by Dancer, Jack
"Then, who kidnapped Monica last night?" I ask.
"That we don't know. It could have been either party."
I go to pull up the email reply I made this morning and re-read it.
"Holy shit," I say.
"What is it?" Dick asks.
"Read the email I sent," I say, and turn the computer so he can read the display. He reaches into his coat pocket and retrieves a pair of half lenses then reads and starts to laugh.
"All I can say now is if Libica took Señora Monica, the flight crew scammers must be very confused."
"Or, convinced I've gone and lost my mind."
"Which could be a good thing," he says, "because if they are now thinking they are dealing with an unstable mark who's ranting on about one remaining woman and another kidnapped last night, and they know nothing about that; or, if it's the other party, and you're suddenly going to arrange for a ransom payment they never demanded for . . . whatever the case Señor Blue, you've thoroughly confused your enemy. And like I say, that can be a good thing. It can give you an advantage."
"Because they think I'm nuts?"
"Precisely. No one wants to deal with a psycho, not even another psycho. Too much unpredictability," he says.
"The only problem is, at this point, I'm just as confused as they are. I still don't know for sure who has Monica."
"You say agent Culpepper knows the flight crew is operating, and they have kidnapped the two women?" Dick asks.
"Yes."
"And agent Culpepper must not know about Señora Monica because he would have mentioned the incident from last night. I think we can only assume the woman Libica has Señora Monica."
"Seems so. I just find it hard to believe that, if Culpepper were on top of things, he wouldn't know about Monica. But, he must not know because if he did he would've brought it up with me this morning. He can't know. He wouldn't've been able to resist showing me how on top of things they are. He's that type of guy."
"But, he also made no mention of your trip to Perpignan or meeting with these special agents."
"Right, which is why I think Culpepper and Homeland Security are a bunch of nincompoops."
"Nincompoops?"
"El stupidos," I rephrase.
"They are typical government, Señor."
"I suppose so, but it's still troubling that you can't count on your government to be any smarter than that. I mean, Christ. All you have to do is watch movies and television to gain a 101 knowledge base for sleuthing. Those guys should've been following me and Monica and the flight crew bunch around the clock the whole time we've been here. Wouldn't you think? But no. They lost Monica and me right off the bat, while we screwed our way from New York to London to Paris and all the way down through France (well, sort of.) How stupid can the number one terrorist fighting agency of the American government be?"
"Don't let me take you there, Señor. This is precisely the reason I refuse to take on government work. If I did I would be shooting myself in the head every night instead of simply going home and getting drunk. And it's not just the American government, Señor. I could tell you stories about the Cesid that would make the American FBI look like the Keystone police."
"Cops. Keystone cops." Though I think ole Dick's analogy came out backwards.
"Yes, Keystone cops."
"Who's the Cesid?" I ask.
"It stands for the Centro Superior de Información de la Defensa - the Spanish Intelligence Service."
"I see."
"How do you want to proceed, Señor Tucker?"
"At this point, I think all we can do is pay the ransom and hope that'll bring back the women - whichever women. I don't know. But even so, we can't rely on that alone. We need to find out everything we can about this Drusilla Libica and start looking for her. If we find her, we're certain to find the girls. Which girls now, I'm not sure. It's all getting so damned confusing."
“Okay, Señor Blue. Can I assist you in defeating either or both groups that are out to get you?"
Out to get me? Ouch. Sounds a bit paranoid when I hear it said back like that.
“I think the best way you can help me right now is with your firm's research capabilities. The thing I'd like to know the most is, if there's a linkage between Libica and the flight crew scammers. I find it extraordinary I'd be the target of two entirely different groups operating independently but trying to pull off nearly identical scams. I suppose it could be coincidental, but I find it hard to believe. In my experience, coincidence is as rare as wings on a pig."
“There is no such thing as coincidence,” he says.
“You've already done some research on Drusilla Libica?”
“Only bare knuckle research with Drusus and Tiber, but research, yes,” he says.
“As quickly as you came up with her cell number and address in Perpignan, bare knuckle was apparently pretty effective. Maybe the same approach will give us a list of relations, you know, other brothers, sisters, family members, associations she might have with anyone else pulling off Spanish Prisoner scams for her, even competitors. Maybe we'll find a match to someone on Culpepper's suspects list. Could your guys do that?"
“Señor Blue, Dick's Dicks can do anything,” he says proudly.
“After what I've seen so far, Dick, I have no doubt. I'd really like to have more expansive information on Libica too, you know, everything, background check, professional relations, medical and such and especially anything local in Perpignan and anything connected with the Catalan Independence Movement, politically. I know this is awfully rushed, but I need . . ."
I start verbalizing a list of everything I can think I might use to pull off the Libica defamation campaign I've been mulling over for the last few days, and Dick's furiously writing in his notepad.
As I'm talking this out, Dick's also contributing ideas and telling me some of the resources, he has at hand. Some things just aren't possible within the time frame, but many are. As I go through some of my ideas, he's getting pretty excited about some of the dirty rotten tricks I've come up with. Dick is definitely a can do guy. Within an hour, we're done, and on his way out his cell phone rings.
While he takes the call, I go to the laptop and find a new ransom note from Ebba's email reading simply:
Gaudi House Park Güell
15:00 tomorrow
Remain in auto
Pop boot on knock
I show Dick.
“We'll do our best, Tucker. In the meantime, today, tonight, try to enjoy the apartment and maybe company with the Madame's girls. You've been through a great deal, and there's more coming your way. You need to rest up my friend,” he says shaking my hand as he heads toward the door.
“Watch out for those steps on your way out, they could be rigged; this place is one giant booby trap you know,” I kid him as he's going down the stairs. Then my cell starts ringing. I wave Dick off and step back into the apartment.
“Hello Nanette,” I answer somberly.
“Hey, Tucker. I just wanted to call and check up on you and Monica to see how you are after last night's meeting, and really, Tucker, thank you so much for hosting.”
“It's fine, Nanette.”
“I called Monica's cell but it went straight to voicemail, so I thought I'd call you, just to check that things are okay. Are things okay, Tucker?”
“Well, not exactly. Last night when we were walking home Monica got snatched off the street.”
“What! Snatched? Walking home? Where? You're at the Hilton aren't you? What are you talking about, Tucker?”
“Just what I said, Monica got kidnapped last night. I was Tasered, and she was dragged into the back of a van by a couple of guys and driven off. That's it. That's all. I don't know who, what or where or anything more.”
“Tucker, you need to calm down; I'm coming over; you just stay where you are. You're at the Hilton right?"
“Not at the moment,” I hesitate.
“Where are you? Are you all right?” More concerns?
/> “Yes, I'm fine. I'm going through a very bad time right now, Nanette, the blues, really bad. I just have to go through it and get to the other side. I need some time and quiet, to think, so let me call you back, tomorrow or something okay?”
“But . . . Tucker . . ."
“Nanette. Listen to me. I need alone time right now. I'll talk to you tomorrow, g'night,” and I hit END.
That'll keep her shut up for a little while at least, and I can think. I need to call Rakim. What to tell him? I need something just to keep him still and on hold for a couple of days. It'll be that long before the campaign starts, in earnest, at least.
Just as I hang up with Nanette my cell rings and it’s Rakim. I ask him why he fucked me with those photos where he'd removed the Raven, and he says, "We are conducting a very important investigation into this woman, the Raven, Señor Blue. Do you really expect me to hand over to you - a tourist - the most important thing we have on her?"
Suppose I can't argue, and I tell him and then change the subject to Monica being snatched last night and, of course; I expect to hear his outrage and empathy but all I get is, he knows.
“What? You know? How do you know? It wasn't anyone from your side, was it?” Just checking.
“Of course not, Tucker, we have eyes and ears all over Barcelona and especially in El Raval, so we can keep up with you Americans,” he says half jokingly.
“If you had someone down here, Rakim, why didn't your man intervene and help?"
“He's a reporter, not an intervener.”
“These are Libica's men?"
“Yes."
“You know where they have her?"
“Yes."
“You do and you haven't even bothered to call me? I thought we were working together. Isn't that what we agreed on only two days ago? You and your guys are going in to rescue her, right? When?"
“When it's time, Tucker. When you tell us it's time.”
“What the hell does that mean? The time's now if you know where she is."
This SOB wants the ticket. That's why he's dragging his feet on me here.
“We need to surface Libica, Tucker, and we need your direct help. You know that. And you also know the bait we need to bring Libica out."
“I know, Rakim. Look, I'm going to bring Libica out by or before the end of the week. I guarantee it. If you'll give me your word you, and your men will be ready at any time on a moment's notice, I'll call you. Otherwise, I'll do this without you. I can find her, Rakim. Remember, I have her sons."
“They don't mean shit to Libica after what you've done to them. I thought we made that clear to you. She will have them killed just to keep them from embarrassing her any more than they already have."
“I don't believe that, Rakim. And it makes no difference anyhow because they're telling us everything we want to know. (That's right Rakim, “us.” I want him to know there's more than just ole Tucker over here.) By the way, do you know what they've already done to one of the girls? Do you know about that Rakim? Tell me you don't know."
“I don't, Tucker. What are you talking about?"
“That bitch, the Raven (oooooh oooh I mock), has killed one of 'em."
“Why do you say that?” he says not believing.
“Because I got an email, with the photo of what she did to this poor girl. I don't even know which one because that maniac peeled her face off! Completely, Rakim! She skinned the girl, flayed her,” I shout into the cell at arm's length.
“Tucker, Tucker, wait a minute. How do you know it was one of your women? How could you identify them?”
Shit, I got caught on that one again. I pause
"Tucker, we know the Raven does this to some of her captives. She's a sadist. But, the photo you received could have been anyone. Do you hear Tucker?"
“Yes. I hear where you're coming from, Rakim, but whether or not it was one of our girls, and I have no reason to believe it wasn't, saving whoever's left is the important thing, right?” I'm looking for confirmation here, Rakim you ass-wipe.
“I understand, Tucker. Look, we will help you, and you will help us, as we agreed, no? You know what to do. If you are to have the Raven within reach before the end of this week, it may be too late. She has your woman now. We need to make a deal with the Raven now to save your woman. I told you the ticket is worth nothing. It is counterfeit, but I think you don't believe me. I think you are expecting to use the ticket to enrich yourself. There is no other reason for you not to trade the ticket to the Raven for your woman. What I think, Tucker is you are going to sacrifice a woman's life for a ticket that is worthless. Even if it was worth the €120 million, you will still be the murderer of an innocent life. If when you finally learn it is worthless like I am telling you, and you sacrifice an innocent woman's life, you will be worse than a murderer. You will be the devil incarnate, Señor Blue. Maybe you are the devil incarnate already. Is that it, Señor Blue? Are you the devil incarnate? Are you planning to sacrifice this woman even knowing this ticket is worthless?"
I hate this son-of-a-bitch! But, what if he's right? What if the ticket really is worthless? Am I playing with Monica's life because of my own greed; because of my own stupidity; my stubborn stupidity? God, what if it's true?
Or, is this guy just trying to play me like a fiddle to get his hands on the ticket for himself? I wouldn't doubt that one bit either. And besides, it smells rotten. There's something about him I don't trust, and I've had that feeling from the very start. I have no reason not to go with my gut feelings about him, except one. He may be telling the truth. The question is: Am I willing to sacrifice Monica's life to find out? No. No way!
"Tucker, are you there?"
"Yes, I'm here Rakim. And the answer to your question is, no. I am not willing to sacrifice anyone's life for the lottery ticket. Tell me this, Rakim, where is Monica being held? Where does the Raven have her?"
"I am afraid I cannot tell you, Tucker. Not at the moment anyway. You know perfectly well what you need to do on your part. We want the Raven. You want your woman. You have what the Raven wants and in order for you to get your woman, we need what you have to make the trade."
"But, you see Rakim; that's where I have a problem with all this. You say the ticket is worthless, and yet you need this particular worthless ticket to make the trade. If the ticket is worthless, then why not just make another counterfeit ticket and offer that one up to the Raven. I mean, what's one worthless ticket versus another worthless ticket?"
"Because this is a very special ticket, and it cannot be so easily duplicated again," he says and I can hear his voice working overtime to keep his fury under leash.
"Bullshit Rakim. I don't buy that for a minute. You think I'm stupid enough to think you cannot make another counterfeit if that's what this one is? That's exactly why I think you're lying to me, Rakim. That's exactly why I think this is the real McCoy. You need this ticket because it's real and Drusilla Libica knows it's real. But, I'll tell you what, Rakim. I'll make you a deal so you can get Drusilla Libica, and I can get my woman released." My woman, I hear myself saying.
"And how do you intend to do that, Tucker? What are you proposing?"
"That, I don't quite know yet. However, I will have something put together by first thing tomorrow morning, and I will present it to you. I need to think about it, and I need the rest of today and tonight to do that. If you're at least willing to hear me out, then let's meet tomorrow morning first thing on it, and either we come to an agreement or we don't. Okay?"
"Okay, Tucker. But, let me warn you, if you are not willing to give up the ticket for the release of your woman, you'll have a lot more trouble on your hands than what you have now. I can promise you."
"See? You are in-character, Rakim."
"What does that mean?" Boy, is he pissed.
"I will call you late tonight or early tomorrow morning with a time and place, and the place will be somewhere in Barcelona. But, Rakim, don't let anything happen to those girls, do you hear - you know w
here they are and just by that, you're holding them as ransom too, you understand?”
“Fuck you, Tucker,” he says and rings off.
Asshole! Arrogant son-of-a-bitch. All he wants is the fucking ticket!
And all I can see is Monica in that awful photo. I can’t believe this is happening.
The moment I hang up from Rakim, I call Dick and report my talk with this asshole and that he claims to know where Monica is being held.
"What about the IndyCat Boys, Dick. Do you think you might be able to get something out of them? Where their mother might have Monica?"
"I can try but the boys have become rather unstable lately, and we've had to keep them medicated so I'm not sure we can count on them, and even if they tell us something, how reliable the information will be,” he says.
"Medicated? Christ, Dick, you think that's a good idea?"
"They seem happy."
"Well, maybe you could try something else to pry it out of them."
"Si. Maybe Giuseppe could help us out here. He can be very persuasive."
"Who's Giuseppe?"
"Giuseppe is one of our entertainers at the Bagdad, but sometimes we use him as an interviewer when the situation calls for a little additional incentive. He normally doesn't have to actually do anything. Just presenting him usually does the trick."
"What is he, a four-hundred-pound gorilla?"
"No. Giuseppe is a four-hundred-pound donkey."
As the image my mind is conjuring clarifies, "Holy shit," squeaks out.
"And Giuseppe's an entertainer at the Bagdad?" I ask.
"Top billing, Señor. Even has his own dressing room," Dick returns with a chuckle.
"You scare me, Dick."
"I scare myself sometimes, Señor."
forty-six
Afternoon, Sunday, 7 September.
The El Raval Apartment.
My cell rings again. "Goddamn this phone!” I snatch it up to fling it to the floor, and then I catch myself. Don't, you idiot, it's your only line to the outside world, and the only number Monica knows by heart.