Cargo: an edge of your seat thriller

by J. C. Maçek III

  Time had now passed. So, where was that text? Had Tom betrayed him after all, even after his generous ‘tip’? Had Tom run off with the extra millions to live the life of Riley on some island off of Belize? And if not, where was that text?

  And at last, there it was. The confirmation text from his assistant, Tom. Tom who still was his assistant and not just his backstabber.

  Finally, Anthony could smile. Tom had come through for him after all. Anthony Peterson was going to win, and Susan Peterson was going to smile again.

  He stood in triumph and dialed the phone.

  “Mr. Peterson. Your time is almost up,” came the kidnapper’s now-familiar voice in its robotic tone. “How’s the air in there?”

  Peterson shook his head. The air comment was meant to intimidate him. The kidnapper knew as well as Peterson did that the real deadline was the closing of the banks.

  “I’ve got the…” he paused in thought. Whether it was resigned acceptance or Stockholm Syndrome, he amended himself. “… your money. All of it.”

  “Send it to me now,” the kidnapper commanded.

  “I want to speak to my wife first.”

  The kidnapper rustled with the phone for a second. He heard the voice tell someone, “Quick talk,” as he seemed to hand it over to a surrogate. Peterson heard boots echoing down what sounded like a short hallway, and just for a second, he heard a TV playing something annoying in the background. Then, a door opened, and her beautiful voice came through.

  “Anthony?”

  “It’s me baby, it’s me!” he said, relieved that she was alive.

  “Please, help me, I’m scared.”

  “I will, baby, I promise. It’s all gonna be over soon.”

  The phone rustled again, and that obnoxious TV was passed by in the background. He heard the faint noise of air rushing by followed by what sounded like a pair of hands catching the thrown phone.

  “Now, Mr. Peterson?”

  Peterson sighed and said, “Yeah.” Then, he waited a moment as if to imply he was doing something. He didn’t know why. There wasn’t much he could do since Tom had completed the transaction, but it seemed appropriate for the moment. Finally, he said, “Check it now. It’s all there.”

  Peterson listened to the kidnapper tapping on a keyboard and clicking on a mouse. He thought he could still vaguely hear Susan’s cries from far, far away.

  “Very good, Mr. Peterson,” the kidnapper said as if finally satisfied. “Well done.”

  Peterson sighed in relief. Soon, he would be out and would be reunited with Susan. He would have a lot of fences to mend. His children. Tom. He would even work to make amends with his first wife, if for no other reason than to satisfy the kids.

  He was going to be a good daddy again, even though his children were grown. It wasn’t too late. He was going to show them. He was going to be the one they looked up to again. Somehow. Someway. This was his new goal in life. Anthony Peterson, absentee father, back again.

  And then, there was the soul-searching. It was time to stop denying his history. Time to accept responsibility, if only within himself and be a better man. Nightmarish though it was, if nothing else this horrible experience had made him reevaluate his life and rethink-

  “Now, there’s just one more thing,” that hated voice said, interrupting his reverie and fading his smile. “I’m still going to kill you and your wife.”

  Peterson’s eyes shot open. “Wha-what?” Peterson whispered in shock. He almost dropped the phone.

  “You heard me.”

  “But…but why? I did everything you asked. The money is all there!”

  “It is all there. You did do everything I asked.”

  “Then why are you doing this?”

  “Because you’re a bad man, Mr. Peterson,” the evil voice boomed at him. “A bad man who has done bad things! After all we’ve been through together over the past day, you still haven’t learned that there are penalties?”

  In the background, he could hear the scraping of a chair and the muffled sound of his beloved crying, gagged again. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to save her.

  He was at the end of his rope and resorted to bargaining.

  “Please, just let her go! Let my wife go. You can do anything you want to me, but please, please, I’m begging you, just let Susan go!”

  The kidnapper paused and then almost compassionately asked, “Would it hurt you more than anything else in the world to let anything happen to her?”

  “Yes!” he said, feeling an ounce of hope again. And he meant it. Anthony Peterson loved someone more than himself.

  “Well…” and the voice was silent as if contemplating the right thing to do. Peterson had hope again, and for the first time, he actually heard voices in the background. No more deception. Maybe. “Then, that’s enough reason to kill her right there!” the kidnapper laughed, cruelly dashing his hopes again. “Get her in here!” he shouted.

  And with that, Peterson heard a deafening sound. Something mechanical. It was… the roar of a chainsaw.

  “No! No, you can’t do this!”

  “Can, do, and will, Mr. Peterson!” the kidnapper said and then gave the order to his henchman. “Make it hurt!”

  And then, all he could hear was Susan’s high-pitched scream, turned into a guttural roar as the chainsaw hit wet flesh and hard bone as it drove straight through her. He could hear the blood spattering and splashing as she drowned in her own screams.

  Peterson then cried. He cried like a baby.

  He had this possibility, the death of his wife, looming over his head all day, but he never knew how bad it would feel if it actually happened.

  Now, he did, and he had never felt anything so painful in his life. He had never really lost anyone important to him before. Now, he had.

  It was worse than the nightmares. It was worse than the fears for his own life. It was worse than tearing out his own teeth. It was worse than the loss of all of this money.

  And when the noise stopped, when the chainsaw was switched off, there were no more cries from Susan.

  She was dead.

  There was only silence on the other end of the phone.

  “Susan!” he said weakly. He dropped to his knees and wept, feeling that pain. A pain like no other.

  Susan was not just a trophy wife. She never had been. Susan was the love of his life. And now Susan was dead.

  He fell to the side and curled into a fetal position, helpless, wounded, and weeping.

  Far in the background, he heard the sounds of dripping followed by men laughing. One of them said, “Boss, I thought you said we were going to fuck her first!”

  And the kidnapper responded, “Doesn’t she look fucked to you?” which evoked laughter from unseen spectators.

  Peterson could not even muster anger at those words. Instead he wailed at the pain and injustice.

  He had just made them rich, and they ripped out his heart. Susan.

  The kidnapper spoke into the phone again. Peterson wondered why he still had it to his ear. Forced habit. “Mr. Peterson? I’ve got special plans for you.”

  And with that, the anger did return in a red rage. He could picture the blood around Susan and even imagined those skulls rising through it. This time, the skulls weren’t the dead of La Aldea but were instead the faces of his own fury. Nothing mattered more than Susan. Nothing.

  Every mental picture that flipped through his head now was of Susan. Susan, his soulmate. Susan, the underappreciated trophy wife he would now never have a chance to prove himself to. Susan…

  Peterson cried and cursed and ground what was left of his teeth, trying to form words but managing only curses. “You fucking monsters. You fucking cock-sucking monsters.”

  He was a broken man.

  Broken.

  The hum came again, shocking his body. But what was electrocution compared to this pain he was feeling at the loss of his wife?

  By now, being electrified was old hat. Peterson just jerked
and let it happen.

  What else could they do to him now that they had taken Susan away?

  “You won’t get the easy way out like Susan did, Mr. Peterson. You’re going to die! You’re going to die cold, scared, and alone in the dark knowing the only one you’ve ever loved died because of your actions. I’m pulling the plug on you, Mr. Peterson. Over and out!”

  And with that the kidnapper hung up…and true to his words, the lights went out.

  Peterson let the phone slip from his grip as he lay there, his grief and his anger vying for attention as he sobbed the name, “Susan!” over and over again.

  27

  Day of Reckoning: 5:36 PM

  “Anthony Peterson is a dead man!” the boss shouted, and the men and women in fatigues cheered and high-fived as if there was no dead woman ripped to shreds in a spreading pool of her own blood right there in front of them.

  Calderon got it. It was the celebration of a completed job. They were getting paid, and nothing else mattered.

  “My favorite part was when you said she looked fucked now,” one of the hired guns chuckled.

  “It just came out,” the boss laughed. “Hey, open that bottle. Let’s celebrate. Where’s Keeler?”

  A big, bald guy said, “Yeah, but I was looking forward to actually fucking her.”

  The boss laughed. “Every dog has his day. You get a consolation drink instead.”

  “Are we going to celebrate with all this blood here?” a guy with a scar running from his left ear to the corner of his mouth.

  “Is there a better way to celebrate?” the boss laughed. “Anthony Peterson got what he deserved!”

  The group cheered as he continued.

  “And that right there?” he said, indicating the coagulating, yet spreading red puddle. “That’s our reminder of that very thing.” The soldiers cheered again, and the boss waved his hands to quiet them. “And as he slowly dies in his spacious coffin, my friends, he’ll know damn well that these are the penalties he is facing for his choices he made. The former Mrs. Peterson over here is the bloody consequence of his path in life.” He took a swig from his cup, then said, “You know? Right now…I’ll bet he’s searching all around the box trying to figure out a way to kill himself.”

  The group laughed, and a soldier named Jennifer quipped, “I wonder how long it would take a man to kill himself with a pair of pliers?” which evoked more laughter.

  “Oh, man, I’d pay to see that.” The boss smiled and held out his glass for another man to fill.

  “It’s too bad you killed the power. We could keep this party going watching him suffocate or starve to death right now,” another of the troops said and took a big gulp of his strong rum.

  “Ah, shit. Why the fuck didn’t I think of that? Ah, well. To missed opportunities,” the boss shouted and raised his glass.

  “To missed opportunities,” Calderon echoed as the soldiers of fortune cheered. Calderon didn’t join them. He kept looking at the body, especially the calloused feet.

  “Another toast!” the boss said. “This isn’t a party, gang, but we’ve got a right to celebrate before it’s all over, so let’s toast! Anthony Peterson is a dead man! Here’s to us!” and the group raised their glasses and cheered. “And we…” started the boss before taking a swig himself “…we are all filthy fucking rich.”

  Everyone but Calderon cheered again and drank.

  “So, we’re done, then?” Calderon asked over the bacchanalia.

  “I’m sorry, Calderon, what was that?” the boss asked.

  “So, it’s over? We’re done, then?” he asked again, this time a little too loudly, and the rest of the mercenaries immediately straightened up and silenced themselves. Calderon still managed to intimidate most any room he walked into. Even these guys.

  “Yeah, yeah, Calderon, it’s over,” the boss said. “Your money’s already been transferred. I did it from my personal account, so you wouldn’t have to wait. You know, you were one of the most important parts of the entire operation and–”

  “So, we’re done…” Calderon cut him off. Calderon then paused and added, “…boss?” with barely masked contempt.

  The boss swallowed and looked hard at him, then spoke carefully, but still happily. “Yeah. Have a drink. A job well done by all.”

  Calderon looked back down at the blood pool and smiled. “Well done by all,” he said as he thought about Keeler’s words. Calderon paused for a moment, knowing the rest of the room could not move forward with their celebration until he was finished speaking. “But you know what?” he continued. “I quit.”

  “You’re not staying?” the boss asked, with a surprised look.

  “No. I’m out of here,” he said, flatly, then added, “…boss,” again with sarcasm.

  The boss looked to the side with a concerned expression. “We agreed to hide out here and leave a few at a time so as to not call any attention to–”

  “Right. But I’ve got other things happening so, uh, I guess I’ll be the first to leave,” Calderon said. Then, almost unconsciously, he added, “I’m taking my toys and going home… boss.”

  The boss laughed at that, which caused the rest of the gang to laugh as well. “Well, you’ve earned it. We couldn’t have done this without you. You are, truly, the top of your field. All of your fields.”

  The excited mercenaries gave their enthusiastic agreement. Calderon just looked down at the body and thought about what Keeler had said. All deaths are the same, there is no difference, so you can kill anybody. The world is random and insane like that.

  Calderon had thought a lot about that, and he had decided that if all deaths were the same, that meant all deaths were the same as Justin. Or the sniped dog. Or the dead baby. Maybe in light of that, he wouldn’t be killing anybody anymore. It was time to retire, after all.

  He chuckled as the others continued their jubilation. He realized that in his head he sounded a lot like a Hallmark card. A Hallmark card for deeply evil people, but a Hallmark card nonetheless.

  “I’ll be discreet,” Calderon said. “As I leave, I mean.”

  The boss was happy. Too happy, maybe. Didn’t he realize this wasn’t over yet?

  The boss reached out both hands and said “Thank you again! I’ll work with you anytime.” He shook Calderon’s hand vigorously.

  Calderon turned around and packed up his monitoring equipment and carried it to the other room. Mrs. Peterson’s former prison.

  He opened the door and strapped on his backpack, moving around the olive-green fatigues and other clothes that were strewn messily all over the floor. He then lifted up his duffle bag with a grunt and carefully laid it over his shoulder.

  “Hey, are you sure you can’t stay for drinks?” the boss called after him as he left.

  “Can’t. Thanks,” Calderon responded. “Other priorities…boss.”

  “Got it,” the boss called again. “Hey, have you seen Keeler?”

  Calderon slowed down and snickered quietly. “Earlier, yeah. She was having cigarettes with me outside. Said she wanted to see some more of me.”

  “Good for you both,” the boss said, now standing at the mouth of the hallway, and Calderon couldn’t help but notice how very different he was from the mostly emotionless madman he had been while on the phone with Peterson. One could almost forget that he was a cold-blooded killer. “Hey, on your way out, tell Keeler to come join us. She’s earned this too.”

  “As soon as I see her, I’ll tell her,” Calderon said and walked to the stairs without another word.

  He had already seen quite a lot of Keeler today. He had already seen enough of Keeler for a while.

  He descended and exited the main door.

  He did not relish the long walk he had planned down the hill with this heavy load. But then, he noticed the army green pickup truck he had been assigned to drive. It was the truck in which he had delivered Mrs. Peterson earlier. That seemed appropriate somehow, considering all.

  He put down his silver
case and patted his pocket. He had forgotten to give the keys back, he realized.

  Convenient and appropriate.

  Calderon placed the case in the bed of the truck, then opened the passenger side door. He placed his duffle bag in the seat and then fastened a belt around it to keep the cargo from shifting around. He then took off his backpack and threw that in the bed of the truck as well.

  With that, Calderon slid in behind the steering wheel, started the truck, and took off for the last time.

  He thought about Keeler once more, and he really had to admit as he exited the heavy gate, that he felt really, really great.

  28

  Alone in the Dark: 6:06 PM

  Anthony Peterson had not so much fallen asleep or even passed out as much as he had simply shut down. His brain had shut down as if to prevent more pain. It was Anthony Peterson’s last defense.

  He had lost. Susan had died.

  And while it was their fault, the fault of the kidnappers, they were also right. Anthony Peterson was guilty, and all of this was because of what he had done.

  Susan was now dead and gone, and soon, very soon, he was going to die and join her.

  After all he had gone through, would death be that bad?

  Would he really want to live after losing her and losing the game against their captors… so… very… spectacularly?

  At least in death he would be with her. Unfortunately, he would also have to be with…

  The phone rang again, and his eyes fluttered open in the darkness.

  He looked at the phone there on the metal coffin floor and considered…why should he answer? What was left to do or even say?

  Then, he realized something…something horrible, but at the same time hopeful.

  This had to all be a prank.

  Tom hadn’t gone through all that madness. Who the hell could survive all that? He was at home with all of the other people who were in on it, and they were still playing him. They probably played all those crazy sounds on a computer. Car crashes. The crazy attack dog. And that security guard? Come on. None of that happened. The very idea was ridiculous.