GOODGIRLS SAY PLEASE

by Dani Wyatt

  Everything I own is in a trust or under other names that are not traceable back to me. Still, I’m on the phone with Malcolm now as I drive back from the airport to home, hoping to get more intel on Calfus and what actually went wrong that allowed him to know my fucking name.

  “When I said it, I knew it was a mistake, but I didn’t think he caught it.” Malcolm Reynolds’ voice is stoic but after all these years I detect the twinge of panic.

  Reynolds is my connection. He sends me the files and the jobs and I take it from there. He’s the one they contact. He’s a ghost for the most part, doing all his work via phone and electronic communication. I’ve only met him a couple times myself.

  He’s no saint. That’s the business we’re in. Cleaning up for those that have the resources. I do the relocations, but he has others that handle the wet work and other things I don’t know about I’m sure.

  George fits in somewhere in the clean-up department, so he’s no fucking saint either, but I trust him with my life. With her life, too. At least I did.

  Cleaning up means taking crime scenes and polishing them like it never happened. Scrubbing out evidence.

  Or, if that’s not possible, making it look like something it isn’t, so the authorities don’t have a trail to follow. That’s not my bag. My own training set me up for what I do, which is creating new lives and identities for the ones that can afford my services.

  “It’s your fucking job to not make mistakes. He played you. He’s good, but for fuck sake you are supposed to be better.” Anger pounds in my temples but my focus needs to stay straight.

  “How he figured out the rest, I’m not sure.” Reynolds answers with a hint of remorse but it’s not enough.

  “You were the one that said he was a genius at playing people. It’s his life to pick up on anything and everything that could be a weakness. Now I’m the one with my ass hanging out in the wind. And I don’t fucking care about me, but her. God damn it.” Reynolds doesn’t usually share the details of what puts someone in my lap.

  It’s not a good idea, for him, the client or me. He gives me enough to not place them in areas where they could be made, which is all I need to know, but not all the details. Never the details. Because that could sway my own judgment.

  “You’re a ghost. He figured out your name, but nothing else in your world is tied to that identity, you said so yourself. But I’ll tell you everything I know about him...”

  In this case, he had to spill.

  Turns out, this fuck makes his living on the highest level of grifting. His main tag is taking women for large sums. This time, he tag teamed a mother and a daughter. Both fucking married to top level mob operators. And the daughter ended up pregnant. He pocketed about a million and a half before the mother and daughter figured it out.

  Needless to say, these particular husbands have one way of dealing with something like this, and every direction he turns would have ended with his body parts in paper bags—starting with his fucking dick.

  I grip the wheel until my fingernails dig into my palms as I race through traffic, punching the other phone with her number again and listening as it rings continuously with no answer. George isn’t answering either and the fist pounding in my gut takes a few more whacks until bile rises in the back of my throat.

  “I told you.” Reynolds takes on a deeper tone. “The girl makes you vulnerable. It was a mistake. What we do—and having people you care about—just don’t go together. She’s your Achilles heel and you should have known better.”

  “Fuck off.” I counter. “Don’t put this on me. You fucked it up. Dropping enough about me so a psycho can figure out who I am. Where I am. That’s on you.”

  I’m still not completely sure how it played out, but I know enough that Ginger could be in jeopardy.

  My calls earlier calmed my nerves but I want to wrap up with Malcolm so I can get them both on the phone again and make sure all is still quiet there. I need reassurances from both my personal and professional life, but touching base and getting info was priority.

  “I’m sorry.” His voice echoes in the sedan. He’s not the kind of man that apologizes. Not ever. So that sends chills down my spine. “What can I do?”

  “Email me fucking everything you know about him. And I mean everything, right down to his tastes in fucking porn. The more I know, the better this goes. I’ll call you if I need you. And you better fucking be there for me if I do.”

  “Done.”

  I click off without another word as I barrel off the interstate toward the house. I call over and over to both their phones to no avail until I tear in through the gates of the house.

  George is in the driveway as I pull in, getting out of his car like nothing’s wrong.

  “What the fuck is going on?” I yell as I run to the front door. “Why aren’t you with her?”

  “What’s wrong, Stas? I went to get pizza. Took longer than I expected—there are no places open around here at this time of night. And then I wanted to get her some ice cream. Took me nearly an hour just to get the pizza then ran to get her ice cream then back. I was on my work cell, just saw all your calls, had to sit there and deal with some upcoming issues. But the alarm is set, she has her phone. I texted her it would take me longer. No need to worry. I didn’t hear anything. What’s going on with you?”

  “Did she text you back?” I snap.

  He shakes his head, eyebrows coming together and starts to say something else.

  I’m inside.

  “Ginger!” No answer. “Babybear, answer me!” The words bank in my throat, sure the silence I hear is my answer.

  I knew the moment we met, I needed to change. I needed to stop helping the trash of this world get a new start. Because having her even close to any danger was unacceptable.

  I took too long.

  I’m ice in that second as a flash of where she could be—or what he could be doing to her—sends me into a near psychotic state.

  I will kill him.

  This I know to be true. If it is him.

  And I know it is. My gut never lies.

  The only thing I don’t know is how painful his death will be.

  That all will depend on how stupid he is. What he’s done with her.

  Racing through the house, screaming her name, every cell in my body longs to hear her answer me. To have her stepping out of some odd room in the house with a perplexed look on her face, wondering what all the fuss is about.

  That doesn’t happen and with my lungs on fire I settle in the kitchen, my brain working overtime on how to fix this mess, as George comes up from the basement shaking his head.

  We both see it at the same time.

  I charge to the other side of the kitchen island where a white envelope is sticking out of the refrigerator door.

  The sound of tearing paper and my heart pounding hurts my ears as I unfold the sheet of ruled notebook paper and see the thick black letters.

  “If I see you. Smell you. Even think you are coming for her. I’ll stop her heart. Give me what I asked for, and she gets to keep breathing. Albeit without you, but that’s something you’re going to have to live with. You are never to contact her again. Simple. You have sixteen hours. You create the identity I require and she lives. You will meet my guy at the rest stop on I70, exit 14, with the rest of my documents and information in exactly sixteen hours. He won’t know where I am until after you make the drop, so don’t think you’re going to beat information from him. There will be no contact with him until after you’re gone. You follow him, she dies. You don’t do as I ask, I’ll have her heart cut out of her chest and delivered to you. Now get busy.”

  At the bottom of the note, he’s noted the time and that his clock is ticking. We’ve already lost an hour. I do a quick search on my phone to find the highway and exit are right on the border of Pennsylvania and Ohio. I finish looking for the closest airport where the Lear can land.

  I push away the thoughts of what I am going to do to him. Right no
w, they don’t help.

  Right now, I need to figure out how to find her.

  How to bring her home and never let my life tarnish us again.

  E I G H T

  Ginger

  MY FINGERTIPS TINGLE as I clench and unclench them, trying to keep blood flowing. The earphones taped onto my head spray white noise into my brain and I fight the disorientation of being in the dark, without reference to sound or light.

  The vibration of the car beneath me tells me we are on a freeway or at least moving fast and without stopping for a long time.

  I don’t know who this man is. All I know is he somehow knows me—and my family—and from the little he’s said he’s taking me to them.

  In a way, that’s calming me a bit. If he just wanted to hurt me he could have just done that. But he hasn’t. I’m in the back seat of a car, this I know—and that he likes to hum. Before he cut off my contact with the earphones, if he wasn’t talking he was humming.

  And smiling. Only it’s not the kind of smile that’s happy. Or endearing.

  In the time from when he dragged me from my bedroom with the gun to my head, until the moment he put the blindfold on me, I memorized as much about him as possible.

  Now, in the back of the car, I can’t be sure how long we’ve been driving. It’s long enough I have to pee, and with the duct tape over my mouth I can’t even scream.

  It’s got to be at least a few hours, but I’m so disoriented and my thoughts so manic I can’t be sure. My muscles ache and cramp and I shift and wiggle, trying my best to ease the discomfort.

  I can’t stop thinking about Daddy. George must have gotten home and called him when he couldn’t find me. My heart is thrumming in my chest and all I can think about is being back home.

  The car shifts and turns, slowing and finally coming to a stop before a rush of heat covers me as I anticipate what could come next. I don’t know how long we’ll be driving and if it’s too much longer, there’s no way I won’t lose my hands or fingers if he keeps the duct tape so tight on them the entire time.

  He removes the headphones and my ears ring from the constant white noise input.

  An invisible hand tightens around my throat and my lungs burn as I fight to take a breath. The driver’s door opens and closes and next the sound of the door closest to me opens.

  “There’s someone here to see you.”

  A sting sends pain across my face as light blinds me. My senses are momentarily overloaded, and I struggle to orient myself again.

  “Stephanie.” The terse voice turns what warmth I had left in my body to ice. “You always were a problem. Making us worry for so long. And here you are, living the high life. Always so selfish.”

  I squint and focus on the black dress and gray hair standing just outside the open car door.

  “You haven’t aged well, Granny.” I smack back. “You used to look older than dirt, now you look older than old dirt.”

  I’m shocked at my own words. Back when I lived with my grandmother and parents I would have never spoken to her that way.

  She tips her head to the side as her silver spectacles teeter on the end of her crooked nose. I eye her with defiance, surprising myself again as she steps forward and lays a sharp smack across my cheek.

  “Smart ass girl. I’m not sure who you think you are talking to, but things are going to get back to normal.”

  The man who took me comes into view, smiling and humming behind my grandmother.

  “I take it you two know each other.” I smile back at them. “And by the way, unless you want my hands to fall off you need to take these ties off my wrists.”

  My grandmother reaches forward for another smack, but I dodge her hand and give her a death glare.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” I reply to her attempt, staring her down.

  “Excuse me.” The man taps my grandmother on the shoulder and shifts in front of the door, reaching into his trouser pocket and flicking open a switchblade.

  “Wow, so gangster in your tailored suit.”

  The smile situated on his lips doesn’t waiver as his free hand grips my shoulder, turning me just enough to expose my hands behind my back.

  “Be a good girl or it can get a lot worse than this.” He whispers into my ear, making me shiver at hearing him call me a ‘good girl’ the way Daddy does. “What’s planned for you is a party trick compared to what I could conjure for a sweet little treat like yourself.”

  A moment later, relief washes over me as my hands are free and I bring them in front of me, pulling and tugging at my cold, nearly blue fingers.

  “My concert pianist career was nearly foiled.” I glare at them both through the open door. “Now that I have my hands back, what do you want? I’m over eighteen now, Grandmother, you can’t keep me where I don’t want to be. And in case you haven’t figured it out, I’m not going to be your precious pageant doll anymore. Sorry you and mother didn’t make it to Miss America, but your plans to get me there are long gone. You get that, right? I’m not coming with you. Not anywhere.”

  In the back of my mind I’m staring in disbelief at the girl smarting off to two people who have her captive. The guy has a gun and a knife, but that doesn’t seem to be stopping me from saying what comes to mind—even at my own peril.

  Seems the few months with Daddy have changed me. I feel his strength with me even now and my value and backbone have risen right along with his love for me.

  The irony is not lost on me either. In his hands, I’m a little girl. That girl he first met at the greenhouse—a little lost, no self-confidence, unsure of herself—is gone.

  He’s taken the best parts of me and enhanced them.

  Taken the weak parts of me and loved them.

  I’m more a woman now than I ever was before, even when—at my very core—he showed me the little girl I am to him. Even for me it’s confusing, but the result of his care, attention and love is on full display. And even in this precarious moment I’m proud of that. In a way, I wish he could see me now.

  “You will come home.” My grandmother meets my glare. “You’ve caused enough heartache and hardship for your family. And, well, if you still wish to refuse, I believe your new friend may be able to sway your decision. Something about a Stanislov Pavlovich and the distinct possibility of his untimely demise. That’s something you wouldn’t want now, would you? Oh, and a couple little furry friends as well. I remember how soft hearted you always were when it came to animals.” She wrinkles her nose in disgust. “Stupid, sentimental girl.”

  When I was little, I’d bring home every stray that I came in contact with. Kittens, an old Beagle running down the road once, injured birds and even a three-legged mutt nearly frozen to death. I’d learned to hide them as best I could. The first ones I brought home, begging to keep, always disappeared while I slept.

  No amount of tears or begging would rend any information about their fate from any member of the family. But even the ones I tried to hide eventually met the same fate. I never did discover what happened to them. I’m not even sure I really wanted to. Sometimes, ignorance is bliss.

  My head spins as Grandmother steps back and the man steps into her place, extending his hand like a chauffeur to his passenger.

  “Come now. Let’s find more comfortable accommodations until we have all the details of things settled, shall we?”

  That smile again and my thoughts race. My options are limited here.

  I have no idea where we are.

  From my vantage point in the back of the car I see pine trees. Smell the coolness of a forest and hear nothing but birdcalls and the sound of the breeze.

  The comment about Daddy and keeping him alive sends my mind racing but I play it off. That sounds like their trump card and not showing signs it’s affected me will hopefully work in my favor.

  With hesitation, I take his hand and extend a leg out of the car. Then the other as I stand awkwardly on numb limbs and scan the surroundings. But if I was expecting som
e revelation, I’m disappointed.

  All I see is exactly what my senses told me I would. I’m in the middle of nowhere, no markers, no nothing. The only thing besides nature that is visible is an old log cabin and for a moment I wonder if I’ll ever see my Daddy again.

  N I N E

  Stas

  “SO.” GEORGE SOUNDS nearly as pissed off as I am. “Where are we on this, Stas?”

  “Why do we do what we do?” I shake my head. “Why the fuck do we help people like this? How did we get here?”

  “Man, just stick to the task at hand. Rhetoric is useless right now.” George leans his head back and cracks his neck. “What in there is useful?”

  We’ve spent hours going over the email with attached documents from Malcolm that covers everything about Leonard Calfus that I would have preferred not to know.

  I nod. “He’s fucking smart. I knew that. But his shtick is mainly taking women for their trust funds. It’s less than creative but clearly has garnered him a nice life. Seems his weakness is winning. He finds a target and doesn’t give up until he gets what he wants. I don’t even think it’s just about the money, it’s about coming out on top. Controlling everyone else. He’s got no soul, he even preys on women in memory care without executors or family to look after them. He’s a bottom feeder but it’s more. There’s more to him.”

  The beat of my heart shreds inside my chest as venom bubbles through me. We are seated in my office, daylight picking out the tiredness in George’s eyes, the gray pallor to his skin.

  I know I must look the same, but there’s no time for rest even if I wanted to.

  Calfus’s deadline is deliberate—enough time to put together a new package for him or look for Ginger. Not both. What bothers me is how much effort he must have put into this, how much planning he did before we even met. He knows exactly how long it takes to put a new identity together and he’s used that against me.

  The three monitors on my desk, each full of some element of intel on the piece of shit that took my baby from me, are my only lifeline right now. Two are filled with documentation about his life. The third shows a single photo we took from the security footage here at the house. He was good, managed to avoid most of the cameras, but the camera at the end of the drive caught a three-quarter view of an old red Toyota as it pulled in.