The man patted her cheek lightly. “Thatta girl.” He stood straight and walked back toward the bed. He threw a glance at her over his shoulder. “Remember your place. Remember who you are. And remember why you’re here.” He climbed back into the bed, and within minutes, he was snoring carelessly.
Mollie pulled her legs up to her chest, hugged them tightly, and cried into her knees. Her situation was hopeless. This man, whoever he was, had some sort of sadistic plan for her with the sole objective of exacting revenge on Pops. She had spent the past twenty-four hours imagining all the horrible things he would do to her, but she couldn’t help but wonder why he hadn’t so much as laid a hand on her since they’d arrived in The Vault. In some ways, it gave her hope that he didn’t plan on physically harming her. Perhaps he only wanted to scare Pops and prove to him that he could get at him anywhere, anytime. Perhaps he would release her after Pops got the message and apologized for whatever he’d done to the man in the past.
But the more rational, realistic part of her knew it probably wouldn’t be enough just to send a message. Whatever Pops had done to him had upset him so much he was willing to stalk and kidnap his favorite granddaughter. The chances she’d be handed over safe and sound at the end of this whole ordeal were slim to none. It was much more likely he was simply biding his time and waiting for exactly the right moment to punish Pops.
There was no way she was going to sit around and wait for this crazed lunatic to kill her, or whatever it was he was planning for her that would be worse than death. She wracked her brain for something, anything she could do to get the hell out of this creepy dungeon. But no matter what ideas came to mind, she had to face the brutal truth. She was literally chained to the wall. There were thick metal shackles attached to her ankles that were secured by a…
The lock. She remembered the man locking the shackles with an old-fashioned metal key, which meant the shackles were old too. How new could leg shackles be, anyway? Did they even make them anymore? She recalled a lesson Pops had given her as a child on picking locks. At the time, she’d thought nothing of it. Only that it was cool that her grandfather knew how to do something so clever. It never occurred to her that this might be an indication of the secret life he led.
Her hands flew to her head, but she was disheartened to remember she’d taken her bun down after work. What had she done with those damn bobby pins? She played through her movements in the employee lounge like an old movie, one image at a time. She’d taken the bobby pins out, laid them on the table, taken the ponytail holder out, and then…and then…that was it! She’d gathered the bobby pins and shoved them in the right pocket of her jeans.
Mollie turned over onto her left hip, careful not to rattle the chains, and slid her hand into her right pocket. For the first time, she agreed with her mother that her jeans were too tight. She dug around until the tips of her fingers found the cold metal of the bobby pins. She grabbed one between two fingers and slowly slid it out of her pocket. As she bent the bobby pin into a straight line, she glanced over at the man, who was still dozing on the bed. After chewing the little rubber ends off, she leaned forward and slid the blunt end of the pin into the lock and worked it around deftly until she felt the click of the lock disengaging. It had worked!
Her heart was beating a million times per minute, and tiny beads of sweat dripped from her forehead as she quietly slid the first shackle off her ankle, then the second. She couldn’t believe she’d actually done it. Though she was temporarily grateful to her pops for teaching her something she thought would never come in handy, it wasn’t enough to assuage the anger she felt toward him for whatever he’d done to cause this to happen.
Free now from the restraints that had bound her to the wall since her arrival in this dingy hell-hole, she crawled across the floor on hands and knees toward the steps that led to her freedom. She had to pass by the foot of the bed to get there, but the man never moved an inch. Mollie arrived at the foot of the stairs and looked up to the door that stood between her and the outside world. She had no idea what she’d do once she made it out of The Vault, but she’d worry about that when she got there.
Mollie climbed the wooden ladder, one step at a time. It was hard to get a good grasp on the rungs, thanks to her trembling hands. Her bare feet slipped a few times, but she was quickly able to regain her footing. Slowly, methodically, she climbed toward blessed freedom. As she grew closer and closer to the top, she thought of her mother and of what it would feel like to be enveloped by her warm embrace. Kitty would hold her tight and promise to never let her go. The image brought a smile to Mollie’s face for the first time in more than a day, and she climbed higher and higher, determined for the happy thought to become a reality.
When she reached the top, she was disheartened to see another lock, but lucky for her, it was another older-style padlock. She slid the bent bobby pin out of her pocket again and worked it around inside the lock until it released. Mollie let out the breath she’d been holding and wiped her brow. Her fingers slid the lock out of the latch, and she set it on a piece of wood near the top. Mollie felt a fluttering in her chest as she reached for the latch and quietly pushed the door open.
A cold breeze washed over Mollie, causing goose pimples to form instantly on her skin. It was only then she recalled it was late November and she had no winter coat with her, let alone shoes. They must be in her car, which Mollie spotted parked at an angle merely twenty feet away. Maybe the keys were still in there? She had no idea why the man had yet to dispose of her car, but didn’t care. It was still there, and she’d find the keys still in the ignition and drive and drive and drive until she found the road. Then she’d drive some more until she got as far away from this horrible place as possible. The thought of freedom shot a bolt of adrenaline coursing through her veins. She took one more step up the ladder, grabbed the ledge with both hands, and hoisted herself up and out onto the cold ground.
At first, she didn’t register the sensation. But a half a second later, she realized with horror that the man was behind her, pulling on her legs. Mollie tried to dig her fingers into the hard earth so she could pull herself free from his grasp, but the ground was frozen solid. Instead, her fingernails dragged across the surface as he pulled her violently down the hole. She nearly fell, but he caught her and slid her down the ladder to the ground where she collapsed in a heap at the bottom. She didn’t move, didn’t breathe—afraid of what he was going to do to her now.
The man was breathing heavily when he descended the final steps and stood over her limp body with both hands planted firmly on his hips. He said nothing for several seconds, so Mollie gathered her nerves and slowly looked up at the looming figure above her. His smile made her skin feel like fire ants were crawling all over her.
“I warned you,” he said between deep breaths. He reached behind his back, produced a large knife, and bent so they were once again face to face. His breath was rancid. Mollie tried to shrink away from him, but he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her closer to him. They were nose to nose now. “Time to send good old Frankie a message.”
Chapter 8
Frankie
“All right, all right.” Frankie’s baritone voice boomed across the dimly-lit back room of the Trifecta Lounge, a restaurant he was proud to have founded in the early eighties. Frankie conducted most of his business in this back room, away from prying eyes and itchy ears. “I’ve asked you all here today because I need your help.” The motley crew he’d gathered took their seats around the tables, and some stood leaning against the walls. “As you all know by now, my beloved granddaughter, Mollie, has been kidnapped. I need each of you to use your unique set of skills to help me find her.”
“We’ll do whatever we can to help, boss,” said Bruno, Frankie’s “muscle man.” Frankie often relied upon Bruno for handling matters which required more brawn than brains, for what Bruno lacked in intellect, he made up for in muscles.
“Thank you, Bruno. Now, the rest of you have certain�
��assets, which may be useful in our search for Mollie. I expect you each to work harder than you ever have for me. Further, I expect your absolute discretion, though I assume that goes without saying.”
“Of course, boss,” said Lynx, Frankie’s very own cyber sleuth. Lynx, though Frankie couldn’t imagine why on earth she’d chosen such a ridiculous moniker, was a spindly wisp of a girl with spiky blue hair, tattoos, and piercings all over, who had the ability to hack into any computer system, no matter how ostensibly secure, including those of government agencies.
“And last, but certainly not least, you should know the police are also trying to locate Mollie. But no matter what, do not share any information with them.” Frankie saw his employees were flummoxed. “Let me explain. While I do believe they mean well, I’ve decided this man who has taken Mollie deserves much worse than any so-called justice our government would allow. I’m sure you’ll agree. The last thing we want is for this lunatic to be released on bail while some sleazy criminal defense attorney works out a way to keep him free on a technicality. We take care of our own in this community, and we dole out justice as we see fit. Does everyone understand?”
Everyone in the room nodded and mumbled their assent.
“Good. Now, all we know currently is that Mollie was last seen leaving Macy’s after her shift last night. According to a source at the police department, grainy surveillance video shows the shadowy figure of a man shoving her into the back of her car and driving away. This all happened right around ten thirty. Another source has informed me that a strange man has been watching Mollie lately, so odds are, this strange man is who we’re looking for. My source also tells me forensics are working on trying to trace her phone, which stopped working about half an hour later. Lynx, I expect you can work your magic to find her phone?”
“Can do,” she replied, wiping a stray strand of blue hair from her brow. “I’m on it, boss. Just need her phone number. The police techs will take several hours to track her, but I can do it in half that time.”
“That’s why I keep you around,” Frankie said with a single nod. He took out his phone, read off Mollie’s phone number, and watched as Lynx opened her laptop and immediately began clicking and clacking away at on the keyboard.
“The rest of you, I expect you will reach out to your contacts and see what you can figure out. See if anyone has any theories, no matter how far-fetched, about who this lunatic may be. He’s taken several girls before Mollie, so surely to God someone out there has a hunch.”
Again, everyone nodded.
A young man with red hair and pale, freckled skin stepped forward with his scrawny finger held in the air. “Excuse me, sir.”
“Yes, Marty?”
“What can I do? I want to help find Mollie. Surely you can use me somehow?”
Frankie contemplated his options briefly. Martin O’Conner was his go-to guy for breaking and entering. Though Frankie had taught himself to pick locks years ago, Marty was the master of all locks, safes, and security systems. Frankie employed him, despite his tender age of nineteen, because the kid had proven his loyalty on more than one occasion. That, and the fact that Marty’s father had been one of Frankie’s most loyal henchmen until he’d been caught and imprisoned for life, mostly for refusing to roll on his employer.
“There will come a time when your skill set will come in very handy, Marty. But for now, I need you to be on standby until I call you. Capiche?”
The boy looked dejected, but nodded in agreement and leaned back against the wall. “Yes, sir.”
“Right, then. Unless anyone else has any ideas, let’s start pounding the pavement, knocking on doors, and calling in favors. Someone out there has to know something. Let’s bring my girl home. Report back to me with anything you find, no matter how small. You’re all dismissed.”
The sound of several chairs screeching across the tile floors echoed through the room as Frankie’s most loyal soldiers stood and filed out the back door. Only Lynx remained sitting at the table.
“Anything yet?” Frankie asked, looking over her shoulder.
Lynx didn’t look up from her screen. “Not yet, boss. But I’m getting close. Just a few more minutes.”
She concentrated on the codes and sequences before her, and her fingers moved swiftly across the keys. She was a strange bird, Lynx. He’d found this little gem when his home computer had crashed and a trusted friend had recommended her. The friend had warned him that she was odd, quiet, and a bit of a recluse, but extolled her virtues as a computer genius. Sure enough, she’d fixed his computer problem within seconds of sitting down at his desk. She’d further impressed him when she’d gone out of her way to warn him about a security breach she’d located and helped him identify a leak in his organization. From that day forward, he’d kept her on a generous retainer under the sole condition that she reserve her talents for Frankie and his organization.
Frankie’s cell phone vibrated in his hand, and he glanced down at the screen. He normally didn’t answer unknown numbers, but with Mollie out there somewhere, he wasn’t about to take any chances. With the phone held close to his ear, and hoping to hear his granddaughter’s voice on the other end, Frankie said, “Hello?”
“Is this Franklin Cartwright?” asked the voice on the other end in a smooth, even tone.
“Depends,” Frankie said. “I’m not speaking to reporters, so if you’re—”
“I’m not a reporter, Frankie,” the voice interrupted.
He felt a tightening in his chest and an increase in his heartrate. “Who is this?”
“You know who this is.”
“You sonofabitch,” Frankie spat. “Where is Mollie? Where’s my granddaughter?”
The laugh that came over the line made Frankie’s stomach roil. He snapped his fingers at Lynx, who jumped up from her chair and was standing next to Frankie within half a second. He pointed at the phone and mouthed the words, “It’s him.”
Lynx nodded tersely, grabbed the phone from Frankie’s hand, pushed the speaker button, and motioned for him to bring the phone over to the computer.
“Don’t worry, Frankie,” the voice said. “Mollie is safe and sound with me. I haven’t harmed a hair on her head…yet.”
He laughed again as Lynx connected a wire from her computer to the port in the bottom of Frankie’s phone. She made a motion with her hand for him to keep the man talking.
“Listen to me, you sick bastard. I—”
“No,” the man snapped, cutting Frankie off mid-sentence. “You listen to me.” The man paused, and Frankie looked at Lynx hopefully. She nodded as her fingers moved across the keyboard hurriedly. “Have you ever read The Count of Monte Cristo?”
“What? Have I read—”
“The Count of Monte Cristo, by Alexandre Dumas. The French author?”
Frankie wasn’t in the mood for riddles. What was this guy playing at? “No. I’ve never read it.” He looked at Lynx, who nodded without looking up from the screen. “Where is Mollie?”
“Dumas wrote The Count of Monte Cristo in 1844. Much better than The Three Musketeers, I think. Some people believe it was written by a ghost writer by the name of Auguste Maquet, but I don’t buy it. What do you think?”
“Stop jerking me around. Where is my granddaughter?”
“Well, you really must read it. It’s an enthralling story of hope, love, justice, and most importantly, revenge.”
The word “revenge” made Frankie’s breath stop short. It wasn’t the word itself so much as the way the caller emphasized it. So that was what this was about. Revenge. Somehow, Frankie had done something to this man to cause him to kidnap his favorite grandchild to get back at him. But that wasn’t much of a clue, because Frankie couldn’t deny that over the years he’d pissed off dozens, if not hundreds of people. It was part of being a serious businessman. Especially one who operated outside the confines of the law.
“Don’t hurt her,” he said. “Whatever I did to you, I’m sorry. I’ll make it righ
t. Just please, don’t—”
“Too late. What you did, there’s no making it right. The time for apologies is long past. Now, you’re at my mercy. Now, you will know what it’s like to lose someone you love.”
“Who is this?” Frankie looked desperately at Lynx, still typing furiously on the keyboard. “I swear to God, when I find you, I’ll—”
“No need for threats. You’re hardly in a position to make them, anyway. It’s time to search your soul. Think of all the wrongs you’ve done over the years, Frankie. If you think hard enough, I’m sure you’ll remember. I’ll give you one hint, and one hint only. Are you ready, Frankie? You might want to write this down.”
“I’m listening,” Frankie said through gritted teeth.
“Almost got him,” Lynx whispered.
“The hint is this…you thought you were doling out justice, but in reality, you were stealing a father away from his son. Chew on that for a while, Frankie. In the meantime, I think Mollie and I will have some fun…isn’t that right, love?”
In the background, Frankie heard the muffled sounds of his granddaughter crying. “Mollie! It’s Pops, Mollie! I’m coming to get you. Just stay strong!”
“Now, now, Pops,” the man said. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Goodbye for now, Frankie. Think back on the sins of your past. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll figure it out, and then we can meet and talk about how you can make amends. In the meantime, Mollie sends her love.”
The line went dead, and the tone that echoed through the phone made Frankie double over in agony. His past sins? How on earth was he supposed to single out one specific person he’d wronged? Admittedly, he’d had to step on so many necks on his climb to the top of the ladder. Many of them were probably fathers. But one “sin” in particular had apparently been so bad the son had sought him out all these years later for revenge. He looked over at Lynx, who was shaking her head.
A Necessary Evil Page 5