“Don’t know,” Wilson said. “But I know they’re good luck.” Something they could both use now, a little bit of good luck. When Wilson regained consciousness April was touching a large white bandage that completely covered his left hand. When she asked what happened, Wilson made up a story that somehow he had broken his hand when their captors had taken him to the bathroom, so they wrapped it as tightly as they could so it wouldn’t keep hurting. Wilson was surprised that there was little pain, at least at the moment, and he tried to keep his thought free of the implications this was going to bring for him.
“I like ladybugs, I don’t mind when they land on me, not like grasshoppers. Do they really mean good luck?” April asked, looking up at Wilson.
“They really do,” he said and nodded. “Lots of countries around the world think that a ladybug is a sign of good luck. Did you know that in England each spot means a lucky month to come and that the people in Canada say that you should make a wish and when the ladybug flies away, the direction it flies is the direction that your wish will come from.”
“I better make a wish,” April said and closed her eyes. “Okay. I made it!”
“Now we have to wait and see which way the ladybug flies away and then from that direction your wish will come true,” Wilson said and forced a smile, because he wasn’t feeling especially lucky at the moment.
Wilson and April were still huddled together, she seemingly content to stay where she was, and Wilson happy to hold her near him. He would hold the fear for both of them, wondering what could be coming through that door at any moment. April hadn’t mentioned food in the time that she had been with him, but he guessed she should be getting hungry. He smiled over the top of her head, marveling silently at her preciousness. And her fearlessness.
Forgetting the ladybug momentarily, April looked up again to Wilson. “When are we gonna get to go home?”
“Soon, hopefully, April,” Wilson replied trying to sound hopeful. “Is that what you wished for?”
“Nope,” April said. “Something better.”
Across the room, sounds that the door was being unlocked captured their attention. They looked in the direction of the door, rapt with anticipation, waiting for it to swing open. April jumped to her feet. Wilson struggled to get to his, holding his left hand high in the air. His legs were wobbly with sleep from April sitting on them and he was having trouble getting his right knee to straighten. His sore foot began to throb at the sudden movement. He groaned and managed with the help of his good foot get to a standing position. The moment he stood up straight, he felt light-headed and a wave of nausea passed over him. He set his sore foot down gingerly and steadied himself, resting a hand against the wall. “April, come here, and stand by me,” he instructed and held out his arm.
She went directly to him, grabbed him by the wrist and wrapped his arm around her. They watched and waited for the door to open. The twins stepped into the room and April immediately recognized them as the ones on her bus. “That’s them!” she said, grasping Wilson’s hand a little tighter.
“It’s okay,” Wilson said.
The twins stood on either side of the door like sentinels, their hand resting firmly on their hips. Their black leather jackets were open, allowing Wilson to see the butts of their guns strapped in shoulder holsters. He held April closer.
“Stay where you are,” one of the twins commanded.
“Don’t worry,” Wilson said. “We’re not going anywhere.”
Wilson looked beyond the doorway where he could see the others in the hallway. And something else that he couldn’t quite make out, like a bundle of sorts or a large bag. He squinted, trying to determine what he was seeing. The outer area wasn’t lit any better than the room where they were. He tried moving slightly to one side, hoping that would allow him a better look, but that meant putting weight on his bad foot. He tried. Pain shot through his leg like a canon. The nausea returned. He stayed where he was, unable to move to see anything.
Moments later, Juan came through the door, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Wilson instantly felt his anger begin to rise, a black storm of emotions, twisting and turning. Juan’s gaze flickered briefly to April before settling on Wilson with a cold, empty stare. “How’s the hand?” Wilson only glared at him. Juan stepped casually to his right and motioned with his hand. Fuzz Face followed Juan into the room, carrying the bundle over his shoulder.
He turned slightly, enough that Wilson was able to see a hand dangling lifelessly off to one side. “Sam!” Wilson could not help saying her name. He didn’t mean to, but her name escaped his lips before he could stop it.
Fuzz Face dropped to one knee and Sam slid off his shoulder like an old rag doll, landing on her side on the floor with a dull thud. She stayed there motionlessly.
“Mommie!” April screamed and tried to run to her mother, but Wilson squeezed her against him so she couldn’t move. She turned toward him, wrapped her arms around him, buried her face in his belly and hugged him as hard as she could.
“Stay with me,” he said softly but in a firm voice that April knew to obey. He would not let April turn to look at her mother.
Fuzz Face raised his boot and pushed against Sam’s shoulder just enough that she rolled lifelessly to her back. Her eyes were closed, her mouth open slightly. Hair, matted with mud, clung to the left side of her cheek and what Wilson could see of the rest of her face was stained with dirt. Her clothes and boots looked as if she had been dragged through the mud. Her jeans were ripped just above the left knee. It was hard to tell if the material was just wet in that area, or if it was blood he saw.
Wilson’s eyes darted from Juan to Fuzz Face, his face hardening in anger. Wilson clenched his jaw, trying to control that tornado of rage continuing to build inside of him. “What did you do to her?” he demanded.
Juan looked at Wilson, a cold, flat stare that reminded him of fish eyes. “It wasn’t as much fun as I had hoped,” Juan said, pretending to stifle a yawn. He threw his cigarette on the floor next to Sam. “In fact, it was quite boring. She made it too easy for us. She’s a lousy driver.”
Wilson looked down at Sam. He did not like the way her left arm was positioned against her body. “She’s been hurt,” Wilson said. “She needs help.”
Juan looked at Wilson as if to say ‘you should talk,’ and then glanced down at Sam. He casually waved off Wilson’s request for medical attention. He left the room without another word. The twins and Fuzz Face following like obedient children.
Thirty-three
On the drive back to the Perspective, Howard and David spoke little. One’s frustration mirrored the other. They did not know what to do next. “We could call the ERs at Lutheran and Denver Health Medical Center,” David offered. “To see if any car accident victims have been brought in the last few hours.”
Howard took his eyes off the road and glanced briefly at David. “Good idea,” Howard said. “At least that’s a start. If she’s there, we’ll find her. And we could get Sgt. Bud King out of bed, too.”
“I heard Sam talking to some police detective at her desk this afternoon. She stopped by my desk later and said an Amber Alert had been issued for April,” David said.
Howard cast a sideways glance at David. He could see the skepticism in Howard’s demeanor, a carbon copy of his own. “By the time they issued that alert,” Howard said, his eyes shifting from David to the rearview mirror and back to the road before him, “I’m sure they already had April right where they wanted her.” Howard was silent a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t know why Sam waited so long to bring in the authorities.”
“She was instructed in the e-mail not to.”
“Yes, I know, I know,” Howard said, feeling stymied, his face set in frustration. “But after April, the rules of the game changed.”
David drew a deep breath and nodded. They drove in silence, only the sound of wheels turning on the pavement breaking the stillness. It was almost 3:30 a.m. when Howard turned off Sixth
Avenue and began heading north on Wadsworth toward the newspaper. The four-lane busy boulevard was nearly deserted at the late hour. Howard was about to flip on his turn signal for the Perspective parking lot, when David stopped him. “No, Howard! Don’t turn on your signal, just keeping driving to the traffic light!”
“What do you see?” he asked, doing as he was instructed.
“Follow my nod,” David said and nodded at a car waiting at the southbound stoplight on Wadsworth Boulevard. “Look at the damage to the front end of that car up there. On the passenger side, look. The headlight is out.”
Howard looked in that direction and slowed the car and it coasted to the stoplight. The light turned green moments later, but Howard hesitated before going through the intersection. They watched as the shiny black sedan rolled through the light with only its left headlight illuminating the road.
“It’s a Lincoln Town Car,” David said as the car passed along side them. They watched in their respective mirrors as the vehicle continued south on Wadsworth Boulevard and headed for the Sixth Avenue exit ramp. “That’s the shiny black car Sam told me about,” David continued, now looking over his shoulder, watching the sedan with its right turn signal flashing.
“I’ll turn around up here,” Howard said. “We’ll hang back just far enough, and maybe, just maybe, they’ll take us right where we want to go. Hopefully this tuna-boat of a car won’t attract too much attention from our suspects.”
Howard took a right at the first street, passed the intersection and swung the big brown station wagon around. He made a left turn back onto Wadsworth Boulevard. It took just enough time to see the shiny Town Car exit westbound onto Sixth Avenue. Howard and David cast sideway glances to each other and could not help their smiles.
“Come to papa,” David said just as Howard punched the accelerator and the wagon lurched forward, barreling through the intersection.
Thirty-four
“Don’t get too close,” David said, keeping his eyes locked on the Lincoln’s taillights in the distance. Howard nodded casually as he merged the Chrysler wagon into the late-light traffic on Sixth Avenue to maintain a comfortable distance. The number of cars was a blessing and a curse. A blessing that it was easy to see the Town Car a quarter mile away, too few cars, however, made it easier for them to be noticed.
Howard glanced at his watch as his car passed beneath a streetlamp. The silver waterproof Timex with an expandable band that Frances Marino had given him a few Christmases ago showed nearly 4 a.m. “It’ll be daylight in a few hours,” he said.
David nodded and they kept their eyes locked on the black car not too far in front of them. For a time neither spoke. When the Lincoln took the exit that led to Chester Street, David took his eyes off the car and looked over at Howard. His eyebrows had drifted, apparently feeling the same surprise.
“Howard, you don’t suppose…” David’s voice trailed off. He looked at the Town Car signaling to make its turn off the highway and watched as it disappeared, heading down the exit ramp. “That we’re going back toward Chester Street?”
Howard shrugged as he maneuvered the wagon into the right lane and prepared to exit. “There’s no way they’re going back there,” he said.”There’s nothing or no one inside that house. We already know that.”
David nodded lost for a moment in thought as he rubbed a hand over his chin, a scratchy sound from more than a day’s beard growth lightly filled the interior of the car. Howard slowed the Chrysler as he took the exit the Town Car took minutes earlier. They coasted to the stop sign at the corner, lit up with a streetlamp. Here traffic could only proceed left or right, before them was a thicket of bushes and trees. Howard looked left and David right.
“There,” David said and pointed.
Howard looked to his right, catching the last of the Lincoln’s taillights disappearing around the coming corner. “They’ve gotta be going back there, or at least somewhere close by,” David said. The disappointment from when they left the meth house earlier was beginning to lift. This Lincoln Town Car was taking them right to Wilson and Sam and her little girl.
Howard steered the wagon in the direction they last saw the Town Car. “Can’t let them get too far ahead,” he said.
***
The moment Juan and his men left the room, Wilson let go of April and she ran to her mother’s side. Wilson hobbled. April was shaking Sam by the shoulder. She leaned a little closer to her ear. “Mom! Mom! Wake up!”
When Sam didn’t respond, April shook her harder. Wilson lowered himself to the floor and put his hand softly on April’s back. “April,” he spoke lightly, hating that she had to see this. “April, don’t shake her too hard, we don’t know how badly she’s been hurt. Move back a little and let me see if I can get her to open her eyes.”
April scooted away from Sam, giving Wilson more room. He made a quick sweep of Sam’s face and body, remembering Juan’s comment about her driving. He bent down to check her breathing. He felt her warm breath on the side of his face. Relieved, he touched her face lightly, rubbing it softly with the back of his hand. He allowed himself a small smile at finally seeing her again. He had begun to wonder if he ever would. He cleared the matted hair away from her face and lightly scratched off the bit of mud that had dried on her chin. “Sam?” he called lightly.
Nothing. Not a flutter of eye movement. Not a sound from her lips.
He called again and tapped lightly against her cheek, trying to rouse her. He looked at her knee. A small area just above it was, in fact, covered in blood. He guessed her knee was either broken or dislocated. A sudden cramp in his own leg forced him to move quickly against the abruptness of pain. As he moved, he knocked Sam’s left arm with his own, trying to reach his leg to massage the cramp. She cried out, desperately in pain, so loud that her cry made Wilson and April jump. April looked on wide-eyed. Wilson frowned deep in concentration. It was hard to tell with Sam’s bulky sweater, but he suspected from the way her arm was positioned after she was dumped on the floor that it was probably broken.
Sam took a deep shuddering breath and opened her eyes. Immediately her face contorted into a grimace of pain. She blinked once, twice, swallowed hard. “Sam? Can you tell me where it hurts?” Wilson asked, his hand resting lightly on top of her shoulder. She stared up unseeing into the dull-watted bulb, her eyes closing, fluttering open. Another grimace. Trying to process over pain. “Sam! Stay with me! Tell me where it hurts,” Wilson said and he could feel April leaning heavily against his back, resting over the top of his shoulder, watching her mother as he spoke to her.
“M … my … my arms … both of them and … and uh my … my knee … they hurt, I, uh, think they’re bro …” Sam stammered, swallowed hard, trying to say her words again. “I … think they’re, uh, broken.”
“Sam, do you remember what happened?” Wilson continued softly, slowly. “You were in an accident. Do you remember?”
Sam continued to stare at the bare bulb, her mind thick with pain, fuzzy with details. “Yeah, uh, I was driving, Wilson, uh … trying to get away … they were chasing me, trying to … to kill me. I … I came to find you and April, had the address to, uh, the, uh, meth house. Remember?”
“Yes, Sam, I remember.”
“I went there … you … you were gone … but they … they were, uh, there waiting for me.”
“It was a trap, Sam,” Wilson said.
Sam closed her eyes and nodded.
“Do you remember what else happened?” Wilson asked, wanting nothing more than to punish the sons of bitches who had hurt her.
Sam blinked several times, trying to process. “I was ra … I was rammed from behind, uh, a couple of times, I think, but, I can’t … remember now how many times and, uh, I lost control of the car … they, uh, grabbed me and I tried to kick them, but my, uh, knee hurt … then I was pulled through the mud, screaming ’cause uh, they were pulling me by … by my arm and it hurt so much …” Sam’s voice trailed off. A tear escaped and rolled down the s
ide of her face.
April caught sight of the tear. “Mommie,” she cried and dropped to the floor. She managed to stop the tear before it disappeared along the side of Sam’s scalp.
The moment Sam heard April’s voice, her eyes opened wide. For one brief second she forgot her pain, her lips tried to form a smile. “April, sweetie,” Sam said, trying to muster what strength she could to talk. “Sweetie, I’m here … and … I love you so, so much.”
April bent into her mother and Sam kissed her as many times as she could before she pulled away. “Mommie, don’t worry. Don’t worry. K? We’ll help you,” April said and took hold of Sam’s left hand and pulled it toward her, unaware of what it meant to have broken bones. The slight movement sent a shock of pain reeling through her arm. Sam cried out, in so much pain, that her back arched up off the floor. April let go of Sam’s hand, pulled away, startled at her mother’s intense reaction. Sam closed her eyes, lost in an envelope of pain and semi-consciousness.
“I’m sorry, Mommie, I’m sorry.”
Wilson hugged April. “It’s all right, April. Your mother knows you didn’t mean to hurt her.”
Sam’s teeth began to chatter. “It’s s … s … so co … cold in here.”
Her lips were dry and chapped. When she spoke and tried to lick them, Wilson saw that her tongue was coated with a white pasty film. He struggled to his feet and told April to stay near her mother. He hobbled to the door, muttering obscenities under his breath. He started banging on the door as hard as he could. “Hello! Hello! Anybody out there?!” Wilson yelled out as loudly as he could and pounded harder. “Hello! Anybody there? We need some water in here! And some blankets! Hello! We need help!”
***
The Lincoln Town Car did turn onto Chester Street, just as Howard and David had done in the Chrysler not more than an hour ago. They looked at each other, uncertainty building in their eyes.
A few yards from the street corner Howard pulled the wagon to the side of the road out of sight from the Town Car and killed the headlights, then the engine. “Let’s get out and walk to those bushes by that house over there,” Howard said looking over at David. “We’ll be safe under the cover of darkness.”
Revenge is Sweet (A Samantha Church Mystery, Book 2) Page 26