Benita and I managed to sit up so we could see our abductors as well as the signs on the highway. Being able to watch where they were taking us might have lessened my anxiety if I hadn’t heard Walsh tell his well-endowed hit man it wouldn’t be necessary to blindfold us. Why wasn’t it necessary? I doubted it was because he figured I already knew his NJ address. No. He intended this to be a one-way trip.
We were driving along the Palisades Parkway. Plunkett didn’t speak to Curtis except to give orders. He was totally focused on the tiny screen of his Blackberry.
Curtis, obviously bored, started talking to himself. Or so I thought at first. I saw him tilt his back and cast a peripheral eye in my direction. “I’ll never forget that night on the pier. That Applebee dog looked like a clown, the way she flailed her arms when I tossed her in. Her hair all flying wild and her pants billowed out.”
He paused, obviously savoring the horrified silence of his captive listeners. “Wasn’t supposed to snuff her until I got the tablet, but the bitch was a tough nut. Didn’t beg, didn’t cry. No fun at all. No matter how much I played with her. Puttin’ the gun to her head, describing the way I’d blow her skullcap off. Made it clear she was gonna die if she didn’t cooperate. If I coulda smacked her around, messed her up a little, that would’ve helped. But the boss here didn’t want nobody searching if she went missing. Insisted it look like a fuckin’ suicide.”
Tears welled up, but I blinked them back, fighting for control. If only we had Benita’s tape recorder now.
A quiet chuckle from the Monster. “Easiest part was getting her to polish off a couple bottles of vodka. Man that dog could guzzle.”
Which meant Benita had guessed right. They’d forced Gwen to get too intoxicated to swim. I glanced at my buddy. Her jaw was clenched, her muscles taut with combative energy. Good thing our mouths were taped or her verbal response might have inspired Curtis’s violent nature.
Just as I thought his sadistic little monolog was over, he continued in an irritated tone. “Stubborn bitch, too. Man, did I ever want to bust her. All she had to do was say she was tired of living and sign her damn name. But she insisted poems was her special way of writin’ to her friends. Said no one would believe otherwise. Boss didn’t want no bruises, so I go for my knife. Between her hand quivering and that bullshit gibberish on her papers, I figured she was ready to crack. But she keeps crumpling up papers and startin’ over. Lookin’ down her nose at me, telling me she’s an artist. Big fuckin’ deal.”
Curtis yawned. “Yeah, me and my homeys combed every inch of your friend’s grimy warehouse looking for that tablet. Left everything in place that night. Careful to leave no prints. Went back a few times after. Came up empty except for the journal. Good thing Walsh read the damn thing. It led us straight to you, sweetpussy.”
Plunkett said nothing during all this. Never lifted his eyes from his Blackberry. Not a shred of remorse or sadness for Gwen’s lost life. Who did I despise more, this demented hit man or his cold-blooded boss? The big Monster or the little one? After a few minutes he spoke in that same bland voice. “Reservations to land are set for Mississippi. But the airport says they’re backed up. We’ll have to hang out a couple hours before we fly down.”
Had we caught a break? Could we somehow use the time at his house to escape and call the police? I gave Benita a hopeful look, but she just stared mutely out the window at the sky. I wanted so badly to hug her and share a good cry, but that was definitely out of the picture for now.
I closed my eyes and dropped my head to my knees. It seemed like ages since I saw the Brooklyn Botanic Garden poster in Lady Viv’s office that reminded me of where Gwen’s tablet really was. Everything happened too fast for me to process. Mr. Fellows murdered, Binnie held captive. Had Lana convinced the cops to look for us? But how would they ever find us now?
My big plans for using Heaven’s Daughter to overpower the gang were literally washed down the drain. At least I made it work on Fleeger. No doubt the coward deserted us out on Jay Street because he saw his boss’s limo heading our way. If only we had kept on running instead of hopping into Plunkett’s stinking car. Now I was left with only one card to play—Walsh couldn’t find the tablet’s location unless I remained alive.
***
The morning sun was full and bright when Plunkett’s Rolls-Royce Phantom stopped at a wrought iron gate. I saw a surveillance camera mounted on top. Curtis Bardarson reached his arm out the window and punched in a computer code, which allowed us to enter. We drove down a winding road past rolling hills and fields, patches of trees and streams.
“Look around,” Curtis said. “A hundred acres. You got nowhere to run this time.” My heart sank.
As we rounded the bend, I saw a single-engine airplane on a landing strip near the edge of the surrounding forest. In the distance there was a cottage, tennis courts, a pool, and finally a plain, white but stately colonial manor with a semi-circular drive that branched off to the side of the house. We parked in front. The back door to the Rolls swung open. Chub Dubs and Curtis stood there peering down at us.
“Undo their feet,” Plunkett said. “Unless you feel like carrying them.”
The Monster reached in and ripped the tape from our ankles practically scraping a layer of skin off my leg with his coarse fingers. “Basement?” he asked, while hauling us out of the car.
Plunkett nodded. “Use the storage room.” The spry and deeply deranged Walsh Plunkett scampered up the stairs to the porch and unlocked the door.
Walking between us, Curtis clamped one hand on my arm and the other on Benita’s, pulling us forcefully alongside him. “Yo, boss,” he called.
Plunkett glanced back at him.
“Since we got ourselves some time. What about the other thing?” Curtis asked.
“Other thing?”
“You remember what we talked about.”
“Oh, that,” Plunkett said. “Go on. Have your fun.”
Was it time for my private session with the Monster? He leveled his awful slit-eyes directly on me as if he was checking out the dessert trolley. I shuddered. Benita shuffled closer to me protectively.
Walsh disappeared into the house. Giving us no time to look around, Curtis hustled us down the central hallway to a flight of stairs. Was this to be the site of his dirty deed? Was he going to include Benita? I wanted to bolt, but I knew I wouldn’t get far, especially considering the proximity of the gun tucked in his belt.
We descended into a wood-paneled room, its white wall-to-wall carpeting dense and spotless. A red leather sofa with matching chairs formed a square in front of a large cookie-thin TV. A gun rack and a pair of movie posters featuring John Wayne and Bruce Willis hung on one wall.
On the opposite wall hung a collection of framed photographs. They appeared to be group portraits of men. I noticed that they were all members of some bizarre association. The shiny gold lettering across the bottom of each photo read “Forever Our Right.” I could swear I’d heard of that somewhere.
I stepped closer to a solo portrait, guessing who it would be. Walsh Plunkett. The lettering on it said he was founder and president of Forever Our Right. Next to the picture was a lengthy paragraph referring to the founder’s philosophy behind his organization. I began a quick scan of it, but my eye was caught by a familiar face in a photo that pictured only three men. Plunkett, a man I didn’t know and…Kyle Drummond. The late CEO of Milotech Pharmaceuticals.
Connecting the dots was easy. Walsh must have found out about Gwen’s perfume from Kyle Drummond, who learned about it from Tim Donnelly. Was Tim right? Would Chub Dubs Plunkett continue his maniacal campaign until the perfume and everyone connected with it were destroyed?
Before I could catch Benita’s attention, the Monster told us to keep walking until we entered a rear corridor with a white cement floor. It dead-ended in a laundry area. Across from that was a door with a padlock. One guess who was going in there. I began to hyperventilate. My feet felt like lead. I had no plan. I wasn’t ready. Would I ever b
e?
Curtis shoved us into the windowless storage room. He must have noticed my relief when he said, “Gotta go have a bite,” because he continued with, “Don’t worry, Doc, I’ll be back. We’re gonna spend some downtime together.”
The door slammed shut. We heard the clicking sound of the lock and Curtis walking away. Mercifully he left the light switch on. First thing I did was to stand behind Benita and lower my face to her cuffed hands. She tore at the tape on my mouth, and I returned the favor for her.
“I am not going to let myself be violated by that monster,” I said, near hysteria.
“And we can’t get on that plane,” Benita added. “It’s a one-way ticket.”
Like this wasn’t. But I forced that thought away. “Maybe we can jump on Curtis when he comes back. Take his gun.”
“Get real. Our hands are cuffed behind our backs, the guy weighs more than both of us combined, and he’s not dumb. He only looks it.”
We sank awkwardly to the floor. Sans sleep, we were both running on empty. At least I’d had the meal Aunt Lana fixed for me last night. I knew my buddy hadn’t eaten since yesterday. I’d never seen Benita look so totally dejected. I tried to bring back the determined spark that usually lit her eyes. “It isn’t over yet. We’re going to survive this and make them pay.”
I stood up and began searching the room for a possible escape route. We were surrounded by boxes and metal shelves containing everything from laundry detergent, paper towels and shampoo to an old ink-jet printer, a Monopoly game, and a stack of Playboy magazines. However…next to the magazines I spied a lavender carton with a familiar logo. Do-Me-Good’s twelve-bottle variety pack of personal lubricants and lotions in different flavors. “Binnie, look. This is Walsh’s purchase from my sex toy demo party. At least I had some positive influence on him.” Luckily it was on one of the lower shelves. I began pawing at it with my foot until it fell to the floor. “Hasn’t been opened yet. Come help me.”
She rolled her eyes, but joined me. “I hope you’ve got something brilliant in mind.”
Prying the box with our hands behind us, and sometimes kneeling on it and using our teeth, we managed to tear the seals, lift the cardboard lid and open a few squeeze bottles. “Put it all over my wrists,” I said, “and then I’ll do yours. See if we can slide our hands through these cuffs.”
We gobbed up the skin around our handcuffs and went to work feverishly. Who knew when the Monster would return? “Did you see the photos?” I asked while my hands wriggled away madly inside the cuffs.
“Didn’t really look at them. I was watching Bardarson.”
“I’m sure now that Plunkett found out about Gwen through Kyle Drummond.” I told her what I’d seen and the name of the group founded by Plunkett. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
She gave me a half-smile. “Because about five years ago Forever Our Right had a website, hate blog and all. It was this paranoid extremist group. At one point they were under investigation for harassing outspoken women with leftist ideas. But they kind of went low profile after being implicated in the disappearance of that female journalist who did those articles on battered women’s shelters.”
I drew a short breath. “I remember now. Nobody could prove anything.”
“And knowing what Plunkett did to Gwen, I’ll bet all those other allegations were true.”
“No surprise that he’s the founder.” Did I sense my knuckles moving ever so slightly through the cuff? Success. My right hand popped out. “Having munchkin hands definitely has its benefits,” I murmured. “And so does using Do-Me-Good products.” I brought both hands in front and began working to free my left.
Across from me, Benita’s struggle for emancipation wasn’t going quite as well. Shoulders and arms twitching, she grimaced in frustration. “My big mitts are good for boxing, but they suck when it comes to playing Houdini.”
The jiggling of the padlock. Oh no. In a panic, I stuck my hands behind my back. No chance to get the jump on Curtis. From here on, I’d just have to improvise.
“Up,” he said as soon as he stepped through the door.
I froze.
Curtis reached down, grabbed my arm and hoisted me to my feet.
“Keep your filthy hands off her, you sick sonofabitch!” Benita slammed against him with her body, valiantly trying to stop him from taking me.
Curtis grabbed her by the face and sent her crashing backwards into a pile of boxes. She lay there moaning.
“I’ll be back, Binnie, I promise,” I vowed as he dragged me out the door.
My mouth went into overdrive. I hurled every nasty insult I could come up with at him. It didn’t make the terror disappear, but it sure felt therapeutic.
Gripping my upper arm, the Monster took me out a cellar door that led to the back yard. “Straight ahead,” he said, steering me in the direction of the guesthouse, a gray cottage with pink shutters. My legs felt like rubber. I’d kept my wrists crossed behind my back, with the left hand that was still cuffed hiding the right hand that was freed, its fingers merely gripping the cuff. The gun in Curtis’s belt was within reach. I just had to wait for the right time. I swallowed hard. Could I do it?
The guesthouse had a well-tended lawn in front and dense woodland in back. We walked side by side down a pebbled path that led to the door.
“This is it, sweetpussy,” he said. “Just you and me. Up close and personal.”
There were waist-high hedges on each side of the path, and near the house a colorful garden bloomed with fragrant summer flowers. I couldn’t help but think of Gwen and the perfumes she made. Who knew it would lead to this? My mind whirled with thoughts of her poem and how determined she’d been to communicate her quest in those final moments. That was her way of beating these murdering scum at their own game. I had to be just as unwavering.
We moved closer to the entrance of the guesthouse. If I went through that door I knew I would come back out a totally different person, if I came out at all. This violent, oversized brute’s idea of fun could easily leave me dead. Or so broken and lamed I’d be unable to do whatever it might take to free Binnie and get us both out of here.
I broke into a cold sweat. I could feel my heart pounding like it never had before. The clock was running out with each step. I had to make my move. My right hand whipped around and snatched the gun from Curtis’s belt. Hands shaking, cuffs, dangling, I raised the gun up to his face using the double fisted marksman’s grip. Instantly I could see the surprise and anger in his eyes. Do it, I told myself. Squeeze the damn trigger. I hesitated.
Curtis did not.
Whap! He smacked the gun from my hand. It went sailing over the hedges.
Knowing he’d have to get to the other side of the bushes to retrieve it, I turned to run. But instead of Curtis going for his gun, he went for me. His gigantic arm hooked around my throat, and he began dragging me toward the cottage. I had trouble breathing and yet still fought with all I had to shake myself loose until finally I sank my teeth into his arm so deep I tasted blood.
“Aaghh!” he yelled. His grip gave way. As I broke free I felt a glancing blow off the side of my head that had enough force to send me tumbling into the garden against the house. He came toward me. Frantically moving away from him, I crab-crawled backward until I found myself huddled against the wall of the guesthouse.
Curtis laughed. “This is just giving me a hard-on.”
I could hear myself panting. My trembling legs wanted to run, but he had me trapped. My eyes darted left and right. I spotted an electric weed whacker leaning against the cottage wall not far from me. Last summer I tried doing some lawn work for my aunt, only to learn that it’s possible to whack more than weeds: I accidentally diced up a poor, innocent toad. Took me months to get over it. But Curtis was neither poor nor innocent.
I reached out, took hold of the thing and did a quick roll to my feet. Please, please be plugged in. I flipped on the switch. A high-pitched whine. Yesss! I leveled the trimmer at Curtis.
Unfazed, he took a wide swat at it, but the whirling chord of the weed whacker stung him on the forearm. Normally I’m a non-violent, puke-at-the-sight-of-blood type girl. Not today. Plunkett’s deranged, sadistic errand boy had murdered Gwen, and I was certain Binnie and I were next on the list. He deserved far more than a dicing. I made several hits to his beefy chest.
“Yow!” He jumped back, looked down at his slice wounds and glared at me, incredulous.
“Payback’s a motherfucker,” I shouted at him.
Blood seeped through the torn-up holes in his tee shirt. I didn’t know if it was working the bag with Benita or do-or-die necessity, but my reflexes and timing had never been so good.
He pulled his knife from a sheath tied to his leg and came at me in a rage. I knew I couldn’t keep him at bay for long. I had to get away before he managed to knocked me down or take the weed whacker from me. And before his boss in the main house caught the commotion and came running out with a gun.
But I also knew I could never outrun this Monster with gams twice as long as mine—unless I had a healthy lead. I needed to do a job on him, slow him down. I gritted my teeth and lunged forward catching him good on his cheeks and a few times on his forehead. Ugh.
He bellowed, hands clutching his face. Blood trickled through his fingers. Curtis staggered backwards. Had I blinded the Monster the way Ulysses did the Cyclops? Nope. But there was enough blood flowing into his eyes from cuts just above them to make it difficult for him to see.
No time to stand here admiring my work. I dropped the weed whacker and bolted for the woods. One thing’s for sure, adrenaline circulates very quickly through a body when it’s only four feet eleven. I never moved so fast in my entire life. Suddenly I was very fond of the sneakers I’d decided to wear when I left home last night.
Running through the trees and thickly wooded brush, I kept checking back for my pursuer. He was gaining on me by the second. I had no idea where I was going. I raced forward, trying to avoid ditches and entangling bushes. Hearing the Monster behind me, I felt like a rabbit, dodging and leaping every which way, terrified one wrong move would mean the end. By now my lungs were ready to burst, and a cramp pinched my side.
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