Tansy Taylor (25 page)

“Nah, I think that whoever it is may just be taking notes. You found the files, so maybe they’re just making sure the cops don’t show up at the door before they get the files back. If they told you no cops, this may be there way of following up on whether you followed their instructions.”

I groaned and rolled my eyes his direction. “I need a beer.” I got up and headed to the kitchen.

“I would love a beer,” Sam said.

“I think I can accommodate that, on one condition. I want to get back to what we were doing earlier.” I turned and peeked back around the corner of the kitchen doorway and wiggled my eyes his direction.

“I am sure that can be arranged.” He grinned wolfishly and winked.

I skipped over to the refrigerator. The soft glow of the light from the refrigerator cast an eerie glow over the kitchen. During the day I loved this room, all bright and full of sunshine flowing in through the many windows ; they ran down the entire length of the kitchen and then around the corner toward the side door. This room had originally been an enclosed porch, but the kitchen had been so tiny that it had been converted into a huge chef’s kitchen. Jeni and I wanted to keep as much of the natural light as possible, so instead of doing traditional window coverings or blinds we had opted for some cute polka dot sheers and striped valances. They complimented the crazy mural wall we had and the bright yellow, blue and green that we’d incorporated into the rest of the kitchen. Tonight, however, I felt like the dark was creeping in and sucking out all of the color of the room. During the day the sheers were perfect for hiding us from the world while we were able to watch the world go by as we cooked. The night, however, was a different story. Even a bit of light in the kitchen made what was going on in the kitchen an open show for anyone out there to watch. I didn’t like the idea of the blue van guy being able to see everything that I was doing.

The sound of a floorboard creak made me pause. “What was that?”

I peeked out around the side of the kitchen; Sam and the fluff-ball were still sitting in the same place I’d left them. I guess I was just a bit jumpy from everything that had gone lately. I flipped on the radio that we kept in the kitchen, and then went to the pantry to find myself something to munch on.

“Chips, granola bars, where are the pretzels?” I shoved cans and bags around and then stood on my tippy toes.

“Ah-ha! There you are!” A big thick arm grabbed me at the same time that I went to grab the pretzels. A foul smelling cloth covered my mouth and I was cut off in my attempt to call for help. The world went fuzzy. Damn, I didn’t see this coming.

Chapter Eighteen

I woke up with cotton mouth and a pounding headache. Once I was able to pry open my eyes I discovered I was duct taped to a plastic pool lounge chair, the kind we’d had as kids back in the 80’s. It was made out of soft tubular plastic strips, and had been obsolete for years. Where was I that would have such a retro pool chair? I tried to turn my head to look around; instantly I realized my mistake - it felt like I’d been whacked in the brain with a sledgehammer. My head swam in gray fuzziness and I had a hangover, or something akin to one, like I’d never experienced before.

“Ugh, hello?” I called out pathetically. I cleared my throat and tried again, louder this time. There was no answer except for my own echo. Where the heck am I? Certainly not the pantry in my kitchen, that was for sure.

“I think I’m going to yak, so if you want me to do it all over myself and make a huge mess; feel free to ignore me!” I called out as loud as I could. Bile was rising in my throat and I tried to think about anything that didn’t include bodily functions.

“Here.” A rough voice said as a big meaty hand came out of the darkness and thrust a plastic bucket onto my lap. The bucket smelled like mildew and I instantly lost it. I sat there heaving into the bucket. The sour smell of stomach acid made me heave more and more. I felt hot tears roll down my cheeks. This must be the end, I thought.

“Please…water…can’t… stop….” I whimpered into the darkness between heaves. The only light was from a single dull light bulb dangling about ten feet above me. I didn’t know if meaty arm man had left or if he was a few feet away. I heaved again, nothing but air coming out of my mouth, yet I couldn’t escape the smell and the overwhelming need to rid my body of whatever they had given me.

“It’s the chloroform. It go away soon. Here-water.” The voice came out of the darkness and was followed by a big meaty man. He was speaking with a thick Russian accent, no surprise there. He removed the bucket and held a plastic cup up for me to drink from. Water spilled down my chin into my t-shirt and bra.

“My beer! My house! Fluff-ball! Sam!” I sounded like a babbling idiot.

My stomach gurgled. I was really pissed off now; vomiting, gargantuan headache and now I’d just dumped a big cup of water down into my empty gut.

“You vant cracker? I have saltines.” I glared at my captor. He looked like a big gorilla in a suit. I must look pretty pissed, because he seemed almost scared of me; and I was the one strapped to a chair.

“Yes, please.” I’d best be polite and take food when I could. From what I had seen, there was no reason to expect these guys to be very accommodating; after all, they’d killed Buster and one of their own, and had Callie stashed somewhere.

Gorilla guy shoved a cracker in my mouth. I had not tasted anything so wonderful in all my life. It was stale and a bit chewy, but my stomach thanked me.

“Can I have another?” I looked up at him and tried to look as pathetic as possible. I remembered from some movie or television show somewhere that I should make friends with my kidnapper. He was most likely just the muscle, and had no idea who I was or why he had kidnapped me. Just following orders, I suppose.

He sat there and fed me a ream of stale saltine crackers and another glass of water. By the end of the crackers my head was beginning to feel much better and I had adjusted to the poor lighting. We were in some sort of warehouse. There were some crates stacked over near a large door. The rest of the room appeared to be empty, except for me and the gorilla.

“So, are we just hanging out here?” I asked.

“Da. The boss told me bring you here, wait for a call.” Ah, so he was just the muscle.

“So, do you know why he told you to bring me here? And, where my friend Callie is?” I may as well fish for as much information as possible.

His dark beady eyes retreated under his black bushy unibrow, making him look even more primitive. “Nope, I just get you, bring you here. I know nothing.” He crossed his colossal arms and sat down in another retro pool chair. It groaned under his weight, the plastic strips stretching to their capacity. He shifted his body around and I watched as the chair’s legs spread, but amazingly did not buckle.

“Wow. That must be frustrating. I would want to know what I was doing if my boss told me to kidnap someone and bring them to an empty warehouse.” I gave him a knowing nod, as if I too could relate.

He chucked and I was able to see that he was missing quite a few teeth, and that the remaining ones were gold. I tried not to cringe.

“Nyet. No bother. I do job, get paid. Then I make my way up, do more important jobs. That how it works.” He tapped his forehead; he must’ve thought this master career path up himself.

“Oh, I see.” I nodded. “So, can I ask your name? I’m Tansy.” I waved my duct taped hand as best I could.

He looked at me and I could tell that he was deciding if this was okay. I doubted many of his victims had ever asked his name, or introduced themselves.

“You call me Boris.” He said hesitantly.

I smiled. “Okay, Boris. I would say it was nice to meet you, only, it really isn’t. I don’t suppose you could loosen these.” I flailed my helpless hands around; they seemed to be taped with a roll of tape apiece. I could barely feel my left hand. “I promise I’ll behave. I have no idea where I am, and, I’m sure since my feet are half asleep and I am still coming out of a chloroform fog, you could definitely catch me if I were to try.” I gave him the most pathetic look I could muster.

He shook his head. “Sorry. Nyet. Boris not dumb. Anyone who is taped to chair is looking for way to escape. I do that, I in trouble and no job.” He crossed his arms again resolutely.

“Is that what happened to Eugene?” If I couldn’t get into a better position, I supposed maybe I could play to his sympathetic side.

“Don’t know Eugene.” He was totally lying, avoiding eye contact and suddenly a bit shifty in his confining chair. I could tell from his aura; he was scared of something.

“Oh, that’s too bad. I figured you and Eugene might have known one another. He seemed like a pretty decent guy, even if he did kill my friend’s boyfriend.” I shrugged as best I could.

“You need to keep mouth shut.” Boris scowled at me. “I’m going to do perimeter walk. You stay kaput.” He tried standing up, but the pool chair was stuck to his expansive rear end. He pulled it off and mumbled something in Russian. I sighed and tried to wiggle some life back into my hands.

I looked at my hands and feet and then at Boris. “I seriously doubt I am going to go anywhere. You go do what you need to do.” I flailed around helplessly to make my point.

Boris walked off toward a small side door. If I had to guess, I’d say that I was sitting in the warehouse at the port, the one I’d been planning on visiting tomorrow. Great, I was here, so where did that leave my investigation? And, what about Sam? Had he not even noticed that I was missing? Was Boris that good that he had abducted me without even rousing the suspicion of the dog or Sam? I was pissed that someone who was supposedly a top notch private investigator could be outfoxed by a bulky hulk of a Russian mob newbie. But, what if Boris had made sure that Sam wouldn’t be an issue, what if he’d done something to him, hurt him, or worse, killed him? I panicked for a second and flailed again, but all I succeeded in doing was to make my head pound louder.

I tried to calm down and reason with myself, but it was no use. I would just have to ask Boris about Sam when he got back. I heard a car roll up outside the building, and then what sounded like a heated argument in Russian.

The door burst open and three large hulking figures came through, followed by one smaller one. They were all headed toward me. I shrank back, trying to curl up into a protective position, but it was no use. I was bound to the stupid rubbery chair, duct tape holding my ankles in place against the cold metal chair legs. All I could do was flop them halfheartedly against the floor. I could already see some lovely red rings appearing above the duct tape. At least I had shaved recently, so it wouldn’t hurt too badly when they did decide to unwrap me. That is, if I was still alive. I made a little gasp, trying to will myself not to think about what they were going to do with me.

The men stopped suddenly right in front of me and fanned out. Two on either side of the smaller man. They were all dressed in what appeared to be Armani. Why would anyone be dressed in Armani in the middle of the night? This mob stuff seemed to be a little over the top. Who did they think they were, modern day Al Capone clones?

“So, you are Tansy Taylor. The girl who is causing me problems with my business; sticking your nose into places it doesn’t belong.” His voice was strong and had a slight Russian accent, not anywhere as strong as Boris’. When he spoke, he maintained a calm even tone, relaxed even. If it weren’t for the dark forces swirling around him and that same icy evil that I’d felt around Eugene, I might possibly be lulled into a false sense of security, even though I was strapped to a chair. Oh yes, I had no doubt that this man was good at his job, and most likely one of the top dogs in the mob.

I gave him a slight smile. No reason to be uncooperative yet, I still wasn’t sure why exactly it was that I was here. If they simply wanted the files, they could’ve taken them from me at the house. “I’m Tansy Taylor. However, I’m not sure who you are and how I might be causing you problems. Up until a few days ago I was taking calls at a psychic hotline and hanging out with friends. In fact, I would say someone, quite possibly you, are the one that is causing me problems. My car mysteriously burst into flames yesterday and I’m now being held against my will. So, from my perspective, it’s me, not you, having problems.” I cocked my head at him and waited for a response, holding my breath. My words may be hard hitting, but I was shaking in my bunny slippers.

He pulled out a cigar, lit it, and took a slow puff. “So, I see you have quite a bit of feistiness to you. No wonder my friend at the dealership wanted me to keep you around for him. He said that you were full of, what is that saying, spit and vinegar?” He approached me and ran his big ringed pinkie down the side of my face and to my shirt collar, then further down, tracing the path of my bra strap down my side. I sucked in a breath and felt goose bumps take over my body. The air around him was cold, icy, and so it was a stark contrast to his warm plump finger running down my skin.

He leaned in and whispered in my ear. “I might just have to keep you around for a while after my business is all done. You might be just what I need. I can keep you and your little waitress friend, no?” His sweet, cigar infused breath brushed over my face and went into my mouth and nose, I tried not to gag. My stomach turned at the thought of this pig getting anywhere near me.

“Where is Callie? What have you done to her?” I screamed, losing it just a bit. His eyes flashed with anger and he reached up as if to slap me-but then stopped, took a deep breath and put his hand back down, brushing imaginary lint off of his pant leg.