by J. D. Webb
“Heather, sometimes you drive me up the wall.”
“Oh, you’re just trying to give me a compliment. Coffee’s in the third cabinet to the right, over the sink.”
One hour from the first call Trish’s ring tone sounded.
“You got it?”
Heather came over and leaned in to hear the conversation. “We got it. What now?”
“I want it and any copies you’ve made. Don’t mess with me. I know you have copies.”
Trish held the phone to her chest. “Again, let’s just give him what he wants.”
Heather whispered. “What happens when we hand him the drives? He’s not going to let us go? We’ve been over this. Wake up, Trish! He wants us dead.”
“I can hear what you’re saying.” That voice burrowed into Trish’s head again. “I just want those files back. You won’t be harmed. You haven’t seen me so why would I kill you? I get paid for a job and this one is only to retrieve information. Now be a good girl and tell me what it is. A disk or a drive?”
A glimmer of a plan took shape in Trish’s head. Why not give him only one drive and hold onto the other? Then they could turn it over to the cops, who could use it to catch this guy.
“It’s a disk drive. One of those flash things.” Trish noticed Heather had returned to her computer and was typing on the keyboard.
“Here’s what you do. Take it to the post office and put it in box one oh five. The door will be open. You won’t be harmed.” He chuckled. “We can part friends.”
“Friends, my ass. Let’s just get it done.”
The voice’s tone stiffened noticeably. “I know the Feds have been there. They left a man outside. You’ll have to ditch him. Be there in ten minutes.” The phone went dead. Trish glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. Just after 9:30.
Heather reached behind her computer and pulled out a flash drive. She sat at her desk and worked for a couple of minutes with her back to Trish. Then she got up, walked over, and asked, “So what did the guy say?”
“We’re to leave the flash drives at the post office. I’m leaving just one and not telling him about the other one.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Heather held up two gold chains. Dangling from each were three black flash drives. “I made copies of both.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
The Millvale post office occupied a downtown corner lot with three parking spaces for customers. Trish finally convinced Heather that only one of them needed to make the delivery. Heather wanted to go fully armed, but Trish explained that the FBI might shoot her in the confusion.
The post office was only four minutes from Heather’s apartment. The grizzled postmaster stopped sweeping the floor behind the counter when Trish entered. He looked at her over half glasses perched on the end of a bulbous nose. “What can I do fer ya, Mrs. Morgan?”
“Nothing, thanks. I’m just going to the mail slots.”
“Shucks, haven’t had a customer for at least two hours. I’m afraid I’ll sweep the last of this old linoleum away if someone doesn’t come in.” He held the broom upright in front of him with both hands and grinned. “When nobody’s here, me and Mrs. Broomster do some dancin’.” He did a pirouette around the broom and chuckled.
“You make a charming couple, Mr. Warren.” Trish forced a grin and checked her watch. Only two minutes to find No. 105. She waved at the old man and hurried around the corner to the bank of mailboxes.
As she was told, 105 was empty and open. She glanced around. The hallway was small and well lit and she was alone. Trish placed four flash drives in the box and closed the door. She wanted to run all the way back to Heather’s, but she mustered up the strength to walk back, albeit quickly.
Well, let’s hope that is over with. Maybe I can begin to put my life back together. Oh, my gosh, I haven’t called Jim’s mom about the funeral arrangements. She’ll be furious at having to make plans at the last minute.
Trish was just disconnecting from alerting her mother-in-law that the funeral was two days away when she approached Heather’s place. She pushed open the door and heard a groan.
“Heather?” The living room was empty. She thought she heard Heather moving around in another part of the apartment. I hope I’m not interrupting her and Max. “You there?” She tiptoed down the hall toward Heather’s bedroom.
As she opened the door, she was grabbed around the neck and thrown into the bedroom. She stumbled onto the bed and rolled into Heather. Heather’s hands were tied, her mouth was duct-taped. Her eyes were wild and full of fire.
Trish flipped around and stared into a pistol.
To her astonishment, the face behind the gun was familiar.
“Mr. Davis?” She asked in disbelief.
He was still in his mailman uniform, but the gun was not standard mailman issue. “Yep. It’s me. I’m sorry for this mess, Mrs. Morgan. My cover is blown anyway, so I have to move again. A handicap in my line of work.”
“You’re the killer?”
He laughed. “I prefer professional hit man. Sounds more civilized, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t think.” Trish moved to the end of the bed.
Davis wiggled the pistol at her. “Uh-uh. Stay right there. I’m afraid I must truss you up just like your friend. Turn over please and put your hands behind your back.”
“What do you intend to do with us? You aren’t going to get away. The FBI is here. If you shoot, they’ll hear.”
Davis sidled up next to the window and eased the shade open. “Huh, just like I thought. The Fed left when he saw you go the post office. I just need to get my information and I’ll be going. Now do as I say. Turn over.”
Ten minutes later Trish lay beside Heather on the bed with hands and feet bound.
Davis hurried off to the living room. Trish heard him working the keyboard. She jiggled and with effort turned to face Heather.
Once again she flipped over and scooted to the top of the bed. She wriggled and was able to get a grip on the tape over Heather’s mouth with her teeth. Pulling hard, she lost her grip. But with three more attempts, it was off.
Heather spat and inhaled deeply. “Where’s my gun?” she hissed. “I’m gonna blast that sucker to smithereens.”
Trish wildly shook her body, trying to draw Heather’s attention toward her gag. Finally the message got through and she was again breathing normally.
“Quiet,” she whispered. “Can you get my hands?”
“I think so.”
“Not a good idea, ladies.”
At the sound of Davis’ voice Trish wanted to cry. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “That tape won’t come off so easy.” He lifted each woman up to a sitting position. “Now, I’m going to remove the tape from your feet so you can walk. Please pay attention. If you want to stay alive, you’ll do as I say. No questions. I’m not a patient man. Agreed?”
Both women nodded.
He pulled a large knife from his pants and cut the tape holding their legs. Blood rushed back to her ankles. Spikes of pain shot through as the circulation restarted. God, please don’t let him kill us. This can’t be happening. The mailman, for heaven’s sake.
Davis stood up and stepped back. “You ladies are my insurance in case my plan falls short. Believe me you’re in good hands.” He laughed loudly. “I like that. You’re in good hands. Insurance.” Davis slapped his knee. “Sometimes I’m hilarious. Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. I have a limo waiting. Actually, it really is a limo. I borrowed it so we could have some privacy.”
Heather cleared her throat. “You are insane. You don’t know you’re just minutes from death, do you?”
“Who’s doing the dirty deed?”
“The Feds are not far from here. They know where we are. Got news for you, bud, the Cavalry’s on its way.”
“Now that’s funny. They haven’t a clue. Anyway, we’ll be out of here in minutes.” He held up his hand. The other four drives swayed from gold chains. “I got what I came f
or. Oh, by the way, Heather. That file you made for the FBI—I erased it. Nice try. So, shall we go?”
Davis looked left and right and directed them out the side door and down the steps. As he’d said, a black limo sat in the alley behind the building next door. He pointed to the car. “Hurry up.” He herded them to the rear door; they awkwardly climbed inside. Closing the door, he got into the driver’s seat and tucked his mop of red hair under a chauffeur’s cap. He touched the top of the hat. “Makes it official. Enjoy the ride.”
He steered the limo onto the street and inserted a Metallica CD into the player. He turned up the sound so loud Trish’s ears hurt. She unsuccessfully tried to move her hands into a more comfortable position. Her arms ached from being tied behind her. Heather looked stunned as well as mad. That’s a duh. Me, too. She peered out of the tinted windows and was shocked to see they were driving right past the post office.
Cheever sat in an unmarked car with a phone to his left ear, his other hand covering the right ear. He looked annoyed as the noisy limo inched past. Several agents paced in front of Cheever’s car. The postmaster stood outside the door, looking amused at the commotion. Cheever was not amused and was yelling into the phone. Bob Jenkins stood off to one side, with arms crossed and a frown on his face. The men disappeared from sight. Trish wondered if she’d ever see Bob again. For that matter, would she ever see anyone again?
TWENTY-NINE
Trish’s childhood fantasy of her first limo ride had included a bouquet and front-row concert tickets. Yet here she sat trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, struggling to stay upright with hands uncomfortably duct-taped behind her back. Heather no longer muttered curses at Davis. She had settled into the corner of the back seat and was forcing her hands in front by scrunching up and pulling them under her long legs. Heather inched them up to her calves. Her head now rested on her knees. Her breath came in short bursts. “Shit! I can’t get them any farther. I think I wrenched my back. I’m going to beat the snot out of that sucker when I get free.”
Trish couldn’t imagine how she was going to do that. For that matter, how were they going to get out of this alive?
They sped through residential Millvale and onto blacktopped roads, passing into a less inhabited area. After they crossed a one-lane bridge that spanned a nearly dry creek, the road became lined with a heavy stand of trees blocking most of the sun. The limo suddenly swerved onto a faint path through the forest. They lurched among trees that sometimes scraped the sides of the vehicle. Davis guided the car deeper into the forest, making several turns. Trish guessed they had gone at least a mile and a half when they pulled up beside an old trailer.
It rested in a clearing so thoroughly surrounded by trees that Trish couldn’t spot the opening they had just come through. In fact, she had no idea such a large wooded patch existed this close to town. Crows announced their dissatisfaction with a human presence. Rays of light filtered through the trees. In any other situation, this would have been a great spot for a picnic.
An older model green-camouflaged pickup sat in back of the metal-domed trailer. Davis parked the limo off to one side and climbed out. “Here we are, ladies. Home sweet home.” He opened the car door and laughed, an ugly derisive sound. “Well, Heather, you got yourself in a tizzy, didn’t you?”
He dug in his pocket, found a pocketknife and slit the tape holding her hands. She expelled a breath, stretched her legs and rose to a sitting position. “I don’t think I could have lasted another minute bent over like that.” She arched her back and twisted her neck. Davis produced a roll of tape and rebound Heather’s hands behind her.
“Time to get out, girls.” Davis took Heather’s arm and pulled her out of the limo. She almost fell as she tried to gain her balance. “Don’t you think you ought to just get out of here? The cops won’t be far behind.” Trish leaned against the limo to get her balance.
“I think the cops have no idea where I’m at. Cheever is as dumb as a bag of donuts. Besides, it’s time to move on. I’m just going to grab my gear and be off. You just sit by that tree and relax. Take me a few minutes.”
Davis locked the limo door and sauntered over to the trailer. He took a last look at the women and disappeared inside. Heather squirmed closer to Trish. “Get your hands over here so you can get in my sock.”
Trish arched one brow. “What?”
“Come over here. I got a Swiss Army knife in my sock.”
Trish looked at the white cotton socks Heather wore. “You’re putting me on, right?”
Heather gritted her teeth. “No, I got it in my PI kit. Get over here. The sock on my right foot. We can get him.”
“You’re nuts. We’re here alone with a killer—a professional killer. You’ll only piss him off. Not me, sister. Let’s just go.”
“Do you think he’s just going to hop in his redneck truck and motor off into the sunset? He’s not leaving two witnesses to identify him. Use your brain. Now, get the knife. Hurry.”
Trish’s anger surfaced but she had to admit Heather had a point. “Okay, let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Not yet.”
Trish looked up at her friend. “What do you mean, not yet?”
Heather smiled demurely. “We’re going to catch a killer.”
“The hell we are. Use your brain. We’re both amateurs here. I never was good in a fight. I cry when I break a nail, for God’s sake.”
“Hey, it’s two against one and we have surprise on our side.”
“Pardon me, Heather, but with you talking like this the only thing we have on our side is stupidity. I’m not going to get the knife if you keep insisting on getting us killed.”
“We have this one chance to save our lives,” Heather sputtered. “Get the stinking knife. I’ll keep watch for Davis.”
Reluctantly, Trish shimmied over to Heather’s feet. She was about to reach for the sock.
“Stop!” Trish froze. Heather rolled her eyes toward the trailer. The door had swung open. Davis appeared carrying a duffle bag and two rifles tucked under his arm. He glanced at them and hurried around to his truck. They heard him stow his stuff in the bed and watched him return inside the trailer.
“Hurry.”
Trish fumbled with the hem of the sock and finally was able to reach inside. She grabbed the knife and pulled it out. “Now what?”
“The second tool on the knife is a pair of scissors. See if you can open it.”
Trish moved back to a position next to Heather. “No, not that one. The next one. There. Pull it out. Good, you’ve got it. I’ll put my hands over there and you cut the tape.”
Davis came out of the truck two more times before Trish cut through the tape.
Then Trish’s hands were free.
Heather rubbed her hands. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do. After he goes in the next time we race to the door. It swings out so we stand to the left side. When he comes out, we slam the door into him. Got it?”
“That won’t work. He’ll just be shoved back into the trailer where he has guns. We’re dead.”
“I guess you’re right. We need a weapon. Look around.”
Trish spotted a woodpile behind the truck. “Hey. I’ll bet there’s a log over by that wood. See it? Behind the truck.”
“Yeah, that should do it. Let me swing the thing. I was All State in softball for two years running. A four fifty-five average for my career.”
“Heather, you are a raving lunatic but I guess I’m ready.”
Davis slammed the door open again and hauled another load to the back of his truck. Trish and Heather sat still and tried to look innocent. Trish just knew Davis would see their plan written all over their faces. Or worse yet, that he would come over and check on their restraints. But, he gave them a quick look and disappeared once more.
They scrambled to their feet and raced to the woodpile. Heather picked up a three-foot, bat-sized log and swung it. She winked at Trish. “Perfect. Heavy enough to do some damage. Let’s roll.”
Heather stepped around Davis’ inert body and started for the truck. Trish kneeled beside him and began going through the man’s pockets.
Heather stopped and turned. “Come on,” she yelled. “Let’s go. What the hell are you doing?”
“Looking for the duct tape. I’m going to truss him up.”
“Forget it. Find some keys and come on.”
“Damn, I can’t find the tape.”
“Screw the tape! Get the keys.”
“They’re not here either. No keys at all. I saw Davis lock the Limo so check the truck and see if the keys are there.”
Trish sprinted to the truck. The ignition was bare. “Lord, where are they?” She looked back at Heather who was racing to the Limo. What is she doing? We need to go. Then she smiled as her friend stabbed every one of the Limo’s tires.
Heather ran up to the truck. “Did you get them?”
“They’re not here.”
“Did you look in the visor? Here, let me. Crap, they aren’t here.”
Trish swallowed to try to get her heart in its proper place. “Now what, smarty? What if he comes to? He’s not going to be happy.”
Heather waved to the other side of the truck. “Don’t worry about it. Get in the truck.”
“So, we’re just going to sit here and wait for help?”
“What else do you suggest? Our cell phones are back at the house and we’re so far out in the boonies I doubt yelling would get anyone’s attention. So, get in and shut up. I can hot wire it and get us out of here. Let me do it.”
Trish climbed into the passenger side, sweeping fast food wrappers off the seat.
Heather felt under the dash and pulled out some wires. She used her Swiss Army knife to strip the insulation and twisted two wires together. The truck started up and she threw it into gear. The wheels spun and finally caught. The pickup lurched around the trailer. They raced past their kidnapper and headed through the forest.