WYWH, Chapter 10: The Cavalry Arrives

During the flight to Chicago, Alan had fed Colby countless tidbits about Don's growing up years, items he would be sure to remember the next time he needed a little subtle boss-blackmail.

For instance, there was the time when Don was 8. Charlie was only three, but his unique abilities – and needs – were already making themselves known. He had begun working with specialized tutors, and requiring more than his fair share of the family's income, and his parents' time. Most three-year-olds are convinced the world revolves around them – and Charlie's attitude was worse, since to a large extent, it actually did. The first casualty of Charlie's genius was an annoying arrogance.

Alan and Margaret struggled mightily to teach Charlie humility. Alan looked at Colby a little sadly in the middle of this story. "I'm afraid now we may have been over-achievers," he admitted. "Oh, sometimes, I still see the old arrogance crop up, but too often, I see hesitation, and discomfort…uneasiness with things that should be natural. His hesitation with Amita, for instance."

Colby redirected Alan's focus, both to cheer the man up – and to get his ammunition. "Don?", he encouraged.

Alan smiled. "Oh, yes. Donnie was especially irritated by Charlie's…well, by Charlie, I guess. Embarassed that his baby brother thought doing his big brother's math homework was a reward for good behavior, or something. He resented all the time his mother and I suddenly had to devote to Charlie, and the fact that he couldn't have a lot of the things he wanted, anymore. He was right to feel that way."

Alan was getting sad and guilty, and Colby tried to think of a way to change the subject. Failing that, he at least tried to help. "They get along great, now. You should see how proud Don can get, when Charlie has the rest of us looking around with crossed eyes!"

Alan smiled. "That's nice to hear. It's been a long road, for the two of them…" He cleared his throat and tried to shift in the tiny aircraft seating. "Anyway. One day Don decided he had taken enough. He evidently reasoned that all of his troubles had started with Charlie. So he figured if he got rid of the source, things would get back to normal."

Colby's eyes widened. "Don tried to off his brother? This is so…anti-federal agent!"

Alan snickered a little. "No, even then, fratacide was out of character for him. He just wanted Charlie to disappear. Don had just been to a friend's birthday party. A magician put a rabbit in a hat, and followed it with all sorts of things – raw eggs, a glass of milk, some water…he said that they had 'magical properties' that would mix in the hat and cause the rabbit to disappear."

"Which, of course, it did," Colby supplied.

"Exactly," confirmed Alan. "So one evening, Margaret and I decided to get my sister Ida to babysit and go out for a dinner alone – we hadn't done that in nearly a year. Ida planted herself on the couch in front of the television, and waited for screams, I guess. She more or less let the boys be boys. When we got home, Margaret and I came in through the kitchen."

Colby grinned. "Let me guess…eggs, and milk, and Charlie?"

Alan laughed. "At least. Poor little guy was sitting on the floor in a puddle of milk and water and tears. He was nearly choking on a pickle sticking out of his mouth that he was trying to cry around, and he was coated in flour. He was surrounded by egg shells. When we opened the door, Donnie was cracking another one over his head, crying himself. 'ABRA CADABRA!', he sniffed, red-faced. 'You're not doing it right, Charlie!'"

Colby laughed heartily, then looked at Alan. "Charlie probably got off easy," he said. "Now when Don wants somebody to disappear, he sends him to federal prison."

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Alan had missed his bag the first time it went around the carousel, and they were waiting for it to reappear. At least, he really hoped he had missed it, and it wasn't on a plane to Miami. Colby, who had grabbed his bag already, was peering over Alan's shoulder. "You said Don and Oswald would meet us here?"

Alan's eyes remained on the carousel. "I haven't actually spoken to him since I told him I was coming. Megan sent him all our arrival information – I'm certain he's around here, somewhere."

Colby continued to search baggage claim. "I suppose they could be holding a cab outside," he mused.

"That's probably it," assured Alan. "Why don't you go check – the door to passenger pick-up isn't far. I'll keep waiting for my bag. Please."

Colby shifted his to the other hand and smiled. "Yeah, okay. I'm sure the bag is there, Alan. I'll go take a quick look."

The gathering of passengers at the carousel was growing thin when Alan finally, with a sigh, spied his bag. He had just grabbed it and turned around, when he saw Colby come back into the building. The agent shrugged as he neared Alan. He spied the luggage, and grinned. "Well, that's good news, anyway. All the cabs out there are empty. I don't see either one of them, inside or out."

Alan frowned, and took his cell phone from his pocket. "Let me call him. I can use this in the terminal, right?" As Colby nodded, Alan turned the phone on and speed-dialed Don. After a few seconds, his frown deepened. "Voice mail. Maybe they're on the way? I can't imagine that he wouldn't…I mean, I know he's not happy that I came out, but that only gives him more reason to show up – I expected him to try and hustle me on the next plane home."

Colby nodded. "Me too, actually." A bank of hard plastic chairs lined the wall, and he indicated them with a tilt of his head. "Might as well wait, for a little while."

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The warehouse was a repeat of the hotel room.

Don and Oswald had not been drugged, just restrained and gagged, and when they were hustled from the back of a van into an abandoned, partitioned warehouse, Don struggled mightily. Once inside, eyes adjusting to the dim light, Don caught sight of Charlie, unconscious, tied to a chair. He was spattered with blood, and Don's struggling increased. Again, it took two of the men to subdue him, while the third forced Oswald onto the floor near a stack of dusty computer monitor boxes, and tied him to a water pipe.

He was distracted the entire time that he worked on Oswald. He was securing the young man's feet when Don managed to dislodge his gag. "CHARLIE! CHARLIE! What have you done to my brother?!" The third kidnapper made quick work of Oswald and hurried over to help contain Don. Oswald cringed as he saw one take out a gun and hit Don over the back of the head with it. When Don slumped in their arms, the panting trio dragged him to a wall about 25 feet away, and opposite, Oswald – where they secured him to another exposed pipe.

In-between them sat Charlie, still unconscious. He was facing Don, and Oswald could only see him from the rear. He was close enough to see the blood on Charlie's bound hands from his cut fingers, and the grossly misshapen fingers on the other hand. Oswald swallowed and turned his head. The row of computer monitor boxes on his right were stacked haphazardly near another wall. On his left, a large doorway led to another part of the warehouse. It was obvious from the dust and dirt that the place was abandoned, and Oswald wondered briefly who had lost their shirts on all these undelivered monitors.

At a sound from the outside door he and Don had been brought through, Oswald turned his head again and watched Marshall Penfield enter. His natural expression – a perpetual sneer – became more annoyed and angry with every step he took.

Soon he was even with his trio of goons, who still stood over Don's unconscious body. "What the hell have you done now?", he demanded. "I sent you after the right computer, and you come back here with his brother and the kid?"

The largest of the men spoke defensively. "They were nosing around, asking questions. They already had a lead on you! They were gonna get us all thrown in jail if we left them out there."

Marshall ran an exasperated hand through his hair. "So why didn't you take them out of town and kill them, dump the bodies somewhere? What am I supposed to do with them now?"

The same man answered. "We tore the kid's room apart – no computer. Figured maybe you could make him talk. And if that don't work, wake the doc there up and torture Big Brother in front of him – that'll loosen his tongue!"

Marshall sighed like a parent with three unruly children in a grocery store, and wandered over to Charlie. He raised his head by yanking back on his hair, then let it fall to his chest, again. He looked him up and down, then actually stomped his foot when he turned back to the three stooges. "What about him?", he asked petulantly. "I told you to break his legs!"

Oswald listened to the bizarre conversation, and made a few startling discoveries. First, Penfield had his back to him, and was standing next to Charlie in such a way that the only other man who could have seen him, had his view blocked. Second, Oswald's hands were tied surprisingly loosely to the pole behind his back. Henchman #3 must have abandoned his job too early, in his haste to help subdue Don.

Oswald listened to the huge gunman whine that breaking Charlie's legs was not as easy as Marshall made it sound, with no weapon except a gun and a few computer monitors, and that it probably wasn't a good idea anyway. Like the doc said, why would a guy break his own legs before he committed suicide? Oswald was very careful not to make a sound, and he wrenched hard against the ropes, back and forth, trying to use the pipe as leverage.

The berating and defensive arguing continued center stage, and Oswald almost lost his battle against noise when he actually slipped one hand out of the rope. For one thing, he ripped off almost all his skin doing it, and may have broken his little finger. For another, it was pretty damn exciting.

Quickly he used his free hand to release the other, then left them behind him as he drew his feet up, knees almost touching his chest. Penfield, sensing movement, glanced quickly around but appeared satisfied with Oswald's station in life.

He turned back to his men. "I fail to see how I can convince anyone of anything, when two of them are unconscious, and the third looks like he's probably thrown up in his gag! Damn kid is so scared he couldn't tell us where the computer was if he knew!" He reached up a hand to slip off his glasses and began to polish them absently on a shirt sleeve. "I don't know what I expected," he said to no-one in particular. "My father always told me you get what you pay for."

One of the shorter men looked up from the floor excitedly. "We getting' a raise?" He oomphed when his partner elbowed him in the ribs.

Marshall replaced his glasses and sighed again. He shook his head a little. "Fine," he finally said, all-business. "I'll try to gain something from this spectacular fiasco. Might as well start with the kid, he's the only one awake!"

With that, Marshall turned around to lead the group to Oswald – who wasn't there, anymore.