Ring Game (50 page)

K
IDNAPPED BY
V
AMPIRES,
G
ROOM
C
LAIMS

—
Pioneer Press
headline

“
—WITH MORE ON OUR
story about the Minneapolis couple who were allegedly kidnapped on the way to their wedding. Tom? What do you have for us?”

“Thank you, Robin. I’m standing here in front of American Legion Post 684 in South Minneapolis where a wedding ceremony was scheduled to take place yesterday afternoon, until the bride and groom were apparently kidnapped in their limousine on the way here! According to police—”

Sophie grabbed the remote and hit the off button.

“What are you doing?” Axel said, lunging for the remote.

“It’s the same thing, over and over. I can’t stand it anymore!” Her eyes were red and wild. “Why can’t they find her?”

“Give me that!”

Sophie threw the remote at Axel and went out on the deck. Axel turned the TV back on. The news anchor was saying, “—No word on the woman at this time, but we did catch up with the fiancé for an interview you’ll see only on Channel Nine.” Hyatt Hilton’s face filled the screen.

Axel shouted, “Sophie! Hyatt’s on the TV!”

Sophie ran back inside. Hyatt Hilton was saying “—the next thing I knew, we were tied up in the back of the limousine being carried off.”

The image cut back to the news.

“And we’ll be airing the rest of that interview at five. And now here’s a story that’s going to make a lot of Twin Cities commuters happy—”

Axel turned off the TV.

“Was that it?” Sophie asked.

“Yeah. I guess it was just a teaser. They’re going to show the interview at five. Do you know what I wish? I wish I’d had a chance to see her in her wedding dress. I’ll bet she was beautiful.”

Sophie didn’t say anything.

“What did you say it was called? That dress?”

“The Madonna.” Sophie sat down on the sofa beside Axel and hugged herself. She looked small. “How can Hyatt be on TV? I thought the police were looking for him.”

Axel nodded. “The cops that were here were asking a lot questions about Hyatt. Like they thought he was the one responsible. Maybe they think if they find him they’ll find Carmen.”

Sophie said, “What if they don’t?”

Axel looked at the woman beside him, hardly recognizing her. He had seen Sophie scared and uncertain and angry, but never like this. Her face seemed to have collapsed, her red eyes had grown large and waiflike. She looked both older and younger, a frightened child in a body drained of youth.

She said, “What if they do?”

When Crow and Debrowski pulled up in front of Sophie’s, Axel was out on the deck cleaning his Weber. He looked up as they got out of the car, nodded, then continued to scrape at the grill with a metal spatula.

Crow said to Debrowski, “Don’t mention that Carmen is bleeding, okay?” He raised his voice and directed it at Axel. “Heard anything?”

Axel said, “Hyatt is going to be on TV. In an hour. They say that it was some sort of cult.”

“Have the police called you?”

Axel shook his head. “Sophie’s pretty upset.” He looked tired.

“I talked to Carmen,” Crow said.

Axel stared at him, his mouth moving soundlessly.

Crow climbed the three steps onto the deck. “I talked to her on the phone, less than an hour ago. She didn’t know where she was, but the police are looking for her. They know to call you here, don’t they?”

Axel nodded slowly and sat down on the bench. “How—why did she call you?”

“Joe called her,” Debrowski explained. “He got the phone number of the people who supposedly kidnapped her, and he called it and she answered.”

“She’s okay then?”

“The police are trying to find her.”

Axel stood up. “I have to tell Sophie,” he said. He went inside.

Crow followed. “Mind if I use your phone? I’ll give Wes a call, make sure they know to call us here.”

Shortly before five, the phone rang. Sophie picked up. “Hello?” She listened, handed the phone to Crow.

“Crow here.” They were sitting at her kitchen table nursing cups of Axel’s powerful coffee. Sophie and Axel’s eyes were locked on Crow. Debrowski was out on the deck smoking.

“This is Wes. You called?”

“Yeah, I called about five times. Did you find her yet?”

“I return my calls, Crow. Yeah, we found her. She’s in Rochester General.”

“She going to be okay?”

“They aren’t sure. She lost a lot of blood. Listen, Crow, you heard from your buddy Hilton? I’d really like to talk to him.”

“Sorry, I haven’t seen him. Rochester General? You got a number?”

Ten minutes later, Axel and Sophie were in Axel’s pickup truck, headed south. Crow and Debrowski got back in the GTO.

Debrowski said, “Can we go home now, Crow? You’re supposed to be putting in sack time, let your brain heal.”

Crow nodded. He knew he was tired. His brain was numb, his face felt like a slab of meat, and his neck hurt. “Okay,” he said. “But first I gotta check something out.” He started the engine.

“I don’t think I like this.”

“One more stop, then we go home. I have an idea where Hyatt might be.” He guided the GTO through the narrow streets of Landfall, drawing looks of envy from middle-aged men and kids too young to know better.

“Why didn’t you tell Axel what Carmen said?”

“Might not be true. All she said was that pig-nose was a friend of Hy’s.”

“And she said, ‘Tell Hy I’m not gonna do it.’ That’s enough for me.”

“I want to talk to Hy first.”

“Why?”

“Right now, he’s all I got.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve got no career, no calling, no mission in life. You feel guilty inhabiting your own lousy body sucking up all that free air, so you try to fix other people’s problems. You know what they call a person like that where I come from? A busybody.”

Crow focused his thoughts on shifting from second to third gear. He said, “Where did you come from, anyway?”

“I’m from Cincinnati and, believe me, there are a lot of busybodies in Cincinnati. My grandmother was their leader. She was just like you. Her own life just didn’t cut it. You know what you’re doing, Crow? You’re acting like a cop. Just looking for trouble, looking for a chance to be a hero.”

The challenge of driving while listening to Debrowski was too much for Crow’s bruised synapses. He pulled over, set the brake, and massaged his temples with his fingertips.

“The thing is,” Debrowski continued, “nobody cares where Hyatt Hilton is except you and that other cop, that friend of yours. I doubt if even Carmen cares. Nobody knows whether he did anything, or didn’t do something he should’ve done, or what. But it’ll all come out, Crow. You’ve done the one thing you could’ve done that mattered—you saved that girl’s life. Assuming she survives.”

“Debrowski, I really need you to do something for me. Would you please stop talking?”

“Stop talking?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll make a deal with you. We go home, I put you to bed, I make you a nice cup of cocoa, then I shut up. You get some rest, tomorrow you can do what you want. Go be a hero.”

“What kind of deal is that?”

“It’s the best offer you’ve had lately. If I were you, I’d go for it.”

All four of his office TV monitors were running, but the one that had Drew’s attention was WCCO, which was showing an aerial shot of a cornfield with a green sport-utility vehicle parked right smack in the middle of it. The camera backed off to show the crushed cornstalks where the vehicle had entered the field, and the paramedics carrying a blood-soaked figure toward the ambulance parked on the shoulder of the highway. The search-and-rescue footage had come on just after the interview with Hyatt Hilton on KMSP.

Drew’s jaw pulsed as he listened to the announcer crowing about their exclusive footage. His phone began to ring; Drew leaned forward and hit the speakerphone button.

“Yeah.”

“It’s Mr. Hilton on line three.”

“Yeah? Put the son-of-a-bitch on.”

“Drew?” Hyatt’s voice squawked from the speakerphone.

“Ah! Our intrepid reporter, Mister Hyatt Hilton.” Drew Chance leaned back, his eyes on the TVs. KMSP was now showing the same cornfield tape.

“Are you on a speakerphone? I can hardly hear you.”

“It must be the connection,” said Drew. There was no way he was going to pick up for Hy the Guy. “What can I do for you, Hy?”

“Did you look at the tape?”

“Yes indeedy, I did,” said Drew. “Very interesting technique. You never ran a camera before, did you, Hy?”

“What? Speak up, would you?”

Drew leaned toward the phone. “I said,
‘The tape sucked!’
You hear me that time?”

“What do you mean?”

Drew’s face had gone scarlet. “You couldn’t run that piece of shit on public access, you dumb fuck.” He put his mouth right up to the microphone. “And while I got you—for the last time, I hope—what the fuck were you doing talking to Channel Nine?”

“Hey, that wasn’t my idea. They came to me!”

“You’re dumber than I thought, and you know what, Hy? I always thought you were pretty fucking stupid.”

After a moment Hyatt said, “Does this mean I’m free to sell my story to other news organizations?”

“Furthermore, the one chance we got to be there when something actually happens, I don’t hear shit from the intrepid Mr. Butt-fuck Hilton. What kind of exclusive you think I’m gonna have, them running tape of your rescued bride on six fucking stations?”

Hyatt said, “Did you say rescued?”

“Turn on your TV, dumbass.” Drew hit the disconnect button. He touched two fingers to his jugular and counted heartbeats, waiting for his pulse to drop back to its normal 120 beats per minute. So much for Mr. Hyatt Hilton. He should’ve known from the get-go that little Alan Orlich the clairvoyant fingerpainter was his best bet.

Many a good news story has been ruined by oververification.

—James Gordon Bennett

T
HERE WAS A WORD T
hat would stop the ringing. What was it? Joe Crow swam through crevasses, opened drawers, turned over cards. His hand, more awake than he, grasped the offending object and brought it to his ear. The word popped off his tongue: “Hello?”

“Crow, this is Zink. You asleep?”

“I don’t know.”

“Turn on your radio.”

“Zink?”

“Yeah. Turn on KSTP. Now.” Zink hung up.

Crow looked at his clock-radio. A few minutes after nine. The last thing he remembered, Debrowski had been massaging his forehead. That was twelve hours ago. She must’ve gone downstairs to her half of the duplex. He sat up. That felt pretty good. He turned on the radio, adjusted the tuner. A woman’s strident voice came over the tiny speaker:

“Now let me see if I understand what you’re saying to me, Mr. Hilton—
Hyatt
Hilton—tell me Hyatt, I want to know, is that your real name?”

“Yes it is. I—”

“It’s all right if I call you Hyatt, isn’t it? What do your friends call you? Do they call you Hy? I’m going to call you Hy. Hy, if I’m understanding you, the leaders of this organization—and I call it an organization, not a church—these people actually believe—and I’m just going by what you tell me—these people actually think that they’re
immortal
?”

“That’s right, Barbara. I—”

“Now stop me if I’m off-base here, but I’m sure my listeners are wondering this, as I am—isn’t that just a little bit naive? I mean, what makes them think—what makes them think that of all the people who have ever lived that they—and I’m talking here about the leaders of this so-called Amaranthine whatever-it-is—why should they think that they are immortal?”

“You know, I—”

“But you were actually a member of this organization for quite some time, isn’t that true? In fact, you were one of the founders. Are you immortal, Hy?”

“No, actually I’m—”

“But you left the, ah, organization. Now tell me, Hy, these immortals, this, ah, Rupert Chandra and Polyhymnia DeSimone—am I saying their names right? Well, who cares. These two con artists—is that too strong? I’m going to get myself in trouble again, but I call it the way I see it—these con artists claim to have discovered the secret to eternal youth—we’re not talking Retin-A here, ladies and gentlemen—but from what you’re telling me, they actually were having plastic surgery. Now is that a fact? Or are you just guessing? Tell me, Hy?”

“It’s true. But the really bizarre part of the story is what they did with Carmen.”

“Yes, Carmen is your bride—or rather your fiancée—who you say was kidnapped.”

“We were both kidnapped and—”

“But she was found yesterday, I understand, in a bean field—is that right? Rob? A bean field? A cornfield. Rob, my producer, tells me it was a cornfield. And isn’t there some question about the alleged kidnapping? I understand she was found in her car, and she’s all right? I heard she was fine. Have you talked to her?”

“Not yet. I just—”

“Because if I was lying in the hospital I’d want to hear from my fiancé. But I’m getting off the subject. Back to this plastic surgery—we’ll talk about the kidnapping—the alleged kidnapping—in just a minute, but let me understand something—what exactly, what work did these two con artists have done? I’ve seen pictures of this couple, and I have to tell you that they’re a handsome pair. But the photo you showed me, Hy, that was taken before their surgery, is that correct? What exactly did they have done?

“I’m not one hundred percent sure—”

“Then how can you sit here and tell me that you know for a fact that the surgery took place? You see, this is what I’m talking about. People accusing public figures of doing things when they don’t actually have the facts—not that I’m defending these so-called immortals, understand, but—case in point—you, Mr. Hilton, cannot actually say that you have seen, with your own eyes, this plastic surgery? Am I correct or am I right?”

“Uh, you’re right, of course, but the surgery—”

“
Alleged
surgery.”

“Right. But that’s incidental to my story. We were
kidnapped
on the way to our
wedding
. These people are real-life vampires, Barbara.”