21 Hours

by Dustin Stevens

I honestly didn't know the answer to that question yet. Long ago I vowed never to lie to my sister. Now didn't seem the time to start, even if it was a situation I would have never dreamed possible. "It's progress. We'll see how much later. What's going on here?"

  "We got a ransom call," Lex said. She said it in a flat and even tone, very little life in her voice. I knew my sister well enough to know she was past emotional and headed towards catatonic. I only hoped she wasn't already there, or worse yet, had resorted to some form of self-medication.

  I moved forward and put my hands on her shoulders. "This is a good thing. It means Annie is alive."

  She nodded dully. We were losing her fast. She wasn’t equipped to deal with everything that happened, let alone the omnipresence of her in-laws.

  "How much do they want?"

  "Fifty thousand, cash," Lex responded. "They want it by one, or..." She let her voice trail off. Her body wracked once with a shudder, but no tears came out.

  "Is that doable?"

  "Fifty thousand? Not even close. We don't have that kind of cash on hand, less than half. His parents far less than that."

  A hundred thoughts ran through my head. I made less than forty thousand dollars a year and didn't have access to more than five hundred dollars in cash a day through my ATM card. Mama lived tighter than all of us. "Where the hell do they expect us to get fifty grand in cash in the middle of the night? And tomorrow's Sunday, the banks won't be open again until Monday morning."

  Lex nodded again. That's why she was going catatonic. She'd been given a straw to grasp, but couldn't quite wrap her fingers around it. It was the ultimate cruelty to lay on a mother.

  I clenched my fingers down on her shoulders, ignored the burning that rippled through my left hand. I lowered my face so it was even with hers and said, "Lex, Ricky was an Ohio State football player."

  Her eyes flicked up to mine, but remained glassy. "Was, past tense. And that didn't pay him anything, it just lets every person in the state interrupt our dinner for autographs when we go out."

  "I know," I said. I'd heard that rant repeatedly from my sister over the years. Fans, especially Buckeye fans, have an extreme sense of entitlement when it comes to connecting with their heroes. "But he played with some guys that are now in the NFL. Is there anybody you can call and get a loan from?"

  A small flicker passed over Lex's face. "Right now, I don't think anybody even knows Ricky's in here. Can you imagine calling someone in the middle of the night and asking for fifty thousand in cash?"

  "Can you imagine not calling them?" I replied, trying to be as gentle as possible while getting my point across.

  A quiver passed over Lex's face and for a moment I thought she might cry. She was coming back from the edge. The wheels were turning again. "There's only a couple he keeps up with with any regularity. One plays for the Raiders and lives in California."

  Most likely she was referring to Drumaine Hicks, a tight end. "No help there."

  "Another is in Alabama having his knee operated on," Lex said, her mind going through the list. I knew this to be Carl Paxson, All-Pro tackle for the Vikings.

  Even in Wyoming, they have Sportscenter.

  "What about Coach Tinsley?" I asked, running through the list of people that might be in the area. I knew it was unlikely that a sixty-five year old man kept that kind of cash on hand, but reasoned he made north of a few million a year. Fifty grand might be walking around money to someone with those kinds of pockets.

  Lex shook her head. "Ricky hasn't spoken to Tins since he graduated. They never really got along after what they did to him his senior year."

  What they did to him was sit him in favor of a freshman that was a far better player. Now didn't seem the time to bring it up though.

  "So who does that leave?"

  Lex's eyes traced the opposite wall before shifting back to me. "Fuego."

  Already a feeling of dread welled inside me. "Please tell me there's someone else."

  "With fifty grand in cash on hand?" Lex said. "There's not."

  "How do you know he'll have that kind of money lying around?" The words were just out of my mouth and already they sounded ridiculous. Everybody knew he dropped that kind of money on trips to the strip club or race track. Fuego spent as much time on TMZ as he did on ESPN. "Alright Lex, let the police handle this and I'll go to Cincinnati. I have a lead there."

  "No," Lex snapped, her bloody hand on my forearm. "I need you here. If I can find Fuego, I want you to pick up the money and make the delivery."

  The barbed wire in my stomach grew an inch in size. "Look, Lex, this is what the cops do. Watts is already looking at me like a convict. She could easily pull my records if she hasn't already. I need to stay out of sight on this."

  Her hand slid from my arm and went back to her side. "I don't trust them," she whispered. "You promised to do everything you can to help Annie. They didn't."

  For just the briefest of moments I considered showing her the cast on my hand or Merric's cell-phone in my pocket, but I didn't. She was right. If going to retrieve the money from Fuego helped us get Annie home, so be it.

  "Make the call."

  Chapter Thirteen

  I was staring at the dashboard clock when Saturday slipped into Sunday. With the passing of one minute the countdown to finding my niece became thirteen hours. My stomach continued to knot at the thought of her out there somewhere, no doubt scared and crying.

  The last time I saw her was several months before. The weather was unseasonably warm and we spent the day in the sunshine, going to the park and fishing at the lake. She made me go down the slide over fifty times while carrying her on my back and insisted on holding the blue gill in her tiny hands before we threw it back. Standing there with the sun splashed across her tangle of blonde curls and her tongue pushed into the corner of her mouth, I was certain I had never seen a more beautiful moment in my entire life.

  It might have even made up for the years of ugly ones that preceded it. I knew for a fact it was making up for everything that happened in the last two days. I hadn't ate or slept, had a broken hand and a face that was actively turning purple, but it didn't matter.

  Annie was all that mattered.

  The stoplight turned to green and I angled the truck through the empty streets of Worthington, a suburb on the northeast corner of Columbus. The entire town had a community beautification policy that required every building to be made of brick and well-landscaped, from mortgage brokers to McDonald's.

  The suburb housed the few elite athletes, actors and musicians that called Columbua home as well as the executives from Nationwide Insurance and Abercrombie & Fitch. Even at such a late hour, the town exuded an air that warded off outsiders. Every car in sight was on the higher end of the spectrum and all of the homes went for several hundred thousand minimum.

  Needless to say, my dented truck and I didn't exactly fit the mold.

  Perhaps even more out-of-place in Worthington though was Fuego. A first generation Mexican-American, Fuego was born Hector Lopez in Arizona. A gifted receiver, he earned a full-ride to Ohio State and became an All-American for the Buckeyes. Right after being selected in the first round of the NFL draft, he bought an enormous house in Worthington and moved his entire family into it. During the season he lived two hundred miles north in Detroit, but the rest of the year he resided here in this polished suburb.

  The son of immigrant parents, Lopez began his career as a polite young man that was known to outwork anybody put across from him. Over time the work ethic remained, but the polite part was cast by the wayside. He fell in the love with the cameras and all that they brought with them, slowly turning himself into a media machine.

  The truck groaned as I idled to a stop in front of a large iron gate, a small community guard booth to my left. As I approached, the door to the booth slid open and a middle aged white man with a weak chin and a receding hairline stepped out. He wore the uniform of some no-name security company designed to resemble police of
ficer regalia. "Evening."

  "Evening," I replied, propping my elbow up on the window ledge.

  "What can I do for you?" the guard asked, his voice carrying a trace of Wisconsin in it. Minnesota, maybe.

  "I'm here to see Fuego."

  The guard raised his eyes to me, then ran them the length of my truck. "Are you on the list?"

  "I'm not sure, but he's expecting me. Felix O'Connor."

  The guard made a quick pass over the list, but found nothing. Lex had just spoken to Fuego less than a half hour before and I didn't expect him to remember to put me on the list. I just hoped he remembered talking to Lex at all. "Are you sure he's expecting you?"

  "Definitely," I responded.

  He pulled a walkie-talkie from his hip and depressed a button. A moment later I could hear ringing, the walkie-talkie acting as a cell-phone with a loud speaker.

  "Yo," snapped a self-important voice I recognized from television to be Fuego's.

  "Um, hi, Mr. Fuego, this is Jerry at the front gate. I have a Mr. Felix O'Connor here to see you?"

  There was no response for several seconds, the line filled with party noise. This was going to be worse than I thought. "Who the hell is Felix O'Connor?"

  "Ricky's brother-in-law," I shouted at the walkie-talkie. "You talked to my sister Alexa a little while ago."

  This time Fuego responded without delay. "Oooh, yeah-yeah-yeah," he rattled off rapid fire. "You the fool here to pick up fifty G's. Come on up, playa!"

  This was going to be way worse than I thought.

  Jerry's eyes grew a bit larger at the sound of fifty thousand dollars, but he said nothing. Instead, he retreated into the booth and opened the gate, waving as I eased through. "Last house on the left. Can't miss it."

  I followed the winding path past a handful of homes, all of them with finely manicured lawns and darkened windows. If not for the blinding light coming from the last house on the left, the world would have been completely at peace.

  My truck pulled to a stop on the curb in front of a house that was as garish as its owner. The stucco of the exterior façade was painted in vibrant red, yellow and orange, all mixed into a mosaic of color. The hedges were shaped to resemble flames rising into the air and the front yard had three enormous red-rock gardens through it, also in the shape of flames.

  Light poured from every window in the house and the persistent sound of music bumping floated down to the curb. A series of expensive sports cars filled the driveway, ranging from a Cadillac Escalade to an Aston Martin.

  For a moment I paused and took in the scene before me. If given the choice between facing Peka again or walking up to the front door I would go to the front door, but I would have to think about it first.

  I pushed a long breath out through my nose and ascended the driveway, my head down as I headed for the door. I pressed the bell and waited nearly a full minute, then pressed it again and waited almost two. I could hear music and people talking just on the other side, but nobody made any effort to let me in.

  I considered a third ring, but opted against it. Instead I tried the doorknob, and finding it unlocked, let myself in. I had no idea a single door could mask so much chaos.

  The door opened into an expansive wooden foyer with a large staircase extending straight up in front of me and large common rooms to either side. To my left, a half dozen people were busy playing video games on a seventy inch flat screen, all of them engrossed and screaming at the television. To the right a DJ pushed out urban hip hop music while several handfuls of people gyrated to the beat.

  I stood motionless, shifting my eyes from the left to the right, unsure of where to go next. A young woman with mocha colored skin and her hair pulled back into hundreds of tiny braids descended from the stairwell and I extended a hand towards her. "Excuse me, do you know where I can find Fuego?"

  The girl gave me a disapproving look and said, "He's out back in the hot tub." She was dressed only in a tiny pair of underwear and a bikini top, most likely headed in that direction, but her attitude made it clear I was on my own in getting there.

  I pushed through the foyer, past the main stairwell and on into a massive kitchen. Several people were huddled up around an island in the middle of it, all snacking on chips and pizza. None of them looked to be older than twenty-five, the entire group openly staring at me as I walked by.

  The kitchen gave way to another pair of living rooms, these two quieter than the ones up front. To one side a home theater was set up with several people watching some new action movie and to the other were two tables of people playing cards. More stares as I passed through, though nobody said a word.

  After walking for what felt like a mile, I found the back door and let myself out onto a deck that stretched the entire length of the house. More people were grouped around a couple of kegs set up along the left rail. Beside them, a large hot tub threw a steady tendril of steam into the air.

  I took a deep breath and walked straight to the hot tub, the world seeming to slow down while everyone present turned to stare at me. As I approached, I could see a handful of men press in from either side.

  In the rear of the hot tub, with his arms stretched out wide to either side, sat Fuego. Flames of red, blue and yellow tattooed both his forearms and a heavy gold chain hung around his neck. His hair was dyed platinum blonde and spiked into a Mohawk and his front teeth were covered with a gold grill.

  He watched me as I approached, his eyes hidden behind mirrored sunglasses. He was the only male in the hot tub, the rest of the free space filled with scantily clad women. "Who the hell invited the cowboy?" he asked as I approached, an uneasy laugh sliding out from the crowd.

  They might not know who I was, but they knew to laugh at the boss's joke.

  I smiled at the comment, hiding my disdain over being called cowboy again. Hadn't this state ever seen boots before?

  "Hi, I'm Felix O'Connor, we spoke just a moment ago."

  Fuego pursed his lips and twisted his head, but said nothing. Beside me, I could feel several men inch even closer.

  "My sister Alexa Borden called you," I said, waiting for some sign of recognition out of him. There was none. "On behalf of her husband, Ricky Borden..."

  Fuego held the pose for several long seconds before breaking into a broad smile. As he did, everyone around the hot tub seemed to collectively release their breath, myself included. "Man, I'm just messing with you. Ramon, give this man his money," Fuego said, motioning to a wiry young man beside me with a shaved head.

  Without moving, Ramon reached down to his feet and picked up a black leather bag with flames embroidered onto it and thrust it my way. Classy.

  "Thank you so much," I said. "We'll have the money back to you first thing on Monday."

  I turned towards the door.

  "Man, what you in such a hurry for? Stay and have a drink."

  I paused, the bag clutched in front of me. I did not want to offend him, but I damned sure didn't want a drink. "I appreciate the offer, but I really can't. I have to be going."

  Fuego turned his head to the side and gazed at Ramon. "You believe this cat? Shows up asking for fifty G's, then refuses to even have a drink with me. You know what that is?"

  "That's some shit?" Ramon asked, glaring across at me.

  "Yeah, that too," Fuego said, "but I was thinking that's disrespectful."

  Sweat broke out on my brow again. This was the last thing I needed right now. One, because I didn't have the time, and two, because I had no way of walking out of there alive.

  "No, no, nothing of the sort," I stammered. "I'd love to have a drink, but I can't. Ricky's on a tight time table. I have to get this money back to him."

  Fuego looked at me, not believing a word I said. "If you won't have a drink with me, you at least gotta tell me what he's up to. What's he need all that scratch for?"

  I was standing there when Lex called him the first time. He hadn't asked for any details and Lex hadn't offered them. Even now I was uncertain how much I
could divulge. At the same time, Fuego was offering me a fair trade so we could both save face.

  "He, uh, well, he's not doing so well."

  "I know," Fuego said, "fool couldn't even call and ask me for the money or come pick it up himself. He's really gonna be not well next I see him."

  "Um, no," I said, gripping the bag in my hand. "I mean, he's in a coma. He was attacked by some people on his front lawn yesterday."

  Every person visibly tensed, their eyes shifting to Fuego, who leaned forward from the rail behind him. With his left hand, he slid the sunglasses from his face. "You kidding me right now? Cause that's pretty messed up if you are."

  "No."

  "Is that what that money's for? Not strippers or gambling or something?" he asked, jutting his chin towards the bag in my hand.

  My head twisted from side to side. "His daughter was kidnapped. This is the ransom money to get her back." I knew I was probably sharing more than I should, but he was asking me a direct question and seemed genuinely concerned. He was also the bag man on what might bring my niece home. He'd earned the right to know.

  Fuego dropped his head to the side. "Take that money and get out of here. You need any more, or anything at all, you give me a call. We'll be here all night."

  For the first time, the men on either side of me took a step back and nodded their agreement. This was a side of Fuego that never showed up in the tabloids. His reaction took me by surprise.

  "Again, thank you so much," I said, holding the bag out in front of me. Without another word I spun on my heel and jogged back through the house and out the front door, leaving dozens of staring people in my wake.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lex was pacing outside of the hospital as I drove up. I didn't bother pulling into the parking lot, instead sliding to a stop in the loading zone beside her. A handful of police cars were parked in the first row of the lot, over a half dozen in total. Despite the clear presence of a significant number of people, Lex and my mother were the only two outside.

  Mama sat alone on a wooden bench looking out across the front lawn, a tan cardigan sweater wrapped around her body. Lex paced a steady path on the asphalt, working on a thumbnail as she went. As I climbed from the truck, both looked up at me.