by TL Gehr
He cuts me off. “None of this is your fault, okay? I know you’re going to blame yourself, but it’s what we discussed on the High Line, you remember? This is Boyfriend Philip. I’m telling you.” He swallows. Why would he say that? I know it’s not my fault. “That day in my office, what you said, you were right, but I never got a chance to… are you listening?” He’s talking rapidly, there’s desperation in his voice. “Chase’s birthday… I wanted to kiss you so badly that night, sorry we couldn’t talk.” I have no idea what he’s on about, like a series of confessions that I can’t keep up with.
“Philip, stop, it’s okay,” I’m kneeling next to the phone. “You’re going to be okay.”
“They’re serious,” he says and I can hear the fear in his voice.
“Do they have any weapons?” the gray man asks.
“Yes.” His breath crackles on the line. “Brian, you were right, you can’t do this alone. I’m—”
I shake my head. “Philip, don’t you dare apologize for anything right now.”
“—sorry. I always ask too much.”
“What? No. That’s bullshit. You never ask for anything.”
“There’s a green light,” he says. Then he yelps.
“Philip? Philip! It’s going to be okay! I love you!”
“You have until five,” the computerized voice says. “A cool two mil, or you’re going to start getting body parts by FedEx.” The line goes dead.
Philip’s mom falls into a chair with her face buried in her hands.
“Well that was a disaster!” Philip’s father throws his arms up.
“Why won’t you pay for him?” I’m a marionette without strings, my limbs are numb and useless. All the times I wanted to tell Philip how I felt and it comes out like this, when it might be too late. I hug myself. “You’re billionaires, the money’s nothing to you. Just pay.”
“Of course you want us to pay the money! You’re—” his father starts.
“It’s not that simple.” Mrs. Arrigo’s voice is soft, almost human, and it shuts her husband up immediately. “If we agree to two million, they’ll press for more. If it gets out we paid more, he’ll never be safe again. They won’t kill him. We have to believe that.”
The gray man nods. “In ninety percent of these cases, we negotiate the kidnappers down to a more reasonable amount. If their motive is money, they’ll settle for enough to cover their expenses. The important thing is that they don’t turn enough of a profit for anyone else to try the same.”
“Ninety percent?” I ask numbly. How can he talk odds when this is Philip’s life on the line?
He flips a page in his notebook. “The probability of survival decreases if the victim tries to escape or, obviously, if there’s some sort of personal vendetta. Did your son have any enemies?”
“Does,” I correct him. “Does. Philip is alive, and yes, his jealous ex.”
Philip’s dad swears under his breath and points to me again. “Don’t you dare try to… you… you… Delilah.”
I can’t help but stare at him then. His face is so red it looks like he’s about to explode and… tears are trickling down his cheeks. He’s not just an asshole, he’s terrified. I look between Philip’s parents. They’re both scared out of their wits. His mom, the woman of steel, is curled forward, resting her elbow on her knee, still hiding her face.
“Chase wouldn’t do something like this,” she says. I’m about to argue, and then she adds, “he doesn’t have the spine for it.”
“What did he mean this isn’t your fault?” his father asks me. “What are you hiding from us?”
I manage to get to my feet, though my knees are still wobbly. “I don’t know why he said that. I was meant to meet him at Penn Station at two-thirty and he never showed and apparently he never made it in to work today.”
His mother lifts her head and Philip’s blue eyes stare up at me with that little frown mark between the eyebrows. “You two were going somewhere?”
Something clicks in my head. She’s afraid of losing him, not just to kidnappers, but to me. Philips father’s actions towards me likewise reframe themselves. It’s not because I’m trash, which to them I clearly am, it’s also because I’m the person Philip tells the truth. I’m the person he lets behind that cool exterior. I’m the one person he wanted to speak to on the phone. He didn’t say a word to them, even though he knew they were right here.
I shake my head. “I was leaving, like I said I would.” I touch my chest, the rib that’s now more painful than it’s been in weeks after all the running with my bag on my shoulders. “Philp gave me full security clearance. If I was here for money I could have taken it and run. Yes, I have a criminal record. I shoplifted to feed my habit. I was caught and I did time, but I would never hurt Philip. Please believe me. Whatever else you might think of me. I don’t know why he said I’d blame myself for this.”
It doesn’t make sense. Nothing he said makes sense.
“Get out,” Philip’s father says.
My insides squeeze tight. “No, please…” I need to be here, I need to know what’s happening, I need to know if Philip is still in one piece.
He takes me by the shoulder and marches me to the door of the study.
“Don’t, please don’t. I won’t say anything, I’ll be quiet, please… please don’t.” I try to scramble away from him, back into the room, but his grip is too tight. He’s strong like Philip.
He shoves me against the far wall of the passage and gets right up in my face. “Philip is my son.” His eyes are still red-rimmed. “He’s my boy and I don’t know what spell you’ve put on him, but you are done! And you can tell your friends they’re getting nothing from us.”
There are no words I can say to him now that will change his mind, he’s not rational. Still, I whisper, “He said they were serious. They have weapons. Please pay the money.”
His fist flies towards my head and lands on the wallpaper by my ear with a loud thud. He heads back into the study and slams the door, leaving me a quaking sobbing mess.
42
Brian
I sit outside the door, curled up in myself, ears straining for any development. You’re going to start getting body parts by FedEx.
I hiccup and bite down my tears. The phone finally rings again. I hear the gray man speaking calmly. It’s clear that he’s saying no. Over and over again, the computerized voice makes its demands and the gray man says no. He tries to engage the computer voice in conversation, and the computer voice shoots him down. I hear odd words like “disposable” and “locations”. Then, the worst sound of all, Philip crying out.
I’m on my feet instantly. What was that? Did they cut off his thumb? His hand? I press myself to the door, breathing rapidly, desperate to hear what’s said next. The voice repeats the deadline.
A pause, and then more discussion. Philip’s father’s voice rumbles, his mother’s voice pitches upwards, the gray man remains calm.
They’re not going to pay. I know it. And Philip knew it too. He tried to tell us where he was. He knows he’s in real danger. So why did he waste so much time apologizing and speaking nonsense when he could have been… He could have been giving us clues.
Not us, me.
He could have been giving me clues.
What exactly did he say? I pace the passage. Think, Brian. Why is it so difficult to hold it all in my head at once? One sentence at a time, then.
He said I was going to blame myself. What would I blame myself for? Drugs. Him getting tangled up in drugs. That can’t be it. I try to think what he said next. He said it’s what we discussed on the High Line. What did we discuss on the High Line?
He told me he wanted to keep seeing me. We spoke about Chase using him as a retirement policy, maybe that’s it? Maybe he was trying to say Chase was ransoming him?
That day in my office, what you said, you were right, but I never got a chance to…
What I said in his office? Did I ever mention Chase in his office? I t
hink I did, after the desk sex. I think I said that Chase was talking bullshit about Philip not being a good lover. That can’t be it, can it? He’s frightened and confused—it’s understandable that he’d misremember. He also said that the party was Chase’s birthday, but it wasn’t, it was a Fashion Week thing. If it was his birthday, the magazines would have said so. He wanted to kiss me? He did kiss me that night. More than that. And what does he mean that we couldn’t talk? We did talk.
As much as I’d like to believe Chase was the kidnapper, I can’t picture him allowing Philip to say all that soppy stuff to me. I’m missing parts of Philip’s message and I tear at my hair hard enough to hurt.
Sorry we couldn’t talk…
When couldn’t we talk?
In his office. That day, in his office. When I wanted to tell him about catching Mom using. That’s the day we couldn’t talk because he had the test.
My heart rockets in my chest.
I also told him about Mom being an addict on the High Line.
This is Boyfriend Philip. I’m telling you.
That’s an echo of what I said then. I said: I told Boyfriend Philip. Not Boss Philip.
I stop pacing.
It’s what we discussed on the High Line, you remember? This is Boyfriend Philip. I’m telling you.
My mom. It’s her. That has to be what he’s saying. My head is starting to ache. He knows that if my mom hurt him, I would blame myself.
I don’t think. I pull out my phone and tell Siri, “Call Malena.”
I have no idea what I’ll say until she answers, and when she does I’m already in the stairwell, on the way down to the entrance.
“Hey, kid. Was wondering when you’d call.”
My heart clenches. “I know you have him.”
Maybe I should play my cards closer to my chest. It’s far too easy for her to deny it.
“Here’s something I’ve been wondering. The boys and I made a wager. Who loves him more, his parents or you?”
Time stops. The moment hangs in the air.
“Don’t bother trying to find me,” she says. “I’m not with your boyfriend right now and if anything happens to me… well, I’ll leave it to your imagination.”
My hands are shaking so hard I battle to hold onto the phone. “Tell me what to do.”
“Same deal. Two mil.”
It really is her. Acid swirls in my belly. “Don’t hurt him,” my voice is little more than a whimper. “I don’t have that kind of money. Please, don’t hurt him.”
I’ve already lost. You’re supposed to start negotiations from a strong position, but she has my world in her hands and she knows it.
“Time’s a ticking, Sweet Cheeks. I suggest you make a plan.”
“How will I know where to find you?”
“I’ll call you at five.” The line goes dead.
I gasp and shiver, hugging the phone to me. He said I shouldn’t blame myself, but how can I not when she’s my family? When I knew she was likely dangerous and instead of doing anything to prove it, I spent a month lazing around Philip’s mansion? How could I not blame myself for being the worst person to be in this position? I’m poor, I’m weak, I’m terrified. Not to mention my broken brain. It’s a wonder I even got this far with his clues.
You can’t do this alone. I’m sorry. I always ask too much.
He realized it too. At the end of the conversation, after giving me all the clues, he realized I couldn’t save him. I’m frozen with fear. It must be nearly 3:30. That’s not enough time. Even if there was a way for me to get money.
The door on the landing above me opens. I jump. Emma sticks her head out. “Brian! You’re still here?”
“I know who has him.” My voice is thick with fresh unshed tears. I’m so frightened I can’t even cry. “But if anyone comes for her, she’s going to kill him.”
Emma pauses on the way down to me, her pretty eyes stretched wide. “Give me a name. I’ll tell the police.”
I shake my head. I can’t risk it, I can’t risk putting Philip in more danger.
She takes another step towards me. “Mister Whiley will know how to handle this. I’ll give him the name. He’ll work something out.”
I shake my head and press my lips together. Mister Whiley, the gray man with his 90 percent success rate. “I need money. I want to pay the ransom. Can you get money?” I realize as I say it how it sounds. It sounds like Philip’s father was right about me. “Of course you can’t. Sorry.”
She pulls me into a hug and I practically collapse against her. “I can’t save him.” His life is in danger, I know who’s threatening him and I can’t save him.
“Is this what Philip meant about you blaming yourself?” Emma asks.
I shrug.
“He said a lot of things, is that how you know who has him?”
Her hair smells like roses and it makes my heart ache even worse. “Yeah.”
I try to concentrate on what he said, try to figure out what else he might have tried to tell me.
That day in my office, what you said, you were right.
What I said. Not what I wanted to say. What I said. I cast my mind back, trying to recall all the conversations we had there, anything I could have been right about. But I never got a chance to…
You’re probably right. But for now I’ll enjoy the privacy.
The cameras. The cameras in his office at The Spindle. A shiver races down my spine. The office with the safe. I pull away from Emma. “I think he was asking me to rescue him. I think he was telling me how.”
He was reminding me there aren’t cameras in his office. He reminded me of the night we couldn’t talk, the night I saw him enter the code in the safe. He’s telling me to steal from The Spindle.
Emma grabs my arm. “Brian, it’s too dangerous. Let me tell the police, let’s put together a plan.”
There’s not enough time. “Go to Philip’s room. On the iPad, you’ll find an app that can track the location of any of his devices. Including this one.” I show her my phone. “She said she’d call me at five to tell me where to go with the money.”
Emma nods, understanding immediately. “What should I tell the Arrigos?”
“I’ll hide my phone with the money.” There’s a place in my backpack where the lining has come loose. I’ll put it in there. “It should lead them right to the kidnappers, but only tell them after five, okay? I don’t want the kidnappers to panic and hurt him.
She squeezes my arm. “I can’t get you money but I think I can help.”
She leads me downstairs, down into the basement. She walks up to security, cool as a cucumber. “Mister Arrigo has requested the BMW for Mister Rose’s use today.”
I admire how steady she keeps her voice. She holds up my hand for them to scan me. Full security clearance. When they pass her the keys, she presses them into my palm. “You know how to drive, right?”
I nod. I don’t when I can avoid it and I’ve never driven in the city, but now’s not the time for that kind of anxiety. There’s no room for it in my heart. “Why do you trust me? The Arrigos don’t. They think I’m working with the kidnappers or at the very least that I’m… how do you know I’m not going to take this car and just keep driving?”
She pats my cheek. “Because a con artist wouldn’t still be wearing that.” Her mouth twitches. I’m in my raggedy old black t-shirt and torn jeans. I admire her ability to see humor. I certainly can’t. “If you’re faking right now,” she adds, “you deserve everything you get for a stellar performance. Go on.”
Time’s a ticking, Sweet Cheeks.
There’s nowhere to park near The Spindle and even if there was, I haven’t been able to parallel park since my test, so I ramp up onto the sidewalk at the corner of Hanover and Pearl, scattering bankers.
It’s that time of day when the last of the lunch tables are finishing up and things are usually quiet. Maxine is at the bar and I barely look at her as I say, “Philip left something in his office, I’m just fetch
ing it for him.”
If I look at her, I’m worried I’ll break down again. I’m becoming everything she thought I was. I’m a lying thief.
I shut the door behind me and face down the safe. Now I’m here, I freeze up. I saw Philip punching in the code. He knows I saw it. I close my eyes and try to picture his hand moving on the keypad. It was too long ago. How could he think I’d remember that when he knew I couldn’t even work the register? That’s not like him, to forget like that. But he was scared. That’s if he even meant I should come here at all.
Hopelessness threatens to overwhelm me. What am I doing?
Focus. Philip asked you to save him. You can’t let him down.
I run through what he said again. Already the sentences are fragmenting. That day in my office…you were right, but I never got a chance to… are you listening? Chase’s birthday.
The breath puffs out of my lungs as realization hits. Chase’s birthday. It wasn’t a reference to the party at all. He only said the thing about kissing to throw the kidnappers off because it was another clue.
I pull out the phone again and I’m relieved to see the battery is still strong. If this was my old phone, it would already be screaming for juice. I Google “Chase Shaw birthday” and it immediately comes up in a little white box at the top of the page along with a note that he is 26 years old. No wonder he was so keen to get Philip back. Even I know that most supermodels age out before they hit the big three-oh.
I ignore the twinge in my chest as I punch Philip’s ex’s birthday into the keypad. The safe springs open and I’m flooded with relief, not only at the piles of bills but at the assurance that I was right about Philip’s clues and about what he wants me to do.
I pile the money into my backpack—the original contents of which are now scattered on the floor of the BMW. I don’t bother trying to count it. I know I’ll just mess that up, and I know that there’s no way there will be two million anyway. But that Mister Whiley said that he usually managed to negotiate kidnappers down, so I have to believe that this small something will be better than nothing. My heart’s a drumbeat, I’m tuned in to every sound, so when the door opens I nearly shoot out of my skin.