Are you still with me? If you are, I hope you enjoy the chapter.
I am taking some liberties with the Spanish language here, I apologize. I really don't speak it.
Spoilers: None. It's its own universe, I blame it all on the gin
Rating: R for language and violence
Disclaimer: They're all JE's characters, except for Sandra. And no one would pay me for Sandra.
Out of my Mind Chapter 24
I was trying to sort out my feelings while I was driving, in a what's-the-worst-that-could-happen approach, but I was too unfamiliar with the streets of Trenton to drive on autopilot.
Ranger stayed true to his word, I couldn't spot him in my rearview mirror.
We were starting the day so early because the chances of catching people at home were better, Ranger had explained. And that included everyone, not just the FTA's. If I was overheard banging on some wrongdoer's door by someone on the Senor's payroll, even better. I was to sport a devil-may-care attitude.
I found Thornstein's home address on Stark Street; he lived on the third floor of a converted row house that looked like it had been abandoned thirty years ago. Fast food wrappers, empty soda cans and discarded newspapers littered the sidewalk and the stoop, and although the rising sun promised a nice day, this part of Stark Street seemed eternally dark.
I killed the engine and sat in the car, waiting for some courage. All I had to do was waltz in and knock on the door, after all. Maybe he wasn't even home. And if he was and looked real scary, I could always just pretend I had the wrong apartment and flee. Yeah, I liked that plan!
I took a deep breath and got out of the car, straightened my shoulders and felt for the gun on my belt, hoping for moral support.
The inside of the house was even worse than the outside. I gagged at the foul stench, human waste and rotted meat and gods knew what else. After a few minutes, my eyes had adjusted to the darkness and I spotted the source of the bad smell: garbage bags were piled up next to the staircase, some were ripped open and the contents had spilled out. I thought I saw one of the bags move and ran up the stairs. If I had seen a rat, I would have passed out.
According to the file, Thornstein lived in apartment 3B. The apartment numbers were written on the doors with chalk, and on every floor, one door was marked 'Bathroom'. I shuddered at the thought of sharing a bathroom in this house, and the thought distracted me enough to knock on 3B.
No answer. I waited a few minutes and knocked again. I figured I'd give it three tries and give up. There were some sounds behind the door and I swore under my breath. Should have left after one knock.
I unbuttoned my gun holster so that I'd have easy access as the door was yanked open.
"What the fuck!?" the man yelled. He was about 5'9" on a medium frame with brown eyes and hair. He wore a dirty white wife beater shirt and blue boxers. And I recognized Roger Thornstein from the meanness in his eyes, just like in the picture.
"Roger Thornstein?" I asked, straightening my shoulders and forcing my voice to remain calm and confident, while my mind was screaming 'Oh shit! Oh, shiiiit!'
"Who wants to know??"
"I'm Lindsay Taylor. You missed your court date the other day and we would like you to reschedule." I was surprised my voice still didn't tremble.
Thornstein barked a laugh. "Kiss my ass!" he yelled and threw the door shut.
Well, that had gone well. I was tempted to just leave, but I remembered from the briefing that a courier the Senor sometimes used lived in the building, that's why Thornstein had been picked. The plan was to give Najar time to send one of the goons after me. I wondered if I could give him the time while I waited in my car, when Thornstein's door opened again.
It took me a second to realize I was looking down the barrel of a gun, and I froze.
"Tell the court I'm rescheduling." Thornstein said on a smile. "Now I give you three second to get your ass out of here or I'll make you." His eyes were pure evil and his voice sounded dangerous.
"One…" He counted and I finally got my legs to move when I heard the earth-shattering bang of a shot.
I flew down the first flight of stairs, and banged my hips on the banister rounding it for the next flight. Another shot, and wood splintered next to me. In my haste, I misstepped, tripped and rolled down the stairs. I landed on the first floor with a loud 'thud'.
The wind was knocked out of me and I closed my eyes to count all limbs. My left leg throbbed and my arms hurt, but nothing seemed to be broken. I got up with a groan and limped to the door.
Ranger had warned me I'd be on my own, but he must have heard the shots. I looked around, but the streets were empty as before, so I dragged myself into the Beetle before Thornstein decided it was a good idea to come after me.
I started the car and pulled away, drove two blocks and parked. Slumped over the steering wheel, I tried to catch my breath and assess the damage.
The two-way squawked on my belt "What's the story? Why are you pulled over?" Ranger's voice came over the speaker.
I didn't quite know how to answer that. My body hurt and I was sure I was going to be black and blue the next morning. I was bleeding from what seemed like dozens of shallow cuts and my heart was pounding.
"Lin?"
I took the cell phone off my belt and pushed the talk button.
"Give me a minute." I said, trying to think of a version to give to Ranger.
"Thornstein didn't want to come with me." I finally said. It was the truth, basically.
"You okay?"
"Yeah." I didn't want to elaborate on the levels of okay. I was alive and could walk, but I felt about as okay as when Ranger had pulled me out of the burning motel room.
I slapped myself mentally and made me put the car in gear and continue.
If I had done my job right so far, the Senor would have been alerted and Tank may be able to spot a tail I'd pick up.
The second address wasn't too far, just off Stark Street. I already had enough of the neighborhood to last me a lifetime, the decay and despair was oozing out of every building.
Carrie Holmes was next on the list and I took a minute to study her file after I parked in front of her building. She lived in a three-story brick block that had its entire first floor spray-painted.
Garbage was piled up outside for a change, and it blended in well with the littered sidewalk.
Carrie had been arrested for stabbing a john to death; she was a hooker and a coke addict. I didn't need that information, one look at her picture told me everything. She looked like Kate Moss in Goth makeup; only she wasn't wearing any makeup in the picture.
I groaned as I got out of the car, I could feel every muscle in my body. Probably I'd be sore as hell the next morning, if I ever made it that far.
Looking around in the foyer while my eyes adjusted made me realize what a nice neighborhood I used to live in. I never had to step over used condoms, needles and wrappers of all kinds on my way home.
Carrie lived on the second floor. If I had to leave in a hurry, at least I couldn't fall far that time.
Grim sense of humor, I was adjusting already. Go figure. It had occurred to me that Ranger's plan didn't have anything to do with my abilities, and more with the location of the skips. Probably he thought he could prevent me from getting hurt and had no real expectations for me to actually make a capture. That would explain the two-car protection he was giving me.
The thought relaxed me a little, and I even pasted a polite smile on my face as I rang Carrie's buzzer and looked at the peephole.
I gave her two minutes between buzzes, thinking of how long it would take me to get to the door if someone rang my doorbell at this hour. It wasn't even eight yet.
I heard swearing and shuffling behind the door and then it opened about an inch.
"Yeah?" A female voice said, but it was too dark in both the hallway and the apartment to see anyone.
"Carrie Holmes?" I tried my routine again.
"Shit!" Was the answer. My guess was I had found Carrie.
"You missed your court appointment and I…"
"Yeah, I know." She cut me off, "I have to work you know? I can't just wander off to please the judge whenever he feels like it."
The door still didn't open wider, but I tried to get a foot in the crack.
"This won't take long." I lied, remembering Stephanie's lines. "I can take you in my car and have you back in no time."
There was silence; Carrie was probably going through her options. I pushed against the door and opened it; she wasn't really in a position to resist much. I wasn't much taller than her, but with my 115 pounds, I had about 20 pounds on her.
She stumbled backwards and I entered the apartment, closing the door.
"I'll wait while you get ready." I said calmly as I flipped the light switch to my left. The apartment smelled like cigarette smoke and pot, mold and sweat. I swallowed to fight the urge to gag.
Carrie was dressed in a hip-length t-shirt that may once have been yellow. She looked even bonier than in her picture and dark circles emphasized her hollow eyes. Her short blond hair clung to her scalp.
She looked at me confused. "You can't just barge in here, you know." She tried.
"I can and I did. Now get dressed or I have to bring you in like that." I gestured at her t-shirt. I had no idea where that had come from, I had sounded really professional.
Carrie still didn't move, so I pushed her gently into the direction I suspected her bedroom in. It was a one-bedroom apartment that probably didn't see much sun all day, but all the shades were drawn anyway. We passed the kitchen and I half-expected roaches to crawl away, dirty dishes with varying degrees of leftovers on them were piled everywhere. The hallway led to the bedroom where clothes were strewn all over.
"Get dressed." I repeated as I closed the door on Carrie.
I didn't know if she would try to flee through the window, so I stayed close to the door, listening for any sounds.
My cell phone squawked and made me jump, I was so tensed.
"Everything okay in there?" Ranger wanted to know.
"All is well. Just waiting for my FTA to get dressed."
I was waiting for a comment on that but the line stayed dead. All professional today.
Carrie emerged from her bedroom and disappeared into the bathroom. If she was going to try and look respectable, we'd be here all day.
I shifted my weight as I grew impatient, trying to remember if this house was home to Senor employees as well.
A knock on the door startled me out of my thoughts. Probably it was Hal, sent after me to check.
I was so convinced it was one of the merry men, I didn't check the peephole. I regretted that negligence when I opened the door and it was shoved into me, a large frame filling the doorway.
Strong hands grabbed my arms, I caught the shadow of a face, and then I felt something cold against my forearm and the world went black.
When I came to, I knew exactly where I was although I had never seen it from the perspective I was given now: I was in the trunk of a moving car. I must have been stun-gunned by the assailant, although I couldn't remember exactly what had happened before I blacked out.
My hands and feet were tied, my mouth was taped and I was folded into a fetal position to fit. My first thought was that I was blindfolded, but then I realized it was just pitch dark in the trunk, I could blink my eyes just fine.
Great going. My first day on the job and I had managed to get myself kidnapped. I was hoping either Hal and Ranger or Tank and Bobby were following me; one of them must have spotted me on my way out of Carrie's house. How would they have managed to bring a Sandra-shaped bundle out unnoticed? I clung to that thought as panic tried to rise up.
The car made stops and turns, and I tried to kick the sides of my confinement in the hopes of getting noticed. I didn't know how long I had been unconscious, but it had to be rush hour still, lots of people around.
Probably Ranger was waiting for the car to reach its destination, so they could take out the whole lot instead of just the driver and whoever else was with him. That had to be it. I couldn't let my mind hop on the train of thought that no one had noticed me being carried away and thrown into a trunk.
The drive seemed to last a long time, I made myself count in French to calm down and I had reached 10.000 before I gave up and we were still moving. My ankles and wrists hurt from where whatever they had used to tie me up cut into my skin, my leg still throbbed from my earlier fall and my back was complaining loudly against the position I lay in. I felt like cattle being driven to the slaughterhouse and prayed to all the gods that Ranger would be at our destination.
Finally, the car stopped and the engine died. I held my breath when I heard footsteps and muffled voices. I couldn't make out the words, but there were two men talking.
The trunk lid was opened, and I squinted against the light at two silhouettes. One of them leaned down and pulled a hood over my head, then yanked me out of the trunk over his shoulder.
I started squirming with all my strength, but he held me tight.
There were more voices now, speaking Spanish. I told myself to stay calm and go to my happy place, but I felt the tears welling up and the panic force its way through.
There was the sound of cars arriving and doors being slammed, and then I felt a change in temperature as if we had entered a building. I couldn't make out any shapes through the hood, but the darkness lifted a little as if a light had been turned on, then I was placed onto a chair or something else wooden.
Hands held on to my arms and legs, my ties were cut. Then I heard and felt cuffs click shut around my wrists and ankles and moments later their counterparts clicked into place.
Finally, the hood was pulled off my head.
I looked right into the eyes of the man who was holding the hood, a tall, broad Latino with black eyes and long black hair. His eyes were cold and his face was expressionless.
I was in a room that looked a lot like an office, with two large desks and filing cabinets. The walls were painted beige and there was a small window opposite a closed door. My belt was gone, my hands were cuffed to the arms of the chair, my ankles to its legs.
Two more men were leaning against the desks; both had their arms crossed over their chest. One looked a lot like Pedro Martinez, small in stature; the other one was Caucasian and looked like he had come from a 30's gangster movie, crooked nose, scarred face and all.
The guy in front of me looked at me and said something in Spanish, but he didn't seem to be talking to me.
"No." Pedro guy answered in Spanish.
I cursed my choice of taking French and German in school, not being able to understand scared me. The fear threatened to join forces with the already present panic and full-blown hysteria couldn't be far behind.
It seemed like they were waiting for someone or something, they didn't address me but talked among themselves in hushed voices.
Tears spilled down my face and I had a hard time controlling my breathing with the tape over my mouth. Maybe it would be a good thing to pass out and wake up when it was all over, I thought.
I realized Ranger's plan had worked, I had attracted attention. But where was he? Ever since I'd woken up in the trunk, I had decided I didn't like this movie and was ready for it to end.
A car door slammed somewhere and the three guys jumped to attention.
"El Senor!" Pedro said and rushed to open the door.
Oh no. Not THE Senor, please. I wasn't important enough for the top honcho's time! More importantly, I didn't know if I could control my bladder if I had to face him!
Hood guy pulled his gun out of its holster and disappeared behind me, gangster guy took the chairs from the desks and arranged them to face me.
The door opened and three men walked in. My heart skipped a beat when I realized the second one was indeed Najar. The other two had the demeanor of bodyguards; they stayed by the door when Najar walked to stand in front of me.
Fuck! Shit!! Scheisse! Merde!! I tried to control my breathing and the flow of tears, tried to ignore the pain my bonds were causing me and come up with any coherent thoughts other than curses.
Najar leaned down so that he was at eye level with me.
"Esto es la senorita fastidiosa?" He asked and gangster guy said something affirmative.
"Bien." The Senor said and his lips curled into a cold smile.
"Senorita Taylor?" He locked eyes with me and spoke in a fake polite tone. "Where are my manners, pardon me. I am Alejandro Najar and these are my associates." He waved at the men in the room. His English was heavily accented, but at least I could understand him now.
I tried to glare at him, but I probably couldn't pull it off with my teary eyes.
"I had you brought here because it appears you ignored my earlier attempts to communicate with you." His voice was making my skin crawl; I could sense the danger underneath the spoken words.
He looked behind me and nodded as he straightened up, and hood guy reappeared in my line of vision. Hood guy's hand came forward before I could react, and he ripped the tape away from my mouth.
I howled in pain as at least the top layer of my skin came off with the tape.
Najar shook his head and wagged a finger at Hood Guy. "Ricardo, do not hurt the senorita. Apologize!" His eyes were belying his words, he seemed to enjoy the pain I was showing.
How ironic. One of my captors shared a first name with Ranger.
"Lo siento, puta." Ricardo said and all men chuckled. I understood that much Spanish and bit back a response. My temper could get me into real trouble if I'd allow it to control my mouth, I realized. Well, even more real trouble. So I decided to bite my tongue.
"Such language." Najar rolled his eyes in mock exasperation and this drew another chuckle from his men.
"What do you want from me?" I pressed out through clenched teeth. What had happened to my resolve to keep quiet??
Najar's hand jerked forward and he slapped me across the face, the impact knocking me sideways. I brought the chair down with me when I crashed on the floor. My ears were ringing, my eyes burned, and I was pretty sure I had at least twisted my ankle when it had caught the chair leg on the way down.
Ricardo lifted me back up. The Senor was wiping his hands in a towel Gangster Guy handed him.
I could feel my eye swell shut and I ran my tongue over my teeth to make sure they were still there when I tasted blood.
My left wrist was bleeding; the cuff had sliced into it when I had pulled on it during my fall.
"Do not speak to me unless I ask you a question." Najar instructed and the polite tone was gone from his voice.
Suddenly, all the pictures Ranger had shown me were projected before my inner eye, all the victims of Najar's handiwork. I was crying uncontrollably now. To make matters worse, I had to pee urgently.
I no longer thought Ranger or any of the Merry Men had followed me. Surely they would have barged in as soon as the Senor had arrived.
I was on my own, nothing between a sadistic madman and me. The thought made me shiver and I saw amusement in Najar's eyes.
"Now that I have your attention," he said, studying his manicured fingernails "Let me introduce you to Miguel."
He motioned to one of the bodyguards who opened the door. Pedro Guy appeared and stood at Najar's side.
"Miguel, this here is Senorita Taylor, she will be enjoying our hospitality today. Miss Taylor, Miguel will take good care of you from now on. Sadly, I will not have the pleasure of entertaining you myself anymore, I have business to attend to. It was a pleasure making your acquaintance. I am sure we will not meet again."
With that, he turned to Miguel and talked to him in Spanish. Miguel nodded and smiled, and my stomach turned.
Najar nodded towards Gangster Guy and Ricardo and left followed by his bodyguards, without another look at me.
Miguel said something that sounded like instructions, all I understood was 'Ricardo' and 'Jorge'. The two men picked me up, chair and all, and carried me out of the room, through a short hallway. Miguel opened another door and I was brought in. The room was bare, except for a large mattress on the floor. A naked light bulb hung from the ceiling, the only window was boarded up.
"This will be much more comfortable, no?" Miguel smiled as he gestured at Ricardo. His smile didn't reach his eyes and I broke into a cold sweat.
I had feared they would kill me. At the sight of the mattress I feared worse.
Ricardo unlocked the cuffs and pulled me out of the chair, Jorge had his gun leveled at me.
I was hurting from my hairline down to my toes, I had to pee and felt like throwing up, and still I had a feeling the worst was yet to come as I was thrown onto the mattress and landed hard.
Miguel gave more instructions and Ricardo disappeared through the door while Jorge kept his gun on me.
"Relax." Miguel said, "Now comes the fun part. La fiesta."
He was grinning now and I could almost see an evil spark in his eyes.
Ricardo returned with a bottle of booze that he handed to Miguel and two rolls of duct tape.
"Ajuda mi." He said to Jorge and tossed him one of the rolls. The two jerked my arms over my head and my legs apart, then they strapped me to the mattress by securing the tape under its corners. Miguel was watching, lifting the bottle to his lips. "Los vestidos!" He said, and now all three were grinning.
Ricardo produced a penknife out of his pocket and snapped it open. I closed my eyes when I felt the blade slice into my pants, cutting them up from the bottom up. My shirt was next and I felt the cold brush of air when my clothes were pulled away from my body.
The men were talking, I heard the liquid slosh in the bottle, and I kept my eyes shut, praying I could pass out.
"Ahora." I heard Miguel say as I felt a weight next to me.
