Vengeance List

by Gary Gregor

  She hadn’t been in love with anyone for a long time and, while she never considered being alone a negative, she had from, time to time, wondered if she might one day find the happiness and the serenity she associated with being genuinely in love. It was not something she felt she desperately needed. She had, until now, always been confident that, if she were never to experience such feelings again, her life would be no less satisfying. She had her work. She loved it, and should she ever succumb to a belief that anything was missing in her life, she felt her work would easily fill the void.

  Then, Sam Rose walked into her life, and now, she felt differently. Her life changed, and that was the scary part. Suddenly, matters of the heart seemed to take on a significance she hadn’t given much consideration in the past. Along with Sam came a shift in priorities, and that was something she was going to have to deal with, and quickly, she thought.

  She suspected the feelings would not go away. Not like the shallow, meaningless relationships that touched her life briefly in the past. She wasn't sure she wanted them to go away; until she spent many sleepless nights thinking about it. Then, she was certain she didn’t want them to go away. The one thing in it all that remained constant, the one thing she was certain of above all else was, regardless of the eventual outcome of these new feelings, she knew beyond all doubt her life would never be the same again because of it; and that frightened her.

  She shivered at the thought as she prodded at her hair one last time. Satisfied, she swung away from the mirror and walked from the room. As she stepped into the hall, she collided headlong into a smiling, bearded man, standing in the shadows just outside the bathroom door.

  “Hello Ann,” the smiling face said.

  Sam walked to the window in his office, and looked out into the street. They were still there; a different two detectives from the two who sat outside his house all night. But, there they were. Across the street, sitting in their car, watching his office and munching on sandwiches. Sam was far from happy with Foley’s insistence he be shadowed twenty-four hours a day. He was not used to being followed everywhere he went, but there seemed little he could do about it. It was a strange, uncomfortable feeling; knowing you were being followed, every minute of every day. He knew it was not a surreptitious thing. So far, no attempt was made to hide their presence. They were there for protection, his protection. A minor detail he supposed, but one that did not make him feel any better about their presence.

  He was, of course, no stranger to the practice. As a police officer, he was involved in surveillance operations many times. Now, as a private investigator primarily working insurance fraud cases, covert surveillance was the norm. However, it was different now that he was the subject of the surveillance, and he wondered how long Foley would keep the tail in place. Until Stringer showed his hand, he supposed. If he ever did show his hand.

  Stringer would spot the surveillance team a mile away. Perhaps Foley should have instructed his men to play a covert role; observe without being observed. Perhaps then, if Stringer did try something, he would not be aware he was being watched. It would have been best all round, Sam thought, if Foley listened to him and got rid of the tail.

  Sam was not afraid of John Stringer. The anger boiling inside him overrode any fear lingering just below the surface. He wanted Stringer to come after him. He looked forward to it, and hoped Stringer would make a move, despite the two detectives assigned to watch over him.

  The telephone on his desk rang. He moved away from the window and hastily grabbed the receiver.

  “Hello, Sam Rose,” he announced.

  “Mister Rose?” a female voice asked.

  “Yes, Sam Rose. Who is this?”

  “Mister Rose, this is Margaret Adams, Professor Curtis’s secretary.”

  “Well, hello Mrs. Adams, how are you?”

  “It’s Margaret, and I’m fine, thank you,” She answered in an efficient tone.

  “What can I do for you, Margaret?” Sam asked, becoming curious.

  “Well, I was hoping you might be able to tell me if you have seen Professor Curtis.”

  “Ann? Well no, not for a day or so. Is something wrong?”

  “I’m…I’m not sure,” she responded.

  “What do you mean, you’re not sure?” Sam prompted. An uncomfortable feeling clawed at his gut.

  “Well, she had an important meeting this morning, at eight o’clock, here at the university. She has been preparing for it for the last few days. She was to make submissions for a change to the curriculum. It was very important to her. She would never have intentionally missed it…”

  “And, I take it she did miss it?” Sam interrupted.

  “I’m afraid so. She never arrived here this morning, and she is not answering her telephone. I sent someone to her home, you know, in case she was sick, or something.”

  “And?”

  “Her car is still in the garage, but she doesn’t appear to be home; at least she's not answering her door. I didn’t know what to do. I wondered if you might have seen her recently.”

  “Perhaps she decided to take the bus, or a taxi, instead of her car,” Sam offered with very little confidence. “Perhaps she’s just running late.”

  “Professor Curtis has never been late a single day since she came to us,” Margaret said curtly. “She certainly wouldn’t be late for such an important meeting. Frankly, I’m worried about her.”

  “Worried? Why would you worry? Have you any reason to be concerned?”

  “Well, no, not exactly, nothing specific. It’s just that it is totally out of character for her. If there was anything, anything at all keeping her from this meeting, she would have contacted me. It’s just something she would have done.”

  “Okay, Margaret,” Sam said. “Let’s think about it for a minute. Did she say anything? Leave a message with anyone, a note, anything like that?”

  “No, I would know about it if that were the case.”

  “Alright, there has to be a logical explanation. Why don’t I go over to her house and have a look around? In the meantime, you can make more inquiries there at the university. I’ll get back in touch with you as soon as I’ve checked her home. Give me an hour, and then we’ll compare notes. If she still hasn’t turned up, we’ll discuss the next step, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said, the concern in her voice obvious.

  “Oh, and Margaret, try not to worry, okay? I’m sure she’s fine. She’ll turn up, I’m sure.”

  “Okay,” she agreed. “You will ring me won’t you?”

  “Absolutely, in one hour, alright?”

  “Alright, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Sam said. He hung up the phone.

  He sat for a few moments, and stared at the phone. This was strange. A gnawing, uncomfortable feeling enveloped him. He had not known Ann long, and had only her secretary's say that this was not characteristic behaviour. He didn’t know why he felt it, but he felt something was wrong. For reasons unknown, his thoughts went immediately to John Stringer. He shivered involuntarily, and tried to dispel the thoughts.

  He walked to the door, and was about to leave the office when his telephone rang again. He almost let it ring. He stepped out into the corridor, and moved to close the door behind him. Something made him stop. The phone kept ringing. Perhaps he should answer it. It would take just a minute. Perhaps it would be Margaret Adams phoning back to tell him Ann had just arrived. Perhaps it would be Ann herself. He hadn’t seen her, or even spoken to her since the night he went to her home, and never got any further than the hallway. Maybe she was angry with him for not calling. The phone continued to ring. Damn this Stringer business, it had kept him from more important things; like his rapidly developing feelings for Ann Curtis.

  He stepped back into the office, moved quickly to the desk, and snatched up the telephone. “Hello, Sam Rose.”

  “It’s about fuckin’ time you got off the bloody phone,” a voice he did not recognise said angrily.

&nbs
p; “I beg your pardon?” Sam said.

  “I said it’s…”

  “I know what you said,” Sam interjected. “Who is this?”

  “You interrupted me, Sam. That’s not wise. You’re gonna have to learn it is not wise to interrupt me.”

  “Yeah, right,” Sam scoffed. “Like I could give a shit. Who the fuck is this?” He almost slammed down the receiver.

  “I’m not surprised you don’t recognise my voice, it’s been a long time.”

  Then, realisation smacked him hard. Suddenly, he knew who the caller was. It was not the voice; it had been too long, and he did not recognise the voice. It was something else, a strange, pre-cognitive feeling that unlocked a door somewhere in the back of his mind. It hit him like a slap. Then, the fear, the fear he never felt he had, flooded to the surface. The voice chilled him to the bone. Not because of what it said, but because of who it belonged to.

  “Stringer!” It was not a question, but more a statement of fact.

  “Well done. Perhaps you’re not as dumb as I thought you were.”

  Sam ignored the insult. “Where are you, Stringer?”

  “Really now, please,” Stringer said. “You were off to such a good start, don’t spoil it.”

  “Give it up, Stringer. You know you can’t get away with this. I know, and the police know, you are responsible for those murders. It’s only a matter of time, and it's running out fast,” he added.

  “Don’t insult my intelligence. Fuck you!” Stringer screamed into the mouthpiece. “Don’t you dare insult my intelligence. I have got away with it, you dumb fuck! You fuckin’ piece of worthless shit! I’ve already gotten away with it! They’re fuckin’ dead, aren’t they? They’re all dead, just as I planned!”

  “What do you want?” Sam asked, struggling to keep his emotions in check, and hoping Stringer would not hang up on him.

  When Stringer spoke again, his voice was quieter, calmer, as though he had flicked a switch from “insane mad man” to “cool, calm and collected”.

  “I want you, Rose,” he said. “I want you. I thought you might have figured that out by now. Perhaps I was right in the first place. You are as dumb as I thought you were.”

  “Okay, Stringer, I’ll play. Why don’t you tell me why you called?”

  “Why I called? Well, okay, that’s a reasonable request,” Stringer said. “I just wanted to talk to you. You know, chew the fat, shoot the breeze, renew old acquaintances.”

  “Bullshit!”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “Of course I don’t believe you. Get to the point, or I’m hanging up,” Sam lied.

  “Well, okay then, you win. I just wanted to call to, oh… I dunno, gloat maybe.”

  “What have you got to gloat about, Stringer? You’re a fuckin’ murderer, that’s all you are.”

  “Murderer!” Stringer screamed. “A murderer! You’ve got the gall to call me a murderer! I’m no murderer! They got what they deserved! Just like you are going to get what’s comin’ to you, you shit! I was just balancing the scales! You fuckin’ hear me, you fuckin’ shit!”

  “I hear you,” Sam answered. “Is that why you called? To tell me I’m gonna get what’s comin’ to me, or to tell me I’m a shit?”

  “Oh yeah, that’s it,” Stringer was suddenly calm again. “That’s it Rose. Start gettin’ smart with me. Keep that up and I’m gonna hang up the phone. I swear I’ll hang up, and you’ll never know the reason I called.”

  “Why don’t you just tell me the reason?”

  “Okay, I will, since you asked so nicely. I met your girlfriend.”

  A few seconds of silence followed. Sam could not even hear Stringer breathing on the other end of the line.

  “What? What did you say?” He stood bolt upright. He gripped the handpiece until his knuckles turned white. “What did you say?” No response came from the other end of the line. Sam strained to hear anything, but there was nothing. He couldn’t hear Stringer, but knew the bastard was still there. The prick was enjoying this.

  “Stringer! Stringer! What did you say?”

  “You heard me,” Stringer said finally. “I met your new girlfriend. She’s a pretty lady, Sam. You’ve done well for yourself. Congratulations. She’s smart too, I’ll bet; being a professor and all. Smarter than you I reckon. You're punching above your weight with her, Sam. How do you feel about that? Having a girlfriend smarter than yourself? Does that piss you off? Does it, Sam?”

  “What exactly do you mean, you met her?”

  “It means just what it sounds like, I met her.”

  “Where is she?” Sam spat, his anger and fear rising.

  “She’s safe, at least for the moment; somewhat uncomfortable perhaps, but safe.”

  “Jesus, Stringer, she’s not part of this. She’s nothing to you. Let her go!”

  “It’s unfortunate, I admit,” Stringer continued. “And you’re right, she’s not part of this, and she is nothing to me. But she is valuable, very valuable.”

  “Why, why her?”

  “That’s the simple part, she’s your girlfriend, and she’s become necessary.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “Okay, Sam. I think we’ve played enough games for the time being. I’m going to be straight with you. Would you like that?”

  “Where is she?”

  “Well, she’s with me. Not with me right at this very moment, but she is… how can I put this delicately? She’s in my care.”

  If Sam was feeling the onset of fear before, that fear had escalated into the stratosphere. “Where, damn you?” Sam yelled.

  “Oh, dear me,” Stringer said. “You are going to have to watch that temper of yours. If you are going to yell at me, I might just have to hang up, and you can go fuck yourself, and I’ll go fuck the lovely Ms. Curtis. It’s been a while since I’ve felt the lustful throws of a pretty woman beneath me. Oh, there’s been the odd black one from the fringe camps around town, especially when I first got out of prison, but they don’t exactly thrash around, if you get my drift, and they're not as pretty as our Ann."

  Sam inhaled deeply, fighting to bring himself under control.

  “Are you still with me, Sammy?”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll do this your way. Just tell me where she is.”

  “Say please.”

  “What?”

  “I said, say fuckin’ please!” Stringer was screaming again.

  “Alright, alright. Please,” Sam said.

  “Now, there you go. That’s much better. That wasn’t hard was it? Isn’t it so much nicer when we can talk like two mature, civilised gentlemen?”

  Sam wanted to reach down through the telephone and grab Stringer by the throat, and drag him through the lines. He wanted to see the bastard's face as he beat the living daylights out of him. He wanted to kill this rabid, madman, more than he ever wanted anything in his entire life.

  “Answer me, Rose. Isn’t it nicer?”

  “Yes,” was all Sam could bring himself to say.

  “Good, thank you.”

  “I thought you said we’ve played enough games,” Sam dared to suggest. “Where is she?”

  “I’m going to tell you that, Sam. I’m going to tell you because I want you to come and get her. I want you to come and get her, so you and I can meet again after all these years, face to face. That would be nice, don’t you think?”

  It was a prospect Sam longed for. “I’m looking forward to it, but you don’t need her for that. I would still have come.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Stringer mused, “but this way I control the game. You see, I don’t want the whole police force traipsing along behind you, like the bunch of Keystone Cops they are. The lovely professor gives me a sense of security, if you know what I mean.”

  Sam felt that shiver of apprehension surge through him again. “Why don’t you tell me what you mean?”

  “I want you to lose those two pigs you’ve got sitting outside your office,” Stringer b
egan. “I’m going to give you directions to the girl. I’ll be there to meet you. If you think anything at all of Professor Curtis, you will be alone. Are you with me so far?”

  “Go on,” Sam said.

  “There’s one thing you should remember though, Rose. One thing gilt-edged and guaranteed. I will kill her. Even if I only suspect you might have brought the cops with you. Your job is to lose the tail and speak to no one. No one! This has to come down to you and me. No one else, just you and me. One on one, face to face. That’s what all this is about, don’t you see? That’s why all the others had to go before you. You had to be last. That was always the plan. Then it will be over.”

  “What about Ann?” Sam asked.

  “We can discuss your girlfriend’s future when we meet. Do you understand and agree to my terms?”

  “Is she alive?”

  “For the moment, but you know what I’m capable of. You’ve seen examples of my handiwork. You must know I will kill her, in the blink of an eye, if you involve the police in this. Now, let me ask you one last time, do you understand and agree to my terms?”

  Sam paused momentarily, his mind racing. “Yes,” he conceded.

  “You better, Rose, you just better. Her life depends on it.”

  “I said I understand,” Sam said.

  “Good. We’re making progress. Now, I’m going to say this just once so don’t fuck it up. I’m not going to repeat it. If you don’t show up, alone, at exactly the right time, the professor’s dead. Here’s what I want you to do…”

  Sam grabbed for a pen on the desk, and scribbled down the directions as Stringer talked. He gave them fast, and true to his word, he gave them only once. For one brief, frightening moment, Sam thought he would miss something, an important detail because Stringer spoke so fast. Then, it was over. Without another word, Stringer hung up.