by Dancer, Jack
“Which is why I live a stress-free, shallow existence. Only now that appears to be rapidly evaporating.”
“That's because you're falling in love with me too.”
“I am.”
“Oh, Tucker, I'm so happy. I love you so much. I'll do anything to make you happy.”
“Don't worry honey, you've gone way beyond the call of duty already. The best thing you can do for me right now is to hold off on anything more to make me happy. First of all, Little Bubba down there is withered to the point I can't even find him.”
“That's bad.”
“It is but don't worry. He's a Phoenix, and will rise from the ashes, just not for a while. He needs a rest.”
“How long.”
“I don't know, give him a day.”
“What's the second of all?"
“Are you prepared to discuss the train incident at this meeting?”
“Not everything, but I think we need to let 'em know about Paulo, and we suspect there may be a connection with Ebba and Terry's kidnapping. We probably need to tell them you went to the funeral yesterday. Hey, what about that? Did you find anything out?”
“That's the second of all. There's a whole lot more to all this that you need to know about.”
“Like what? You're scaring me, Tucker.”
“Welcome to the club. There're now secret agents involved.”
“What? Secret agents? Tucker, are you on drugs?”
“I wish. Look, I'm famished, let's order up some food, and I'll tell you all about it. It's pretty unbelievable. Then again . . . after last night, maybe not.”
***
I told Monica about meeting with Rakim and company, who they are, and they're after Libica, also known as the Raven, the anonymous head of a criminal empire and leader of an underground guerrilla army fighting for the independence of Catalonia. Naturally, she was more interested in why Libica was after us. I told her Rakim's best guess was we were with her on the train and can identify her. She's afraid her anonymity's in jeopardy. I couldn't tell her the real reason. Now more than ever I've gotta keep her out of danger.
“But, we didn't know who she was, so why would she be afraid we'd rat her out?” Monica says.
“Rakim guessed she was afraid Paulo's death would lead the people he works for to us, and in turn to Libica, so Libica sent her guys to get to us first.”
“And what? Kill us?"
"Kidnap was the guess based on Ebba and Terry already missing,” I say. "Rakim said that . . . Hey you remember the movie I watched on the flight to London?"
"What movie?"
"The Spanish Prisoner. The movie I watched on the plane over when you were asleep. Anyhow, Rakim said one of the scams Libica is known for is the Spanish Prisoner. She runs a large kidnapping operation.”
"Oh, my God,” she says, "but Ebba and Terry weren't even there - on the train I mean."
"Right, but you were. And you were in the limo until you jumped out."
"And they're looking for me?"
"They're looking for both of us."
"Holy shit, Tucker, what're we going to do?"
"What we're doing right now, hide."
Monica had a lot of other questions, and I tried to answer them as best I could without disclosing anything about either the lottery ticket or about Dick sending Libica those photos of the boys. I didn't want to tell her about that now and give her something more to worry about. I still can't get over that one. Why would he do that? I need to get ahold of him. If Libica comes after us again, Monica'll put the blame squarely on Dick, and the last guy I want to come after me is, Dick.
"Now do you understand why I'm a little uncomfortable having this meeting with Nanette and the gang?” I say. "I'm not sure how much of this, we want to disclose to them, especially to Captain Pat, who already has a bug up his ass about me. He'll flip when he hears this, and twist it around to make it look like it's all my fault."
"Don't be such a whinny boy about Pat, Tucker. (Ooh, that hurt.) He's all mouth. Nanette and Lisa have enough on ole Pat to zip him up permanently."
"What're you talking about?"
"Just trust me, Tucker. You're not a woman. You know nothing. Pat's not our problem."
"What is our problem then? Enlighten me."
"I need to think this through first. You've just unloaded a lot of information on me."
"Monica, is there something you know that I don't? Something you're not telling me?"
"No, Tucker. I need a little time to sort it all out. Show me the ransom note."
Dear Tucker darling,
This is the most difficult thing I've ever had to do, and I want you to know I would never ask this of you, except it means my life. Not just my life but Terry's too.
By now, you must know Terry and I are in dire straits. We had only gone to dinner with a friend when we found ourselves unable to return, and we may never be able to return unless I can appeal to your kindness and generosity to free us. Tucker, you are the only one who can.
Our hosts are requiring a payment of one million euros for each of us to gain our freedom, two million euros total.
These are very dangerous and desperate people Tucker. Terry and I are both frightened to death. They say if they do not receive payment by noontime tomorrow at the Gaudi House in Park Güell, we will never see you or anyone else again. They will kill us, Tucker. Make no mistake about it, they will.
Please darling, help us. You're the only man who can. And remember, I love you.
Your Princess,
Ebba
“Not funny, Tucker. Now show me the real ransom note,” Monica says.
“That is the real ransom note. Now you see why I didn't take it seriously?”
“Show me your reply.”
Dearest Ebba,
I am shocked beyond my wildest imagination at your email. You've been kidnapped? Terry too? Unbelievable! Why? Well, the money of course, but kidnapped by who?
It was that Juan fellow, who took you and Terry to dinner the other night, wasn't it? No one's seen him since then either, so I suppose we can assume he's the guy, right? Boy, it's a good thing Monica jumped out of the car when she did, or she'd be kidnapped too, then I guess you'd be asking for three million instead of just two. Suppose I should consider myself lucky. Do you think I should give her a little something for doing me the favor? Naw, I'll buy her dinner.
We thought ("we” being Monica, and me) for sure you two would at least show up by Wednesday, but you didn't. Then Wednesday night came and went and still nothing, so we figured you two must be having a really good time with Juan and whomever. Monica's had her phone on expecting a call from Terry, so please ask her to call.
Sorry, I missed the payment deadline. We didn't want to waste another day sitting around waiting, so we took yesterday to sightsee Barcelona and unfortunately it left no time for me to check emails until now. Believe it or not, we even visited the Gaudi House in Park Güell but of course I had no idea about the ransom payment, and that we were supposed to make the drop off there at noon. Talk about coincidence! Of course, even had we run across you or Terry or Juan or whomever was going to meet us, it wouldn't have made any difference since I didn't have more than a million on me at the time anyhow.
Does this mean Juan might just forget about the whole thing and let you, and Terry go? Or, is he going to want to charge me a late fee? Let me know, okay?
Today, I'll be out all day on business and unreachable even by email, so please give Monica a ring, and she'll pass any message to me on my return. Scratch that, give Nanette a ring, and let her know. She'll let me know. If you're unable to call, we'll look for a police station tomorrow and give them a full report just to be on the safe side. I don't want to spoil your playtime if you're really tied up (pun) so if you can call Nanette's cell ahead of time you'll not only save us a trip to the cops but save yourself a little inconvenience too.
In the meantime, give my best to Terry and Juan, and I hope to see you all back safe and sound soon
.
Miss you.
Tucker
P.S. This had better be just another Buenos Aires, Ebba. And as for Terry, you can tell her I think it's pretty damn rude of her to put Monica out like this. She's really worried and so is everyone else. They're having a little trouble believing me when I tell them this is probably just another one of your little games. I know perfectly well why you're doing this, but don't you think dragging Terry into it is going too far?
“And you wrote this early Friday morning?”
“Yeah.”
“Jesus, Tucker, you are some kind of jerk when you want to be, aren't you?"
"A guy can be a jerk, and a good guy too you know. It's hardly ever just one or the other," I say.
"If she doesn't get the message she's dumped with this, and you're with me, she'd have to be dumb as a brick.”
“Believe me, she's anything but dumb.”
“That's a matter of opinion. So, what do you mean when you say this had better be just another Buenos Aires?”.
"We were in Buenos Aires once, and she wanted to take a Tango lesson. Alone. So, she found an instructor and didn't show back up for three days. I had no idea where she was or anything. I thought she'd been kidnapped. You know . . . being Argentina and all. Shit like that happens over there all the time."
"You're kidding?"
"Nope."
"What'd she say about it?"
"Said it was a long lesson. Thing is, she still couldn't dance the Tango for shit."
"So, do you think this is all some sort of joke?"
"Could be but with Terry involved, I'm not sure. Is this like Terry? Would she go along with Ebba on a hoax like this?”
“No. She wouldn't. She doesn't even like Ebba that much. She doesn't dislike her so much as she tolerates her. Terry knows full well what a drama queen Ebba is because that's exactly how she described her to me - a drama queen, like she's always on camera. So, the answer is no, this is totally uncharacteristic of Terry. But, Juan could have led her astray. I told you, Terry's got a big crush on him, so it wouldn't surprise me. He's the reason she was so giddy about going to dinner in the first place.”
“Even if she's out chasing Juan, don't you think she'd have called you by now?”
“Absolutely, and that's why I think something's gone wrong, and they're in trouble.”
“Well, if it turns out, they've been kidnapped, and I've done nothing but treat the whole thing as a joke, I could end up being the one who pulled the trigger, so to speak.”
“Not true, Tucker, and don't think that way. It's not your fault. It would be Ebba's fault.”
“How do you mean?”
“Remember the boy who cried wolf?"
“Oh, yeah, still . . .”
“It's not your fault, Tucker. Just forget any of that. Tell me what you meant when you said you know why she's doing this.”
“She's doing this to get back at me for being with you. You know, taking the train down instead of taking Air France like she'd told me to do in the first place.”
“You think she'd do that?”
“Of course she would. She's a jealous woman, but all of that's moot if they've really been kidnapped."
“Imagine how Ebba must be reacting to your reply to the ransom note. She's gotta be shitting bricks. I'll tell you one thing, Tucker Blue, if this woman ever gets loose you'd better run for your life because she'll be out gunning for you for sure.”
“Okay, that settles it. I won't pay.”
“Ha. Right. That just might be the smartest decision. Or, think about this. Pay the ransom on the condition the kidnappers keep her.”
“If wishes were horses,” I say. “So, we're back to square one. Ebba and Terry kidnapped, and the kidnappers want two million dollars . . ."
“Euros, Tucker. They're most likely thinking in euros. That'd be more like, two-point-seven million dollars,” she says.
“Oh yeah.”
“The thing I don't understand is, if this Doctor Libica is the one behind the kidnapping, and the original targets were you and me - remember you were supposed to meet us at dinner that night - and she ended up missing both of us and snaring Ebba and Terry instead. And they had nothing to do with the dead guy Paulo, why is she asking a ransom for Ebba and Terry?” Monica asks.
“I know. It doesn't make sense to me either. Except maybe, she figures she can snatch us - more likely me - if I show up to pay the ransom. But, the other thing is, we don't even know why she's looking for us except for what Rakim said - that we could identify her. Seems a little weak. Don't you think?”
"If that were the case, she'd’ve never let us go in the first place,” she says.
"Yeah, I don't think she would've either. Besides, if it were that, why was she even on the train? And why would she rush into our compartment to help out with Paulo after he came crashing through?”
“Why would she even help Paulo at all? And why would she meet the Perpignan police with Paulo's corpse? None of it makes sense. There has to be more to this than what we're seeing,” she says.
I believe I could answer that pretty easily, but I won't, at least not for the moment, I’m thinking.
“I agree, and that's one reason I'm not crazy about meeting with Nanette and the others on this. How much do we want to tell them? What can they do to help solve any of this anyhow? I just don't see it.”
“Yeah, but now it'll raise even more suspicion if we don't show. I don't think we have much choice at this point. We've got to do something to rescue Ebba and Terry. I don't know what, but something, and who knows, maybe they'll have some ideas.”
“Maybe, but we don't need to tell them everything. Certainly, we can't tell them about Rakim and those guys and what they're all about. We can't tell them about Doctor Libica other than she was someone we ran into on the train, and she helped with the dead guy. If we tell them anything more, we'll be opening a can of worms. Besides, if we told them the real story, they'll never believe us. They'll think we've gone off the reservation for sure. Especially Pat. That guy's definitely not to be trusted as far as I'm concerned.”
“Okay, then we'll leave it at what they already know, except we need to tell them about the ransom note and how you assumed it was a joke based on Ebba's past behavior. That makes sense. God knows what Ebba and Terry are going through after that reply of yours. I'm surprised we haven't heard anything back, and to tell the truth, that's what scares me the most. Maybe the kidnappers got mad and did something terrible to them."
"Oh Christ, don't even say that.”
"I think I'll go soak in the tub for a bit. Maybe I can think of something.”
“Okay honey, and maybe I can come up with some ideas too,” I say.
“Oh, Tucker. You called me honey. You love me don't you?”
“As long as I don't have to love Lloyd too.”
“Jesus Christ, Tucker, get over it. Lloyd's history okay, done, kaput.”
“If you say so.”
While she heads to the bath, the first thing I do is crank up Photoshop and the photos I took of Libica and the boys on the train and the photos I took of Rakim and his guys yesterday.
It was the face of a woman in her late sixties, the usual webbing you'd expect around her brown eyes, a finely sculpted aristocratic nose, lips thin but not too thin, her mouth serious, no scowl but no hint of a smile either. It was an attractive face, not kindly but not evil either. It was obvious she hadn't posed for this photo. She looked very natural. Anyone would've been happy with it for a mug shot. I did an auto-correct for brightness and contrast and saved the image in gray scale.
Now Photoshopped, I brought the image up again in a photo morphing software and played with some adjustments for the handbills and wanted posters I had in mind.
Perfect. Won't be long now and she'll be the most recognized face in Spain and France and most of the rest of the world.
"Smile, because you're about to be on candid camera the world," I say to no one.
&nbs
p; Crazy huh?
Advertising works, baby!
forty-three
Evening, Saturday, 6 September.
The Hilton Hotel.
Nanette was the first to arrive. A black dress, heels and a large stylishly floppy, hat that fell across one side of her face, and large black sunglasses covering most of the rest, she could've been Natasha Fatale on a rendezvous, I thought, as I peered at her through the reversed telescopic peephole in the door. When I crack open the door, she quick steps through like someone's after her. Her hand covers mine and pushes the door closed just as quickly, and like a pigeon, pecks me on both cheeks in the French style.
“Hello, Tucker, I'm so glad to see you, and I want to thank you for letting us come together for this meeting,” she says with a mouth full of marbles.
Then taking a step back and removing her hat and sunglasses with an exaggerated wave of her arm, “Voila,” she says presenting her new face, the one worked over by me last night. My gut turns at the . . . not so bad . . . makeover. Actually, it was pretty damn good, in my opinion. She just looked a little lopsided, a chipmunk with one full cheek under a nice powder and blush. She was a knockout, still. (No pun intended.)
“Nanette, you look absolutely beautiful, and I'm so sorry. You have no idea how . . .”
“I do know, Tucker, and it's okay. I went to the dentist this morning and look how he left me? Horrible isn't it? Hurts like a motherf . . . too . . . just kidding, but that's my story. Got it?”
“Got it,” I say in unison with Monica walking up and giving Nanette the obligatory air kiss.
“Oh, and look at this spread, how beautiful. Tucker, get me a scotch . . . er, please, Tucker; I mean,” quickly correcting from her dommeness to . . . what, normal?
“On the rocks with a splash, Madame?” I say.
“Perfect but hold on the Madame stuff tonight, okay?”
“Got it . . . Señora.”
“What about the others?” Monica asks.
“They should be here anytime.”
I bring Nanette her scotch and offer a toast. Monica and I lift our white wines.