Gilbert danced away. “Only Saylor can have it. You’re mean. You punched me.”
“That’s because you’re a mental midget,” she said. “Now give it up.” Their hands grappled for the gun, shoving and pushing.
“Stop it,” I said, afraid the noise of their tug-of-war would bring the other men back. Or lead to a stray bullet. The gun dropped to the floor. Gilbert dove for it, and Benita kicked it away from his grasp, sending the small gray pistol sailing across the linoleum like a hockey puck. We all watched in dumb silence as it slid straight into the open hole of a heating duct vent.
Two points for Murphy’s Law.
Benita lay flat on her stomach and extended her arm inside the opening. “I can’t reach it.” She jumped to her feet and glared at our new friend. “See what you did? ¡Canto de cabron!”
“Keep your voice down,” I hissed at her. “Now will you please let me handle this my way?” She answered with an embarrassed tilt of her head. Cupping my hands on Gilbert’s cheeks, I said, “You must guide us out of here. Safely and quickly.”
“But I could get into a lot of trouble…”
I planted a kiss on his mouth. “You will do it for me, my darling.”
He gave me a stupefied gaze. “The guys’ll hear the elevator.”
I touched his arm. “How many men are here?”
“Four down the hall in the office.”
“Aren’t there fire stairs?”
He nodded. “But we’ll have to go past the office.”
We walked out the door and started down the hallway toward the fire stairs at the end. I heard men talking in a room up ahead. Its door was left open. Gilbert went first, gliding casually past the doorway. Benita and I skulked after him.
We were almost in the clear when we heard someone say, “Who’s that with Fleeger?”
I bolted for the exit as Gilbert held open the door to the stairwell.
A man’s voice. “The bitches. They’re making a break.”
The three of us tore down the fire stairs with the men from the office behind us. Skipping over two steps at a time, we made it to the bottom, out the metal door and onto the sidewalk.
“Gilbert,” I said. “Give us a hand.” We tripled-teamed a small dumpster, shoving it up against the fire door as a barricade.
Benita grabbed my arm, and we sprinted down Water Street. Not a soul around.
“We’re headed in the wrong direction,” I said. “Precinct’s the other way. I’m going to flag down the next car we see.”
She slowed up. “We should go home. Need to regroup.”
I stopped, breathing hard. “That’s the first place they’ll look for us.”
“We could take a train to East Harlem. Hide out at my brother’s.”
“Why? So he can have a gun battle with Curtis when he comes to find us? We were trying to keep our families out of this, remember? No, Binnie, the game is up. Our only hope at this point is to go to the police. Especially since we now know the bakery building is owned by the person who ordered Gwen’s murder.”
“And our abduction,” Benita said, frustration and exhaustion creasing her pretty face in a frown. “You’re right. We gave it our best. No más.” She looked around. “Hey, where is that Gilbert dude?”
“I don’t see him. He must have run off. Strange guy.”
“Understatement of the year.”
A Rolls-Royce Phantom with tinted one-way windows stopped at the curb next to us. The rear window rolled down and from the shadows of the dimly lit interior emerged a familiar and welcome face.
“Walsh Plunkett! You have no idea how glad I am to see you. Please, we need a ride to the police station right away.”
“Of course. Get in.” He opened the car door wide.
I hopped in next to him. Benita followed. What a surprise to see Walsh, in his trademark Eisenhower suit, riding on plush leather in a chauffeur-driven Rolls. It was a small limousine, just one back seat facing front, but luxurious. Complete with refreshment bar, TV, the works. He introduced us to Dr. Garadasi, a tall, bearded man with a large nose, who sat on his right. Plunkett then spoke into his intercom to a driver on the other side of an opaque Plexiglas partition. “These ladies would like to go to the police.”
“You wouldn’t believe what’s going on with us,” I said. “But don’t ask. I’d rather not get you involved.”
He smiled and nodded sympathetically.
Benita leaned back in the seat, picking at the glue marks the masking tape left on her face, and clearly in no mood to chat with Walsh.
Still shaken, I felt Plunkett’s eyes on me. Good thing my panic-driven sprint out of the building and down the street had switched off my pheromones. Last thing I needed was another drooling love-slave. Keep those sexy thoughts at bay. Rather than encourage his attention, I directed my focus on the refreshment bar in front of us. Ironically, what I saw were three cardboard boxes of Blazing Donutz stacked neatly on the bar.
Plunkett noticed me looking at them. “Care for one?”
“Not really. Don’t have much appetite.”
He took a box, held it in his lap and opened the lid. I thought of the crullers he brought me a few nights ago and wondered if this guy was like so many people who replace sex with junk food. “You’re really into Blazing Donutz.”
Walsh turned a bland, expressionless face to me. “My dear. I am Blazing Donutz. I’m the founder and owner of the entire national and international franchise. In fact, this week marks the beginning in my latest line of snacks. They’re a cross between a corn fritter and cream-filled doughnut. Bite-sized. Dainty. Perfect for munching.” He held the box out to me. “Try one.”
Gwen had always insisted that the olfactory sense was our most powerful medium when it came to sex or danger, and I’m a firm believer that trouble does actually possess a scent of its own. And right now, these little golden brown nuggets that smelled just like the place were we were imprisoned sent my limbic system an alert signal I couldn’t deny.
Time stopped. My mind raced.
And beneath my whirling thoughts was Walsh, saying, “Been working on them for quite a while. They’re called…Chub Dubs.”
The pieces all fit. The crullers. The thugs in the bakery. Plunkett’s remarks about women. And about his big dick. On impulse I reached for Walsh’s arm and pulled up his coat sleeve. Number twelve in bold black ink. “Binnie, open the door!”
She struggled with the handle, but we were locked in. Through the window I saw the giant steel door to the Blazing Donutz loading dock roll up. The limo drove straight into the garage-like space. No. This couldn’t be happening.
Walsh sat back, his expression smug.
I banged on the opaque Plexiglas behind the driver. “Stop the car. Let us out!”
The limo came to a halt, the Plexiglas partition slid open, and from the driver’s seat another familiar face turned to greet us.
Curtis Bardarson.
Four men surrounded the limousine. The pair who met me at the bridge yanked Benita and me from the back seat. They held us at gunpoint in the center of the garage. My jaw dropped as I watched this crew of heavies cowing down to Walsh Plunkett, who stepped out of the car, his normally blank visage suddenly riddled with furious disapproval.
Still, his voice remained constrained, tight, oddly polite, when he asked, “How did these women escape?”
One of the men nervously answered. “Don’t ask me, boss. We turn around and next thing we see, Fleeger’s tearing down the stairs with the two bitches.” He shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe they offered him sex.”
I was stunned. The little man with the big feet was the boss all right. “So, Walsh is one who had Gwen murdered,” I murmured to Binnie.
“I never did like the guy,” she said.
“What kind of shrink am I that I didn’t see through him?”
Curtis stood at his boss’s elbow, obviously his number one man. “Think Fleeger would go to the cops?” he asked.
Plunkett shoo
k his head. “So he can get himself convicted of the crimes he took part in? No. Gil’s bulb may be dim, but the filament isn’t totally gone.” Suddenly Walsh wheeled his attentions around to me and Benita, as if an idea had come into his head. Stepping closer, he sniffed the air within inches of my body. “I thought I recognized that smell in the car. You’re wearing it aren’t you?”
Dammit. He knew the scent of Heaven’s Daughter. Not good for my plan. Had his boys found some in Gwen’s home lab? Hard to believe she’d have left the perfume sitting there, considering the place I discovered it. “Too bad it was such a short ride,” I said. “You could’ve been next.”
Although he backed back away a few steps, the beady eyes behind Plunkett’s black-rimmed glasses fixed on me with a chilling look. “Where’s the rest of the perfume? My searches have turned up nothing. And that homosexual swore to us his measly sample was all that was left.”
Which meant that I had Gwen’s only remaining samples. They must have taken poor Tim’s precious half a vial after beating him nearly to death. And to think I’d once felt sorry for Walsh. Boy, did I read this guy wrong. I felt like pouncing on the arrogant, murdering prick and strangling him myself, except the guns pointed at Benita and me deterred my impulse. I returned his cold stare with silence.
“There’s nothing more ridiculous than a female who tries to outsmart a man,” Plunkett said. “I read the reports my computer expert acquired for me. The effects of the fragrance you inflicted upon Fleeger usually dissipate into grogginess in a few hours. He’ll sleep it off and come crawling back to me. But he’s the last man who’ll ever be poisoned by it.”
He turned to one of his lackeys. “Get the hoses. Give her a good soaking.” Switching his attention to Benita. “She’s probably clean, but douse her anyway. Can’t take chances.”
Two brawny men in a plaid short-sleeved shirts and khaki pants faced us with utility hoses that were probably used to wash the trucks and the loading dock. Jets of water that felt like cold hammers pummeled Benita and me. Any attempt to crouch or to cover ourselves with our arms was thwarted by Plunkett who made us turn around slowly with arms outstretched until we were soaked from head to toe.
“That’s right. Keep rotating,” Plunkett said to us. “I want every bit of it removed.”
A burst of water found its way down my throat, forcing me to cough and gag, sparking my anger. I let my tongue fly. “I hope you know by killing Gwen you lost the formula forever. She had the tablet’s complete instructions in her head. Nowhere else. There may other scholars who try to recreate it for you, but I’d bet a million there’s not a soul left in the world who can figure out the formula the way she did. You’ll never be able to market that perfume.”
Plunkett waved his hands crisscross to the guys with the hoses. “Enough.” Our visit to Waterworld was over. Benita and I stood there wet and shivering.
He raised his voice for all to hear. “She thinks we’re out to market the perfume. Wrong, Dr. Oz. That perfume is a danger to our society. I must have the tablet in my possession to ensure that no one will ever market that perfume. It will be as if it never even existed.”
I’d been so certain it was greed, jealousy or vanity motivating the one who murdered Gwen. Apparently she wasn’t the only one obsessed with the world-changing effects Heaven’s Daughter could produce.
The rant Plunkett launched into made that all too clear. “You all saw what happened here tonight. Gilbert Fleeger was transformed into a spineless jellyfish after less than an hour of being exposed to that poisonous fragrance. He lost control of his actions and became enslaved to a woman. This is what I mean when I speak of the dangers.”
His voice grew sharper and louder. “And this is why we will find that tablet and destroy it. As long as it exists, there is a threat to the natural order. Women with the unbridled powers to control men will spread in numbers. Increasing their influence beyond the household to total domination of businesses, the government, even the military. The divine right of man to have rule over women will be in jeopardy.”
Walsh looked like he was on the verge of a psychotic episode. Somebody really did a trip on this guy’s head when he was growing up. Hmm. Maybe Daddy was a misogynistic dictator. Son usually feels compelled to be just like him in order to feel powerful. Or maybe an overbearing mommy kept daddy’s wee-wee in a jar and treated little Walsh like a worthless dweeb, giving him reason to exact his revenge on womanhood.
Plunkett’s next words brought me out of my speculations about his psychological history. “You said Dr. Oz had the tablet.” He gestured to the hefty fellow who brought me into the bakery.
Benita wide-eyed me. I didn’t dare indicate the truth. As it was, she didn’t have long to wait for it. The man walked over and handed Plunkett the Aunt Lana special. I held my breath.
Plunkett took a quick glance at the newly baked pottery and snickered. “Professor,” he said, holding it out to him like some worthless token. Which it was.
Dr. Garadasi came forward looking very…oh no…professorial. He removed a magnifying glass from his jacket pocket. Lifting his arm to examine the ceramic in the light, his coat sleeve rode up along his forearm, revealing what appeared to be a black ink tattoo of the number ten. One of the boys.
“A total fake,” Garadasi said. “Trash.”
Walsh didn’t even blink at the news. However, the skin on his face seemed to draw back in a tight mask of suffocated rage. As usual his words came out carefully controlled. “Time’s up, Doctor. You are now going to tell me where it is.” He motioned to his ace killer.
Curtis lifted a large semi automatic pistol and walked over to Benita. He placed it next to her head.
“Where is it?” Plunkett asked, cold and businesslike.
My courageous roommate had seen her share of violence growing up in El Barrio, and she had plenty of mental toughness from her years in the ring, but nothing could have prepared her for this. I could see she was doing her best to brace up, but she couldn’t hide the tension in her neck, the dread in her face and finally the tears silently trickling from her eyes.
A part of me refused to believe this nightmare was really happening. I’d already lost Gwen. Was I about to see my other best friend murdered right before me? There had to be a way out of this. I reminded myself that Lana had informed the police I was headed to the anchorage. My cell was gone, but they’d still have some way of finding us, wouldn’t they?
“Tell me or she’s dead,” demanded the little bully in thick-framed glasses.
My body went rigid, a silent scream bursting in my chest. Time to give it up. I had to save Benita. Except, I knew they’d kill us anyway once they had the tablet. How could I have failed so miserably? Gwen’s death and her desperate suicide note to me would be for nothing. There had to be some other way.
He gave the nod and Curtis cocked his pistol.
“Mississippi!” I blurted out.
“What was that?” Plunkett said.
“The tablet’s in Mississippi,” I said firmly, jutting my chin forward with that kind of certitude that would hopefully gain his confidence.
“Where in Mississippi?” Walsh asked.
“Just outside the town of Pearl. Near a place called the Jewel Motor Lodge. Gwen buried it behind the lodge in the woods.” I had no idea what I was saying. I only knew I had to keep Curtis from pulling the trigger. And I wanted to send Plunkett on a goose chase to that would buy some time for Binnie and me to try and escape from here. And time to be found. “You can book a flight to Jackson. From there it’s an easy drive to the Jewel.”
“Book a flight?” Plunkett gave me a terse smile. “My company jets can fly me anywhere I please. But I also happen to be a top-notch pilot, and since this is a private little trip, I’ll take my Cessna Skyhawk. It’s parked out at my New Jersey estate.” He turned to Curtis. “You’ll drive us there now.”
The Monster uncocked his gun and slid it back inside his belt. I was afraid I’d break down if I looked Benit
a full in the face, but a peripheral glance told me she was pale and shaken.
Walsh faced Garadasi. “My plane’s only a four-seater. I’ll contact you when I have the tablet.” He ordered one of his men to drive the professor home.
“What do we about Gil?” asked Mr. Plaid Shirt, expert with the hose.
“As I said, Fleeger doesn’t worry me,” Plunkett replied. “Mark my words. You’ll see him back here in a few hours when the perfume’s effects wear off.” He looked over to Curtis. “Cuff them, tape their feet and mouths. Throw them in the back of the Rolls. We are going to Mississippi.”
We? Did he mean us? My knees almost buckled beneath me when suddenly I felt my arms being jerked behind my back. Next came the vice grip of cold steel biting into my wrists, the screeching of duct tape being yanked off the roll then slapped across my mouth and drawn around my ankles.
“They’re wet,” Plunkett said. “Put them on the floor or it’ll ruin the leather seats.”
We were dragged like sacks of produce and tossed into the Rolls Royce. At least this time we were being kidnapped in style.
TWENTY-NINE
It was almost dawn. We had crossed into Manhattan, headed up the West Side Highway and were now on the George Washington Bridge. Curtis was driving. He’d locked all doors and windows with the master switch. And we could forget trying to signal for help. The tinted one-way windows took care of that. Walsh “Chub Dubs” Plunkett sat next to him, avoiding the soggy
bundles on the floor in the back. But he could check on us easily, now that the Plexiglas divider between the front and back seats was left open.
My buddy and I huddled together, wet and cold, our nerves on edge. Neither of us had slept since we left East Hampton Friday morning. Hard to believe it was only last night when I’d felt so safe and happy with Eldridge holding me in his arms twenty stories above the ground. I wondered if I should’ve told him where and when my “meeting” was. Except, knowing the Mace-man, he’d probably rather get himself killed than call in the police. How were we going to get out of this?
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