Reduced Ransom!

by Mike Faricy

  She stood there sweating in the heat, feet throbbing, ignoring the cell phone ringing. She felt a slight rumble in her stomach, the result of a curry dish she’d grabbed in the kitchen between serving tables. She thought briefly about dashing into the station rest room, but the rumble had all the earmarks of an unpleasant situation and the privacy of her own bathroom held a greater appeal.

  She was half thinking about a bath, just soak, relax, maybe have a glass of wine in the tub, when she saw the car. It took a moment to reach her, why it was familiar. It wasn’t the car that attracted her attention as much as the fact he was parking in a no parking zone, a bus stop actually. And that’s when she recognized the car and the driver at the same time. Her kidnapper, right across the street, ducking into a bar.

  Chapter 30

  Cookie looked up from her magazine as Mickey entered the War Bonnet Lounge, street heat rolled in the door along with him.

  “Hi, Mick.”

  “When Dell shows up, tell him I’m in my office,” he said, then strolled toward the end of the bar and a stool bathed in the dim light of a silent TV. She returned to her magazine after delivering his unordered bourbon.

  Mickey and Dell were on their third or maybe fourth together, but then who counted on a Friday? Mickey arranged his swizzle sticks along the edge of the bar.

  Somewhere during their conversation, Janice had quietly snuck in the door and slipped onto a stool in the corner. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light. She pulled her baseball cap down over her face and ordered a glass of wine. She slowly looked around, scanning the bar over the rim of her wine glass.

  It was the third time she checked the two guys at the far end, but it was so dark she wasn’t one hundred percent positive. Still it looked to be them, something about the way the heavier man moved. She wished she could get closer.

  There was something familiar about the other guy, lean and quiet. He just sat there not doing much, but nodding. She suddenly pictured him in her mind with the paper bag on his head, remembered how he had bumped into the door frame and she was positive.

  She was on the bottom half of her glass of wine when she got the warning she needed a bathroom, fast. One of those warnings that eliminated the option of racing home. It was a sudden, immediate warning from that region well below her tummy. It told her things were going to be awful in about ninety seconds, her choice where, she had ninety seconds.

  “Could you tell me where your rest rooms are?” she half begged Cookie.

  “In the back, under the TV, hon,” Cookie said, not really looking up from the drink glasses she was washing.

  Her only option was to hope they didn’t recognize her. She pulled her cap down and made a beeline for the ladies room, not sure she would even make it in time based on the violent rumbling growing in her lower intestinal tract.

  The ladies room door had a painting of a sexy, squatting dog with eye lashes, labeled ‘Setters’. The men’s room door had a dog standing and peeing on a fire hydrant. ‘Pointers’, it proclaimed.

  Janice didn’t have the luxury of time to critique art just now, let alone worry about possibly being recognized, and she hurried past the two laughing men, cap pulled down low, head turned the other way, staring at the men’s room door as if she was debating going in there.

  She pushed through the door, and thanked God the single stall was available. She could hear them out there laughing just beyond the door, and prayed they wouldn't hear her.

  Mickey paused in mid-swallow not sure what he saw out of the corner of his eye. It was all so quick, out of nowhere, she looked familiar, but then again, no, it couldn’t possibly be, not here. Could it?

  Dell’s back was to the rest rooms and Mickey said, “Hey, check this gal out in the can. You tell me, is it Huey’s kid?”

  “Huey’s kid? You mean she found us? Let’s get out of here.”

  “Hold on. It looked like her, but I can’t be sure. It’s just strange. Who comes here except us?” Mickey said.

  “You sure you don’t want to leave?” Dell asked again.

  “Yeah, I told you, don’t worry, probably not her. What would she be doing in this dive on a Friday night? Besides you’re not going to pass up Cookie, are you?”

  “Not on your—”

  “Shit,” Mickey said, making direct eye contact with Janice, as she exited the ladies room.

  “Oh, hi. Umm, w-w-what’s up?” she said, like she was supposed to make casual conversation with the man who had kidnapped her, held her for ransom for two days, and then handed her ten thousand dollars cash when he dropped her off in the alley behind her house.

  She moved a step closer. “I just wanted to say thanks, for being nice. I know it sounds crazy, but what you did, the money, it really helped me, took the pressure off for a bit. Don’t worry. I didn’t tell anyone or anything. I just saw you when I was getting gas across the street and was kinda curious, that’s all.”

  Mickey just nodded, dumbstruck.

  Dell remained frozen on his bar stool, his back to Janice standing no more than a foot behind him.

  “I think you have me mixed up with someone else,” Mickey finally said.

  “You drive that car out front that’s in the bus stop? You got a little room with black and white floor tile and you like to wrap tape around girls who are having car trouble?”

  Mickey’s hands went up reflexively and he shook his head back and forth signaling her not to say these things out loud.

  She moved in closer and lowered her voice. “I said I wasn’t going to tell anyone, so relax.” She turned and looked at Dell who remained staring straight ahead, unmoving. “Both of you, just relax.”

  “I think you must be mis—” Her look stopped him in mid-sentence. “Buy you a drink?”

  “Yeah, sure,” she said, and glided onto the stool next to him.

  Chapter 31

  It was four or five drinks past the shift change. Dell had left with Cookie, running out the door as quickly as he could around nine o’clock. Mickey was still there, listening to Janice. He had pounded the first two drinks down just to calm his nerves, but then slowed down and now found himself nodding for another, just so he could stay and talk to her.

  She was a wise ass, and he liked that. Liked the way she looked, pretty and not shy. At the moment he had tuned out her voice and was envisioning the two of them on a beach. Janice in a very tiny bikini, and . . .

  “Hey, Mickey, you listening? I said, are you okay? You got this look on your face like you were lost. I want to hear myself talk, I can just go home and rattle around. Peace and quiet tonight, Ashley’s at some sleep over. That’s my daughter, you never met her. They’ll probably sneak out and run around town until sun up, then crash until about three or four in the afternoon, get up and wonder what’s for breakfast. You got any kids?”

  “Me? Good lord, no. Guess I never quite found the right person to settle down with. It never seemed to work out, or maybe they just came to their senses.”

  “You seem like a nice guy, if you forget for the moment how we met.”

  “Yeah, pretty strange,” he glanced at the bartender, wondering where his drink was. “Harlan, that bourbon, you find it yet?”

  Harlan nodded in Mickey’s direction, free poured a low glass with bourbon until it was just about full, no ice, then just stood there, joking with two girls.

  “Watch, he’ll end up driving those two home, does it all the time,” Mickey said.

  “That sounds kind of creepy,” she said and shuddered.

  “Actually, he owns the place, gives ‘em a ride home so they don’t drive drunk. Or he calls them a cab, real nice guy that way. Thanks,” Mickey said, as Harlan suddenly pushed the full glass of bourbon across the bar.

  “You need anything,” he asked Janice.

  “No, thanks, I’m taken care of,” she said.

  “Running the taxi again tonight, Harlan?” Mickey said.

  “I’m gonna give those two a lift right now. You watch the bar
for me, Mick?” He tossed his apron on the bar, not waiting for an answer and quickly herded the two girls off their stools and out the door.

  Mickey lurched off his stool, carefully edged behind the bar, leaned across from Janice and gave her his best glassy stare. “Get you anything, or did you want to wait for Harlan?”

  “I think I’ve got all I can handle right now, but thanks all the same.”

  Mickey was thinking, or trying to, but the sheer quantity of bourbon was beginning to take it cumulative effect. Harlan was suddenly there again, thanking Mickey and ushering him from behind the bar, then turning up the lights, locking the door and pulling the dusty drapes closed.

  “Looks like that’s last call,” Janice said, digging in her purse for her keys.

  “No, he just locks up, we can stay here for another hour or two if you want, no problem. Harlan’s real good about that. He keeps the place open if you’re already in here.”

  Having poured himself a beer, Harlan stood at the far end of the bar talking to an older couple hiding behind a mound of losing pull tabs, the beer officially signaled he was more or less off duty.

  “How ‘bout I cook us some breakfast, I’m starving,” Janice said.

  Mickey seemed to think about the offer for a long moment “Sure, less go,” he slurred, then slipped off his stool and lurched toward the door.

  Janice quickly gathered up the bar napkin with his phone number, her purse, keys, phone and spare change then ran to catch up.

  “Should I follow you?” he asked out front. He was standing a little too close for conventional conversation, not that he was making a move, it was just the distance the better part of a fifth of bourbon allowed at two-twenty on a Saturday morning.

  In for a penny in for a pound, Janice thought. “No, that’s my car across the street. I better drive.”

  Chapter 32

  Mickey couldn’t remember when he had last changed the sheets, but even with his eyes closed and the throbbing in his head he could sense they were clean. The distant ringing of a phone was bringing him to the surface, pulling him from the depths of unconsciousness. He winced at the brightness of the room, yellow walls, not necessarily harsh on a normal morning, but then this was no normal morning. He was attempting to piece last night together while taking stock of the room. An antique chest of drawers, little red and white pillows lined up on the floor, the clean rug, the white door with the brass knob open just half an inch. He remembered talking to Harlan, Dell and Cookie ducking out and then . . . Jesus Christ!

  The far side of the bed appeared to have been slept in, but now it was cold to the touch. The pillow was indented and held just the slightest hint of perfume. The smell of bacon wafted in from somewhere on the other side of the door. He rolled out of bed as quietly as possible, found his clothes in a rumpled heap at the foot of the bed and quickly began to dress. The top three buttons from his shirt were missing and he sucked the last of the bourbon taste off his teeth as he contemplated the second-floor window as a possible escape, but the smell of bacon won him over and he cautiously peeked out the door into the hallway. The door gave a slight squeak as he swung it open.

  “There’s a clean towel and a tooth brush laid out in the bathroom for you. Breakfast will be ready in about ten minutes.” Janice called up the stairs from her position in front of the stove.

  Mickey brushed his teeth, splashed water on his face, took stock of himself in the bathroom mirror, then took a deep breath and headed down the stairs into the kitchen.

  “Morning, Mr. Party,” Janice said, holding out a steaming mug of coffee. She was dressed in cut-off jeans, barefoot, wearing a t-shirt emblazoned with a Jameson Irish Whiskey logo, and braless.

  Mickey’s condition just now was still rough enough that he failed to appreciate the latter and he gratefully took the coffee mug. He nodded thanks before sniffing the mug.

  “What?” she said.

  “I wasn’t that keen on Jameson, at least this morning,” he replied nodding toward her t-shirt.

  “You didn’t seem to have any qualms with this package when we got home last night,” she said, turning back to the bacon and quietly laughing.

  It took him a minute to catch the meaning of her comment and a picture suddenly burst into his mind, a lightening flash of naked flesh.

  “Relax, you did fine, Superman. Now here, take this and sit down so I can eat, too. I’m absolutely famished, could eat a small child after a workout like that. She threw toast on a plate of scrambled eggs then forked a half dozen strips of bacon over the top.

  “Well, I’m not so worried about me. But considering what you have at stake, you know being seen with me and all. What about your old man?” Mickey said.

  “You mean my husband or my departed mother’s husband, my stepfather? If it’s the ex you’re worried about, he hasn’t been around except to call occasionally and tell me he was going to be late with the child support. If it’s my departed mother’s husband, we don’t talk. He calls me a dozen times a day to yell and scream, tells me he wants the money back. Tells me I owe him, but that’s not gonna happen.”

  “Mick, I don’t want any damn money. I don’t want a handout and that’s not why you ended up in my bed last night. What you did for me when you dropped me off was actually sweet, in a weird way. I haven’t always had this life of luxury I’m leading now.”

  “I hope you don’t think I—”

  “And, by the way, last night was not the dumbest thing I’ve ever done in my life, so there. I mean big deal, so you kidnapped me, wrapped me up with that shitty tape, threw me in the back of your stinky car, kept me in a small room with no door on the bathroom and probably watched me through the keyhole, lots of girls meet guys that way. Don’t they? There’s no strings attached here. You’re free to go.”

  “I wasn’t worried about that. But, since I’m free to go, as you put it, I’ll need a ride back to my car after breakfast,” he said, then picked up another strip of bacon.

  Chapter 33

  “Are you kidding me?” Mickey yelled. He pulled the parking ticket off his windshield and waved it at Janice as she drove away. When he got home he had four messages waiting for him, all from Dell. Before he could finish listening to them, Dell called again.

  “Mick, you ok? What the hell happened?”

  “I’m just fine, Dell. What are you worried about?”

  “What am I worried about? Mick, did you forget who you were buying drinks for last night? That sweet young thing was Huey’s kid. Does that ring any bells?”

  “Oh yeah, Janice. We talked for a while then she had to get going.”

  “Damn it, I didn’t know what to do last night. Janice, you call her Janice now? I brushed Cookie off, ditched her. Man, she was mad. She slammed the car door and gave me the finger. I packed a bag and drove up here last night thinking I was being followed the whole way.”

  “Up here? You’re up at the lake right now?”

  “Yeah, I just told you, I didn’t know what to think. Hell, I’m sitting up here with a loaded deer rifle just in case Huey Evans and a car full of goons comes down the road. I only slept about three minutes last night. I’ve been hearing things, thinking maybe they grabbed you and beat a confession out of you.”

  “Believe me, Dell, everything’s cool, there’s no trouble down here. We just ended up together, sort of, for a few minutes is all. Like it was some kind of strange fate to meet again or something. Come on back down to the cities, call Cookie and tell her you’re just stupid.”

  “You sure there’s no trouble and we don’t have Huey on our ass? Because if we do, the best thing that could happen would be we get arrested by the cops and they lock us up for our own protection.”

  “Will you calm down? I’ve got this whole thing under control. Huey Evans is not a problem. How in the hell would he even find out about us? Quit being stupid and just get back down here.”

  Chapter 34

  “Son of bitch.” Huey slammed down the phone as soon as he h
eard the voice mail message kick in again. “You can bet my ass she is going to pay back that money, with interest, too. I don’t know exactly how, but she’s involved. I can feel it. Probably set up the whole damn thing. Arranged to have herself kidnapped. Paid a couple of morons to torch my garage with my ’56 Chevy. If she thinks she can get away with this just by not answering the phone, she’s got another thing coming.”

  He began fingering through his well-worn rolodex. “It’s time I get a little professional help in here. Take a more direct approach and find out exactly what in the hell is going on. We’ll see who’s not going to take my calls.”

  He punched in a seven-digit number, waited four rings before he heard the tonal beep and entered his call back number. He’d used this service before, not without some expense involved, but in situations like this, sometimes it was the only way to deal with the problem. The call was usually returned within the hour, and it had always proven to be money well spent.

  On the East side of town, Buster Keegan had just finished getting a massage when Huey’s number came through on his cellphone. Probably a collection problem that would have to be taken care of in Buster’s own highly effective manner. A smile came across his face. Huey always paid well.

  He rotated his shoulder trying to work the last of the kinks out while standing at the locker room payphone, a white towel wrapped around his waist. When Huey answered, Buster gave him the name of a restaurant and the time he would be there, then hung up without waiting for Huey’s reply.

  He was sitting in a back booth, facing the door, when Huey arrived. Buster was always in a back booth facing the door and Huey had no doubt there was someone else watching, just in case. That wasn’t a concern, Huey was here to discuss business, the business of his stepdaughter, Janice, and the hundred grand she wouldn’t pay back.