AN: NEXT!!!
Tuesday 1:51 pm
Jack strolled down the sidewalk outside the morgue, whistling as he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed.
"Yeah?" said the baritone who picked up.
"Congratulations, Don. You put the fear of God into the poor guy."
Eighteen miles outside of town, Don smiled his wolfish smile into Tru's cell.
"Thank you, sir. Is he on board then?
"You won't have any trouble from him. Just carry on like you planned and keep the girl alive until it's over."
"Alive? Why?"
"Insurance, genius. Always have a plan B."
"Oh! Sure, I gotcha."
Don couldn't wink at Jack, so he winked at Tru, who returned with a death glare from her position on the floor.
They had driven for about half an hour, some side street and some open road, until pulling up on what sounded like a gravelly driveway. There, either Don or Mike cut the tape at her ankles while the other opened the door and hauled her out of the car by one of her bound arms.
The blind, stumbling walk from the Subaru to the building was short, and Tru had seized the opportunity to try to wrench away from the bruising grip on her arm. This earned her a nearly dislocated shoulder and another cuff to the side of her head. Inside, she was pushed another thirty or so paces on, and finally shoved to a seat on a cold cement floor. There, her ankles were re-taped and more was wound about her torso to secure her to the structure at her back. Only then did they pull the scarf from her eyes, and the first thing she saw was the eye of a colt 45.
After she assured them through a series of nods and head-shakes that she understood the consequences of crying out, the tape was pulled from her mouth and her own cell phone held to her ear. She had then been instructed to say something, anything. The 'anything' she chose to say resulted in a hard prod in the ribs with the gun.
All of this brings us to the present scene: Don on the phone with Jack, Mike R. nervously training the colt on Tru, and a bruised and angry Tru trying to assess the situation. The building was big, cavernous in fact. It had probably once been a warehouse or depot of some kind. Now the windows were broken, the dust was deep enough to wade in, and aside from several mountains of canvas tarps, the only things taking up space were the ceiling supports, like the one to which Tru was anchored.
"Good news, Davies," Don said, hanging up. "Your boss is playing ball. We may not have to smash in your pretty little skull after all."
Tru suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. There was nothing worse than being kidnapped and then subjected to sports analogies.
"That's very comforting," she said. "How's your nose?"
"Fine," he said coldly.
"Well, you look like Ray Romano."
"Oh, come on. Don't be so steamed. In another hour, this'll all be over and you can get back to the stiffs."
"As long as Kiff's one of them, right? For God's sake, she's your colleague!"
"She is not my colleague, she's a little girl with a big mouth. Let me ask you something, smart girl: You know how much your average paramedic makes? Thirty fucking thousand a year. Two years of training and thousands of hours in internships so that we can starve while people puke on our shoes and bleed on our equipment. Nobody's going to help us, so we helped ourselves. That's all."
"Right. You know, it's bad enough an innocent woman is going to die because of you. It's even bad enough that you're stealing medicine from people who need it and enabling others in a quite possibly deadly habit. But to stand there and justify it?"
"Shut up," Don snapped.
"I'm a pre-med student, Don. I know what it's like to be poor. Somehow, I've managed to get by without killing anyone."
Don stormed over, grabbed the gun from Mike R.'s unresisting hand, and pressed it against Tru's forehead.
"I said shut up."
Tru sat frozen, trying her best not to tremble as she closed her eyes and swallowed at her fear. After what seemed like a year, she felt the colt disappear from her skin and shakily released the breath she'd been holding. Something told her that reasoning wasn't going to get her out of this.
Don slapped the colt into Mike R.'s hand and headed for the door.
"I've got shit to take care of. Keep an eye on her."
"Shit? What sh... Oh, right. Shit."
"Shut up. If she moves, kill her."
During this brief interlude, Tru began slowly shifting herself to better access her pocket. They may have taken her phone, but they didn't get her keys...
Which meant they didn't get the mini Swiss army knife on her key ring.
Tuesday 2:28 pm
The city morgue was a good four miles across town from the fire station and Kiff had to fight traffic the whole way. Her legs were burning by the time she made it there and she couldn't count the number of strange looks she'd drawn on the way. She could imagine what they must be thinking: Could the city's budget cutbacks really be so bad that they were putting EMT's on bicycles?
Kiff dismounted before the brick building and stood, trying to catch her breath. It was at that point that she realized she wasn't really sure what she was doing there. Looking for clues? Fine, if she knew what to look for. Following leads? Just great, if she'd had any. What was she going to do, walk in and throw the half-story at some coroner without so much as a how-do-you-do? Yeah. They'd believe her as much as Tamzarian had. No, she needed something more.
If only she could think! Problem-solving wasn't usually a weakness for her, but there was something about this day, something so creepy that it was distracting her, even from its inherent weirdness.
For lack of a better idea, she slowly walked her bike around the side of the building towards the alley, scanning as she went. Old newspapers, puddles of rain mixed with motor oil, overfilled dumpsters...
"Hey, nice lady!"
Kiff's attention was drawn to a heap of rags in a house of cardboard boxes. The rags sat up and waved to her.
"James!" she said. "What are you doing here? I thought you were at the shelter."
"I don't like it there; they steal my things." James furrowed his bushy white eyebrows. "You look tired, puddin'. Come over here and set a spell."
Kiff smiled sadly. James was your classic slip-through-the-cracks-of- the-overworked-social-work-system case. A vet who'd been unable to find steady work since returning from Vietnam, he'd been homeless since the mid nineties and known Kiff since she began her career. Thanks to a mild case of diabetes, she'd often picked him up after he passed out on a sidewalk somewhere from low blood sugar. She often wondered how much longer he could last.
"I can't today, James. I'm in a wicked hurry."
"Oh?"
"I have to find someone."
"I'm someone. Come on."
Well, it wasn't like she was hot on a rapidly cooling trail. She set the kickstand and sat next to James on the cushion of cardboard under the cardboard awning. At least now she was out of the rain.
"So who is it you're looking for?"
"Actually, she works here. Ever seen her? Long dark hair, slim, my age or a little younger, looks an awful lot like that chick from 'Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back'?"
James suddenly looked a little nervous, as though she'd wondered aloud who ate the last cookie and he was the one with crumbs on his face.
"James? What's the matter?"
He twisted his mouth in defeat, reached into his sleeve, and pulled out a small shiny object which he passed to Kiff. She stared at the tiny gold cross in her hand. The thin chain dangled, broken.
"Where'd you get this?"
"I didn't take it," James said defensively.
"I didn't say –"
"She threw it away when they took her."
Kiff blinked. "Pardon me?"
"I SAID, SHE THREW IT AWAY WHEN THEY –"
"What do you mean 'they took her'? Who?"
"These three fellas in a big green wagon. They chased her down, put her inside, and drove off."
Kiff opened and shut her mouth several times before she spoke again. So many things were suddenly wrong, and all battled for formation on her tongue.
"You mean they kidnapped her?"
"I guess so," James shrugged. "Sure as hell looked like she didn't want to go with them."
"And it didn't occur to you that you should maybe mention this to the cops?" Kiff asked, growing more incredulous by the second.
"I don't like cops. They put me in jail just for sleeping on a park bench. I just didn't want to sleep in the snow. Kiff, are you mad? Please don't be mad."
"I'm not mad, James. Just tell me which way they went!"
"It looked like they were going for 14 West..."
Kiff grabbed his face and set a quick kiss on his bristly cheek
"Thank you!"
And then she was gone, pedaling away. The old man watched her go, smiling in delight at the first kiss he'd received in years.
Tuesday 2:29 pm
Don pulled Mike R.'s Subaru up to the curb at the rear corner of the fire station, where Andy was pacing like a caged tiger. He didn't like the looks of the guy. Since Kiff's suspension, they'd been planning this and Andy had assured them the whole time that he was okay with it. Now however, he looked like he was trying to grind the cigarette butts under his feet into the asphalt, to be discovered by archaeologists in 200 years.
"What the shit took you so long?" Andy demanded when Don approached.
"What's up your ass? I'm right on time. So are we ready to do this or what?"
"Kiff's gone."
Don inhaled his gum and it took a lot of coughing before he could speak again.
"Gone??? What do you mean?"
"I don't know! She just walked out."
"And you didn't stop her?"
"Don't you think I tried, you idiot? I tried everything short of tackling her right there on the sidewalk."
Don threw up his hands. "Well this is just great, isn't it! What'd you tell Tamzarian?"
"Tamzarian doesn't know and he's not going to."
"But –"
"No. If we tell him he'll freak and then we're all grass. Just go back and get fat-ass so he can help us find her."
"Find her? How?"
"The old-fashioned way: Look. Now go!"
Tuesday 3:10 pm
Although she couldn't see her watch, Tru was sure that the original time of Kiff's death had passed. Still, they hadn't released nor killed her. That meant they still needed her to keep Davis in line, which meant Kiff was still alive. That was something at least, but it probably wouldn't last.
It had taken about half an hour of subtle shifting to work her fingers into her pocket, extract the tiny knife, and open it without drawing Mike's notice. Since then, she'd been making progressive knicks in the tape on her wrists. At the rate she was going, she figured she might be free by Thursday... No. She couldn't get impatient. If Mike's trigger finger was as nervous as the rest of him, she couldn't afford to get caught.
Mike R.'s pacing had long since cleared a perfect path in the dusty floor, stretching from the windowed wall to the row of offices opposite. Periodically, he'd pull a flask out of his jacket pocket and take a swig, which was starting to make the path in the dust less than straight. Tru wasn't sure whether this made him more or less dangerous, but she was betting on the former.
Snap!
Tru froze as the tape broke. Yes! Finally...
"Hey. Hey you," barked Mike R.
Tru's heart jumped into her throat. Mike had stopped pacing and was looking right at her.
"What?"
"You see... like... you know, a men's room in here?"
Tru was suddenly able to breathe again. He hadn't noticed.
"Good luck with that. I'm pretty sure they turned the water off a long time ago."
Mike R. grimaced for a moment, shifting from foot to foot, and then headed for one of the far corners.
"Oh, come on!" said Tru. "You're not going to do that right here, are you?"
"Turn your head if you don't like it."
"Go outside."
Mike hesitated, looking from her to the door.
"Mike, I might be dead soon and I don't want that to be one of my final images. Besides, I'm not going anywhere."
Mike made a frustrated noise, and finally hustled out the door.
Tru flew into action. She brought her arms forward and slashed at the tape securing her to the ceiling support, then cut her ankles free. As long as that seemed to take, she knew it had been less than a minute and if she hurried, she could put some distance between herself and Mike before he even noticed she was gone.
She scrambled to her feet and ran for the fire door, yanked it open...
... and almost collided with Don.
After the barest instant of wide-eyed surprise, Don lunged at her. Instead of leaping backwards as one might expect, Tru darted past him on his left, leaving him to land sprawling and prone on the floor, bumping his tender nose in the process.
"MIKE!!!" he screamed.
Tru was already running for all she was worth, through a deserted parking lot, through an expanse of trees, down an embankment, through some more trees. She ran and ran, branches grabbing at her, lungs starting to burn, all the while listening to the frantic yelling of Mike and Don far at her back.
Suddenly, the woods broke into a clearing and there was a tiny park ranger post. The shack itself was closed and locked, but right next to it was a phone booth. An honest-to-God phone booth.
She swung inside, grabbed the phone, and dialed.
Pleaseworkpleaseworkpleasepleaseplease...
"Nine-one-one, emergency?" a flat female voice finally came over the line.
"I... I need help..." Tru managed through her ragged breaths.
"Fire, ambulance, or police?"
"Police! Please hurry; they're still –"
"Ma'am, I'm going to need you to calm down and tell me your location."
Before Tru could explain that she didn't know where she was, a loud CRACK pierced the foggy air and the Plexiglas of the phone booth exploded, showering Tru's ducked head with debris. When she dared to look back up, there was Don at the edge of the clearing, the smoking colt in his extended hand.
She dropped the phone and sprinted for the tree line.
Don gritted his teeth, took careful aim, and fired.
TBC...
Thanks, y'all. More by the end of the week.
Tuesday 1:51 pm
Jack strolled down the sidewalk outside the morgue, whistling as he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed.
"Yeah?" said the baritone who picked up.
"Congratulations, Don. You put the fear of God into the poor guy."
Eighteen miles outside of town, Don smiled his wolfish smile into Tru's cell.
"Thank you, sir. Is he on board then?
"You won't have any trouble from him. Just carry on like you planned and keep the girl alive until it's over."
"Alive? Why?"
"Insurance, genius. Always have a plan B."
"Oh! Sure, I gotcha."
Don couldn't wink at Jack, so he winked at Tru, who returned with a death glare from her position on the floor.
They had driven for about half an hour, some side street and some open road, until pulling up on what sounded like a gravelly driveway. There, either Don or Mike cut the tape at her ankles while the other opened the door and hauled her out of the car by one of her bound arms.
The blind, stumbling walk from the Subaru to the building was short, and Tru had seized the opportunity to try to wrench away from the bruising grip on her arm. This earned her a nearly dislocated shoulder and another cuff to the side of her head. Inside, she was pushed another thirty or so paces on, and finally shoved to a seat on a cold cement floor. There, her ankles were re-taped and more was wound about her torso to secure her to the structure at her back. Only then did they pull the scarf from her eyes, and the first thing she saw was the eye of a colt 45.
After she assured them through a series of nods and head-shakes that she understood the consequences of crying out, the tape was pulled from her mouth and her own cell phone held to her ear. She had then been instructed to say something, anything. The 'anything' she chose to say resulted in a hard prod in the ribs with the gun.
All of this brings us to the present scene: Don on the phone with Jack, Mike R. nervously training the colt on Tru, and a bruised and angry Tru trying to assess the situation. The building was big, cavernous in fact. It had probably once been a warehouse or depot of some kind. Now the windows were broken, the dust was deep enough to wade in, and aside from several mountains of canvas tarps, the only things taking up space were the ceiling supports, like the one to which Tru was anchored.
"Good news, Davies," Don said, hanging up. "Your boss is playing ball. We may not have to smash in your pretty little skull after all."
Tru suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. There was nothing worse than being kidnapped and then subjected to sports analogies.
"That's very comforting," she said. "How's your nose?"
"Fine," he said coldly.
"Well, you look like Ray Romano."
"Oh, come on. Don't be so steamed. In another hour, this'll all be over and you can get back to the stiffs."
"As long as Kiff's one of them, right? For God's sake, she's your colleague!"
"She is not my colleague, she's a little girl with a big mouth. Let me ask you something, smart girl: You know how much your average paramedic makes? Thirty fucking thousand a year. Two years of training and thousands of hours in internships so that we can starve while people puke on our shoes and bleed on our equipment. Nobody's going to help us, so we helped ourselves. That's all."
"Right. You know, it's bad enough an innocent woman is going to die because of you. It's even bad enough that you're stealing medicine from people who need it and enabling others in a quite possibly deadly habit. But to stand there and justify it?"
"Shut up," Don snapped.
"I'm a pre-med student, Don. I know what it's like to be poor. Somehow, I've managed to get by without killing anyone."
Don stormed over, grabbed the gun from Mike R.'s unresisting hand, and pressed it against Tru's forehead.
"I said shut up."
Tru sat frozen, trying her best not to tremble as she closed her eyes and swallowed at her fear. After what seemed like a year, she felt the colt disappear from her skin and shakily released the breath she'd been holding. Something told her that reasoning wasn't going to get her out of this.
Don slapped the colt into Mike R.'s hand and headed for the door.
"I've got shit to take care of. Keep an eye on her."
"Shit? What sh... Oh, right. Shit."
"Shut up. If she moves, kill her."
During this brief interlude, Tru began slowly shifting herself to better access her pocket. They may have taken her phone, but they didn't get her keys...
Which meant they didn't get the mini Swiss army knife on her key ring.
Tuesday 2:28 pm
The city morgue was a good four miles across town from the fire station and Kiff had to fight traffic the whole way. Her legs were burning by the time she made it there and she couldn't count the number of strange looks she'd drawn on the way. She could imagine what they must be thinking: Could the city's budget cutbacks really be so bad that they were putting EMT's on bicycles?
Kiff dismounted before the brick building and stood, trying to catch her breath. It was at that point that she realized she wasn't really sure what she was doing there. Looking for clues? Fine, if she knew what to look for. Following leads? Just great, if she'd had any. What was she going to do, walk in and throw the half-story at some coroner without so much as a how-do-you-do? Yeah. They'd believe her as much as Tamzarian had. No, she needed something more.
If only she could think! Problem-solving wasn't usually a weakness for her, but there was something about this day, something so creepy that it was distracting her, even from its inherent weirdness.
For lack of a better idea, she slowly walked her bike around the side of the building towards the alley, scanning as she went. Old newspapers, puddles of rain mixed with motor oil, overfilled dumpsters...
"Hey, nice lady!"
Kiff's attention was drawn to a heap of rags in a house of cardboard boxes. The rags sat up and waved to her.
"James!" she said. "What are you doing here? I thought you were at the shelter."
"I don't like it there; they steal my things." James furrowed his bushy white eyebrows. "You look tired, puddin'. Come over here and set a spell."
Kiff smiled sadly. James was your classic slip-through-the-cracks-of- the-overworked-social-work-system case. A vet who'd been unable to find steady work since returning from Vietnam, he'd been homeless since the mid nineties and known Kiff since she began her career. Thanks to a mild case of diabetes, she'd often picked him up after he passed out on a sidewalk somewhere from low blood sugar. She often wondered how much longer he could last.
"I can't today, James. I'm in a wicked hurry."
"Oh?"
"I have to find someone."
"I'm someone. Come on."
Well, it wasn't like she was hot on a rapidly cooling trail. She set the kickstand and sat next to James on the cushion of cardboard under the cardboard awning. At least now she was out of the rain.
"So who is it you're looking for?"
"Actually, she works here. Ever seen her? Long dark hair, slim, my age or a little younger, looks an awful lot like that chick from 'Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back'?"
James suddenly looked a little nervous, as though she'd wondered aloud who ate the last cookie and he was the one with crumbs on his face.
"James? What's the matter?"
He twisted his mouth in defeat, reached into his sleeve, and pulled out a small shiny object which he passed to Kiff. She stared at the tiny gold cross in her hand. The thin chain dangled, broken.
"Where'd you get this?"
"I didn't take it," James said defensively.
"I didn't say –"
"She threw it away when they took her."
Kiff blinked. "Pardon me?"
"I SAID, SHE THREW IT AWAY WHEN THEY –"
"What do you mean 'they took her'? Who?"
"These three fellas in a big green wagon. They chased her down, put her inside, and drove off."
Kiff opened and shut her mouth several times before she spoke again. So many things were suddenly wrong, and all battled for formation on her tongue.
"You mean they kidnapped her?"
"I guess so," James shrugged. "Sure as hell looked like she didn't want to go with them."
"And it didn't occur to you that you should maybe mention this to the cops?" Kiff asked, growing more incredulous by the second.
"I don't like cops. They put me in jail just for sleeping on a park bench. I just didn't want to sleep in the snow. Kiff, are you mad? Please don't be mad."
"I'm not mad, James. Just tell me which way they went!"
"It looked like they were going for 14 West..."
Kiff grabbed his face and set a quick kiss on his bristly cheek
"Thank you!"
And then she was gone, pedaling away. The old man watched her go, smiling in delight at the first kiss he'd received in years.
Tuesday 2:29 pm
Don pulled Mike R.'s Subaru up to the curb at the rear corner of the fire station, where Andy was pacing like a caged tiger. He didn't like the looks of the guy. Since Kiff's suspension, they'd been planning this and Andy had assured them the whole time that he was okay with it. Now however, he looked like he was trying to grind the cigarette butts under his feet into the asphalt, to be discovered by archaeologists in 200 years.
"What the shit took you so long?" Andy demanded when Don approached.
"What's up your ass? I'm right on time. So are we ready to do this or what?"
"Kiff's gone."
Don inhaled his gum and it took a lot of coughing before he could speak again.
"Gone??? What do you mean?"
"I don't know! She just walked out."
"And you didn't stop her?"
"Don't you think I tried, you idiot? I tried everything short of tackling her right there on the sidewalk."
Don threw up his hands. "Well this is just great, isn't it! What'd you tell Tamzarian?"
"Tamzarian doesn't know and he's not going to."
"But –"
"No. If we tell him he'll freak and then we're all grass. Just go back and get fat-ass so he can help us find her."
"Find her? How?"
"The old-fashioned way: Look. Now go!"
Tuesday 3:10 pm
Although she couldn't see her watch, Tru was sure that the original time of Kiff's death had passed. Still, they hadn't released nor killed her. That meant they still needed her to keep Davis in line, which meant Kiff was still alive. That was something at least, but it probably wouldn't last.
It had taken about half an hour of subtle shifting to work her fingers into her pocket, extract the tiny knife, and open it without drawing Mike's notice. Since then, she'd been making progressive knicks in the tape on her wrists. At the rate she was going, she figured she might be free by Thursday... No. She couldn't get impatient. If Mike's trigger finger was as nervous as the rest of him, she couldn't afford to get caught.
Mike R.'s pacing had long since cleared a perfect path in the dusty floor, stretching from the windowed wall to the row of offices opposite. Periodically, he'd pull a flask out of his jacket pocket and take a swig, which was starting to make the path in the dust less than straight. Tru wasn't sure whether this made him more or less dangerous, but she was betting on the former.
Snap!
Tru froze as the tape broke. Yes! Finally...
"Hey. Hey you," barked Mike R.
Tru's heart jumped into her throat. Mike had stopped pacing and was looking right at her.
"What?"
"You see... like... you know, a men's room in here?"
Tru was suddenly able to breathe again. He hadn't noticed.
"Good luck with that. I'm pretty sure they turned the water off a long time ago."
Mike R. grimaced for a moment, shifting from foot to foot, and then headed for one of the far corners.
"Oh, come on!" said Tru. "You're not going to do that right here, are you?"
"Turn your head if you don't like it."
"Go outside."
Mike hesitated, looking from her to the door.
"Mike, I might be dead soon and I don't want that to be one of my final images. Besides, I'm not going anywhere."
Mike made a frustrated noise, and finally hustled out the door.
Tru flew into action. She brought her arms forward and slashed at the tape securing her to the ceiling support, then cut her ankles free. As long as that seemed to take, she knew it had been less than a minute and if she hurried, she could put some distance between herself and Mike before he even noticed she was gone.
She scrambled to her feet and ran for the fire door, yanked it open...
... and almost collided with Don.
After the barest instant of wide-eyed surprise, Don lunged at her. Instead of leaping backwards as one might expect, Tru darted past him on his left, leaving him to land sprawling and prone on the floor, bumping his tender nose in the process.
"MIKE!!!" he screamed.
Tru was already running for all she was worth, through a deserted parking lot, through an expanse of trees, down an embankment, through some more trees. She ran and ran, branches grabbing at her, lungs starting to burn, all the while listening to the frantic yelling of Mike and Don far at her back.
Suddenly, the woods broke into a clearing and there was a tiny park ranger post. The shack itself was closed and locked, but right next to it was a phone booth. An honest-to-God phone booth.
She swung inside, grabbed the phone, and dialed.
Pleaseworkpleaseworkpleasepleaseplease...
"Nine-one-one, emergency?" a flat female voice finally came over the line.
"I... I need help..." Tru managed through her ragged breaths.
"Fire, ambulance, or police?"
"Police! Please hurry; they're still –"
"Ma'am, I'm going to need you to calm down and tell me your location."
Before Tru could explain that she didn't know where she was, a loud CRACK pierced the foggy air and the Plexiglas of the phone booth exploded, showering Tru's ducked head with debris. When she dared to look back up, there was Don at the edge of the clearing, the smoking colt in his extended hand.
She dropped the phone and sprinted for the tree line.
Don gritted his teeth, took careful aim, and fired.
TBC...
Thanks, y'all. More by the end of the week.