Try Darkness

by James Scott Bell

  It happened exactly that way.

  When he tried to close the door I plowed right into it. Fly landed on his bass.

  I jumped on his chest. He wasn’t that big. I put my hand on his throat.

  “Don’t bother to talk,” I said. “Don’t try to move or to make a noise, because if you do I will surely make you sorry.”

  I waited until I saw the fearful understanding in his eyes. It was instantaneous, and the rage and fire inside me made my body hot.

  “I know you did it,” I said. “I know you have her. I know it was your voice on the phone. You don’t need to know how I know, but I do. You’re going to tell me exactly where she is. Am I getting through to you? Oh, before you answer, I’m packing a neat little stun gun, and I won’t stop, even if you scream ‘Don’t tase me, bro.’”

  I slowly let the pressure off his throat.

  “Where is she?” I asked again.

  Fly said, “She’s close by. Back in the hills.”

  “How many watching her?”

  “Just one.”

  “How much is he getting?”

  “Fifty thousand.”

  “You, too?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And the five million? Who’s getting that?”

  “Look, man, I’ll go away. I’ll go to Mexico. You won’t get any trouble from me. I’ll give you the girl if you let me get out of this place.”

  “Who hired you?”

  “Come on—”

  I put my hand back on his throat and made his eyes bug out. His face turned a bright shade of pink before I let it off again. He coughed a couple of times.

  “You’re a lawyer!” he said. “You can’t do this.”

  “We can go all night.”

  “Wait, wait.” He coughed again. “I don’t know who, man. I’ll give you the girl and I get out.”

  “That’s your deal?”

  “That seems fair.”

  “Fly, who’s on top of you right now?”

  “You, man.”

  “You’re not in a good bargaining position. Now, you get me the girl. How’s it supposed to go? You call when the transfer’s been made?”

  “Yeah. I’m supposed to call and he brings the girl to me. I bring her to you alone.”

  I thought about all this.

  “Can I get up?” Fly said.

  “No,” I said. “You have a piece?”

  “No, man.”

  Hand back on throat. Big fly eyes. “I’m going to knock you right out and search the place,” I said. “And I find out you’re lying to me . . .”

  I let the pressure off.

  “Okay . . . the bedroom,” he said.

  I controlled him with an old-fashioned arm bend behind his back. He had a shotgun under his bed. Double-barreled, sawed-off, break action. Mean. I hadn’t fired a shotgun since my dad took me shooting as a kid. I forced Fly to the floor, facedown. I cracked the gun. It had two cartridges. I took them out, shook them the way Steve McQueen does in The Magnificent Seven, put them back in and closed the gun.

  “Fat lot of good living with nuns did you,” Fly said.

  “Here’s what I want you to do,” I said. “You’re going to make the call that the transfer’s done, and take delivery of the girl. You’re going to have her brought right here and dropped off. I am going to listen to every word you say and watch every move you make, and if anything goes wrong I’m going to blow you and your friend away.”

  “What about our deal?”

  “Time to make the call. Do not let your voice shake. Do not say anything that would put the girl in any danger.”

  “Nobody wants to kill her, dude.”

  “And don’t call me Dude. Not while I’m holding this gun.”

  150

  HE MADE THE call. His voice did not shake. It was an amazing show of vocal control. Like in his glory days.

  And so we waited.

  I had Fly sitting in a beanbag chair in front of me. I held the gun on him. Just so it would be a reminder.

  “Now it’s time for you to give up the boss,” I said. “Who was it?”

  “And I walk out of here?”

  “It’s your one chance, let’s put it that way.”

  “Man, you got no idea what I been through. What they call music now? The whole rap thing? The whole airhead-blonde-with-the-nasal-drip-voice thing? The music died, man, like ‘American Pie’ said. Trash bands, grunge. It’s all nothing. So don’t sit there and judge me. A man’s got to do what he’s got to do.”

  “That’s some philosophy of life you got there.”

  “And what about you? Sitting here with a gun. How did you get so low?”

  “I’m tired of people close to me getting hurt.”

  “Happens all the time, man.”

  “Talk to me, Fly. Time’s wasting. Who hired you?”

  “I don’t know the dude’s name.”

  “Fly . . .”

  “I’m being straight with you. There was a middle guy. I never saw number one.”

  “You ever see this middle guy?”

  “Once. But it was dark.”

  “Where?”

  “Malibu Canyon. Little side road up in the hills. It was like Deliverance, man. I thought there was banjos playin’. I hate banjos.”

  “What did the guy look like?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You didn’t get a look at his face?”

  “He didn’t want me to.”

  I shook my head and waved the sawed-off his way.

  “I’m tellin’ you the truth, man!” Fly said.

  “When the car comes up,” I said, “you stand at the door. You don’t open the screen door. You tell them to leave the girl at the steps and get in the car and drive away. If you don’t, you will be the first to go and then I’ll take care of the other guy.”

  “What about the girl? She might get it, too. You ever think about that?”

  “That’s all I’m thinking about.”

  I heard a car driving up, coming to a stop on the gravel outside.

  “This is your moment, Fly. A chance to redeem yourself. Don’t blow it.”

  He got up and flipped his braids behind him.

  151

  FOOTSTEPS APPROACHED, THEN came up the wooden stairs. A knock.

  Fly opened the door, keeping the screen closed. I stood off to the side, by the closed, shaded window, ready with the gun.

  “Here we are,” a voice said.

  “Where is she?” Fly said.

  “In the car. She’s okay. Crying a little. She wants to go home, I told her that’s where we were takin’ her. I want to get out of here. You got a beer?”

  “No. Let’s get—”

  The guy outside pushed his way in. “Come on, man, you always got beer.”

  He was twice the size of Fly. A denim-jacketed behemoth with a misshapen head. It looked like one side had been kicked in. Or he was in a serious accident without a helmet.

  There was nowhere for me to go. Nowhere to hide in the little home. The behemoth was all the way in when he saw me.

  “Who . . . ?” He focused on the shotgun I was holding.

  “On your face,” I said.

  He didn’t move. Not a twitch.

  “Better,” Fly said. “Dude’s crazy.”

  “Don’t call me ‘Dude,’” I said. “I really can’t stand that.”

  A long moment passed as the big guy stared me down. His lizard eyes were cold, almost lifeless.

  Then he said, “This guy’s not gonna shoot anybody.”

  “Down,” I said. “Now.”

  The behemoth said, “Look at him, Fly. This guy’s not hard-core.”

  “Try me,” I said.

  He didn’t move.

  “Now!” I put the gun butt to my shoulder. I could feel the wet on my right wrist and palm. I finally knew what they meant by “itchy trigger finger.” I was this close to letting them have it anyway, for what they’d done, for who they were. Whatever held me b
ack was thin. But it worked.

  “It’s okay,” Fly said. “All he wants is the girl.”

  “Last time I ask,” I said. “Or I will put a hole in your mad and furious master.”

  “What is he talkin’ about?” the behemoth said.

  I yelled a word they’d both understand and pointed the rifle below the belt.

  The two of them slowly got to their knees and spread out on the floor, facedown.

  And then a visitor showed up.

  152

  “WHAT IS GOING on here?” I recognized the high whine of the security guard. He was outside the door, where he could only see the two on the floor.

  “Petey!” Fly said. “Help!”

  The guard stepped through the door. He was holding a big flashlight. He started to say something, then saw me. And the gun.

  “Don’t move, Petey,” I said.

  “He’s crazy!” Fly said.

  “Easy, Petey.” I could hardly believe I said that. I actually felt sorry for the kid. He looked completely out of his element. As I was.

  “Put the flashlight down,” I said.

  Petey hesitated.

  “Now,” I said.

  He put it on the ground.

  “Now kick it toward me,” I said.

  Petey did like I asked him. “Please, sir, don’t shoot anybody.”

  “Listen carefully, Petey. The car in front, look inside. There’s a little girl in there. She’s a kidnap victim. By these two.”

  “Don’t listen to him!” Fly yelled.

  “Go look, Petey,” I said. “I’ll be right here. You’re about to become a hero.”

  “I know who you are,” the behemoth said, but I wasn’t sure who he was talking to.

  “Go now!” I yelled, and Petey moved. I took a couple of steps so I could see out the open door. Petey looked through the window of an SUV. He turned around.

  “She’s tied up,” he said.

  “Come here, Petey,” I said.

  “You tied her up?” Fly said to his companion.

  “Shut up,” Behemoth said.

  “Both of you shut up,” I said. To Petey I said, “Call the sheriff. Now.”

  That seemed like a good idea to the security guard. He made the call on his cell and that seemed to generate, finally, a little good faith.

  “They’re on the way,” he said.

  I handed Petey the shotgun. “If either one of them makes a move, shoot to wound.”

  “Where you going?”

  “There’s a scared little girl,” I said. “She comes first.”

  “Petey!” Fly screamed. “Shoot him!”

  I walked to the SUV.

  “Maybe you should stay,” Petey said.

  “No,” I said.

  Fly screamed at me. “We had a deal!”

  To Petey I said, “Tell him that a verbal contract isn’t worth the paper it’s written on.”

  “Petey!” Fly yelled.

  “Now, you just be quiet,” Petey ordered, and I knew all was well. A boy becomes a man.

  153

  THE DRIVER’S-SIDE DOOR of the SUV was unlocked. I hit the unlock button. Kylie was in the backseat, hands tied in front of her, gagged with a scarf. She’d been crying, and her nose was stuffy. She could barely breathe. I took off the scarf and untied her hands.

  The second I did, she threw herself to me and wrapped her arms around my neck. And started crying big-time.

  “I’m here now,” I said. “I’m not going to leave you.”

  I carried her all the way down the drive and back up toward where I’d parked the Taurus.

  Kylie stuck to me.

  “Did they hurt you?” I said.

  “When he tied me. I was scared.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I have a tummy ache.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “He gave me tacos.”

  “The big guy?”

  “He said I was going to be okay, but I was still scared.”

  “You don’t have to be scared now. You’re all right.”

  “I told him he was going to get in trouble,” Kylie said. “But he didn’t listen.”

  “He’s listening now, sweetheart. He’s going to get in big trouble. We’ll make sure, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  154

  I CALLED SISTER Mary and told her I had Kylie and that she was all right. She and Father Bob were waiting for us in the parking lot when we pulled in.

  Kylie gave them both hugs, then Sister Mary took her to get her cleaned up and to a warm bed.

  “What happened?” Father Bob asked.

  “Some other time,” I said. “I feel like I need to sleep. Say some sort of prayer to the saint of sleep, if there is one.”

  “How about I skip that and go directly to the Father?”

  “You’re the priest.”

  155

  MY SLEEP WAS cracked by a call from Deputy Sheriff Mike Browne. It was a strained, law enforcement tone. He requested the pleasure of my company at the station. I told him the pleasure would be all mine.

  And it would be, because two bad guys had been caught. Kylie was safe. A few items were still outstanding, like who killed her mother and who was behind the nab, but for now I was counting it as the start of a good day.

  Always a dangerous thing.

  I got to the Malibu/Lost Hills station a little after ten. Browne was waiting for me. This time I got to sit in his office.

  He sat behind his desk. I sat in a leather chair in front of his desk. He folded his hands and said, “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

  A little clipped. “Didn’t you get the statement from the security guard?”

  “Do you mean the security guard who is now in the hospital?”

  “What?”

  “That’s right. When my deputy got to the trailer park he found one Peter Burnett bloody and unconscious. When Burnett was able to speak to us in the hospital, early this morning, he mentioned your name. That’s why it might be good for us to talk.”

  “Where are the guys he was holding?”

  “Nobody knows. Maybe you do.”

  “Why would I know that?” I stood up. “When I left last night the guard had a sawed-off shotgun in his hands and two suspects on the floor. How did they get away from him?”

  “I haven’t determined that yet. Burnett is not doing so well.”

  “Did he tell you anything at all?”

  “He mentioned something about a little girl.”

  “Yeah. A kidnap victim. The guy whose mobile home I left last night was in on it. And now the girl is safe.”

  “Do you want to explain a little bit about why you broke into this mobile home? Was there some sort of probable cause?”

  “Wait a minute. Are you leveling some accusations at me?”

  “I’m just trying to determine what happened.”

  “When Mr. Burnett is able to talk, he’ll tell you. Right now you need to get people out looking for Mr. Fly Charles, the tenant in that mobile home. And a very large man who was with him. These are dangerous people.”

  “Can I talk to the girl? Who is she?”

  “She is six years old and she’s been through hell. I will arrange for her to talk to you later. But right now I’ll give you a description of the two suspects so you can hop over this.”

  “That’ll be very helpful, Mr. Buchanan.”

  156

  I TRY TO be helpful. That’s why I stopped off at the little hospital where Burnett had been taken.

  I checked in at the front desk, where an old gentleman asked who I was. I said I was Peter Burnett’s lawyer. That seemed to me the shortest distance between two points. The old gentleman must have agreed. He issued me a visitor’s pass and gave me the room number.

  Burnett didn’t look good. He had gauze around the top of his head and his face was puffy and black and blue. It probably didn’t do him much good when I walked up and he saw me. He grimaced.

 
; “How you doing?” I said.

  “Why are you here?” The high voice was even higher.

  “I sort of feel responsible that I got you into this.”

  He rolled his head a little back and forth. “I just messed up.”

  “No, I did. I should have stayed with you. I was concerned about the girl. What happened?”

  “The big one, he tackled me. I was afraid to shoot. That’s all I remember. I woke up in here.”

  “I’m really sorry, Pete.”

  “Were they really kidnappers?”

  “Yes, they were. I gave it all to the deputy sheriff. The girl will back everything up.”

  “Did they catch ’em?”

  “Not yet.”

  He groaned.

  “But listen,” I said. “The girl is safe. You made that happen.”

  He stopped groaning and looked at me hopefully.

  “That’s right,” I said. “Now is there anything you need?”

  “A new face, probably.”

  “I’ll stop at the gift shop.”

  A weak smile. Then: “You didn’t have to come here.”

  “And you didn’t have to believe me last night. But you did. I’m going to make sure your bosses know you went the extra mile.”

  157

  A LOT OF people were going the extra mile for me. Father Bob and Sister Mary. McNitt. Even Brosia.

  Who I called on my way back to the Valley.

  “I’ve been holding out on you,” I said.

  “I had that feeling for quite a while,” Brosia said.

  “Would it help to know that I’ve had a few things to take care of lately? Like, I’ve got a client who is facing a capital murder charge and I’m taking care of a little girl who was kidnapped.”

  Pause. “Are you talking about Kylie?”

  I gave him the story, up to poor Petey in the hospital.

  Brosia whistled when I finished. “So this guy Fly and the other one, they’re gone?”

  “I suggest you contact to Browne out at Malibu. You need to talk to this guy.”

  “I’d love to.”