Sixteen: To Tell The Truth
They were back in their hotel room. They didn't know where to go. Carl was on the phone to a dozen different people, trying to get information. Marcos didn't know what he was doing---he wasn't familiar with the ins and outs of being a detective. All he knew was that the Geckos now had not only Augusta, but Xanny as well, and they wanted twenty million.
Twenty million dollars.
Marcos shook himself out of the slightly glazed stupor he'd fallen into since he'd called in the instructions. Aunt Anette was not quite adept at that sort of thing, plus she really didn't have that kind of access to their money, so he had to call a few friends who were known to help him out of sticky situations. He'd heard the puzzlement at such a tall order---of course, it was nothing compared to the look on Carl's face when he'd told him. The very thought of being able to get a hold of twenty million in cash was stupefying. He'd heard of large amounts being demanded for hostages before, but to Carl's knowledge, the Geckos had never attempted a ransom. This was big, and it was doubtful that the boys knew fully what they were getting into.
Plus, there was the fact that twenty-million dollars was a considerable amount of money. Not something you could stuff in a briefcase. Two large suitcases, the kind that families with five children took on holidays, would be necessary, and hardly discreet. But, Carl guessed that if anybody could fill that order, it was Marcos. After all, the man was a billionaire, and Carl was quite sure that Augusta would be expected to repay him at least part of the way after she was released.
Which, Carl told himself, was going to happen. He wasn't going to start doubting Xanny now. She'd said Seth wouldn't hurt her---the mangled motorcycle hadn't been encouraging, but there was no other sign of violence, no blood---if she was maimed or worse, there would have been an indication of it. Wherever she was, Xanny was relatively unhurt. Which had to mean that Augusta was also unhurt, and just waiting on them to pay the Geckos so she could come home.
His detective's mind, who had investigated a dozen adultery cases before he'd lost his taste for that kind of sleaze, doubted that homecoming would be such a wonderful thing. Nobody with the kind of class as Augusta could be expected to be distracted by someone like Seth Gecko for long, no matter how good of a lay he was, but there would undoubtedly be consequences for her actions. Those, however, were none of his business. He wasn't in this line of work to judge other people's secrets. He was here to do a job. And get paid for it very well in the process.
Carl sat down on the bed, exhausted and worried. He rubbed his hands through his thick, straw-colored hair and looked at the phone. His worry, however, was not about Xanny, directly. It was about those mafia boys that the Geckos had gunned down in the parking lot of a previous hotel.
"Marcos," Carl said, not looking at the man, but knowing he had at least some of his attention, "remember earlier, when I was in that bar?"
After viewing the gruesome display in the hotel room, Carl had insisted that they go to the bar where Seth and Ritchie had stopped to pick up their money, and murdered the man who had stolen it from them. It was backtracking, and yes Xanny had already visited the spot, but there was something wrong in all of it that wouldn't leave Carl alone. The police had been yanked away by the harried car-chase, and there were only a few officers left to guard the scene. The paramedics had already taken away the body, but the bartender, a rather skinny, Latino man named Antonio, was worth more than any coroner's report.
"Yeah, I saw them. Both of them skinny, both white, about the same height. One was the talker, had something black on his neck, the other wore glasses, much skinnier face, chin like a witch."
"I want to know about the man they shot."
"Fuck," Antonio said with a mildly disgusted laugh, "he got off lucky. You know who he was? Teddy?"
Carl slipped him a fifty. "Tell me."
"He was married into the mob. Not anything big, but his wife, she was connected. Those guys were pissed as punch when they found out he was dead. Sure, Teddy was a little nobody, but you can't just shoot someone who's connected and expect to walk away."
Carl nodded. "I know. So that's why that little squad went after them at their hotel?"
"Wouldn't want to be those two boys," Antonio said with a metallic grin.
"What if I told you all those guys who went after them are dead?"
Antonio turned white, then gray. He leaned closer to Carl, his breath smelling like rotted salami. "You sure?"
"Saw it myself," Carl said, not flinching.
"Fuuuuck, man," Antonio said, eyes wide but not looking at him. "Fuck."
"What?"
"I hope to Christ that Salvador wasn't with them," he said.
"Salvador?"
Antonio shook his head. "Way up, man. He was good friends with Teddy, little piece of shit that he was. Teddy saved his life some time back, don't know the story from the bullshit Teddy tells, but it happened. Salvador probably went himself to handle it. If he's dead..." Antonio let out his breath between puckered lips and shook his head. "Those boys are worse than dead."
"Mafia?" Marcos asked. "You're serious?"
"Why in the fuck would I joke about a thing like that?" Carl said. "I've been on the phone all goddam afternoon trying to find out if it was that guy Salvador the bartender was talking about, if he was with that hit squad. I can't get diddly shit, which means we have a major set of wild cards that we don't know about. We can't predict how this is going to go down."
"So it's possible that Salvador wasn't involved and we have nothing to worry about?" Marcos said.
Carl shook his head. "Unlikely. Even if he wasn't there, no doubt he's gonna be pissed that two little white guys took out his squad. They could be outside their hotel rooms right now and we wouldn't know shit until it happened."
"This whole thing just gets worse and worse," Marcos said, his voice going weak. Carl stood up, crossed the room, towered over him. Marcos had a good deal of bulk on Carl's skinny frame, but he was cowering like a kitten.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Carl snapped. "When I first met you, you were a crocodile with big sharp teeth, you had everything under control, you looked like the kind of man people feared. I used your name, people did whatever I wanted. And now we hit rough waters and you puss out on me? What gives?"
Marcos shook his head, looked away, pale. "It's too real...behind a desk, there aren't any faces-"
At that moment, Carl slapped him. A hard slap that couldn't have been more forceful if he'd used a closed fist. Marcos snapped to the side and the came back, like a child's punching toy.
"Grow the hell up!" Carl shouted. "Where the fuck are you balls? The woman you love is in danger and you look like you're ready to burst into tears!"
Marcos glared at him and stood up. "You don't know a fucking thing about me and Xanny, so shut your fucking pie-hole!"
Carl stared at him. Xanny? He was like this over Xanny? Bloody hell. "At least now I know you've got something down your pants other than your wallet," he sneered. "Get on your cel-phone and get that money here faster. I've got a few more calls to make. And whatever the fuck you do, don't start moping again."
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Like he'd promised, two hours after he made the first call, and now wearing his dry pants, Seth pressed the speed dial on Xanny's cel-phone again.
"So how's my fucking money coming along?"
"I'm on the other line, still trying to get it here," came Marcos' voice, and the man sounded distinctly different than before. The first time, Seth had imagined some stringy wall-street guy, someone who couldn't even carry his own briefcase, but there was a dark tone in his voice now, a bit of steel that hadn't been there before. Maybe it was just leftovers from bossing around his workers to get him the cash.
"I want twenties and fifties," Seth said.
There was a shocked pause. "Are you kidding? You know how much that kind of money would be? I mean, the physical size of it? You want me to bring that to you in a U-haul?"
"Listen to Mr. Smart-mouth, negotiating for his fiancée's life. No love lost between you two, huh?"
Seth looked to Augusta, who had been pretty much mute the whole time, on the couch. Seth didn't like it. She was too quiet. Her face had gone all stony again, and he couldn't read her. It made him uncomfortable.
"Let me talk to her," Marcos said. "I want to be sure you haven't hurt her."
"Oh, I've hurt her, just not how you think." Where in the fuck had his brain gone? It certainly wasn't behind his mouth at that moment. But he did get the reaction from her he wanted---she glanced up at him in a panic.
"Bastard," Marcos spat.
"I really would reconsider calling me names," Seth said, his voice a loaded gun.
"And I would reconsider agitating the man who's getting you your twenty million dollars," Marcos shot back.
"Sorry, I don't have the slick negotiating skills of your business men. I prefer sticking a knife in someone who's looking at me."
"Seth," came Augusta's voice, more of a sharp breath than a voice. "Stop it."
"Stop what?" he asked her.
"Is that Augusta?" came Marcos' voice. "Please, let me talk to her. I need to know she's okay."
"Let me talk to him," Augusta said, raising her hand.
"Okay, you want to tell him you've been shagging me?" Seth had extended the phone out to her, and maybe Marcos hadn't heard him. The look on Augusta's face sure didn't think that. She reached out, snatched the phone.
"Marcos?" she said, her voice trembling only slightly.
"Gus," came Marcos' voice. Seth sat down beside her on the couch, leaning close, listening to every word, glaring at Augusta the whole time. She tried to look away but her awareness of him was beyond just vision. "Gus, are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Xanny's here too, you know."
"Yeah, I heard. Is she okay?"
"She's...fine." No, it was no good. Augusta wasn't in enough control of herself to lie convincingly to Marcos, and the hesitation gave her away.
"Where is she?" Marcos demanded, his voice much more panicked than before.
"She's here, like I said," Augusta said. "In the other room. You know that she's my twin sister?"
"Yeah, I know, Aunt Anette figured it out before any of us. Maybe she should be down here, too, huh? I know she's worried sick about you."
"Aunt Annie's fine, I'm sure," Augusta said, smiling a little.
"But what about Xanny? You keep saying she's fine...can I talk to her?"
"She's in the other room. She's tied up at the moment."
A pause. "Christ."
"Don't, Marcos. Xanny's tough, they had to confine her. She wouldn't cooperate."
"Not like you, anyway," came Seth's voice, loud enough for Marcos to hear it.
"Augusta, what the fuck is going on there?" Marcos demanded.
"Tell him, 'Gus,'" Seth spat. "Tell him you were willing to give me a blow job before to protect your long lost twin sister."
"Fuck you," she mouthed at him.
"Gus, I want to talk to Xanny," Marcos insisted. "Please."
"He seems to care more about Xanny than you," Seth said, still loud enough.
"You'll have to ask Seth," Augusta said to Marcos, and then shoved the phone at Seth so hard that he almost dropped it. She got up and stormed out of the room, into the other room, before Seth could stop her. It didn't matter, though---Ritchie was in there, keeping guard.
"Sorry, Marcos, only one hostage per phone call," Seth said, almost cheerful. "Now, I want you to come to a little town called Keystone. Tiny little spot. Just west of the exit there's a truck stop there, with a shack behind it that doubles as an adult bookstore. Behind it is where I want you to make the drop, in the front seat of the abandoned car. Augusta and Xanny will be waiting for you in the trunk."
"Fine. When?"
"Let's see...I gave you twenty-four hours with the money, didn't I? Well, let's make it...midnight tomorrow. That should give you a little extra time. And you know all the standard threats, so I won't bore you with that shit. Be a good boy and bring the money, Marcos, and you'll get to see your honey in one piece again---both of them."
Seth hung up.
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"Why are you so mean?" Augusta asked him, coming back as he slammed the receiver into place.
He looked at her, eyes wide with surprise. "Excuse me?"
"Since I tried to escape your asshole factor has quadrupled," Augusta snapped.
"Well, that's what happens when you break one of my rules. I told you not to run."
"Well, excuse me for being human!" Augusta screeched, causing Seth to take a step back. "I'm so sorry to fucking disappoint you, Mr. Gecko, but there is a little instinct you seem to be forgetting about called SELF-PRESERVATION!"
He closed the distance between them, the phone forgotten on the floor where the dropped it. "And when the fuck have I ever threatened to hurt you? Have I done a goddam thing to you? When in any of this have you ever been threatened?"
"The fact that I'm here at all is a big, major, fucking threat," she thundered.
"Oh, like you weren't enjoying yourself before."
"I don't know what the fuck I'm doing!" she screamed. "You've got me so turned around I don't know fucking shit anymore!" She deflated, not reducing into tears, but just all the air slipping out of her, slumping her shoulders where she sat.
"Well, that is how it's supposed to be," Seth said. "We aren't living in a little fantasy, after all."
"No, we're not," she said, giving him a brief glance with her small-voiced answer before going mute again.
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Ritchie had his back to her. Something that very few people knew about her, even Seth, as she had kept it a secret from him, was that her hands and wrists were double jointed. It had gotten her out of handcuffs a few times in the past, until she'd decided to cooperate with the law and turn over a new leaf---what a stupid expression, she thought to herself.
Ritchie had taped her bare skin to the arm of the chair, which meant that the large cuff of her leather jacket was puffed over her hand, like a snake coming out of a dark cave. She twisted her wrist around, ignoring the pain of the stick pulling at the fine hairs on her skin. She even ignored the small bits of flesh that seemed to want to come off her bones as she moved. She just pushed forward until there was enough room for her to turn her hand all the way around.
She reached with her fingers until she managed to grab the cuff of the jacket between her finger and thumb. She felt a delicate prick on her skin, knew she was close---she pulled harder, squeezing the leather, then moving her fingers farther back to push it forward.
The razor blade glinted in the dull lamp light of the room. One never knew when one would need a very sharp object, and no better place to hide it than right by her hand.
Pulling the blade out, she untwisted her wrist and pulled her hand back. She had to be so careful---the sound of the tape tearing would give her away. She had to do something to cover it up.
"Ritchie?" she called. "Hey, Rich."
He glanced at her over his shoulder.
"Could you turn up the TV?" She had palmed the razor blade so he couldn't see it. It lightly sliced her skin, an obvious danger but not a serious one.
"Why?" he asked.
"That fall fucked up my head," she said, using her usual attitude with him---playing nice would just make him suspicious. "I can't hear too well."
"You could hear Seth just fine before," Ritchie said.
"Seth yells," Xanny pointed out. "Come on, Rich. Please, just a few notches. Not loud enough to bother the neighbors, I'm not trying to pull any of that shit."
He considered her request, and in a few minutes he pressed the volume so that it went up by two bars. He was watching an old episode of CHIPS.
Gently, so gently that she wouldn't even risk him hearing it, she brought her hand back so that the razor blade just pressed against the edge of the silver-gray duct tape. She moved it back and forth lightly, just enough to cut through it but not quickly. She had to take her time. If she made too much noise, no matter if the TV was louder to cover it up, she was blown, and Seth might be pissed enough to let Ritchie slap her around. She never would have really believed it of him before, but she knew she'd pushed her luck too far. She hadn't been completely honest with Carl when she'd assured him Seth would never hurt her. Piss off any man enough and they became unpredictable, and Seth was more volatile than most.
The first wrist came free rather easily. She wondered how she was going to do her feet without being obvious. She moved the blade to the other hand, repeating the process. It might be faster if she just tore herself loose, but the seconds it would take for her to really tear the tape would buy Ritchie enough time to get Seth in here, and she would be overpowered by sheer numbers.
Then she heard screaming in the next room. Augusta and Seth were going at it. Xanny strained her ears to her, but sure as shit the television was muffling the words. All the could hear was the voices.
Maybe it was enough.
Ritchie looked toward the door, slightly alarmed. Then, he went back to the television, shrugging it off. Xanny got her other wrist free. She sat there for a minute, her wrists still appearing to be tied to the chair, as the tape still stuck to the back of her arms. Now for the feet...how in the hell was she going to get her feet untied?
At that moment, Seth threw open the door and stepped into the room. He glared at her briefly, not noticing her wrists, and as he walked over to Ritchie, she shrugged slightly, causing the sleeves of her jacket to fall down a little more, giving her extra coverage.
"I'm going to go get dinner," Seth snapped. "I've got to get out of here. These bitches are driving me fucking nuts."
Ritchie looked up at him, smiled understandingly. "Burgers, Seth," he said. "I want some meat."
"Fine," Seth said, taking the keys from the table where Ritchie had set them and heading back toward the door again.
"Hey, I have to pee!" Xanny said, trying a long-shot.
Seth snorted. "Go in your pants, I don't give a shit."
"You will when you have to smell it," Xanny said. "Come on, please? I've been tied to this chair how long?"
"We could always put the trash can underneath the chair," Ritchie suggested.
"It's solid underneath," Seth said, as if he actually considered it. He gave her a look of disgust that Xanny didn't entirely feel she deserved. Then again, he and Augusta had been having a screaming match, no doubt some of his frustration was spilling over.
"Seth!" Xanny pleaded, shaking her knees for effect. "Come on!"
"If you think I'm going to fucking untie you from that chair---"
"Then don't untie me. Undo my pants, pull off my chaps and jeans, shove a towel under me, I don't give a shit. Make Augusta clean it up when I'm done. I've got to pee, right now!"
Seth looked down at her, then gave her a distinctly evil look. "Ritchie, she wants someone to take off her pants and shove a towel under her. What do you think?"
Ritchie looked from Xanny to Seth, unsure.
"I'll get the towel, you get her pants?" Seth suggested.
Ritchie stood up, unsure. "I don't know, Seth---"
"She's tied to that chair, what the fuck is she gonna do?"
Ritchie sighed, shrugged, walked over to her as Seth went for the towel. His hand was on her pants buckle for only a second before her own hand slipped toward his crotch and pulled out the gun he had temporarily holstered there. Seth didn't see a thing, as he was still in the process of getting a towel.
"Why do you men always shove your guns down your pants?" Xanny hissed as she pressed the gun to Ritchie's chin. "You're gonna blow your dick off someday---but then again, I guess it's no loss. Now untie my legs."
"No."
"I'll shoot you," she threatened.
"You won't. Seth would kill you."
"Then I'll shoot him," she snarled. "He's pissed me off enough."
Ritchie seemed to consider seeing if she'd carry though her threat, but just then Seth walked back into the room. The towel dropped at his feet.
"............shit."
Xanny reached out, grabbed Ritchie's collar, holding him in place. She cocked the gun. "Remember what I told you about why I left, Seth? Perfect chance for revenge...or you could tell him to untie my feet."
Seth glared at her, murder in his face. Through gritted teeth, he said, "Untie her, Ritchie."
"But Seth---"
"Do it!"
Ritchie's fingers reached down, fumbled with the tape, and there was sharp pain as her legs, which hadn't been shaved in a few days, suffered the loss of several hairs as the tape came away.
"Good." She stood up, turning Ritchie around, pointing the gun at his temple. "Augusta!" she shouted.
Augusta appeared in the doorway. "Not fucking again," she moaned.
"Sorry, sweetie. But this time we get to furlough them without a car, so I don't think there will be any more chases today."
Augusta sighed heavily. "Fine. Seth, throw me the keys." She extended her hand. He turned his murderous glare on her. "Hey, don't give me that shit! She's got the gun, she's calling the shots. She's my sister, what do you expect? Besides, we're not going to turn you in, we're not going to take your money, we just wanna go home. Okay?"
Seth, still seething, hesitated, but then threw her the keys. She went to the door. "You gonna follow?"
"In a minute," Xanny said. "Go start the car."
Augusta opened the door. She was promptly seized and spun around, a gun to her head, just like Ritchie. The keys dropped at her feet, useless.
Xanny spun around, not losing her grip on Ritchie, knowing the second she even showed hesitation, Ritchie would turn on her and it would be over, she would be dead. Or worse, considering it was Ritchie. But even Ritchie was taken aback by the sight of the man holding Augusta.
"Well, looks like the party is just starting," the man said.
A/N: Ritchie and Augusta? As if. (grin)