Authors: James Scott Bell
Tags: #Christian Books & Bibles, #Literature & Fiction, #Mystery & Suspense, #United States, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Thrillers, #Legal, #Suspense, #Religion & Spirituality, #Fiction, #Mystery, #Religious & Inspirational Fiction, #Contemporary, #Christianity, #Christian Fiction
No one answered the phone at the number Roz gave him. Sam called Gerald Case and asked if he could get an address based on a phone number.
While he waited Sam called Greg Wayne and requested he come over. Wayne said he’d be there in half an hour. Then Case called back with an address on Santa Monica Boulevard in Hollywood.
Sam fought ever-present traffic on the 101, getting off at Highland. He crossed over Hollywood Boulevard, then Sunset, turned right on Santa Monica. The building he was looking for was just beyond La Cienega. He found it, a modest-looking set of suites in what looked to be a converted apartment complex.
Roz had told him the producer’s name was Lundquist. That’s all he knew. Not all of the glass doors on the row had names. Some just had numbers. One of these, number 12, had a musical note graphic under the number.
Sam tried the door. Locked. He knocked. No answer. He looked through the glass and observed a sparse outer office. A few framed items, with some sort of record logo, hung on the plain, creamcolored walls.
There was a hair salon next door. Mancini’s. Sam went in and was met by a young man with long, honey-colored hair who was five foot six or seven. He wore black bellbottoms with silver stripes and a black leather vest over a yellow T-shirt.
“You know the guy next door?” Sam made a motion with his thumb.
“The music guy?”
“Yeah.”
“Kind of keeps to himself. I don’t see a lot of him.”
“Any idea where he might be?”
“I don’t keep track of him. Like I said, sometimes he’s around, sometimes he isn’t. I can’t remember seeing him in a while. Sometimes he goes on trips back east, I think. I heard him talking about some singer in New York one day, talking right outside here to one of our girls. I think he was hitting on her.”
Not the news Sam wanted to hear. The man could very well be using his position as a music producer to get Heather into bed. It was a longstanding Hollywood hustle.
“Long as you’re here,” the little hairstylist said, “can I take a whack?”
“Some other time, maybe,” Sam said. He got in his car and headed back into Hollywood traffic. The snarl was worse than ever down here. It seemed the whole city was the prisoner of gridlock these days.
Was he any less a prisoner of the gridlock of his own situation? Something had to give, and soon, or he feared he’d rear-end the limits of his capacity to carry on.
Heather decided she loved everything about Las Vegas. Especially the lights at night. And the people streaming in and out of casinos and hotels, and the noise of gaming tables and music and laughing.
Action
. That’s what the gamblers called it, right? A lot of action. As she wandered around that first night with Lundquist, she decided this would be a great place to spend the rest of her working life, doing shows in one of the big casinos and then getting into the action wherever it was. They must have great parties here, in some of the big suites.
She loved what was happening at the crap tables. Here were a bunch of strangers circling the green felt, and when somebody got on a roll — she didn’t quite understand the game, only that sometimes a person was rolling the dice real good — they all laughed and cheered and talked to each other. It was like a mini family. People just having fun, high on the action.
Of course, when somebody lost a bunch of chips they didn’t look like they were having so much fun. But that was all part of it. You didn’t get anything good without the risk of loss.
She knew that with Lundquist now. It was risky to be alone with him here in Vegas. But there was so much more to be gained. So much more.
And she had to admit getting front-row seats for Stacee Hartin was a perk she could get used to.
There was another perk that was nice: a high-school trick she pulled off a year ago. The famous fake ID. People always said she looked a little older than she was. Now she whipped out the ID, which came in very handy as she ordered a gin and tonic. Lundquist asked her if she really wanted to drink, and she asked him if he thought she couldn’t hold her liquor, ha ha.
She let him put his arm around her when the show started. He didn’t try anything else. The only thing he did was check her glass from time to time, and if it was empty he made sure she got another drink.
Sam talked to Linda in the family room.
“I think Heather is with a sleazy music producer,” he said. “What do you mean,
with
?”
“Roz gave me a guy’s name, Lundquist. Case found an address
for him. In Hollywood. That’s where I went.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to worry you until I found out more.” “Worry me. Please. Don’t hold out — ”
“Do you want to hear about it?” Sam wanted to defuse an argument before it started.
“Yes.” Linda sat on the sofa.
“All right. Roz said this guy was showing an interest in Heather. When I went down there, to the guy’s office, there was a hairstylist next door who sort of knew him. Said he was the kind of guy who, quote unquote, hit on girls.”
“You think Heather’s with this man?”
“I don’t know, but it doesn’t seem out of the question.”
“And if she is, she’s certainly not going to answer our calls.” Linda stood up. “Can we call the police?”
“And tell them what?”
“That our daughter’s missing, that some man has her.”
“We don’t know that.”
“We know she’s missing.”
“Do we? She left a message saying not to worry. She’s almost eighteen. The police are not going to follow this up.”
“Of course they will, he’s a . . .”
“What is he?” Sam said, not hiding his own frustration. “He’s a guy who is using his power and influence to — ”
“Take advantage of her — ”
“No doubt.”
“Isn’t that statutory rape?”
Sam nodded. “I’ll call it in. Missing person — ”
“Kidnapping!”
“She went willingly.”
“So what?”
“I’m just telling you what the law says.”
“Oh, hang the law! This is our daughter! Just do something, Sam. Please. Do
something
!”
Heather tried to suck in breath, get some air, cold air.
Please come to me.
Head pounding, everything swirling around her.
Sensed that she was in a car, car moving, at night.
What night was it? Saturday?
Yes. A million years ago it was Saturday morning and she was in Hollywood. And now it was a million years later and it was Saturday night and it was late and she was going to be sick.
Sick again. Oh, why was it this way? What did she do to herself?
Where was she anyway?
Night lights. Stacee Hartin.
Oh, yeah. Right. She remembered about half the show. And she better get out of this car or she was going to barf all over.
Car. Whose car?
Right. Right. Lundquist. She looked to the side and saw a vibrating shadow and she tried to open her mouth and say something, but the words were thick like pillows stuffed in her throat.
“Take it easy, there.” The voice sounded like it came from outer space. How could she take it easy when her stomach felt like an overturned garbage can?
This was bad. Now she was remembering more of the night. She had been drinking a lot. She wanted to show Lundquist she could party with the best of them. She wanted to be Courtney Love and Kurt Cobain and all those classic rockers, but she was a wimp. And now she was sick and out of it and where were they going anyway?
She wanted to be at home, at least in her own bed with her mother standing over her like she used to do when Heather got sick. Just for a little while she wanted that. Then she could go back to being the star that she was meant to be.
But she wasn’t magically transported to her own bed, and her mother wasn’t here.
“I’m sick,” she said to the shadow, hoping maybe he would have an instant remedy.
“We’re almost there,” he said.
“Where?”
“Where you’ll feel good.”
In the back of her head she heard the little voice screaming,
Idiot! You know what’s going to happen, don’t you?
Oh, well, who cared anyway? She wasn’t up to caring anymore.
Okay. Just let it happen. It’s all part of it. You will look back on this and see it all fitting together, getting you where you needed to go.
She kept repeating that over and over to herself as the car went on. Let it happen. Let it happen.
Finally, sweet finally, the car came to a stop. It was dark everywhere. She thought for a moment they had driven into a soundproof recording studio with all the lights turned off.
Then Lundquist was helping her out of the car and into a house.
House? Where was this house?
She didn’t have the energy to ask any questions. She just leaned on him as he guided her through this maze of blackness and then up some stairs. How did she make it up the stairs? Time was beginning to jump around on her.
And then she was on a bed. Soft bed. Sweet. That felt good.
Everything was swirling. She was swirling. The bed was. She could not make it stop.
And then some light. Flickering light. Candlelight. Yes, that was it. He had lit some candles.
And then she was aware of him coming to the edge of the bed. She looked up and saw him, illuminated by the candlelight. She could make out just enough of his features to know that he still had on his shades and his hat.
But something was wrong. She knew that even before he took off his sunglasses and his hat. She knew it even before he took his hand and placed it on top of his head and grabbed his hair and removed it.
No way. What was up with that? He didn’t have any hair? He was bald?
And why was he looking like that? Big, grotesque smile, and a feeling almost like he was drooling over her.
Now, praying in the study, Sam wondered if this was what Jacob felt like, wrestling with the angel. It seemed unfair. How do you take down an angel? How —
His cell rang.
It was Heather.
Trying to keep his voice steady, Sam opened the phone and said,
“Hi, sweetie. What’s going on?”
There was no response.
“Heather?”
Laughter. Crazy laughter, like she was at a party and people
were drunk and she called him and then just had people laughing all around her.
“Heather, where are you?”
“I’m safe, Daddy.”
Sam’s throat clamped shut. It was a man’s voice, pitched high like a little girl’s.
“I’m happy too, Daddy. I got married!”
On Heather’s phone. All capacity for rational thought melted in the intense heat of the unimaginable. Nicky Oberlin had his daughter.
“What, no congratulations?”
Sam could hardly speak. He felt as if Nicky was watching him right now on closed-circuit TV, enjoying the spectacle of Sam squirming, completely helpless.
“We’re just so happy,” Nicky said. “Can you and Linda and Max make it for Thanksgiving?”
“I want to talk to my daughter.”
“She can’t come to the phone right now. The wedding night was really so exciting for her; she needs her rest.”
“What sick thing are you talking about?”
“The wedding? That’s not sick, that’s a girl’s happiest time! True, it was sort of my own little ceremony, it might not be entirely kosher, but boy, you should have seen her, Sammy! She was beaming! And let me tell you something else, Sammy. She is a real woman. All woman, if you know what I mean.”
A cold like the hands of death gripped Sam’s body. “I will find you,” he said. “I will find you and kill you and if you’ve done anything — ”
“Do you hear yourself, Sammy? Is that any way for an officer of the court to talk? What a nasty man you have become! Now, do you want your daughter back or not? Because, Sammy, I’m not sure this relationship is going to last.”
Sam listened, numb.
“I’m going to tell you what to do to come get your daughter. See, as much as I enjoy her company, it’s you I really want to see, Sammy. It’s you I want to be friends with. I just had to get your attention, that’s all.”
“Tell me where — ”
“Shut it! Just shut up, Sammy, and I will talk. You will listen. Because if you don’t listen I may have to spank little Heather here. Tell her what a bad man her daddy is.”
Sam bit his lip, hard.
“Now here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to give you directions, a little at a time. And you have to promise me something, Sammy. Are you ready to do that? To promise me?”
“What?”
“You can’t let anybody else in on this. I mean cops or FBI or even your own wife. You can’t have anybody listen in on your phone. Even though I’ve got an untraceable phone, I get kind of peeved when people snoop into my private life. When cops go searching where I live because some guy like you has a friend in the DA’s office. You with me so far?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t think you are. I mean, you hired a private eye. That wasn’t very nice. So you’re going to have to call him off. ’Cause if I catch wind he’s still around, that’s going to make me mad too. Like when you used my mother, like the lowlife you are.”
“Just tell me what you — ”
“Shut up, I said! Speak when told to. You are going to do just what I say, because if you don’t, I’m afraid I can’t let you see Heather ever again. Or anybody else for that matter. She’ll be like that magician’s assistant.”
What was he talking about?
“There was that magician who used to have a beautiful assistant for his saw-the-lady-in-two act. He fired her. She now lives in Dallas and Tulsa.”
Nicky cackled.
“Get it, Sammy? Saw the lady in two? Lives in Dallas and Tulsa? ”
Sam said nothing. Tears of rage pooled in his eyes.
“Sammy, I asked if you got it.”
“Yeah.”
“Because Heather is going to end up in different parts of Nevada if you don’t do just what I say.”
Nevada.
“So get ready to, Sammy. Call off your dogs. Don’t tell a living soul, got it? It’s our little secret. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll see your daughter again.”
Linda chose that moment to stick her head in the study. Sam put his hand up to her, signaling for quiet.
“You got that, Sammy?”
“Got it.”
“You sure? Because if you don’t — ”
“I have it. What’s next?”
“You’ll hear from me. In about half an hour. I need to attend to my wife’s needs.”
The connection went dead. Sam held the phone to his ear a few seconds, willing himself not to give anything away. He clapped the phone shut.
“Everything okay?” Linda said.
“Oh, there’s a matter I may need to attend to.”
“You sound worried about it.”
“What else is new?”
She studied him. “Sam, what aren’t you telling me?”
“Linda, will you let this one go? I may have to take another short trip.”
“Does this have something to do with what you did up in San Francisco?”
Sam, as calmly as he could, said, “This is one of those confidential lawyer things. I’ll tell you all about it when I can. All right? I’ll get Greg Wayne back here while I’m gone.”
“Sam, if there’s anything — ”
“Trust me, will you? Can you do that much?”
“Of course, but — ”
“Then just do it,” he said.