Up to Me (13 page)

Suddenly, Duffy releases me and moves to the Russian’s side.  Turning to face us, he draws a gun from the waistband of his pants and trains it on me.   I know I should be afraid, but it all seems so surreal, I’m just…not. My emotions haven’t caught up with my brain yet.  My adrenaline is still kicking the shit out of everything except for the fear that Olivia might get hurt.  That’s my primary concern right now.

I take a step back to align myself with Nash.  I do a double take when I glance over at him.  He’s as pale as a girl under his tan, staring at Duffy like he’s seen a ghost.

“What?”

“That’s him,” he says quietly, almost too quietly, like he’s in shock or something. I just don’t know why.

“That’s who?”

“That’s the bastard that killed Mom.  He’s the one on the video.”  There’s about ten seconds of absolute silence while everyone digests what Nash said.  He’s the first to recover, of course.  Taking us all by surprise, Nash lets out an animalistic growl and lunges forward.  “You mother fu—”

With my reflexes still under the influence of an ass ton of adrenaline, I’m able to reach out and stop him before he can get to Duffy.  “Nash no!  They’ve got Olivia.”  I feel the muscles of his shoulder flex as he strains against me.  When he looks at me, his eyes are blank.  It’s like he’s so furious he doesn’t quite understand what I’m saying.  That or he just doesn’t care.  I give him a shake to snap him out of it.  “They’ve got Olivia, man.  Be smart.”

His look assures me that “smart” to me is much different than what “smart” is to him.  He’s got no stake in this, only his hunger for revenge. That’s all he wants.  And I’m standing in the way of that.  But I’ll be damned if I risk Olivia just to satisfy his needs.  There will be time for that later, when we can think and plot and be prepared.  Today is not that day.  Today is only about making sure Olivia is safe.  Nothing else.  Nothing else matters as much.  Not by a long shot.

I look to the Russian.  “Still think we don’t have a video?”  If there was no video, Nash wouldn’t have recognized the trigger man. 

I can tell by the return of the tick in big Russian’s jaw that he doesn’t like something.  And I know exactly what it is.  He’s stuck.  He knows there’s no way he’s leaving here with everything and he knows he can’t kill us and take it.  So he has to bargain.  Even though he says he doesn’t bargain. 

“You’re not leaving here until I get the books.  The
real
books.”

I hate to give up the books, but the only reason Nash is here is so that I
could
give up the books without being up shit creek.  And if this is the bone I have to throw these dogs to get them off my back so I can get to Olivia, so be it.

“Fine.  Take the books.  A good faith offering.”  I turn and nod to Nash.  His lips thin and I can tell he doesn’t want to give them a damn thing but a bullet between the eyes.  I can almost hear Nash’s teeth grinding.  He looks livid.  But he doesn’t argue.  Thank God.  At least he didn’t come back a total bastard.  At least he can be considerate of the lives at stake here.

Never taking his eyes off the other two men, Nash reaches into the compartment behind the seat on the bike and pulls out the real ledgers.  With an eff-you flip of the wrist, he flings the books onto the ground about a foot in front of the big Russian.

Still oozing blood from his nose and mouth, the Russian says one short, clipped foreign word to Duffy, who immediately moves to get the ledgers.  He hands them over and the big guy flips through them, verifying they’re actually full of writing. 

He opens each book and checks the front page, I assume for dates.  When he gets to the third one, he turns to the middle of the book then forward a few pages, scanning the rows of numbers for something.  My guess is it’s how he’s authenticating that they’re
the
books, not just any books or clever reproductions.  This is exactly why I knew better than to try to deceive them.  Mafia doesn’t get to the level of criminal activity it gets to without having some brains.

When he seems satisfied, he looks up at me and sneers.  “Take the girl in the car, but know that you’ve made enemies, enemies you don’t want to make.  This is not over.”

With that, he nods to Duffy and the two turn and walk away, not the least bit concerned with turning their backs on us. I’m sure
they know
that
we know
that it would be suicide to do anything to them at this point, although I doubt Nash sees it that way.

When they’re back in the van, I turn to Nash.  “Take Marissa. I’m going to get Olivia.”

“Bullshit!  You’re not leaving me with—”

“I don’t have time for this right now. Get off my bike before I throw you off.”  One eyebrow shoots up like he might consider pushing me just for the hell of it, but then he sighs and gets off the bike.  “Keep your phone on.  Marissa will tell you where to take her.”  I sling gravel all over the place as I peel out and gun it.  Once I get to a more populated street, I pull over and call Gavin.

“Where the hell are you?” he asks without preamble.

“I’m on my way.  Give me directions.”  Gavin gives me the route he took to get to the house and describes which one it is.  “Do you know how many people there are inside?”

“From what I can tell, just the two who took her.  One young guy, one old.  Now that you’re on your way, I’ll sneak out and see if I can get close enough to have a look around.  When you come, stop at the north end of the street and walk in.  There are some trees that can keep you from sticking out like the giant bloke you are.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Be careful. Somebody’s gonna have to get her the hell out of there while I clean up the mess.”

That tells me all I need to know about Gavin’s intentions.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE- Olivia

It wasn’t a dream. I realize this with a fuzzy sense of panic as my hearing comes back on line like a flickering fluorescent bulb.  I recognize the voices I’m hearing.  They’re the same two I heard earlier.  How much earlier, I don’t know.  Time has slipped away from me altogether.

“She’s waking up again,” I hear one say.  “Give her some more.”

I try to shake my head and tell them not to, but the slightest movement sends a sharp pain lancing through my skull and saliva gushing into my mouth.  I hear a moaning sound and realize it’s me.  That must be what the “no” that’s in my head sounds like out in the open air.

“Hurry before that bitch starts screaming again.”

I try again to dissuade them, but I only hear a garbled gurgling noise.

My head spins and dips, even though my eyes are closed.  The slow squish of blood through my veins sounds like a tired river inside my skull.  I try again to speak.  “Nooooo morrrrrrre.” The words are drawn out around a protracted moan.

What’s wrong with me?

“Pour some more on the cloth and hold it longer.  Maybe you’re not giving her enough.”

I whimper. I can’t help it. I know instinctively that they shouldn’t give me more. I feel like I’m barely hanging on as it is.

“Too much,” I slur.

One lowers his voice, but I can still hear him.  “Is she supposed to sound like that?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t think that elbow to the head did something to her, do you?”

Elbow to the head?

Fear brings just enough adrenaline with it to clear my head of the fog that muddles it.  At least a little. 

I think back to the parking lot at school.  I remember rolling down my window. I remember the cloth over my face.  But then there’s a blank until I was being carried.  Disjointed images from the underside of a bridge flash through my mind and I remember waking up as the two guys were transferring me into another vehicle.  I remember kicking and screaming, clawing and biting until the one holding my upper body dropped me.  I screamed and kicked harder with my feet until something dense and heavy hit me upside the head.  And then there’s nothing again until I woke up tied to a bed in an otherwise empty room.  I raised my head and started to look around just as the same young guy lunged at me with a rag in his hand.  He smothered my face with it until blackness swallowed me again. 

That’s the last thing I remember until now.

“We’re not supposed to kill her yet.  Maybe just give her a little bit more, in case we need to wake her up and let someone talk to her or whatever.”

“Yeah, let’s do that.”

I feel tears running down my cheeks, but it’s an oddly detached sensation, like I’m feeling the warm streaks through a layer of fabric stretched over my skin.  I try to open my eyes to see what’s going on, but they won’t cooperate.  It’s a struggle just to draw one breath after another.  My chest feels so heavy, the urge to sleep so very strong.

The strength to fight eludes me when I feel the rag come across my face. I try to turn my head away, but the hand is persistent and I’m too weak.  Vaguely, like smoke drifting through a room, it occurs to me that they might be giving me enough of whatever they’re using to cause permanent brain damage.  I think of Dad and how heartbroken he’ll be.  I think of Mom and how smug she’ll be.  But most of all, I think of Cash. Of what his lips feel like, what his smile looks like.  Of all the things I didn’t say, of all the things I’ll never get the chance to say now.  Of how cowardly I was about telling him I love him.  More tears course down my cheeks, fading, fading, fading until I feel them no more.

And then all thought is gone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR- Cash

I know that, on top of the twenty or so traffic laws I’ve broken, I’ve also just been plain dumb.  I don’t think I’ve ever made it across Atlanta faster, and during a busy time of the day, too.  Weaving in and out of the flow, taking to the shoulder and emergency lane dozens of times to get around clogged spots, squeezing between cars to get through a slow place—none of it has been advisable.  Getting myself killed trying to get to Olivia won’t do anybody any good.  But still… that doesn’t seem to matter.  All I can think of is what they might to do her, what they might’ve
already
done to her. 

I grit my teeth against the rage that floods my blood stream.  If they’ve laid a hand on her…  If they’ve harmed so much as one hair on her beautiful head…  God forbid, if they’ve done things to her…

Just the thought of the twisted things men like this do to women makes me feel both sick and furious.  I comfort myself with the thought that they haven’t had her very long.  By the time I get there, it should be a couple of hours at the most.  But to Olivia, the captive, that could feel like a lifetime.

And it’s all your fault for dragging her into your mess to begin with.

I twist the handlebar and throttle up even more, as though it’s possible to outrun my mistakes if I drive fast enough. It’s not, of course.  There’s nothing I can do to reverse the damage.  My only hope now is to fix it for the future. To make it so that she’s never in danger again.  Even if it means becoming a criminal to do it.

It goes against everything I am now, everything I believe in to turn in that direction.  But I can say that I have a better understanding of my father’s motives now.  Everything he did, he did for us.  Even if it was incredibly stupid.  I guess it’s just a matter of finding something or someone worth going to such extremes for.

Like Olivia.

Again, like a nightmare you can’t forget even after your eyes are open, I picture her screaming as faceless men torture her, tear at her clothes, touch her with their grimy hands.  That’s when all my convictions go straight out the window.  I would have no problem whatsoever taking the life of someone who would hurt her.  None.  I might live to regret it, but if it meant keeping her safe, my regret would only extend so far. 

The pit of my stomach churns with anger.  My teeth grind with rage.  My jaw aches from being clenched so tightly.  Fury, like an uncontrollable animal, claws at the inside of my chest, desperate to get out and take its revenge.

Cranking the throttle even higher, I speed toward Olivia.

The rest of the short drive goes by in a blur of violent thoughts and horrific imaginations.  By the time I drive past the street Gavin specified, I feel like I might explode if I don’t get my hands on someone, someone to pound my fists into until they’re lifeless beneath me.

Parking my bike behind a red minivan, I walk casually down the street until I get back to the intersection just beyond where they’re holding Olivia.  I stop at the stop sign and look both ways, taking in as much detail as I can without seeming suspicious.

The street looks innocent enough.  It’s a lower-income neighborhood.  That much is obvious by the size and simplicity of the houses.  Two fairly neat rows of small, square, shutter-less brick homes line the street.  The lawns are neat, but functionally so.  There’s no fancy landscaping here.  There are a few bikes on a few walkways, but I don’t see any elaborate outdoor equipment in any of the backyards. 

As I make my way along the cracked sidewalk that snakes between overgrown trees, I realize it’s the perfect place to be anonymous.  There are a few cars along the street, likely those who work the night shift and are sleeping by now.  The rest of the residents are probably either at work or at school, leaving the criminals with lots of privacy to do whatever they like.  There’s no one around to hear any screams.

I spot Gavin’s Hummer.  My eyes scan the area from left to right as I approach it.  When I confirm that it seems we’re not being watched, I open the door and duck inside.

Immediately, Gavin hands me a knife with a four inch blade, perfect for cutting throats or stabbing into deep tissue.  Without question, I take it and slide it into my boot as Gavin screws a silencer onto the end of a Makarov.

“Irony?” I ask, referring to the Russian made gun.  Gavin grins.  “So, what do you know?”

“Not much more than I did.  With the houses like this, and it being daylight, it makes it hard to sneak around.  Now if I’d known and could come prepared, I’d be checking the cable or telephone.  But as it is, I’m lucky I had my stash with me.”

“Thank God you’re a paranoid bastard.”

“Right?  Otherwise your girlfriend might be in deep shit.”

“You mean deepER shit.”

“Well, I figure it could’ve been worse.  The blokes that have her shouldn’t be too much of a challenge. I’d say we got lucky the transaction with you was going down at the same time. If I had to guess, they’d made all kinds of preparations for that. Not just making the trade, but disposing of bodies as well.  All in all, I think we’re in good shape.  It doesn’t hurt that they’re
Bratva
either.  No one should find out about what’s going to happen in that house until some of the big boys come to check in on these piss-ants when they don’t answer the phone.”

It helps that this is probably the kind of neighborhood where people mind their business for fear of getting shot.

“You’ve been here all morning.  Don’t you think this is pretty risky, considering someone may have gotten your license plates?”

“Nah, I circled the block when I saw them stop and stuck one of my stolen sets on.  They’re magnetized, so they just slide right over the real plates and no one’s the wiser.
If
anyone gets my tags and
if
the police somehow get involved, they’ll have the plates of an old pedophile that lives in Canton.” He pauses and frowns, nodding. “Actually, it might be a good thing if someone
does
get the number.  I think that bastard needs a little visit from the authorities right about now.”

“So what are you thinking then?”

At the thought of taking action, adrenaline pours into my bloodstream.  I feel like I could bench press a damn car!

“You’re not anxious to get in there, are you?” Gavin teases.

I think of Olivia and I grit my teeth. “I can’t wait to get in there and crack some skulls.  If they so much as laid a finger on her…”

My heart pounds in my chest as I try and push visions of a brutalized Olivia out of my head. 

“You just have to stay calm, Cash.  We have to make sure and do this right or bad things could happen.”

I take a deep breath and nod.  “I know, I know.  I’m not worried about them hurting me.  I just want to get her out safely.  I don’t give a shit what happens to them, as long as they never come after her again.” 

I look at Gavin and he’s shaking his head.  “Ever,” he says with finality.   It’s not a little thing, what he’s saying.  We stare at each other for a tense second or two then I nod in agreement.

“Ever.”

Another gush of adrenaline, possibly mixed with a little fear of what might be ahead. I’m not afraid of the people themselves. Or even really getting Olivia out safely.  I
will
get her out.  And I
will
make sure she’s safe.  There is no other option. 

It’s the consequences I’m afraid of. I’ve seen up-close and personal what can happen when plans go awry in dealings with people like this.  It’s not pretty.  It’s ugly!  In fact, it’s often ugly to the tune of twenty-five years.

“Then let’s go get this done.  Why don’t you drive me around the block and drop me off?  Come back and park somewhere else.  You go to the front door and I’ll go to the back. I’m sure there’s a back door.”

“You might run into a little something back there.  Don’t forget that they’ve probably been warned.”

“They shouldn’t have any idea that I know where they’re at, though.”

“No, but they’ve probably already gotten a call that the plans have changed.  They might be getting ready to move her or do…something to her.”

I feel a knot of pure hell lodge in my throat.  “Then let’s get in there.”

Gavin starts the Hummer and shifts into gear.  “Lift up the back seat.  I put a storage space under it.  There should be some hats and gloves and face paint.  It’s not like going in under the cover of night, but at least we can disguise our features a bit.”  I reach back and lift, but the seat won’t budge.  “There’s a little lever under the cushion.” 

Feeling for the lever, I find it and press it as I lift.  The rear cushion folds up to reveal a small storage space.  Sure enough, there are a couple hats, gloves and face paint, among all sorts of other needful things. 

“My best friend is a guerilla,” I say caustically, taking out what we need. 

“You better be glad, too.”

I snap the seat back down into place and turn toward the front. I look at Gavin, he glances at me and I nod. “I am, man.  I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know.”  Gavin nods, too.  I know he knows how sincere I am.  It’s there in his expression.  It’s kind of like a brotherhood we’re in.  We have pasts we’re trying to escape, we’re both willing to go to extreme measures for those we care about, and we’ll both likely meet an early death.  That’s a lot for a couple guys to bond over.  It’s a tighter friendship than any amount of football or frat parties can make.

I pop off the flat, round lid of the dish of face paint.  The content is inky black and looks like shoe polish, only oilier.  Flipping down the visor, I quickly rub two fingers through the grease then smear streaks of it on my cheeks. I repeat the action until my features are patchy and less discernible in the mirror.

I shove the ball cap onto my head and pull it low over my eyes then I push my hands into the gloves.  Gavin slows to a stop on the street behind the house. 

“I’ll whistle when I get to the porch.  Keep your head down and your hands in your pockets.  Don’t forget to watch your flank.  Be careful in there.”

“Thanks, man. You, too.”

“I’ll leave the keys under the floor mat.  Get Olivia the hell out of here as soon as you can.”

“Here,” I say, taking my motorcycle keys out of my pocket and handing them to Gavin.  “Behind the red minivan, one street over.  Meet you back at my place.”  I reach for the door handle.  “See you on the other side.”  Gavin smiles and holds up his fist. I give it a bump before stepping out of the Hummer.

Keeping my chin tucked against my chest and my hands in my pockets, I make my way slowly across the sidewalk to the house that sits behind the one where they’re holding Olivia. Casually, I walk through their yard and around the side of the house, steadily approaching my destination.

I hear the throaty grumble of the Hummer as Gavin drives by the house to park down the street.  I slow my pace enough to give him time to get to the front door.  I stop to pretend to tie my shoe, which makes no sense because I’m wearing boots.  But it looks good if anyone’s watching from a distance, which hopefully they aren’t. 

I hear the clap of Gavin’s boots on the sidewalk, followed closely by some light whistling.  I rise and walk to the back patio, stepping onto it and approaching the door.  It’s old and wooden and looks easy to kick in.

I hear the doorbell ring then I hear a couple of hushed voices followed by some footsteps.  Just out of curiosity, I try the doorknob.  It’s locked. 

No such luck. That shit only happens in the movies.

When I hear the first sign that Gavin has made his move, which in this case is a guy yelling
what the hell,
I raise my leg and kick as hard as I can just below the door knob.

As I suspected, this place being an older home, the door frame gives away easily and the door pops open.  Standing in the kitchen, watching with a stunned expression as I step through the wreckage that used to be the back door, is one of Olivia’s captors. He’s a young, college-age guy, but that doesn’t make me feel the least bit guilty for beating the shit out of him.

He doesn’t even see my fist coming.

Two punches to the face and he’s unconscious. 

That was easy enough.

I step over his body, sparing a glance toward the front door where Gavin is pummeling another of the
Bratva’s
boys.  Seeing that he’s very much in control of the situation, I start looking for Olivia. 

There’s a short hallway to my right. It’s lined with four closed doors.  She could be in any of them.  At the end of the hall is either another door, a closet of some sort, or possibly stairs to a basement.  Hurriedly, I open the first door I come to.

I see only a flash of movement before he’s on me.  I take a punch to the gut before I recover enough to smash my fist into his balls.  I hear his groan and he falls at my feet.  I kick him in the ribs and then kneel to punch him once in the face.  His head lolls lifelessly to the side. I give him another hit just to make sure he’ll stay down.

Obviously there are more here than what Gavin thought
.

I look around the small bedroom.  It’s empty but for a beat-up green recliner and a television sitting on an old plastic crate.  I exit the room and proceed to the next door, using a little more caution.