Live in Person

by Lynda Fitzgerald

  Len looked at the new beer on the bar and reached for his wallet.

  Sidney held up a hand. “Mind if I ask you a few questions about your sister before you go? Anyone as greedy as her should get what she deserves.”

  When Len hesitated, Sidney almost groaned aloud. No. Not when he was so close. He didn’t want to use physical violence. That wouldn’t stop him, but it was riskier that way. He breathed a sigh of relief when Len took his seat, but he made no move toward his beer.

  “I don’t know what I can tell you. We rarely even see each other. She wasn’t this way before she inherited all that money. You know about the money?”

  “I heard something, but why don’t you tell me about it?”

  Almost a half-hour later, Sidney saw the changes begin. He’d drunk the whole fucking beer. The man must have the constitution of a horse. Finally, his eyelids began to droop, and his speech took on a pronounced slur. Sidney hoped it didn’t kill him, but then, he reconsidered. That might be OK, too, as long as it couldn’t be pinned on him.

  He picked Len’s key card off the bar. The room number was scrawled on the strip of plastic with a magic marker. Convenient. He needed to get him out of here before he lost consciousness altogether. Dead weight was a pain in the ass.

  Len didn’t even notice when Sidney reached in his back pocket and took his wallet. He pulled out three twenties and laid them on the bar. With a friendly wave at the bartender, he pulled Len off his stool. When the bartender approached, Sidney said, “Nighty-night time for my friend here.”

  The bartender looked worried. “You need any help?”

  He almost said, “I won’t if you’ll shut your fucking mouth and get lost.” “No, I have him. He just needs to sleep it off.”

  Len’s legs didn’t give out until right outside his room. Sidney opened the door and dragged him the rest of the way. He glanced around. Nice room. Shame they couldn’t stay. Housekeeping had already been in, which meant they wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. Sidney didn’t know how long the pills would work. One knocked Sidney out for eight hours, which is why he started pocketing them. It didn’t do to be unconscious for long periods, even in a medical facility. Not when you’d shot a cop. Of course, this guy was a lot heavier, but the alcohol would double their effect. Sidney smiled. Anyone with any sense knew not to mix alcohol and drugs.

  Just to be on the safe side, he muscled Len onto a bed before cuffing his wrists and securing his ankles. He used a clean pair of socks from the open suitcase as a gag. After he retrieved an extra blanket out of the closet, he rolled Len over, so he faced away from the door, and tossed the blanket over him, covering everything but the top of his head. Hopefully, that would hold him until Sidney got back.

  ■ ■ ■

  He hadn’t had this much fun since he was a kid. After ditching the guy’s rental car in a secure cruise-line parking lot at Port Canaveral, Sidney called a cab. It cost Len twenty-three fifty to get Sidney back to the hotel. After the driver dropped him off under the front portico, Sidney crossed the lot and climbed in Len’s rental car. It was hotter than a bitch. Winter in Florida. Maybe when all this was over, he’d move north. Might as well. His days in this county were over, like his career in law enforcement. His face burned.

  He drove around to the loading dock but parked a little ways away. It wouldn’t do to arouse suspicion.

  Still in uniform—people tended to mind their own business around cops—he prowled the halls until he found a linen cart in an unlocked main-floor closet. This was the tricky part—a cop pushing around a linen cart would look suspicious to anyone.

  He didn’t meet a soul. Housekeeping seemed finished for the day or at least working on a different floor. He felt like doing a happy dance as he pushed the cart into the room, letting the door click shut behind him.

  After checking to make sure Len was still out—he was—he retrieved his duffel bag from the cart and went into the bathroom to change. When he emerged, he was dressed all in white. He didn’t have a tag that read linen service, but who the hell else would wear white overalls?

  Getting the unconscious man into the linen cart was tricky, but Sidney ended up laying the cart on its side on the floor. Then, he rolled the guy off the bed and into the cart. Piece of cake. He gathered all the linens he could find without stripping the beds—the towels from the bathroom, the blanket he’d used to cover him, and another one from the closet—and threw them over Len. Then, he pulled the cart out in the hall.

  He felt a little thrill of excitement as he realized he had little chance of making it. Someone was bound to see him, to notice an unscheduled linen pickup in the middle of the day or to see his dumping the body in the trunk of the car.

  He knew at that moment he was cut out for this life. Not protecting citizens from the ordinary scum, but pitting his wits against all obstacles. No drug had ever given him a rush like this. Setting himself against impossible odds using only his superior intelligence, training, and determination—that’s what he was about. Why hadn’t he realized it before? It was because of the sheriff. Sidney had been such a wuss back then, so desperate for someone to like him that he’d tried to become what the sheriff wanted him to be, but that wasn’t him. This was him.

  The elevator button dinged, and Sidney felt his heart lurch. If it was one of the maids, he was blown. Jeez, he’d hate to have to take her out.

  It was a guest in a bikini with a bad sunburn. She glanced at Sidney and then the cart before starting down the hall. With a silent laugh, he pushed the cart down the hall until he found the freight elevator. The next tricky part. If anyone was around, he or she might challenge him. He knew he could subdue whoever it was, but that could cause problems… and he didn’t need any problems. Not now.

  When the elevator stopped at the loading dock, he peeked around before stepping out, dragging the cart behind him. Almost home.

  He had the cart at the edge of the loading dock when his luck failed. He heard voices getting closer. Sidney quickly sat down on the edge of the loading dock, swinging his feet as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  One guy glanced over, but didn’t approach. “Just waiting for my truck,” Sidney said, gesturing at the cart. “You got a cigarette?”

  The guys shook their heads and moved away, like Sidney figured they would. When they were gone, he backed the car up to the loading dock, opened the trunk, and rolled Len inside. Sidney heard his head crack against the edge of the trunk and winced. A quick check showed he was still alive. The head wound was superficial, but head wounds bleed like a bitch. All the better.

  Seconds later, he was Cocoa-bound with his cargo, a treasure beyond measure. He laughed at the rhyme. And soon, Allie Grainger would be up to her bleached blonde roots in trouble.

  Fifteen

  “It had to be Sidney,” Allie insisted. “No one else knew about my fear of roaches.”

  Cord still looked skeptical. Allie had filled him in on everything that happened since the first “gift” appeared on her doorstep. As much as she hated to acknowledge it, the sheriff still had a bit of a blind spot where Sidney was concerned. She didn’t know what else to do to convince him.

  “Sheriff—” Sheryl put a hand on Allie’s arm.

  Cord cleared his throat to speak. “All right. For the sake of argument, let’s say it is Sidney pulling these pranks. Where did he get any of this? The boxes. The… gifts. Where is he hiding that he’s eluding all the law enforcement officers in the area? How is he getting around? No cars have been reported stolen in the last few days. For that matter, where is he staying, and how is he paying for it all?”

  “But—”

  “I’m not saying you’re wrong, Allie,” Cord said, his face troubled. “I’m just saying it’s a stretch. If it’s Sidney, we’ll catch him.”

  “That’s not good enough.” Allie’s words surprised her almost as much as the sheriff.

  She jumped up from the sofa and went to stand behind a chair. “I’m sorry, but it sounds
like something you’d tell a child to get her to take her medicine. ‘It’ll be OK.’ Well, it’s not OK. Sidney’s pulling pranks now, but who knows what it’ll be next. Snakes, maybe.”

  “Now, Allie—”

  “He did it before.”

  Cord looked at Sheryl, who nodded. Cord rubbed his forehead.

  Allie hated to bring more pain to the man, but damn it, she was tired of no one believing her. Understandably, Len might be trying to make her look bad, but Sidney was a known felon. She groaned. God, she sounded like Sheryl.

  Cord sat forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “I don’t mean to condescend to you, Allie, but if Sidney’s doing these things… well, he has to have help. Lodging, vehicle, money.” He motioned toward the construction site. “And your friend over there said two couriers in two different vehicles delivered the packages. You heard him. One was young and thin and the other a hefty older man. I don’t see how—” Cord broke off, sitting back against the sofa.

  “What?” Allie and Sheryl asked, almost in unison.

  It was a long moment before Cord answered. “I might be wrong.” He looked from Allie to Sheryl. “I just remembered that Sidney’s mother used to be big in the Cocoa Players.”

  “What—”

  “Local theatre,” Sheryl answered, her gaze on Cord.

  “If Sidney was disguised—” He looked up. “It’s a long shot, but if he was disguised, he might have gotten what he needed from Teresa. Without her knowing, I hope. There’s a chance he could have gotten money…” His voice trailed off.

  Neither Sheryl nor Allie spoke. They’d told Cord everything they knew. At first, his disbelief was palpable. If he was coming to their side, Allie wasn’t going to blow it by opening her big mouth.

  Finally, Cord stood. He looked at Allie. “You wouldn’t consider going somewhere else until—”

  “No.”

  He nodded. “That’s what I figured. Probably better. At least law enforcement here knows him and has an idea of what to expect. If it is him.”

  Allie didn’t say a word. Denial, as she well knew, died hard.

  ■ ■ ■

  Teresa slipped the two thousand dollars out of her wallet. She didn’t care what anyone said. If her boy needed something—food or medicine—she was going to see he had it or at least the means to get it. It was risky. She knew Wally was keeping an eye on her. She couldn’t walk into another room without his following a minute later. He’d even curtailed his visits to the firehouse. She finally sent him to the store on a fool’s errand just to get him out of the house. She didn’t have long. The Publix where they shopped was only a mile or so away, and it wouldn’t be difficult to get the things on her list.

  She tiptoed down the stairs as if he were in the house, feeling like a criminal. It was an awful feeling. How could her poor boy stand it?

  The house was quiet. Too quiet. Every step she took pounded in her ears—or was that her heart? This was going to be the death of her. She knew it, but she’d willingly die for her son. What kind of parent wouldn’t?

  The kitchen was empty. She knew that, but she still breathed more easily. She slowly opened the pantry door, wincing when it squeaked. She needed to get Wally to oil those hinges. When the door was open wide enough, she stepped in. And hit something.

  She squealed as the pantry light switched on. Wally stood there, his face looking like a Florida summer thundercloud. In his hand was the flour canister that still held the two hundred dollars she’d put in earlier. His gaze held hers for a long moment before it trailed to the wad of bills in her hand. Gingerly, he reached over and took the money from her. “I won’t let you do it, Teresa.”

  “Do what?” Wally’s face looked sad—and old, Teresa realized with a start.

  “I won’t let you give him money.”

  “He’s our son!”

  Wally didn’t raise his voice. “He’s a criminal.”

  “How can you say that about your own son? You know none of this was his fault. If that woman—”

  “It wasn’t any woman, damn it. Can’t you see that? It was Sidney. Sidney fired those shots at the innocent motorists. Sidney almost ran Allie Grainger off the bridge. What if he had succeeded? Did you think of that? What if she had died?”

  “He did it to protect his boss.”

  “That’s fiction.” He scrubbed his face with his hand. “All right. Maybe he thought he did it to protect his boss, but he thought he was protecting him from discovery. He was covering up what he thought was a crime, which would have made him accessory to murder. Can’t you see that?”

  Teresa looked at her husband. Instead of being angry with him, she pitied him. Wally looked old and tired. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t love his son the way Sidney deserved. It was sad. Wally would never know the kind of selfless love she felt for their only child. It was his loss.

  They were coming out of the pantry when the doorbell rang. Teresa stayed where she was while Wally went to answer it. She heard Cord Arbutten’s voice and almost went upstairs, but it wouldn’t do any good. She’d have to face him eventually.

  The men were on the way to the kitchen when Teresa intercepted them. She ushered them back into the living room, intent on keeping this a formal, and not a social, occasion.

  ■ ■ ■

  Sidney watched as the slow, painful awareness of his circumstances washed over Len. He was still bound, tethered to Sidney’s bed, his wrists and ankles still in restraints. Sidney sat across the room, again the fat man but wearing the fright wig and mask. He first assumed the disguise when he was trying to scare Allie Grainger off, before she forced him to use stronger measures. This was a different set—orange hair and a cannibal mask, complete with bloody teeth. Judging by Len’s reaction, it was a shame he hadn’t tried this one on Allie. For twenty-five bucks, he’d picked up a voice-altering microphone at a kid’s store. Amazing what kids could buy these days.

  He spoke into the microphone. “If you’re calm and do what you’re told, you’ll be OK. Don’t try to move. Don’t try to identify me, or I won’t be able to let you live.”

  Len blinked several times, as if trying to focus his vision. “What happened? Where am I?”

  “Don’t ask questions. If you behave, you’ll be my guest here for a few days. If you screw up, you’ll be dead. Your choice.”

  Len tried to struggle to a sitting position. He fell back against the pillow.

  “That’s better,” Sidney said into the mike. “I don’t want to harm you, but I will if I have to. I will feed you. Don’t drink much water, or you’ll have a problem. I have food for you now. Do you want it?”

  Len shook his head, his eyes riveted on Sidney.

  “Some water, then. You must be thirsty.”

  Len shook his head again. Then, he nodded.

  “Water?”

  He nodded. Then, harder.

  “All right. Don’t try anything stupid, or you’ll pay.”

  He put the microphone down and crossed to the bed, the glass already in his hand. He held Len’s head up so he could swallow without choking. Len took about half the glass without trouble. Then, he tried to swing his cuffed hands over to hit Sidney. Sidney jumped back out of reach, but it pissed him off. He drew back and hit the asshole in the jaw, not enough to knock him out, but enough to hurt plenty, judging by the groan. Then, he held Len’s nose until he opened his mouth, and dumped the rest of the water in it.

  As Len gagged and sputtered, Sidney went back over and picked up the mike. “Don’t try that again or I’ll kill you. I have nothing to lose. Your death is meaningless to me.” The fear in Len’s eyes was gratifying.

  Back in the living room of the trailer, Sidney picked through the contents of Len’s pockets. Less than a hundred bucks. Disappointing, but he was sure his mom had refilled his personal cookie jar by now. Keys to Len’s car that Sidney had left at Port Canaveral after bringing Len here and tying him to the bed. The blood in the trunk should lead them on a merry chase. He’d pi
cked up a new car on the off chance anyone had seen him deliver that second package to Allie. Cruise-line parking lots were almost as good as airports. Maybe better. Cruises tended to be longer than out-of-town business trips, and the same ticket that got him into the lot got him out. Len was only seven dollars poorer. A bargain any way you looked at it.

  Cell phone. Now, that was interesting. Sidney scrolled through the contacts. Mostly 404 area codes. Sidney knew Allie was from Atlanta. He called information and asked for the courthouse in Atlanta. As soon as the mechanical voice intoned 4-0-4, he hung up. When he came on the ICE—in case of emergency—listing, he mentally forged the next link in the hang-Allie-Grainger chain.

  He pressed TALK. Then, he listened to the female voice say, “Hello? Hello? Len, is that you? Hello?” before he punched the end button.

  Well, shucks. Soon, everyone who mattered would know that Allie Grainger’s brother was missing.

  ■ ■ ■

  Sheryl was gone. Allie tried to make up for lost time, but her notes about construction overtaking private ownership of beach property were meaningless. How could she worry about property loss when she was in very real danger of losing her life?

  She was about to head up to the deck when the phone rang. When she saw the number, she considered ignoring it, but she was tired of being a coward.

  “Grainger residence,” she said in her good little girl voice. “Allie speaking.”

  “Don’t pretend you don’t know it’s me, Allison. I know you have caller ID.”

  “I’m just doing as ordered when you called last time, Mother. It seems I’m damned if I don’t and damned if I do.”

  That prompted a long moment of silence.

  “Is—uh—your brother there?”

  Allie wouldn’t rub her nose in it. “No, I haven’t seen Len since yesterday.” When he came to the paper and made her look like an ass. “Have you tried his cell?”

  “Of course, I’ve tried his cell,” Vivian snapped. Allie heard her take a deep breath. “The thing is I got a call from his cell a while ago. When I answered, no one spoke.” There was a little hitch in her voice. “I’m worried. It’s not like Len to—well, to do something like that. He knows I’d worry. I’m afraid something might have happened to him.”