Reduced Ransom!

by Mike Faricy

  Three identical gallon cans rolled across the hood of his car before falling to the floor, each revealing a fresh, two-inch crease where it had landed on the hood. He hopped out of the car, opened the back door and stared at the pair of legs protruding from beneath his spare tire.

  “Keep your eyes closed. I’m going to put this wool cap over your head, for your own protection. If you so much as think about kicking me or trying anything funny, I swear I’ll hose you down with that spray and then let the dogs go after you. We’ll let you get cleaned up, one of the other guys is getting in touch with coach, err, your husband. With any luck you’ll be back home in no time.”

  He pulled the spare tire off her, snugged the wool cap further over her face, then cautiously led her to the bedroom. He spoke, attempting to give the illusion they weren’t alone.

  “Clean out that car, fellas. You two, go down the road and keep watch. You guys get some breakfast cooked up, will ya’? And you, check the scanner, see if you can pick up anything.”

  Once they were in the bedroom he said, “Keep that cap on until you hear the door close. There’s a bathroom you can use to get cleaned up. I’ll be out of here in a moment, so you can have some privacy." He loosened the tape on her wrists and quickly left, closing the door loudly.

  He studied the fresh creases on the hood of the El Dorado then put his eye to the peephole. Her clothes were piled on the floor, and the towel was missing from the bed. It was on the way back to his car that he noticed a large pool of paint on the floor, splashed halfway up his front tire and two sets of foot prints.

  Chapter 18

  When Dell walked into the basement carrying a paper grocery bag by the handles he was whistling an old rock and roll tune slightly off pitch, he had just gotten to the chorus and was about to sing. He stopped and looked at Mickey on his hands and knees with a putty knife attacking what looked like foot prints trailing across the basement floor.

  “Mick, what the hell are you doing? Those look like footprints, you’re . . .” Mickey’s glance, his beet red face and two sets of footprints suggested a new line of thinking for Dell.

  “Oh man, don’t tell me you went and grabbed another one?" He jumped over Mickey still down on all fours, raced to the door and put his eye up against the peep hole. “Damn it, Mick. Why didn’t you tell me?” he said, staring at a blonde woman wrapped in a white terry cloth robe, sitting on the bed.

  Hearing the muffled voice, Candice glanced at the door for a few seconds before getting off the bed. She calmly walked over to the door.

  Dell watched as she approached, struck by the way she carried herself. She seemed to move like . . .

  BANG!

  Dell’s head visibly bounced off the door as she struck it and he let his bag of groceries fall onto the floor.

  “Man, Mick, who is that woman?”

  “Do you even have the slightest idea, what it is I’m doing down here?” Mickey asked, sitting back on his haunches and ignoring the question. “Have you seen the hood of my car? Have you seen the side of my car? Or are you so used to these piles of junk you have all around here that you’re oblivious to the disaster?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Dell said picking up his grocery bag. “What’s with the hood of your car?”

  “Three new dents in it caused by your careless placement of paint cans that fell onto the hood, spilled paint all over the car and now I’m cleaning up this mess,” he said, gesturing toward the paint trail. “Look at all this white paint, it’s all over my car, the floor, it’s—”

  “It’s Waterbury cream,” replied Dell

  “Huh?”

  “The paint, it isn’t white. It’s Waterbury cream, the color.”

  “I don’t care what the hell color it is, Dell. I do care that it’s all over everything. And, you had better start paying attention to what’s going on,” he nodded toward the closed door. “Or we’ll find ourselves looking at one another through a window with bars.”

  “Look, Mick, I come home, I find you here, in my house, paint all over the place, and a—”

  “Shhhh-shhhh, keep your voice down, for Christ sake!”

  “Okay, okay. I’m just saying, it would have been nice to get a heads up from you, so I knew what was happening in my own house. Now, who is that hot number?”

  “What would you say if I told you it was Coach Buddy’s wife. Would you feel like spanking her with one of those yellow wiffle ball bats he used to hit us with?”

  “Coach Buddy? He’s still alive? His wife? You sure it’s not his granddaughter? I thought his wife was some old prune. That can’t be his wife. Can it?”

  “Well, the old prune is out of the picture and the old coach has been running his plays up the middle of that,” Mickey nodded toward the door again. “Hey, I’m starving what’d you get us for dinner?”

  “Nothing. Well, this isn’t for you, I’ve got a friend coming out here, in fact she’ll be here in just a min—”

  “A friend, are you nuts? You’ve got someone coming out here with all of this going on? What are you thinking?”

  “I’m not a mind reader. I didn’t know you were going to be here. I mean the first I know about this, you’ve got paint all over everything and damn Coach Buddy’s wife locked in the room. How’d he end up with her?”

  “How ‘bout four million reasons. That’s what he’s got in the bank. And, if I can keep you from screwing things up in the next day or two, we’ll get our share. Score something not only for us, but for every other kid that deranged psycho terrorized at Kefauver High over the course of the last hundred years. Now will you—” the doorbell ringing cut Mickey off.

  “What was that?” Mickey said.

  “The doorbell, it’s—”

  “Don’t answer it,” Mickey whispered.

  “Mick, my car is out front. She knows I’m here. She said she’d be here ten minutes after I left.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Cookie.”

  “Cookie? Are you crazy? Cookie. You didn’t learn your lesson the last time you two went out? She was driving you nuts, Dell.”

  “No, Mick, she was driving you nuts. Me, I kind of liked it, so you just stay down here, quiet and out of sight. I’ve got an evening of activity to attend to,” Dell said, and hurried up the stairs as the doorbell rang again.

  “What about me, and her, the coach’s wife? What are we going to do for dinner?”

  “I’ll bring you a pizza, but stay quiet down there. I’ll get you fed, just keep cleaning up that paint you tracked all over the floor.” Dell said and closed the basement door behind him.

  “Don’t tell her we’re down here, damn it,” Mickey hissed in the direction of the closed door.

  Chapter 19

  From up on the first floor Mickey heard Dell opening the front door. “Well, look who’s here, and aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. Mmm-mmm, and don’t you smell good, let me take that for you. You are so sweet.”

  Mickey’s eyes followed the sound of feet walking across the floor above him.

  “Let’s open the first bottle right now, come on outside, Cookie. I’ll get the grill warmed up and jump in the shower. You just sit there looking great, relax and sip a glass of wine for a couple of minutes.”

  Mickey could hear the tone of Cookie’s voice, but he couldn’t make out what she was saying.

  “You sure don’t waste time,” Dell called, apparently back somewhere in the kitchen, probably opening the wine. “You just sip a glass of this, sit there and enjoy the sunset while I get cleaned up. I promise I’ll be right back, just give me five minutes, then we’ve got the rest of the night to ourselves.”

  The rest of the night thought Mickey. He traced the copper water pipes across the basement ceiling to the point where they rose up and into the bathroom. He listened to Dells footsteps heading into the bathroom above, heard the toilet flush a minute later, and then footsteps in the shower.

  He waited a minute, then reached up to the shut of
f valve on the hot water line and closed it. It took maybe five seconds before he heard Dell jumping.

  “Whoa, Jesus, that’s cold, what the . . . Mick, you son of a bitch. Mickey, do you hear me? Turn that hot water back on or so help me God.”

  Mickey turned the hot water back on, then waited another twenty seconds, before turning it back off.

  “Arghh. Mick, damn it, I’m warning you.”

  Suddenly there were footsteps walking across the kitchen floor, “Are you all right, Dell, is everything okay?" Cookie called.

  Mickey quickly opened the hot water line again, then stood still, heart pounding.

  “Dell, honey?” she asked, knocking on the bathroom door.

  “Yeah, sorry, just singing in the shower. I’m out in a minute, Cookie.”

  It was about an hour later when Dell quickly ran into the basement with two large pizzas on plates. “Here take these, I’ve got to get back outside before she misses me."

  “This?” Mickey said, looking at the plates. “We’re supposed to eat a three dollar, paper thin pizza while you’re up there drinking? What are you guys having?”

  “Steak, Mick, and that’s not the point,” Dell said and ran back up the steps.

  “Not the point,” Mickey exclaimed in barely a whisper, but Dell was already at the top of the stairs closing the door behind him.

  Chapter 20

  It wasn’t the first time they woke him up. Mickey was lying on the basement floor, on top of a sleeping bag that reeked of insecticide. He stared up at the ceiling and listened as Dell and Cookie wrestled in the middle of the night.

  “Oh god, oh god, oh my god,” Cookie kept yelling.

  Thirty minutes later Dell was barking like a dog. Cookie was barking back. Mickey tried to wrap the seat cushion he’d been using as a pillow around his head.

  Sometime after that he woke, thinking he heard the front door closing. He listened as a single set of heavy feet walked across the kitchen floor. He waited, following the sound of footsteps into the bathroom, the toilet flushed and then he followed the footsteps as they traveled back into the kitchen. Cautiously he tiptoed up the staircase, peered through the keyhole to see Dell, in his boxer shorts, waiting in front of the coffee pot. He carefully opened the basement door a crack and whispered, “Is she gone?”

  “Jesus, Mickey, ouch damn it,” Dell said, splashing hot coffee down his chest. “Yeah, she’s gone. Just left, doesn’t like to wake up anywhere except her own bedroom.”

  “Wake up? From what I could hear you two never went to sleep, I certainly couldn’t. Thanks, I’ll take a cup,” he said, opening a cabinet door, grabbing a mug and thrusting it at Dell.

  “Tell me you got a plan with the coach’s friend down there,” Dell said. “You sure she’s really his wife?”

  “Not only do I have a plan, but we’ll be putting that plan into action in just a few hours,” Mickey replied. “Let him sweat out a night without her, he won’t call the cops. He probably won’t even miss her until he realizes no one’s there to put his breakfast on the table. I acquired a cellphone,” Mickey said with one of his all knowing nods. “We’ll have her do the one-minute call later this morning.”

  “Mick, I can’t help you, I got to get to work in a couple of hours, I—”

  “Work?" Mickey stared at Dell with a look of utter disbelief. “I’m putting together a hundred thousand dollar deal for us and you’re traipsing off to an hourly wage job at exactly the time I need you? Oh, that’s great, that’s just beautiful, Dell. You keep me up all night riding Cookie around your bedroom and now, when it’s time to do some heavy lifting, it’s up to me to get the job done. Beautiful, absolutely beautiful."

  “Now, just hold on a minute, Mick. Weren’t you the one who said not to alter our routine? Forget that I had absolutely no notice about any of this. Forget I came home from work only to find you have, once again, put me in the running for public enemy number one. Forget you’re using my house. Forget you’re eating my food. Forget you were drinking my coffee,” Dell tried to snatch the coffee mug out of Mickey’s hand, but only managed to spill hot coffee over Mickey’s hand.

  “Damn it! Now look what you’ve done,” said Mickey, shaking his hand. “All right, relax, I’ll take care of everything, as per always. Sometimes I wonder why I even bother?”

  Chapter 21

  Thurlow, ‘Coach Buddy’ Belsmer glanced up at the clock on his fireplace mantel. He’d fallen asleep waiting for his wife to come home. It wasn’t the first time he had done that, and he was going to confront her once she finally arrived. Just now he was attempting to screw up the courage.

  He rued the day he met her twelve years ago on his first and only trip to Las Vegas. He’d wanted to see the town. Just see it, not even partake in the evils of gambling, but just see the lights, maybe catch a big name show.

  He was celebrating the insurance check he had received from his first wife’s passing, the victim of an untimely fall while carrying her laundry basket and receiving a gentle nudge from the coach as she stood at the very top of the basement stairs. She had done three perfect somersaults on the way down, and although she didn’t move once she landed at the bottom, he hadn’t been sure. So, he grabbed his jacket and spent the better part of the day running errands and making damn sure he was seen out and about by a number of different people. She was deader than the proverbial door nail by the time he returned home.

  After mourning an appropriate length of time, he purchased an off season, ninety dollar round trip fare including two nights lodging at the Red Roof Inn, packed a bag and flew west to see the sights of Las Vegas.

  He’d never been one to place much stock in alcohol and so, when he had the good fortune to strike up a conversation with what he could only assume was a fresh young college girl working her way through school he followed her suggestion and ordered a Long Island Iced Tea. It was July, 116 degrees in the Vegas shade and, although the coach had a short sleeve shirt on, his tie was killing him. The Long Island Iced Tea was nothing if not refreshing and he settled in comfortably with the innocent girl he had just met.

  He ordered or more accurately, he drank, and she ordered, at least six of the tasty teas, three that he remembered. Somewhere along the way, he knew he could trust her and he confessed the dark secret of pushing his wife down the stairs, leaving her on the cold concrete basement floor for the better part of the day. He also mentioned receiving the insurance check for one point one million dollars.

  For her part, Candy Dumbrowski, working that night as Candy Kane, knew a good thing when she saw it. With the help of a thousand-dollar cash incentive and a quick, final sample of her many talents, she rounded up a sometime client and full time Justice of the Peace in the state of Nevada to pronounce her Mrs. Thurlow Belsmer, all legal and dated based on the paperwork she thrust in Coach Buddy’s face the following morning.

  Coach Buddy woke up in a lavender and pink honeymoon suite with a splitting headache, a wedding ring and his new wife watching their honeymoon video which included, among other things, his soul barring confession to murder. Candy cuddled up next to him and sweetly suggested that if he had any thoughts of changing the arrangement, she would take all his money and make sure he spent the rest of his life behind bars.

  He had to give her one thing, the new Mrs. Belsmer, she had a knack for numbers and one heck of an intuition. Over the course of the next ten years she parlayed the ill-gotten insurance money from a sizable nest egg to a small fortune. Coach Buddy and his bride were now worth upwards of five million dollars and growing at an amazing twenty-two percent annual rate.

  But how much money did one retired coach really need? Last night wasn’t the first time she had been gone for the better part of the night. It happened, occasionally, that her alley cat side seemed to get the better of her. Every time it did, Coach Buddy got his hopes up that some disaster had befallen his bride; a car accident, a collapsing building, perhaps she’d been struck by a meteor, only to have those very same hopes
dashed when she arrived home at four or five the following morning.

  This time it was a little different, it was after eight and the Coach, pushing breakfast around his plate, watched as the minutes slowly crawled past on the kitchen clock. His odds improved ever so slightly with every sweep of the second hand. He stared patiently, hoping this potentially glorious day wouldn’t suddenly be dashed with her appearance at the back door. He dared not think beyond that, lest he jinx the whole deal and she suddenly flew in on her broom stick with marching orders. And so, he sat, waiting patiently and hoping.

  Chapter 22

  Dell had been true to his word and left for work shortly before seven. Mickey rummaged and searched through his car three times and couldn’t find a trace of the German shepherd mask he’d purchased. He had a vague recollection of giving it to Dell. But where had Dell put it?

  He replayed the memory. Dell getting two more beers out of the refrigerator, and placing the bag with the mask on top of the refrigerator. He hurried up the stairs. The bag sat on top of the refrigerator, unfortunately, empty.

  He suddenly remembered one of the times Dell and Cookie woke him, barking like dogs. He walked down the hall to Dell’s bedroom, there in the corner, beneath a black thong, lay the mask. Time to come up with a different plan.

  He had a pair of panty hose in his car, he had vaguely planned to wear them to hide his face when he was going to grab her yesterday, but then realized that posing as a priest and wearing panty hose on his head might detract from the believability of the situation.

  It was nine-thirty, and he was already a little behind schedule. He had typed up instructions and a short script for her to read. He politely knocked on the door, waited a moment then strode purposefully toward her. He held a cell phone and the typed instructions which he thrust toward her as she lay on the bed.