Hotel Key
Chapter 38
Daryl sat nervously on the park bench. The small bag stuffed with money was resting next to him. He scrubbed his face with his hands, trying to remember just how exactly in the fuck he got talked into this. He kept that asshole on the phone long enough for Rick to trace his location with the borrowed police device they were using. In Daryl's mind, the obvious next step would be to go to that location and get RickyJo back. Immediately. He had no idea how he let Shane talk him into this shit instead. He knew this was the logical thing to do. They didn't want to engage in a conflict if they didn't have to. If he showed up at the cabin where RickyJo was being held looking for a fight, the men that had her might hurt or kill her. Or she might be caught in the crossfire if a shootout began. It was smarter to pay the ransom and get her back that way. When she was home safe, then they could go after the kidnappers. There was a location tracker in the bag with the money. And another one threaded in with the money itself, slid carefully into the middle of one of the stacks. That way even if the man switched bags, they could still track him. Daryl understood all this. But he didn't like it. And the longer he sat on the bench watching people jog through the park, the worse the feeling of foreboding in the pit of his stomach was getting.
Daryl checked the time on his phone. It was only two minutes later than the last time he checked. He lit a cigarette, sucking in hard and blowing the smoke out through his nose. Shane and Rick were somewhere in the park. Hiding out of sight where even Daryl couldn't see them. And Daryl knew there was a heavy police presence throughout the park in general. Most of them were in plain clothes. And Daryl found himself watching the people that were walking or jogging by, wondering if they were police officers, just regular people that happened to be in the park at that time, or maybe even part of the ransom. Merle was the only person in his line of sight, leaning against a tree on the other side of the small children's playground. Since the kidnappers already knew he was involved, he didn't need to hide.
Daryl had been sitting on the hard wooden bench for over half an hour. And he was getting more and more impatient by the minute. He straightened up when a jogger headed in his direction. But the man only put his foot up on the empty side of the bench to tighten his shoelaces before continuing on his way. The next man that approached, came up from behind the bench and slid into the unoccupied seat before Daryl even noticed he was there. The man was not familiar to him. He had a ball cap pulled down low over his brow, his long dark hair obscuring most of his face. His skin was deeply tanned. And there was part of a large tattoo peeking out of his shirt sleeve. Since only the bottom quarter of it was visible, Daryl couldn't tell what the tattoo was of.
"Is it all there?," the man asked, ticking his head towards the bag that was sitting on the bench between them. Daryl's body stiffened.
"It's all there," he hissed. "Where's my fuckin' wife?" The man didn't look at him. It was obvious that he was trying to keep Daryl from getting a good look at his face. But a low wicked laugh bubbled out of him before he spoke.
"Maybe she ran off with yer brother," the man quipped.
"I could kill you right now," Daryl threatened.
"You know what'll happen if you try anything," the man retorted. He lifted his hand and drug it across his throat. The threat was obvious. If Daryl tried anything, they were going to kill RickyJo. Or at least that's what they wanted him to think. Kidnapping someone for money and actually killing them were two different things. But Daryl wasn't willing to risk her life on the hunch that these men were too cowardly to actually hurt her.
The man reached for the bag, wrapping his hand around the strap. But before he could lift it from the bench and head back the way he came, Daryl gripped the other end of the bag, anchoring it to his side.
"Where the fuck is she?," he asked. His patience was wearing thin. And while he'd felt grateful for their help only a moment before, he suddenly found himself wishing that the greater Atlanta police force were not present. If it was only he and Merle here, they could grab this skinny long haired fucker up and make him talk.
"She's in a van in the east side parking lot," the man said. "Once I'm out, I'll call them and they'll let her out." The sick feeling in Daryl's stomach intensified. The man was lying. He was sure of it. But he had no way to prove it other than his intuition. Daryl held onto the bag another moment. Then he reluctantly released his grip on the money and let the man slip away with it into the woods.
Some people made it through their daily lives with no awareness of which direction north was. But Daryl was not one of those people. The moment the man was out of sight he rocketed off the park bench and began to run as fast as he could towards the East. He wasn't sure exactly where the parking lot was. But that was the direction the man said. Tearing through the large playground instead of going around it, Daryl ducked under a slide and skirted a set of monkey bars. Several children stopped their play and turned to stare at him as he stumbled over a diaper bag someone left lying haphazardly on the ground and nearly fell. A woman stood up from a nearby bench and swore at him, hollering for him to slow his stupid ass down before he ran over a child. But Daryl ignored her and continued on his way. Merle grabbed him by his arm, trying to stop him long enough to figure out why he was running through the park like a crazy person.
"He said they have her in the east parking lot," Daryl said, jerking away from the other man's grasp so hard that his shirt ripped at the seams. He turned, barely having stopped as he continued on his way. He could hear his brother tearing along behind him, cursing that they should have grabbed that fucker that took the money no matter what Shane said.
"There's no fuckin' van here Daryl!," Merle cursed. He rushed through the small lot, peeking into the windows of the few cars that were parked there. A large dog slammed its body against the back window of a large SUV, barking wildly. Daryl heard a feminine shriek and for a moment he was hopeful that Merle found her. But the shriek came from a teenage girl that was necking with her boyfriend in the backseat of a small rusty Pontiac. Merle startled them when he peered inside the car.
"She's not here!," Merle screamed, his voice rising in panic. He slammed his hands against Daryl's chest before taking off back the way they came. No doubt he was going after the money bag man. Though Daryl guessed the man was probably long gone before they even hit the parking lot.
Daryl felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He whipped it out and answered the call, feeling like his chest was getting tight. He was breathing hard, struggling to control the panic he found rising inside his chest.
"What happened?," Shane asked.
"He said they'd let her go after he left with the money. But she's not fuckin' here!." Daryl hollered. He could hear Shane telling him to stay calm and give it a minute. Daryl tried to listen but he felt like he was swimming underwater. Shane said he might turn up any minute. They had police in every parking area around the large public park. If a pregnant woman with tattoos showed up anywhere in the park, they would see her. The man might have sent Daryl in the wrong direction simply so he wouldn't be able to get a look at the vehicle they were driving. Daryl moved towards the edge of the parking lot and sat down on the ground, burying his face in his hands and trying to focus on his breathing. He told himself that any moment his phone was going to buzz again and it would be Shane telling him they found her. But that call never came.