Abducted

by David R Lewis

  Back in the casino, he wandered around for a few moments before stumbling on table four. He played for about twenty minutes until the young blond man with the big teeth approached him with the news his car was ready. Crockett cashed out his fifty-three hundred dollars in chips and walked to the entrance. There, parked at the curb, locked and waiting for him, was the H2. As he drove out, he noticed both Paul and Dom watching him from the sidewalk. Unable to resist, he smiled and waved goodbye.

  *****

  Once Boog Jeter took to planning it came a little easier to him. He knew that that Black-haired woman doctor in them high-heel shoes was the one who put Harold Lee in jail, an’ jail waren’t much more than just bein’ caged up an’ kept someplace you didn’t wanna be, and not let go someplace you did wanna be. Suppose he just kilt her. It’d be over an’ she’d be dead, an’ that’d be all they was to it. No, it commenced to dawn on Boog that the best way he could git back at her, for a while at least, was to keep her someplace she didn’t wanna be, and don’t let her go no place she did.

  With that in mind he made arrangements. He didn’t have no cell or nothin’ like where Harold Lee was, but he did have a mess a log chain, an’ they was that little space off the tunnel just before the place where the still was. It took him quite a bit a work to put that big eyebolt in the wall up high where she wouldn’t be able to reach it, but he was stout and persistent. They wasn’t a lot a room, but they was enough for a little mattress he got at Walmart. While he was there, he got a couple a blankets an’ a extra pillow, too. Plus some buckets an’ stuff.

  The next morning he drove his ol’ Chevy pickup with the camper shell up to that junkyard outside Koshkonong and stole him a couple of Missouri license plates off another old Chevy truck with a broke frame. On the way back home he stopped by the sale barn at Thayer an’ swiped a couple a stickers off a two more trucks to put on his new plates so they’d look legal. They was tough to git off in one piece, but he done it good enough. Back out at the river he put them new plates on his old truck, grabbed up the thirteen hundred dollars he had from his first big sale a ‘shine, got some duct tape an’ other stuff he might need, his old lever action thirty ought-six, an’ tossed it all in the back of the truck with four five gallon gas cans and a couple a old burlap feed sacks. Just before he left, he carefully loaded twenty-three white Styrofoam cups with little holes punched in the lids into a paper grocery bag and gently placed it on the passenger side floorboard of the truck. Then he grabbed his brand new Missouri road map an’ headed north toward Mammoth Spring. Goin’ to someplace as big as Kansas City scared the hell out of him, but he had the address, he had money, he had a picture of her, he had his mind made up and, most of all, he had a plan. Boog figger’d out that he kinda liked havin’ a plan.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Crockett first noticed the black Lincoln as he went east on 210 and made his turn onto southbound 291 Highway. It was behind him and two or three other vehicles, headlights off in the growing dusk. He accelerated to slightly over the speed limit. The closer he got to the Missouri River, the hillier the terrain became. Ahead of him about a quarter of a mile, a large dump truck was just cresting the upcoming hill. He put the H2 to the floor, knowing the folly of attempting to outrun the Lincoln, and prayed for the break he needed.

  Crockett topped the hill at a little over ninety miles an hour. Behind him, a half-mile or so, he could see the Lincoln swing out into the passing lane in pursuit. As soon as he got around the dump truck, Crockett pulled back into the right lane and slowed to less than fifty. The truck driver, closing in with Crockett’s rear bumper, leaned on the horn. Fifteen seconds later and close to the crest of the next hill, the Lincoln flashed by looking for the Hummer. That put Crockett behind his pursuers with less than a mile before a turnoff would allow him the chance to fade away. And, then came good fortune he hadn’t counted on. Halfway down the slope on the far side of the hill was an Independence, Missouri police car, sitting by the side of the road. The kid in the squad car must have thought God had sent him a gift. When the Lincoln topped the hill it had to be running close to a hundred miles an hour. Crockett passed the duo just as the officer pulled the Lincoln to the side of the road. Ha! For once a cop was around exactly when he was needed. It took Crockett nearly a mile to get the sappy grin off his face.

  Crockett got back to the marina a little before eleven. Maggie greeted him when he parked the H2, and Stitch and Mazy were waiting for him in the kitchen.

  “Evening all,” he smiled.

  Mazy gave him a hug. “Everything okay?”

  “So far,” Crockett said. “Zeb in bed?”

  “The dude was pretty tired, man,” Stitch said. “He cashed out.”

  Crockett reached into his hip pocket, removed a rumpled stack of bills, and slapped them on the counter.

  “So did I,” he said. “Zeb’s insurance kicked in. Fifty three hundred bucks.”

  Mazy looked at the pile of money with elevated eyebrows. “What?”

  “That’s for Zeb. The manager of the casino staked me to five hundred dollars in chips and sent me to a blackjack table while he had somebody bring my car around. Oddly enough, I couldn’t lose. Won every hand but one. Incredible luck, don’t you think?”

  Mazy was still staring at the cash.

  “What?” she asked again.

  “Outstanding, Drill Sergeant!” Stitch said, pouring Crockett a cup of coffee.

  “The Hummer was locked and alarmed in the parking lot,” Crockett said. “Didn’t seem to make any difference, though. When they told me it was ready, I found it, still locked and alarmed, right outside the main entrance. Great service at the old Zanzibar.”

  Stitch grinned.

  “Now that’s some kickass valet parking.”

  “And,” Crockett said, “Johnny’s boys were not only on hand to see me off, they even escorted me for a while on the drive home until they stopped to chat with a policeman.”

  “Wait a minute!” Mazy said. “What’s going on?”

  Crockett smiled. “The guy that runs the place, Ben Pescatelli, had a meeting with me. He doesn’t have much use for Johnny. Because Johnny is an employee and his actions reflect on the casino, Pescatelli wanted me to be a happy camper. Before I left, he made sure I profited by a few thousand bucks just to show me that he and I didn’t have a problem. He also had my car burgled and brought around for me to keep me from having some sort of confrontation with Johnny’s goons in the parking lot.”

  “Bad for business,” Stitch said, “plus, just moving the H2 showed Crocket that he was in Pescatelli’s world. In a world where some dude can give you a five grand bonus and then move your locked car for ya, the cat shows ya he has power that you can’t come close to. He was just tryin’ to make sure that Crockett knew that normal shit didn’t fuckin’ apply, ya know?”

  “God!” Mazy said. “There really are people like that?”

  “You been living on a lake all your life?” Crockett asked.

  “The mob is everywhere, man,” Stitch said. “Just ‘cause they don’t hang Tommy guns outa Pierce-Arrow windows anymore sure as hell don’t mean they went away. The Saint Valentine’s Day massacre and the Kaycee Union Station massacre happened a long time ago, but they fuckin’ happened. Hell, it was the mob that, like, started the whole thing with the Amazing Disappearing Woman way back in the thirties that got me an’ Crockett together in the first place. We had to go rescue the ghost’s grandkid from a bunch of Columbian mobbies!”

  “What?”

  “Long story,” Crockett said. “I’ll tell it to you sometime. The point is, organized crime is very much alive and well, and it’s come full circle. Kansas City was once owned and ruled by the mob. There are still areas in Kaycee where old homes are connected by tunnels, where families lived in compounds that were nearly fortresses. The money that originally started the whole thing out in Las Vegas was union cash from the Teamsters. It was funneled to Vegas by the controlling influence in Kansas City. In ret
urn, a sizeable amount of the money made in Vegas was skimmed off the top and sent right back to Kaycee as a little bonus for the bosses. A little bonus that amounted to millions of dollars a year as a way to say thank you for squaring things with the union money goons. One hand washes the other. Kaycee started Vegas in the gambling business. And now, Vegas is bringing gambling to Kansas City. What goes around, comes around.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “Too much money, man,” Stitch said. “When ya got that much money to be made, guys with bent noses and red sauce on their ties just have to get involved. Look at Vegas. Mob from beginning to end. A few years ago they had ads on the TV and shit trying to clean up their image. Make Vegas a family vacation destination. Bring the kids. It didn’t work. People don’t wanna go to Vegas with the kids. They wanna go to Vegas and do shit they can’t do at home. Now they’re saying stuff like Vegas is the place to keep secrets. What happens there, stays there. Want ya to think that you can go to Vegas and pretty much do anything you want without repercussions. And it’s true, man. But that’s what the public wants, and if the people want gamblin’ or drugs or whores or political clout or big money or someplace to do what they like in private, somebody is gonna give it to ‘em. That somebody has been pretty much the same since Ellis Island opened up. You got the Russian Mafia, the Yakuza, the Columbians, and a bunch of other assholes trying to cash in, but the foundation for the whole thing, the first with the most, just handed ol’ Crockett a pocket full of money to keep him from raisin’ hell. They coulda kept you quiet in a lot worse ways, huh, dude?”

  Crockett grinned. “Oh, yeah. Pescatelli is no fool. He thinks that this all might result in me doing him a favor.”

  “What favor?” Mazy said.

  Crockett looked at Stitch. Stitch grinned.

  “He thinks Crockett might take Johnny off his hands,” he said.

  “Off his hands?”

  “Crockett may be a tired ol’ gimp,” Stitch said, “but he’s a badass tired ol’ gimp. Push comes to shove, Johnny could be in big trouble. Johnny loses and he’s out of the game, out of Pescatelli’s way, and Pescatelli is in the clear. See?”

  Mazy shook her head. “My God!”

  “That little escort from Johnny’s boys Crockett told us about was probably just an effort at, like, intimidation, ya know?” Stitch went on, trying to soften the blow. “Didn’t work though, did it?”

  “Not much,” Crockett said.

  “Well, now what’s gonna happen?” Mazy asked.

  “Bed for me,” Crockett said, “and then back to Kansas City tomorrow.”

  “You’re going back?”

  “Yeah. I want to trade off my Hummer and I want to get a truck from a local Kaycee dealer, not somebody down here. Be nice if you’d come along. We’ll truck shop, get a hotel room, and I’ll take you out to dinner for the best steak you have ever had in your life. Stitch’ll be here to handle things for Zeb, and you can take a break with me in the big city. Do you good.”

  Mazy smiled. “I’m not much of a big city girl.”

  “Don’t want a big city girl,” Crockett replied. “I want to take a country girl to the big city.”

  “Oh, Lord,” Mazy said. “What have I done?”

  The next morning, Crockett was ready to leave by ten. Zeb was fussing around, bitching about the tape on his ribs and the packing in his nose, Stitch was down in the bait shop, and Mazy was trying to decide what to pack for the trip. She came zipping out of the bedroom wearing a pair of grey slacks and a white blouse over a pink tank top and eyeballed Crockett.

  “This okay for the trip?”

  “Perfect.”

  “You sure?”

  Crockett grinned. “Just like I was sure about the last two outfits.”

  “I’m obsessing, huh?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “I should stop, huh?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Okay. How fancy is this place we’re going for supper, uh, dinner.”

  “Blue jeans to ball gowns. Anything is fine.”

  “What are you gonna wear?”

  “Blue jeans, a shirt and an overshirt.”

  “So maybe I should just wear a skirt and blouse or something?”

  “We’ll eat around seven tonight, so you really should make up your mind sometime soon.”

  Mazy stuck her tongue out at him and disappeared back into her bedroom. Zeb grunted.

  “Done her a lot a good, Crockett.”

  “Me, too,” Crockett replied.

  “Doan believe I seen her lit up like this in twenny years or more.”

  “She a fine woman, Zeb. She deserves to be happy.”

  “So do you, boy.”

  “I’m doing okay.”

  “You’re doin’ better anyway. We gonna have any more trouble with them fellers?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Time will tell. Stitch’ll be here while we’re gone. He’s reliable.”

  “I know it. I’ll be here, too. I’m a pretty tough old bird. Don’t waste your city time with Mazy worryin’ about us. We’ll be fine.”

  Crockett’s reply was stifled by Mazy’s voice floating out of her bedroom.

  “Come get the suitcase, will ya?”

  Crockett carried her big one, Mazy carried her small one. On the walk to the Hummer she was nearly dancing.

  Once they got on the road Mazy became quiet and introspective. Crockett, considering how much her life had changed in the past few days, let her have the silence. When they turned north on Highway 13, she spoke up.

  “What’s this place we’re going to eat tonight?”

  “Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse. On the plaza.”

  “I’ve been to the Plaza, but not for years and years. Not since Jeff and I got married. Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse?”

  “Yep.”

  “You go there a lot?”

  Crockett smiled. “No. Haven’t been there in quite a while. Not since…” The clutch behind his heart came out of nowhere, stopping breath in his throat. He fought it for a moment, then inhaled. Mazy peered at him, concern on her face.

  “Crockett, what’s wrong?”

  It took him a moment to find his voice. “Ah, nothin’. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

  “No, you’re not. Talk to me. It’ll help both of us if I understand. Make me understand, Crockett. Tell me.”

  Oddly enough, he did. Several times over the next hour and a half Crockett could not believe what he heard coming out of his mouth. He told Mazy about Rachael and Rachael’s death. About his involvement, Ivy and Cletus, the coma, the loss of his leg, the revenge, all of it. And it didn’t stop there. He also told her about the Amazing Disappearing Woman, her granddaughter and daughter, how he met Stitch, the helicopter snatch from the Columbians, the kidnapping and killings, and stumbling on the girl’s mother in the middle of nowhere. He told her about finding Cassie in the basement of the bus, Inez and Zeke, Goody, and going against the separatists with Goody and Stitch coming to the rescue. And he told her about Ruby. All about Ruby. At times he talked through laughter, at times he talked through tears, but, whatever it took, he talked. Crockett talked until they were through Harrisonville and, all those miles, Mazy listened. When he finally stopped, she searched her purse for a tissue and blew her nose.

  “Wow,” she said. “You’ve been through a lot. I knew there was somethin’ to you when we first met, Crockett. I mean, I knew you were an extraordinary man. But Jesus.”

  Crockett shook his head. “I can’t believe I told you all that,” he said. “I’ve never told anybody that much about myself. Ever. And you get it out of me on a road trip. Did you find a secret button I don’t know about? Christ! I feel like an idiot. I been rattlin’ on like a toy windmill.”

  “I didn’t think you were ever gonna shut up,” Mazy said.

  Crockett looked at her from the corner of his eye for a moment, then began to laugh. Mazy joined him. When they finally settled down, she spoke up.

  “Crockett, I’m very fla
ttered that you were that open with me. I think that you have a hard time sharing much of yourself. Women get hurt, they wanna rush out and talk about it. Men get hurt, they bottle it up. That’s why women get over things sooner than men do.”

  “It’s also why you live longer.”

  “Nope. That’s revenge.”

  “Talk about a purge,” Crockett said.

  “Wanna know why?” Mazy asked.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “You told me all that stuff because, deep down, you know that I have no desire to control you. I don’t need your past, Crockett, and I don’t want your future. All I would like from you is your now. The future never gets here and the past is always just a memory. Now, Crockett. That’s what I want.”

  Crockett smiled and took her hand. “Looks like you’ve got it,” he said.

  They were quiet for a mile or so until Mazy spoke again. “Do you know why now is all I want?” she asked.

  Crockett smiled. “I’ll bite,” he said. “Why?”

  “’Cause that’s all any of us has anyway.”

  They made it another ten miles before Mazy straightened up and turned in her seat to face him. “Ruby LaCost is a fool,” she said. “A fool that big doesn’t deserve you and somebody needs to fucking tell her so.”

  Crockett and Mazy arrived in Independence a little after noon. He dumped off of 291 and onto Highway 40 and stopped by The Red Robin. After lunch, they cruised past Costco and Lowe’s and visited Carmax for a brief bit of truck shopping before heading into downtown Kansas City. Things went surprisingly well. Only an hour later they headed into town, Crockett in possession of all the paperwork necessary to pick up his almost new truck the next afternoon. By three the Hummer was squeezed into the Downtown Marriott’s underground parking, Crockett was soaking in the tub in their suite and trying to stay awake, Mazy was flitting around like a moth on steroids while munching on a twelve dollar can of Macadamia nuts. All was right with the world.