Run Away (7 page)

13

Several hours later, Tate was finally sober enough to drive. Sharon Miller spent the entire day shopping. By the time night fell, the RV was the last place any of the men wanted to be. It stank of weed, farts, and beer.

Tate leaned
his head against the glass and let out a loud belch. His eyes shut, and he felt himself drifting off. Sticks had been passed out for a while, and Hiapo was doing something on his phone.

Tate felt a hand
on his shoulder and jolted awake. He hadn’t realized he’d been sleeping. Hiapo stood over him. “She’s out.”

Hiapo
took the driver’s seat, and the RV roared to life. It followed the car onto the freeway then headed back downtown. After a few minutes, they were in an upscale neighborhood a lot like the one they’d been to before. Then Sharon opened a garage and pulled her car in.

“Shit,”
Hiapo said. “This is her house.”

Tate shrugged. “Let’s go
, then.”

He walked to the back of the RV and kicked Sticks. The man snored louder and turned over. Tate pushed
his head into the pillow until he started struggling and kicking his legs.

“Get up
, dipshit. We’re here.”

Tate pulled out a bag he’d brought
as a back-up plan. Richard had wanted him to kidnap his wife, take her to an RV park, and kill her there. The RV wouldn’t have been bothered for a long time, and the body would have just been sitting there, decomposing until someone noticed the smell. But dumping her in the ocean would be easier. Less messy. And the cops would probably never find it.

Tate took out three ski masks and tossed
one to each man. He was the first one out of the RV, and he didn’t wait for the other two. Sneaking through the bushes, he slid along the garage and knocked on the door. The neighborhood was dark, but it was possible the neighbors could see them. He needed to work quickly.

He heard the lock unfasten
, and a young girl opened the door. She tried to scream, but Tate rushed her. He slapped his palm over her mouth, muffling her scream, and picked her up off her feet as he pushed the door open and stomped inside. Hiapo and Sticks followed him.

Tate pinned the girl onto the floor
. “Watch her,” he told the other two.

Hiapo
placed his foot on the girl’s chest, but he didn’t hold her mouth. He just said, “Shh,” and she complied.

Tate scanned the living room.
The art on the walls, the rugs, and the furniture—everything there looked expensive. None of it looked like anything he’d seen before. The place must’ve been worth a million bucks.

The ceiling creaked. Someone was walking around up
stairs. Tate looked over at the staircase near the kitchen then ascended the stairs as quietly as he could. Sticks didn’t follow him. Instead, he began going through drawers.

When
Tate got to the top of the stairs, he heard a shower turn on. He glanced into a few of the bedrooms then tiptoed to the bathroom. The door was open a crack. Inside, Sharon was standing in front of the mirror, stripping off her clothes. He stared at her as she slipped off her bra. But as she pulled her spandex down over her thighs, she happened to glance over at the door. Their eyes caught each other’s, and there was an instant of silence before she screamed.

Tate went to push into the bathroom
, but she slammed the door and locked it. He leaned back and bashed his heel into the door. He did it again and again, sending splinters flying all over the hallway. The door flew open and slammed into the wall before bouncing back. The bathroom was massive, larger than most apartments he’d had. Tate crept inside. He went to the darkened walk-in closet and flipped on the light.

A
thick shower rod smashed into his nose. He saw stars and instantly felt tears running from his eyes. The pain radiated into his head. “Fuck!” His hand went to his nose, which was already gushing blood into his mouth and over his chin.

She
swung again. He blocked the club with his forearms. Reaching back, he whipped his arm with as much force as he could. The back of his hand impacted against her mouth and sent her flying into a row of men’s suits. Tate grabbed her hair and slammed her into the wall before flinging her to the floor. She wasn’t moving.

His gushing blood had
already stained the carpet in the closet. Tate lifted his soaked ski mask. The liquid dripped down as if his nose were connected to a faucet. Plugging his nose with his fingers, he walked out of the closet and leaned against the sink. He shoved a thick wad of toilet paper up each nostril.

Sticks ran in. He looked from Tate to
Sharon, who was nearly unconscious, and then disappeared into the bedroom.

Through the tinted-glass
window over the bathtub, Tate stared down at a passing car, catching his breath. Then he rose and pulled Sharon up. He pulled a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and slapped them on her wrists. She was aware enough that she began struggling, and he smacked the back of her head.

“If you try to run,” he said
, spitting blood, “I’ll kill you.”

He dragged
her down to the main floor then to the front door. He looked out, making sure no one was around. The RV was only fifty feet away. They could run there in less than fifteen or twenty seconds.

“Hey,”
Hiapo said. “What about her?” He motioned to the young girl pinned underneath him.

“Bring her with us.”

Night in a rich neighborhood didn’t feel like nighttime in a poor neighborhood. Tate had lived in places where he didn’t feel safe even with his piece. But the street was completely quiet. No one would think about robbing one of the houses with fancy alarms and in a neighborhood with a quick police response. He chuckled to himself.

He dragged the
fighting woman out and over the massive lawn. She screamed once. He kicked her in the stomach, and she quieted down. Dragging her was too much effort, so he lifted her by her hair and forced her to walk beside him. If any of the neighbors saw, they might just think she was simply having a casual stroll with Tate.

Carrying the young girl over his shoulder,
Hiapo was right behind Tate. Sticks wasn’t anywhere to be seen. As Tate reached for the RV door, he stopped. Catching only movement at first, Tate turned his head to see a boy, maybe eleven or twelve, on a bike. His mouth was wide open, and his eyes were locked onto Tate.

“Your mask, bra,”
Hiapo said.

He had forgotten
he’d pulled off his mask in the bathroom. The boy was staring right at Tate’s face.

“Let it go,”
Hiapo said.

Tate opened the RV door and threw Sharon inside. He whipped around and pulled out
his pistol from his waistband. His first shot missed, but the second hit the boy in the cheek, flinging him off his bike.

“Your face wasn’t the one he saw,” Tate said. “Now throw his ass in the bushes
, and let’s go.”

Sticks came running out of the house
, his arms full of jewelry. He tripped once on the lawn and fell flat on his face before he rose again and sprinted for the RV. He looked down at the little body on the sidewalk. “Holy shit. What happened?”

“Hurry the fuck up!” Tate shouted.

Sharon was screaming, and he grabbed a roll of duct tape out of his bag of supplies. He taped her mouth then her wrists. Hiapo climbed into the RV after having moved the boy, and he stood glaring down at Tate, the young girl still on his shoulder.

“How ’bout you ge
t goin’ so we don’t get pinched?”

Hiapo
grunted and flung the girl into the passenger seat. Then he got into the driver’s side and started the RV. Several neighbors had come out of their homes.

Finished
with the tape, Tate dragged Sharon to the back and threw her onto the bed. She kicked at him, making him chuckle. Laughing, he grabbed her tits and made her squeal.

Tate walked to the center
of the RV and sat in the built-in table. He glanced out the window at the boy’s body. His feet were sticking out of the bushes, and the front tire of the bike still spun gently.

14

The office was near
ly empty. It was well past ten o’clock, and most of the attorneys and all the staff had gone home. But Richard Miller sat at his desk, tapping a pen against his shoe. He threw the pen onto the desk and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He’d had a headache all day, and no matter how many Excedrin he took, it wouldn’t go away.

Ma
ybe his scheme had been a mistake. Maybe he should call it off. He was bound to get something in the divorce. But if he didn’t, he would lose everything else. Richard’s father-in-law was a controlling partner at the firm, and he’d given Richard the job. And if he didn’t get any money or property, he would be left destitute in the most expensive region of the most expensive state in the nation.

He sighed and rose. He
hadn’t wanted it to come to this—any of it. All he wanted was a nice marriage to a girl who loved him and plenty of kids. He’d grown up in a family of five and remembered how much fun it was to have four best friends who could never leave him. He wanted that for Eliza. But he wouldn’t get it with Sharon. She’d had her tubes tied years before.

Richard stretched his back
, and headed out. He waved to one of the custodians, but the man didn’t notice him.

The air outside was clean and fresh, though it had a tint of fog to it.
A light wetness in the nose. Richard ambled to his car and lay on the hood for a moment, staring at the stars. Hawaii, even Honolulu with all its bright lights, had the best view of the sky he’d ever seen, except for North Dakota. He’d worked there briefly as a floor hand in the oil fields. There, the stars and galaxies above him appeared like a magical painting in the night.

Richard got into his
Cadillac and drove home. Because of the light traffic, the drive was quick and pleasant. He checked his watch. It should be done. His heart was pounding, and his guts felt bound up tight.

Without
warning, a rush of vomit rose in his throat. He swallowed it but had to pull over to the shoulder of the highway. He stuck his head out the driver’s side window, and his lunch came spilling out. When he was through, he sat back in the driver’s seat and wiped his lips with the back of his sleeve. Then he headed home.

Everything seemed in order
as he rolled to a stop in front of his house. He parked in the driveway because he wanted to make sure all his neighbors saw that he was home. As he walked to his door, he took out his keys and glanced around. Lights were on in other homes, but no one was out. No one was ever out in his neighborhood. Before he turned around, he noticed a child’s bike on the sidewalk. No one stole anything there. He had no doubt he could leave money on the sidewalk, and it would still be there the next morning.

As Richard slid the key into the lock, the door opened. He stood frozen, staring at the opening.
He pushed it open the rest of the way. The house seemed untouched. He took a step inside. “Hello? Eliza? Sharon?”

H
e stood in the middle of the large atrium, waiting for a response. But there was complete silence. No televisions. No laptops. No iPads. He shut the door behind him and turned to his empty house.

H
e did a quick search of the house and found no one in any of the bedrooms, the den, the study, the kitchen, or the pantry. A few things were a little messy—drawers were left open and such—but all in all, the house looked the same as it always did.

He headed upstairs and looked around.
Still nothing. Richard took out his cell phone and dialed Eliza’s number. The call went to voicemail.

“Hi, Eliza
. This is your father. Please call me. I need to know whose house you’re staying in at this hour. If you’re going to spend the night, please give me or your moth—well, give me a call and let me know. We still have rules here, young lady.”

With a sigh, he
hung up. Eliza didn’t like sleeping at home, and Richard didn’t blame her. Once, Eliza had walked in on Sharon’s swingers’ party. Richard had arrived home to find people having sex on the couch, the kitchen counters, the floors, his antique chairs, the desk in his study, and even on the living room coffee table. As he searched the home for his wife, to have her kick everyone out—they paid no attention when he asked them to leave—Eliza walked in. Her eyes met Richard’s, then she walked out. She didn’t come home for three days. Richard had to track her down at one of her friend’s homes and force her to come back.

Richard’s muscles felt tight
, and his stomach was a ball of anxiety. He wanted to call Tate, but he knew he should give him some space and let the man work. It would get done. And if it didn’t, that wouldn’t be the worst thing. In fact, he already regretted acting on the urge. He’d been hurt one too many times, and the impulse just got the better of him.

Maybe he
could still call the whole thing off? Just pay Tate ten or twenty thousand to keep quiet and consider the deal a costly mistake? He decided a hot shower would help his thinking process.

Richard walked into his bathroom and began to strip. As
he was about to pull his shirt over his head, he saw something on the carpets—dark stains, as if someone had spilled coffee. The splotches and spatters led to a ski mask in the middle of his bathroom floor. Richard’s arms dropped, and he leaned against the sink.

They had
been here. The blood was… no. How could they be so stupid? The police would clearly find the blood. They couldn’t have been that stupid.

Richard searched the closet. Nothing.

A thought hit him, and he froze. He pulled out his cell phone. Tate answered on the first ring.

“Thought you’d be
callin’.”

“Did you take my daughter?”

“Yeah, she’s here.”

“What the damn hell is going on? She wasn’t a part of this in any way.”

“Yeah, well, things change.”

“Things change? Things
change
? You kidnap my daughter, and that’s all you can say to me?”

“Hey, chill out, man. We haven’t done
nothin’ to her. She’s just insurance.”

“Insurance for what?”

“To make sure we get paid, man. We get our money as promised. You get your daughter back.”

Richard sat down on the edge of the bathtub. “Is it…
”

“Nah, man, not yet. But we’ll get to it real soon.
Probably tonight. We drivin’ out right now.”

Richard stared at the carpet.
He wanted to tell Tate to stop, that it was madness, and they were sure to get caught. But those words didn’t come. All that came out was, “There’s blood all over my bathroom.”

“It’s cool, man. Call the cops. Tell them you came home
, and that’s what you found.”

“Are you crazy? The husband’s always the prime suspect in these things. At least that’s what I see on the news.”

“You’re a suspect regardless, man. At least this way, you’re the one that call them. Ya see? Besides, they gonna find a present outside. Best this way.”

“Yeah, yeah
, I guess that makes sense. So I just call them and say there’s blood everywhere and my wife and daughter are missing?”

“Yeah, man. And you’ll get your daughter back. Don’t sweat it. Just insurance. I won’t touch a
hair on her head.”

He swallowed. “You should’ve told me. This wasn’t our deal.”

“It is what it is. Now we both got work to do. Better get to it.”

Richard hung up and placed the phone down
on the tub. He rubbed his face and ran his fingers through his hair. He stood up, slammed his fist into the mirror, and screamed. The mirror cracked, and his hand began to bleed.

“
Ow. Shit. Shit, shit, shit!”

He picked up his phone again and dialed 9
-1-1.