Trust Me (30 page)

    Karen said, "Who're you?" The tall one with the bad complexion picked up her bag, unzipped it and reached in, and took out the Mag and put it in his pants pocket. He took out her wallet too, opened it and studied her driver's license.

    "Is Karen Delaney," he said.

    She said, "Did he tell you about the money?" Beard glanced at her, but moved away and closed the lift gate. They were speaking Arabic when they got in the front seat. She heard the engine turn over and the Cadillac Escalade rolled away from the curb and picked up speed, cruising down Windsor. She couldn't believe it, kidnapped in her old neighborhood with half the Garden City police department fifty yards away.

    Karen was on her side and her shoulder was digging into the plastic cargo liner. She turned on her back and that was worse, the weight of her body pressing on her hands. She tried to undo the knot with her thumb and index finger but couldn't budge it. The Escalade made a couple of turns and they were on Middlebelt now. She saw lights from storefronts and heard the sounds of traffic. She worked at the knot, which was small and tight, trying to loosen it.

    She had a pretty good idea where they were going and figured she had about twenty-five minutes to do something before they handed her over to Ricky and Samir. She turned on her left shoulder, still working at the knot trying to loosen it. It was hot in the Escalade, her skin wet where it stuck to the plastic liner. She heard a window go down, the whir of the electric motor, and felt the rush of hot air swirl around her. They were talking, speaking Arabic again. Karen said, "I have the money. Isn't that what this is about? I stole a million six hundred thousand from him and he wants it back. Unless you guys want to make some kind of a deal." She didn't even know if they understood what she was saying.

    The SUV slowed down and made a turn into what looked like a strip mall; she could see a big asphalt lot and cars parked and stores in the distance. The Escalade came to a stop. She heard the front doors open and close. She saw the lift gate swing up, and they were standing there looking at her. Beard grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked her head over to the edge of the cargo bay.

    "This money," Beard said, "where is it?"

    He pinched her shoulder, found a nerve and sent a bolt of pain through her neck and chest. She tried to move away, but the other one held her, hands on her breasts, groping her, and when she thought she was going to pass out from the pain, Beard let go and bent down, getting in her face. His breath reeked of garlic, the smell choking her, making her gag.

    "Where is the money?" he said.

    Karen said, "At a friend's house."

    She saw his fist come up and felt it drive into her chest, blowing the wind out of her, a new pain taking over. She was conscious of them smiling, seeing her in pain and getting pleasure from it. Karen wheezed as her lungs lost air and now tried to get it back.

    Beard said, "The money?"

    He was in her face again.

    "I'll show you," Karen said. "I'll take you there."

    With his trim beard and dark eyes, he looked like one of the 911 terrorists she'd seen in the
Free Press
when the Trade Center was destroyed.

    After that it seemed surreal, like a movie scene in slow motion.

    A car cruised into the frame, a blue and gold Garden City patrol car. The Arabs were moving. She saw the tall one go past the window on his way to the front seat. She heard the door open and saw him come back along the side of the Escalade, carrying a rifle. She saw Beard pull a semi-automatic from under his shirt and hold it against his leg, before he pulled the lift gate down and swung it closed. Karen dug at the rope with her index finger. She got a nail in the knot and felt it move.

    Officer Jason Swinney watched the good-looking redhead walk down the street. He wanted to see where she lived, maybe stop by later with some news about her neighbor. She didn't appear to have a wedding ring. After he looked at her face that was the first thing he checked. He was going to ask her name, but didn't want to seem too obvious. She was older than him, ten years, at least, but that was okay. She sure was good-looking.

    He tracked her to the end of the street. She was standing next to a car—some kind of foreign sedan, when two guys appeared. They grabbed her and picked her up. What the hell was going on? Were they kidding around? Jason wasn't sure what to do. He'd been a patrolman with the Garden City police department for a week shy of three months. He didn't want to make a mistake and screw up, do something embarrassing and call attention to himself. But his instinct told him to get in his car and follow the black SUV

    He didn't tell dispatch what he was doing. He got in his cruiser and left the crime scene. He would follow them and see what happened. If he needed backup, he'd radio in. He tailed the Escalade down Windsor onto Middlebelt and then into the Midway Shopping Center. He wondered if he had misread the situation, if he had overreacted. He watched them park in a remote corner of the lot. What were they doing?

    Swinney pulled into a parking space between a conversion van and a Silverado 4x4. He had a good angle on the SUV about a hundred feet away. He sat and watched. Nothing happened for a couple minutes, then the front doors opened and the two guys got out and opened the back end. He saw the redhead stretched out in the cargo area, and it looked like they were roughing her up. Jason had his hand on the radio about to call for backup, but changed his mind. He thought he could handle these two pussies beating up a girl.

    He put the Crown Vic in gear and came up behind them in stealth mode, headlights off, speedometer needle climbing to fifteen, twenty. He pictured himself on TV, a news flash: rookie Garden City Police Officer Jason Swinney receiving a commendation from Governor Granholm after saving the life of a citizen.

    He saw one of them close the lift gate, and then he saw the second one appear, coming around the side of the SUV, firing an automatic weapon, and Jason ducked for cover. He got down on the floor as low as he could go as bullets ripped up the interior, blowing out the windshield and side windows. He also heard the report of a semiautomatic handgun as rounds thudded into the side of the car. He unsnapped the clasp on top of the holster and drew his own department-issue Glock.40, but didn't dare risk looking up. When the shooting stopped, he reached for the radio handset, brought it to his mouth and said, " Officer down…"

    Once the knot was loose, Karen untied her hands and went over the backrest into the rear seat, dragging her legs, which were still bound. The shooting had stopped. She could hear a siren somewhere in the distance. She slid over the console between the front seats. Her.357 Smith & Wesson Airweight was on the floor in front of the passenger seat. She leaned over and picked it up. The keys were in the ignition. She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the Arabs moving toward the police car. She turned the key and shifted into drive and pushed down on the accelerator. Her bound feet felt big and clumsy on the pedal, but the Escalade took off and she could see the Arabs turn and start firing, trying to blow out the tires.

    Karen swerved around a Ford F-150 backing out of a parking space. She sped across the lot, slammed on the brakes and just missed a Honda minivan. Now a police car entered the strip mall lot, flying past her, lights flashing. She heard speed bursts of machine gun fire behind her.

    Karen drove out of the lot and took a left on Middlebelt Road and took a right into a neighborhood subdivision. She wound her way back to her mother's house, taking an intersecting series of dark side streets. She parked the Escalade on Windsor, the scene at her mom's was still playing out: police cars were still parked, lights were still flashing, and the neighbors were still gawking, standing behind the yellow crime scene tape.

    Tariq watched Omar fire a long burst at the oncoming police car, first shooting off the flashing lights on top and then shooting out the windshield. The police car swerved off course, and slammed broadside into a parked car with impact, moving it out of its fixed position.

    Omar ejected the spent magazine and reloaded, removing a new one from a satchel he wore over his shoulder. The asphalt around him was littered with shell casings. Omar turned as another police car approached from a different direction, speeding toward him. Omar raised the AK-47 to his shoulder and fired five-shot bursts. The second police car made contact with a row of shopping carts, sending carts airborne, carts in motion.

    Tariq could see people emerging from stores in the shopping center, looking over at them and running back inside. He could see people in the parking lot disappearing behind their cars. He could hear more sirens in the distance, the sound of the sirens here much different from the sirens in Iraq.

    He saw Omar fire at the storefronts, shooting out windows. People were running, scattering, afraid. Tariq shot a man with silver hair as he was opening the door of a Jaguar. He shot him at close range in the back of the head and the man dropped on the asphalt next to the car.

    Tariq sat behind the wheel of the Jag. He turned the ignition switch and heard the engine start. He backed out of the parking space and picked up Omar, and drove slowly out of the parking lot, not wanting to attract further attention. He pushed the turn signal indicator in the upright position, turning right onto Middlebelt Road. In the side mirror, he could see more flashing lights approaching.

    Karen drove to Schreiner's and parked in the driveway. She could hear laughter hang in the air, and music as she moved along the side of the house to the patio. There was a party in full swing two houses away. She could hear snippets of conversation, and then the music got louder and she could identify the singer, Shania Twain, and the song "Man! I Feel Like a Woman," sung by a chorus of buzzed partiers, mostly girls, by the sounds of their voices.

    Although the weather had cooled down, Karen could feel herself sweating under her tee shirt. The back of Schreiner's house was lit up. She went through the family room into the kitchen and turned off the bright ceiling lights. There were empty beer bottles and bottle caps, and an ashtray with a roach in it on the counter. She could hear the TV on in the family room, the announcer said: "It took five years to build the five-mile-long Mackinac Bridge, making it a modern marvel."

    With the kitchen lights off, Karen could see outside and three people appear on the patio. They were laughing as they came in the house. She heard Schreiner say who wants to catch a buzz?

    She went into the pantry and closed the door.

    A girl's voice said, "Nice place. What do you do, anyway?"

    "I'm a lawyer," Schreiner said.

    "And you smoke weed?" the girl said.

    Karen wanted to open the door and say by the truckload.

    Another voice, a guy's, said, "Got any beer?"

    Schreiner said, "I'll fix you right up."

    Then they were in the kitchen. Karen could see them, dark shapes through the slats in the door.

    "How about some music?" The girl said, "I feel like dancing." She started to mambo, showing some moves, grooving to some tune in her head.

    The ceiling lights went back on. Karen could see Schreiner. He was wearing his
Make Love Not Law Review
tee shirt again, the shirt saying, hey, I'm an attorney, but I'm fun. The refrigerator opened and closed, she heard the clinking of bottles, Schreiner put three Coronas on the counter and popped the tops and let the caps fly, pinging off the counter onto the floor. Schreiner picked the roach up out of the ashtray and lit it with a plastic lighter. He took a long hit, held it in for ten seconds and blew out a cloud of smoke. He handed the roach to the girl. She was wearing a short black skirt and a pink top, and looked about twenty-five.

    The girl said, "Is this stuff any good?"

    Schreiner said, "Remember Helen Keller? Two tokes, you can't walk, talk or hear."

    The guy laughed.

    The girl said, "I don't want to get blown away."

    Schreiner said, "It's really polio pot, one hit you need a walker."

    The guy laughed again, pinched the roach between his thumb and index finger and took a long dramatic pull, sucking in air.

    The girl said, "I'm going back to the party."

    She walked past the door, heading toward the family room. Schreiner and the guy picked up their beers and went after her. Schreiner said wait, we're coming with you. She heard them walk out of the house and close the door.