Subtle sounds rose and quieted with the passing hour before some familiar noises intruded.
The echoing sounds of his young guard, coming and going, indicated that there were two more rooms or common areas. Rattling of locks as a heavy chain jangled, another minute lapsed until the kidnapper was at the cell door.
Running each event over in his mind helped Rick to stay centered, focused, and not to miss any small details. Any factor increased the difference between freedom and death. He didn’t have the hood over his head, which helped him immensely to scrutinize the surroundings.
Growing louder and shuffled, the footsteps came close to the cell area, but then retreated. It signified reluctance, and where there was hesitation, then there was the ability to turn the situation into your favor.
Clink.
Rick readied himself.
The door pushed open.
The man shuffled in with a plain white bag. There was no recognizable aroma permeating from it as he dropped it next to Rick.
“Thanks. What’s on the menu?” Rick tried to sound upbeat, like a buddy.
“Sandwich.”
The man robotically went through the same motions of releasing the restraints, settled on his gun, and targeted Rick’s every move.
Slowly picking up the white bag, Rick felt his limbs much stronger as he grasped the paper wrapped sandwich oozing with mustard and mayonnaise. Tearing the butcher paper from the loaded hoagie, a pickle dropped from between the two pieces of bread and landed on the filthy floor leaving an odd imprint of cucumber juice.
“Great sandwich, better than homemade.” Rick tried to start a conversation. He noticed how distracted and twitchy the young man became. Anger was just below the surface as he moved with jerky and anxious movements.
Rick could work with the personality weaknesses.
He tested the waters with his captor and mustered all his average, cool guy attitude. “Hey man, I couldn’t help but notice that you’re the only one that oversees this situation. What’s up with that?”
The man looked at Rick, stared him down in a predatory manner, never blinking. For a moment, Rick thought he might just put a bullet in his head and be done with the entire situation.
The young man leaned forward, never taking his antsy fingers from the gun, flicking the safety on and off. It wasn’t clear if he had ever fired a weapon.
Daring to continue, Rick added. “It’s just that it seems like all the burden has fallen upon you, that’s all.” He shrugged his shoulders and looked away.
Rick waited for what seemed like an eternity for the young man to respond, with either violence or a comment.
“It sucks man.”
Got him.
“Can totally relate. When I was working my first job, total disrespect by my co-workers and it sucked big time.” For a moment, Rick thought he might have pushed too hard.
“You’re not the right person to talk to…”
“Hey, I’m not going anywhere.”
The guard stood up. He circled the room like a caged animal.
Rick knew it was only a matter of time before he wised up to the manipulation, but the human psyche always responded to someone who seemed interested in listening.
“Have you ever had someone tell you that you’re nothing, and you deserve what you get?”
Rick wasn’t prepared for that question, but didn’t miss a beat. “They are people who feel small and take it out on everyone around them.”
The man stopped and turned to look at Rick. “Do you really believe that?”
“Hey, I’ve got a decade, or more on you, and one thing I’ve learned is that everyone has issues.” Rick shifted his weight in the uncomfortable chair, trying to relax his neck and shoulders.
“Yeah well, some people think they are better than others.” He started pacing again, swinging the pistol in an erratic motion.
“They are the ones that feel the lowest.”
“They just suck as people.” He swung the gun up to his face and scratched his chin.
“True, but the world is filled with people like that.” Rick tried not to let his sarcasm seep into his voice. Irony came to mind. How idiotic his conversation was with the young man.
Almost five minutes had passed before the man responded to Rick. Watching him with curiosity, he seemed like he was in another world. It wasn’t clear if he had taken some drugs or just had a deficit of mental capacity.
“So you really want to talk?” The man looked curiously at Rick, eyes dark and foreboding, never taking his hand from the loaded gun.
“Sure, why not?”
Rick hoped that it wouldn’t be his last conversation.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Saturday 1700 Hours
Not bothering to check in to one of the local motels, Jordan decided that it was best to keep looking for Emily. Time pushed ahead and weaved a trap against him.
The early evening chilled the air. The reality of finding more information kept Jordan vigilant and hopeful as he drove up and down streets in a line search method, just like searching for evidence at a crime scene.
He had rented a standard mid-class car after leaving the airport. It had the usual pungent smell of old cigarettes masked by a putrid floral spray. He tossed everything into the trunk, except for his laptop and cell phone.
The Internet signal bounced around, depending upon if he drove up a hill into a densely wooded area, or into an open parking lot behind a casino. The security icon still showed the necklace to be near South Lake Tahoe within the approximate area of five square miles. It wasn’t quite like a needle in a haystack, but it was still an arduous search.
The greenish yellow blip on the small screen pulsed with life, it knew secrets. The more Jordan watched the tedious blinking, the more it seemed to want to reach out to him.
The familiar chime emanated from the cell phone that there was a missed message. Jordan almost dropped the phone before he could read the number, but to his dismay, it was from one of his security clients confirming an appointment.
Turning into a casino parking lot, he easily found a parking place. It was strategically located where he could walk to several casinos.
The fresh air would improve his mood and energy. The hint of the clean pine smell, a sweet aroma of the woods never drifted far away, and kept the constant atmosphere of the beautiful location within arm’s reach.
Pulling open the back door entrance to a casino and restaurant, Jordan stepped inside. Laughter and falling coins instantly filled the void of the darkened cave. The establishment heavily adorned with dizzying mirrors, nonstop gambling, and a carpet with a repeating, nauseating design reminiscent of a carnival bombarded him.
The jingling change hit plastic containers like clockwork, while the constant beeping, dinging, and applause of various slot machines overpowered one area after another. It boggled the mind and frenzied the equilibrium.
Jordan eyed every pretty, petite fair-haired woman, but none of them was Emily.
Why would Emily be in a casino?
He glanced at his phone again. It repeated the same alert for the necklace. It was close, maybe not in this casino, but nearby.
The process of elimination anchored Jordan’s thoughts and cooled his gut instincts – at least for a few minutes. With all of the energy and thrill of the chase to find Emily and Rick, Jordan felt deep sadness.
Casually walking through the casino, he noticed all eyes focused on picture screens, cards or the dice. Many hoped of hitting it rich and all of their problems would cease. Life precariously worked in mysterious ways – it was rarely what you planned.
A pretty, redheaded cocktail waitress approached Jordan. “What would you like?”
“Nothing right now, thank you.”
The lovely waitress in a short skirt with a top two sizes too small, smiled and moved on.
Jordan eased his way through one casino and then into the next, taking special care to look at the faces of the patrons and employees. He knew the i
nvestigative drill, but it didn’t make his nerves slack in the least.
The second garish casino had even more sparkles, bangles, clattering of slot machines, and relentless noises than the previous one.
Glancing up at the ceiling, each mirrored tile tilted precisely in a certain direction. Jordan knew that security watched every face coming and going with high-tech computers, and communications with pit bosses and managers. If something looked out of place, they escorted those individuals to the street. Everything worked around the clock to perform seamlessly, while millions cashed in and out on a regular basis.
A woman rounded a corner in a striking black dress, but she had long brown hair. The female shape, stride, and confidence drew Jordan’s attention. He recounted the first meeting with Emily and it struck a familiarity with him.
With the dim lighting and clashing sparkles of the surroundings, the woman disappeared. Jordan couldn’t make an accurate identification from the brief glimpse.
Why would she be here walking around in a disguise?
Jordan faced dozens of more questions as he made his way through the crowds of people, some trying to balance their drinks looking for the next plan of attack to gain riches. He grew weary of saying excuse me to wide-eyed tourists from mid-western states and tiny towns. It was like trying to direct an unruly crowd into participating in a three-act play.
Jordan kept his focus and pushed on as best as he could under the circumstances.
A large, intoxicated man bumped into Jordan, and mumbled something that didn’t resemble English, or anything spoken on Earth.
Droplets from the mixed drink dappled across Jordan’s shirt.
Damn.
Vodka had been the drink of choice for the staggering man. Jordan received the strong smell of a distillery blasted across the front of his favorite shirt to prove it.
Moving through a group of meandering senior citizens straight off a tour bus, Jordan forged onward. He still didn’t see the dark haired beauty, but hopefully retraced her steps.
Standing at an exit, Jordan hesitated. He looked back behind him and decided to go outside.
He burst through the door and came to another parking structure. Cars entered in a never-ending stream, quickly slipping into any available space. He doubled back around the parking area, ending up in a V.I.P area for limos, high-priced foreign cars, and celebrity acts. Several cars filled the garage, but now, it remained deserted from patrons and employees.
Dead end.
Frustrated and equally furious with himself for taking the extra time away from systematically searching the casinos, restaurants, and surrounding businesses. In his haste and annoyance, he didn’t see the tall, severe-looking man wearing a black leather jacket quickly approach.
Just as Jordan turned to head back toward the casino, Red shoved him against a cement barrier and caught him off balance. He fell hard onto the ground, jarring his entire torso, clacking his teeth, which caused a weird echo in his head. He lost his breath abruptly.
“What are you doing?” Jordan wheezed as he used the barrier to regain his balance. “Look man, I don’t know what you…”
Before he could finish his strained sentence, Red stepped forward and threw an impressive jab-cross combination to his face, dropping him to the ground.
Crap.
Jordan willed his eyes to open, but the only thing he saw were tiny flicks of luminous lights floating in his peripheral vision just before everything went dark.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Saturday 1800 Hours
The restraints showed a little more slackness than before, which facilitated Rick’s constant, steady movement of his wrists in order to loosen them. He would wait a moment or two to lessen the burning sensation, which caused the severe rawness around his wrists and arms. He continued with the same procedure.
“I just don’t get it.” The young man continued with a strange voice inflection that waned every so often, “I’m the one who goes to jail if we’re caught? How screwed up is that?”
“Did you tell them your concern?” Rick tried to sound interested, but his patience had grown weary. He despised everything about the young man.
The restraints expanded a little bit more.
The captor spewed rants of persecution, and continued along with lame attempts to prove himself right. He looked up from the wall, where he had obsessively picked at the remnants of an old warning sign for electrical outlets.
“What?” He asked in an accusatory tone.
“Have you tried to tell them your side?”
Flip flopping from the whining lower rank employee to a raging psychopath, he ranted more. “What do you think? Do you think I’m stupid? Don’t you think I know what you’re doing?”
“Hey, I’m just talking to pass the time, that’s all.”
Just a little bit more, tugging one way, then the other.
“You think you’re so much smarter than I am, don’t you? You’re so special that people actually want you dead.” He paced, while waving the gun back and forth. “They do want you dead, you know. After your girlfriend does what they want.” He leaned forward showing his uneven teeth. “Then you’re both dead.”
Rick almost responded, but thought better to keep his mouth shut. The conversation headed between the fine line of ridiculous and deadly.
“And I have to clean up this shit!” He kicked debris at the bathroom bucket, knocking it over.
Dust floated around the tight quarters.
“Do you know what that’s like?” He emphasized.
Rick slowly shook his head, never taking his eyes from the kidnapper. Things could go sideways any second.
Flipping the gun safety on and off relentlessly, the man used the gun as a primitive tool to scrape against the wall. Chunks of debris crumbled down the side and rested in compact piles.
The ropes stung Rick’s wrists; he felt the blood running over his hands.
“It’s not fair.” The man mumbled more to himself than to Rick.
He worked the ropes faster.
Seconds counted.
The young man stopped raging as abruptly as he had started. He turned and craned his neck in an awkward position. His eyes unfocused and dead as he took two carefully placed steps and swung the gun at Rick’s head.
Rick had anticipated the attack, raised himself up slightly from the seat of the chair, just as the blow struck his upper left shoulder knocking him over onto the floor.
Dust and old construction fragments blustered around in the air and into his sinuses.
The impact was enough to release Rick’s right hand, but his legs and feet were still stationary.
The kidnapper stood above Rick, staring down.
Rick waited to hear – a gunshot.
The young man curiously leaned down and tried to grab the back of the chair to pull it up, but it was too heavy. He slipped the gun into his waistband. Using both hands, he leaned down toward Rick.
Anger fueled Rick’s adrenalin. It was now or never. As the man leaned in closer, Rick blasted a punch to his throat. A direct hit landed with a harsh reality – a deathblow.
The only thing Rick could do was watch as the man staggered, gasping for air, and finally fall to the floor. The pounding heart beat and breathlessness was the only sound that radiated in his ears.
The young man lay sprawled out on the floor, wide eyed, staring at the ceiling. The ranting and raving had ceased.
Breathless and exhausted, Rick flopped back onto the filthy floor to catch his breath.
He despised the kidnapper, not for trying to kill him, but for making him take such drastic measures to take another person’s life.
Slowly sitting up, Rick began the tedious task of removing the rest of his restraints. He felt lighter. The pressure of doom had been lifted; however, it didn’t take away the stinging pain of the wounds sustained on his shoulder and face.
The young man’s frozen position reminded Rick of how fleeting life could be, especially whe
n emotions took over actions.
Rick took the gun and the captor’s cell phone. He immediately called Emily’s cell phone.
No answer.
Hastily he called Jordan, but it also went straight to voice mail.
Without wasting anymore time, Rick pushed through the doorway of his holding cell. He was surprised to see that the rest of the abandoned building wasn’t as dilapidated as the small room. The entire building needed to be torn down, but it looked relatively clean. It looked as if someone had swept up.
Rick zigzagged through rooms and hallways. Finally, climbing down the rickety staircase, he found the door, which led outside.
The cool evening air welcomed him.
Freedom.
As Rick continued toward a populated area, he never saw the carefully hidden video camera, which had recorded the evening’s events.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Saturday 1900 Hours
Steady up and down and side-to-side movements woke Jordan. Extreme grogginess accompanied by a crushing pain radiated from his jaw up to the top of his head. Stale vodka mixed with the stink of rubber and grease made him fight the involuntary urge to vomit.
Darkness accompanied by the occasional red flashing light, on and off, was the only view from his peripheral. The rose-colored neon lights blinked in unison, which appeared next to one another in an equal distance apart.
Nausea loomed.
Extreme discomfort telescoped throughout his body.
Reeling in uncertainty, Jordan thought he was lost in a dream, or at least hoped. The weaving motion continued, each time with a little more drastic movement that pushed his body against something solid. As a reflex, he tried to sit up from his position, but hit his head on a low ceiling. It caused a sharp pain to throb in a pounding rhythm.
Panic set in as he tried to find his way out of the dark, hitting restrictions at every turn.
Jordan’s body slid to one side. It then changed directions again as his stomach heaved and dropped. It took serious concentration and will power to stop the barf process, but in the end, his body did exactly what it wanted to do. He heaved his last meal into the small confinement.
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