushing up against the rear of the black van. If they could not shoot out a tyre, he would pitch the visitor off the track. Sliding around a sharp bend, he careened into the back of the other vehicle with much more force this time. A sickening crunch sounded from the front of the van. His seatbelt locked and his neck jerked to one side. “Bastard!”

  “Fuck, Rae. It’s only money”

  “IT’S NOT JUST ABOUT THE FUCKING MONEY!” Ramone screamed, struggling to make it around the next bend. This was about his life, his pride, Maria and most importantly his soul.

  In front, the black van had slowed to make it around a near ninety-degree turn. Flooring the gas pedal Ramone locked his eyes on its back-left wheel. A classic tail-fish manoeuvre. If he did it right, the opposing vehicle would spin out of control and topple. Fully committed he thundered down the trail, but could only watch helplessly as his front bumper crashed through the grass; he’d missed.