The lead suspect, that only because he hadn’t arrived at the warehouse for work this morning, was a man named Tony Alonso. He had a clean criminal record in California but a check of his DMV report showed that earlier today he had received a citation outside of Bridgeport, California in the only car registered to him.
Among other reports and the stacks of investigations on his desk, when he arrived, Caesar had found a statement regarding a call received at the front desk from someone named Maggie Jacobs. It concerned a suspected missing person. The report had come in about 11:00 this morning, about fifteen hours since she had been last seen. Without hard evidence that she was missing, he couldn’t do much of an investigation. If the police dispatched detectives for every person who decided to do a Ferris Buhler for a day or so, they wouldn’t have the resources to investigate the real crimes. Despite this, he tucked the report into the flap of the notebook.
The clock read 5:50 p.m. when he stepped toward the front door of headquarters to hit the street. The sergeant at the front desk looked up at Caesar from the call he was on and waved a piece of paper. Caesar stepped over to take it and smiled but not before the officer turned back toward his desk and continued his conversation. Caesar unfolded the note as he walked to the door and saw the names “Maggie Jacobs” and “Natalie Beaumont.”
Hank had slept for over an hour. After he woke, he found the food at the table and the beer in the fridge. He now sat in the middle of the double bed surrounded by crusts of sandwiches and empty bags of corn chips. He had lost interest in the food, but his old friend Bud and the camcorder held his attention rapt. Again and again he watched Natalie and Rudy’s sex scene on the small monitor. It was almost as good as any porn he had seen lately. Natalie on her back reminded him of her forced submission to him and caused a stirring he wanted to feed again.
He stood to his feet, crumpled one of the empty bags into a ball, and tossed it toward the nearest trash can. It fell short, but he didn’t notice or care. He looked at his two companions. Rudy sat in one of the dinette chairs leaned back against the wall and slept. Tony lay face down on the other bed. His breath came heavy and steady. Hank didn’t see the gun so he assumed Tony had it tucked under his belt.
“Where’s that bitch?” he said.
The voice interrupted Rudy’s shallow dream. He turned his sleepy eyes toward it. He hadn’t slept much while on the road last night and even less during the day. Now waking, he was surprised at how fast he had succumbed to exhaustion. The last thing he remembered, he sat down in the chair he had predicted to be his bed for the night. At the time, Hank hadn’t stirred since they entered the room, and Tony was just taking the last swig from a bottle of water.
Hank rolled off the bed and moved over to Tony. Rudy, still shrugging the sleep off, watched as Hank searched the pockets of Tony’s jacket. Hank pulled the keys from the left one. Next, Hank felt around Tony’s lower back and removed the gun from the waistband. Tony stirred, but didn’t wake.
Rudy’s mouth dropped open and he sat aghast. He had let his need for sleep forfeit his opportunity to seize control and save Natalie. Now, in a matter of a few seconds Hank, with an obvious beer buzz, had managed to retrieve both the gun and the car keys. Natalie was still in peril and he a greater fool than he already felt.
Hank staggered toward the door and said, “I’m going huntin’.”
“You leave her alone” Rudy tipped the chair forward and came to his feet. He darted toward Hank and reached for the revolver.
Hank swung the gun backhand and hit Rudy in the jaw. The sudden blow sent him across the room. He slammed into the wall and then sprawled on the floor. He shook his head, and turned his eyes toward Hank. The barrel of the pistol glared back at him.
“I’m just going to get your bitch girlfriend,” he sneered. “Get your cock ready, maybe you can finish this time.” He turned and headed out the door.
The car hadn’t moved for quite some time. Earlier, Natalie had heard three doors slam closed and then everything became still. The whine of an occasional vehicle sped by to her right. She had begun to wonder if she had been abandoned. Then, she heard what sounded like a car door bang shut. She hesitated in her steel tomb only for a moment to make sure she hadn’t imagined it, but when she pounded and screamed for help, there had been no response.
Her body—bone, flesh and muscle—sore from the assault, had begun to take on new aches from lying in one position so long. Her muscles had stiffened and needed to flex. Her back, hips and shoulders begged to be freed from the cold steel floor. She had tried to put her clothes back on, but had only managed her panties, skirt and boots. She couldn’t twist her body around enough to slip her blouse or leather jacket into place, and her tights had eluded her. Her only comfort had been the bathrobe and she had used it as a pillow under her head.
With the blankets wrapped around her for warmth, she assessed her situation. There were three men and she knew two of their names, Tony Alonso and Hank something. She only heard his last name once and it just wouldn’t come forward. The third, the only one whose name she didn’t know, was the only one she recognized. She had seen his innocent face on the set a few times and a few weeks ago he had made it clear he wanted to get to know her. She had turned him down because she had been on her way to the grocery, the “temp job, the one that pays the bills,” she had told him, and besides, she hadn’t been looking to date. She had too many things occupying her time to also manage the demands of a boyfriend.
As things stood, she knew she had few options to save herself—a limited arsenal of inept weapons. So, if he cared about her, it might be possible to use him to affect her escape. She would have to be cunning, even more than that day more than four years ago with Alex in the cornfield. And she would have to find a way to overlook the fact that, even though she had at first been willing to surrender her body to him, he had in truth done it under false pretenses. That made it rape. So, it would take all her acting skill to look past that fact to reel him in. She just couldn’t give in to a victim’s mentality—victims wither, victors strategize. He started it. She would finish it or die trying.
Her thoughts were pulled away as the car shook. A muffled male voice shouted, “Shit!” and then footsteps ground against asphalt just outside her prison. A chill stepped up her spine and she shuddered as she lifted her first two weapons from the floor. She hardly had time to catch a breath before the muted sound of the voice and the jangle of keys were just to the rear of the car. A clunk on the lid of the trunk echoed hollow inside her crypt. When a key slid into the keyhole, she clenched her stomach tight and centered her breathing. The lid popped free.
_____
©
Jearl Rugh 2012
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