76 Born to Make the Kill

Natalie reached the passenger side of the car a moment later and noticed both the front and rear doors were ajar. She remembered when Tony stole the car, Rudy had placed her on the backseat next an infant seat. Now, it had been tossed out onto the barn’s dirt floor. She presumed Rudy must have moved it out of the way when he moved her to the coral. She slipped into the front passenger seat and looked toward Rudy.

He laid face up under the dashboard and aided by the flashlight, looked underneath. In his left hand a maze of small, blue, yellow, red, black, white and green copper-filled tubes, any two of which could have been the right ones, painted a puzzled look on his face.

“Hurry,” she whispered.

“Don’t know which are the right wires.”

“Can I help?”

“Uh, yeah, line your finger up under the dash right below where the key goes.”

Natalie found the ignition and slipped the forefinger of her left hand below it.

“How’s that?” she asked.

“Perfect.”

Natalie’s eyes were on Rudy’s face. His lips hadn’t moved. He turned his eyes to hers and she saw the baffled look had transformed into stark terror. She knew if she could see her own reflection, her face would mirror his. That familiar voice with its Jersey accent screeched like a subway’s steel wheels against the tracks. When it rumbled from the backseat and with just one word—“perfect”—a repressive weight of despair fell over her.

“Well, ain’t this cozy?” Tony continued. He sat up and peered over the back of the front seat. “Takin’ your whore for a ride lover boy?”

Rudy remained silent. The flashlight slipped out of his hands and he laid his head on the floor of the driver’s compartment.

Natalie realized Tony must have camped out in the car for insurance. He could have gone anywhere in the barn to stretch out and sleep, but he choose the one place where he could protect his interests. He knew that their first thought would be to take the car, so any escape attempt would include him in the backseat.

She knew she should refrain from engagement, but just like the emotional fights she got into with her mother, the rage she had amassed in reserve thwarted any apprehension that might have suggested caution.

“Why do you insist on calling me a ‘whore?’” she shouted. Her throat horse, she forced herself to articulate every syllable so her message was clear. With the rest over the last few hours, her mind had sharpened. She was ready for battle. To further intimidate, she stepped out of the car, turned toward the back door and slammed it shut with her foot.

“’Cause that’s what you are.” Tony said. “Like a damn umpire, I call ’em as I see ‘em.

Tony slid across the seat to the passenger side door and tried the handle but the child lock had been secured and the door wouldn’t open.

“Damn it,” he yelled. He leaned over the seat, pointed the Python at Rudy and glared out the window at Natalie. “Open the damn door or I’ll blow him to Hell right now.”

Two against one were better odds than her alone, and she wanted no more bloodshed, so she stepped to the door, opened it and then stood back as Tony got out.

“I suppose you’d know all about whores,” she continued and scowled through the gloom at the swollen bloodshot eyes in Tony’s head. “That the only way you get laid?”

“You’d be surprised what gets me off, Bitch.” He turned toward Rudy who still laid as if he had melted into the floor mat, and continued, “Out of the damn car.”

Natalie felt the barrel of the Colt jamb into her ribs and he nudged her toward the coral. “’Bitch’ is no more complimentary than ‘Whore,’” she said. Her side, bruised from when he kicked her in the motel parking lot, ached, but without a flinch she began to walk as directed. “How would you like it if I called you Bastard?”

“You have called me Bastard, and I am one in the truest sense. My mother got knocked up by some guy who didn’t know her name, some guy who didn’t hang around, some guy who paid her for the trick, and the next thing you know, drum roll please, it’s me. So yeah, I’m a goddamn bastard. At least I know what I am but you have this delusion about who you are.”

Natalie continued to walk toward the fire. She saw out of the corner of her eye that Rudy had left the sedan behind and now moved like a lamb to slaughter a few steps away on her left side. Behind her, she heard Tony as his scuffed his foot against the loose dirt of the floor.

Natalie said, “Is that so? Who do I think I am?”

“Oh, you’re Ms. Hollywood. Ms. walk-down-the-boulevard swinging your ass so men’ll notice. Ms. take-off-your-clothes-for-the-camera just to get a part. If that’s not a whore ... ? You’re no better than my ma, spreading her legs for profit.”

Natalie didn’t want that to be true. Her memory flashed back and brought full exposer to Amy’s first sexual experience with the boy in the barn—the one who took her cherry. She went down with him in the hay not because she liked him, or even because she was that curious about sex. She had been brainwashed by her parents, and her church, that sex outside of marriage was a sin. But not being accepted at school by those popular cheerleaders seemed a worse Hell than eternal damnation. Then, after months of scorn, during her sophomore year, the Queen pulled her aside one morning after geometry class.

“See that boy?” she asked with her finger raised toward a boy a year older than her pulling his books out of a locker. “He’s a friend of mine. He told me he wants to meet you but he’s too shy to ask. He’ll be eating his lunch alone today in the quad. Go talk to him and be his friend. If you’ll do that, I’ll consider it a great favor. And if you go all the way with him, there’s an opening in the cheerleading squad—“

“You want me to sleep with him?” Amy asked. Her mouth fell wide open.

“I’ll need a trophy” The Queen ignored Amy’s question with a wink.

“A trophy?”

“Yeah, proof that you really did it … with him.” She nodded toward the boy.

“Like what?” Amy shot a quick glance toward the boy. She couldn’t believe she even entertained the suggestion. He was one of the more popular boys around school and not bad looking. He looked back at her and smiled a sheepish grin.

“His underwear … no, his signed underwear. Bring me his tighty-whiteys with his signature and you’re in the squad.”

Amy didn’t believe in miracles but after her rejection a few months earlier from the cheerleading team she knew it would take a miracle to pull herself out of the rural-farm ghetto class. Now she was being offered a gift, a way to rise out of the slums. It would cost her virginity, but the price paled when she considered the reward. In league with the popular girls would give her the respect she craved.

“I’ll do it,” Amy agreed, although her stomach churned with nervous hesitation.

But the friendship didn’t come, and another girl advanced to the squad. How could Amy know she was being played? She was always so trusting and gullible. As it turned out, one the cheerleader minions was on the outs with the Queen, and the boy in hay was her boyfriend. It all came out when his briefs went up the flagpole. Rather than be embraced with her new found social status, Amy was exposed in front of the whole school as a self-confessed slut.

_____

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75 Born to Make the Kill

As Natalie began to awake, the sound of a muted crack from the fire thundered like fireworks in her ears. Her reflexes jerked her body in a convulsive twitch, and forced her to consciousness. A wary dread drove into her sleep-fogged mind. Confused by her surroundings, she lay still and centered her thoughts.

She stared into the dark empty space beyond the campfire. It only took her a moment to recall her plight. On the other side of the coral, the firelight danced with playful shadows across Rudy’s chest and face. He leaned against a post on a small pile of hay with his sweatshirt zipped and the hood pulled over his head. She noticed the smeared residue of a bloodstain, my blood, left from cleaning her clotted nose.

From the advanced gloom of the barn, she judged she had slept for several hours. The last thing she remembered was that she ate all the meat from a package of salami and washed the welcomed briny taste out of her mouth with a bottle of water. While she ate, she recalled the wind had waged a fierce battle against the walls of the barn. They shrieked and shuddered as if they fought in mortal combat to prolong the barn’s inevitable demise. Despite her fear that she would be buried alive and with Tony off to find a rat to nap with, she found a spot near the fire to plan another escape attempt. With her stomach filled and her thirst quenched for the first time since the motel two days ago, in the warmth where she hoped gain strength, she had succumbed to a deep, dreamless sleep.

Now awake, she realized her stomach had settled and the strength she needed for the coming fray had begun to creep its way back into her limbs. The fire popped again. This time it didn’t startle her and she watched orange sparks drift upwards, riding the thermals, and then burn out a few feet above the flames. She tracked the smoke as the languid gray billows folded and rolled their way to the rafters, and found an exit from the barn through gaps in the roof. By the fading light offered through those same fissures, she knew it wouldn’t be long before daylight would be gone and Tony would want to be on the move.

Her mind drew back to her dad’s farm. She remembered more than once he built a fire behind the barn to burn debris. She and her sister, Cindy, always helped keep it stoked and stirred. And then at the end of those days, there were always marshmallows to roast over the fading embers.

She would have lingered in nostalgia, but with the patter of the rain on the roof of this barn, and Tony’s terror always a breath away, she knew today wouldn’t end the same.

Now awake, every torturous thing done to her in the last three days came to mind—raped, pistol whipped, tied and gaged, starved, punched in the face, kicked, devalued—and she renewed her vow to get out of this alive. She glanced toward Rudy, cleared her throat just loud enough to get his attention but not with adequate volume to disturb the monster she knew lurked somewhere in the shadows.

“Where is he?” she whispered.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Rudy said and turned his head up from a bag of potato chips.

Between them, the low fire burned and from what she could see, Rudy had busied himself while she slept building a supply of combustible material. The barn floor next to him was stacked with scrapes of wood and fence planks he had broken into right-sized pieces. With a couple of empty beer cans at his side, she wondered if he had tried over the last few hours to dull the sense of doom he must feel. She had tried to tell him that Tony couldn’t let him live to be a witness, but Rudy had explained, that if they got to his uncle’s hunting cabin, he knew he could hide both of them in the woods. She couldn’t see that happening, but as she had realized last night, this was Rudy’s pattern. Don’t fight, run.

She sat up and looked around the barn. In the dull light it was hard to make out distinct shapes, but the reflection of the fire caught something chrome on the front of the car.

“If he’s still asleep, we might be able to run,” she said and began to get to her feet.

The white nylon rope had been removed from her hands and feet, but she had no memory of it happening. As she stood, she realized her atrophied body might take her will captive if she indeed had to run. Since she had spent most of the last three days either entombed in a trunk or tied hand and foot, the muscles in the legs were unwilling to extend. She reached to her thighs and tried to massage feeling back into them. That not working, she stood first on one foot and then the other to flex her legs until they began to feel as if they might support her in a crisis.

“You really think we should try? He’ll hear us.”

“He might, but we can’t just sit around and wait for him to kill us.”

“But how? We can’t get out of here.”

Disappointed in his ability to think past his next breath, she didn’t mask her disgust. “The car! You hot wire the car and we can get out of here.”

Rudy twisted to glance over his left shoulder toward the Subaru and then stood.

“Oh … yeah, maybe I could. I just wish I knew where he was.”

Encouraged that he seemed to be reasoning out the probability of success, she said, “We’ve got to take the chance, what’s the worst that can happen? He plans to kills us both anyway.”



As Rudy started toward the car, he pointed the flashlight toward areas of the barn cloaked in shadow. He hoped the penetrating beam would reveal Tony’s roost. He didn’t spot him, so, being careful not to scuff his feet on the ground for fear the sound would stir Tony, he dared to think this could be the realization of his ultimate longing. He remembered what Natalie had said yesterday before Hank’s death, “Get me away from Tony and Hank, and I’m yours.” His heart rate began to accelerate as the adrenaline of anticipation surged through his veins. Maybe there was still a chance his will hadn’t been scuttled by the demonic spirit of that psychopath.

When he reached the driver’s door, he tugged on the handle. The door opened.

_____

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74 Born to Make the Kill

Angela Hawk didn’t like this part of the job. She would rather have left this to another officer, but with the suspect’s trail so warm, she needed to be smart and stop relying on her instincts. They had gotten her this close twice in the last day, but she knew at any moment she could lose the scent. She needed some answers.

Even though the clock ticked and the suspects fled, she chose to take the parson’s duty to notify the next of kin their loved one wouldn’t be home tonight to tuck the kids in or any other night for that matter. The chore every law enforcement officer hates, no amount of seminars can prepare for the way it rips at the heart every single time. She would offer the grieving mother the only counsel she could dispense; clinically feeble, nothing more than a shoulder to cry on and an “I’m sorry for your loss.” But she was losing ground and she knew after the tears and the anguish of those first few terrible, truth-sinking-in moments, she had a question for the person who would answer the door.

She wasn’t prepared for the person who opened the door. A little girl in a ballerina Halloween costume looked up with big brown eyes at Agent Hawk and Officer Jenkins.

“Hi, sweetie, is your mommy home?” Angela said.

Angela’s heart caught in her throat when the cute young woman whose photo she had seen fifteen minutes before appeared with an infant in her arms.

“Yes?” she said cheerfully, as she opened the door wider. When she saw the two police officers, panic spread across her pretty face and she shouted, “Oh no, what’s happened? Is it Jose`?”

“My name is Special Agent Angela Hawk and this is Patrolman Sam Jenkins. Are you Mrs. Osorio?”

“Yes, Yolanda Osorio,” she said anxiously.

“May we come inside?”

“Of course, yes. What’s happened? Is Jose` okay?” Tears welled in her eyes.

The two officers stepped inside and Angela took a quick look around. A banner hung across the opening between the living and dining rooms with multi-colored letters that declared “Happy Birthday, Rosa.” A partially eaten two layer cake sat on the dining room table and birthday wrap cluttered the living room floor. On a small lamp table by the couch, Angela saw a photo of Yolanda and Jose`.

“Mommy?” asked the little girl in a frightened tone. She clutched her mother’s leg and looked up at the two officers.

Angela kneeled down to eye level with Rosa and asked, “Is today your birthday?”

“Uh huh. I t’ree.” she said and held up three fingers with her right hand. She continued to cling to her mother’s leg with the left.

“Did you get some new toys today?”

“Uh huh.”

“Would you like to show Patrolman Jenkins your new toys?” she asked and shot him a quick glance over her shoulder.

“Yes, Rosa,” Yolanda said. She kneeled down and wiped away the tears streaming down her face. “Go with the nice policeman and show him some of the new toys you got for your birthday.”

“Hey sweetie,” Samuel said, addressing the girl, “I have a little girl at my home. Why don’t you take my hand and show me your bedroom. I wonder if you have some of the same toys.”

He held out his hand but she hesitated with her arms clutched tight around her mother’s leg.

“It’s okay,” Yolanda said, “Go with the nice policeman.”

“Will you show me the way?” he asked.

Rosa let go of her mommy and reached her tiny hand into the strong hand of the patrolman. She glanced up to Yolanda for assurance and then turned away. They walked together across the living room and disappeared through a doorway. Angela heard Rosa’s muffled voice from the bedroom as she told the policeman about “… the party … the games … the presents … Daddy put frosting on my nose.”

“Yolanda, won’t you sit down?” Angela turned back toward the woman. She wore a painful anguished look on her face and didn’t move. The tears began to flow down her cheeks again. Angela reached for the picture on the table. “Is this Jose` with you here?”

“Yes, he’s been in an accident, hasn’t he?”

“No, it wasn’t an accident, but I’m afraid I do have some very bad news.”

She slipped her arm around Yolanda’s shoulders and continued. “Is Jose` your husband?”

“Yes,” she said,

Angela recognized the pleading in her eyes. They begged that the next words wouldn’t be the ones she feared most.

“I’m sorry to tell you, your husband is dead.”

Angela paused to let Yolanda absorb the news. Reality swept over her with vengeance. The stream of tears turned into a river and she began to heave heavy sobs. The baby also began to cry. Yolanda pulled the infant tight to her chest.

“You have such a beautiful baby, may I?” Angela asked and slipped her arm from the woman’s shoulder. She reached for the child.

Yolanda didn’t respond at first, but then she looked up into Angela’s eyes and released the little bundle wrapped in a powder blue blanket. Through her sobs, she asked, “What … happened?”

Angela cradled the crying baby in her arms, and began to rock him back and forth in front of her.

She looked back to Yolanda. “We believe some men stole your husband’s car and shot him so he couldn’t be a witness.”

“They shot him?” she said, through her tears. “Where is he? I need to see him. Is this really happening?”

“Yes, I’m sorry, it’s really happening. Please sit down?”

Yolanda made her way to the couch and sat on the edge. Angela sat next to her.

“I can’t believe it,” Yolanda said through sobs. “He was just here. He had to go to work. Someone shot him?”

“Yes, some very bad men,” Angela said. She knew she had to get through this so she could ask the question that might bring Yolanda’s husband’s murderer to justice. “I believe they pretended to have car trouble and Jose` stopped to see if he could help them.”

“He would do that. He is the kindest man I’ve ever known, and I’ll never be with him again, will I?”

“No, he’s not coming home. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Yolanda wept deep. Angela felt a knot form in her throat and moister formed at the corners of her eyes. Her witness found dead from a gunshot yesterday and now Jose’ whose life had been taken in just the same way broke her restraint. She could hold the tears back no longer.

After a couple of minutes, when Yolanda’s sobs turned to sniffles, Angela reined her emotions in and brushed her cheeks with the sleeves of her jacket. It was time for the question. She hated to ask it at a moment like this, but time wasn’t in her favor.

“These men who shot your husband have abducted a young woman and killed some other men. Will you help me before they hurt someone else?”

Yolanda could hardly speak as she gasped and gulped for air, but she forced herself to ask, “How can I … help?”

“According to the Department of Licensing, your husband has three vehicles registered in his name. We saw one of them in the driveway when we drove up, but we need to know what he was driving today.”

“Uh ... He loaned his brother the truck. The one in the driveway is his and since it needed gas he took mine, the Subaru.”

_____

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73 Born to Make the Kill

Captain Seth Parker had flown a number of sorties in an AH-64 Apache helicopter over Iraq and Kuwait during the first Gulf War and since his discharge from the US Army in 1993 had continued as a pilot for different law enforcement agencies. Since September 11, 2001, his beat had been the vast unprotected four thousand mile Canadian border for the US Border Patrol. Since Canada had a liberal immigration policy, the Patrol tripled in size to protect American citizens from terrorists who could enter Canada legally and then travel to the United States right under the noses of the poorly staffed Patrol.

Now, he hovered over the scene. Since no one had bolted from of the burgundy pickup truck, he scouted the field below him for a clearing in which to land. The whirling blades blew a round circle directly under him on the wet surface. The sagebrush plants that grew around porous lava rock, bent sideways, as they tried to avoid the violence of the aircraft’s turbulence. Not more than fifty feet from the stolen truck where the FBI agent carried on an investigation, he saw a dark spot on the ground nestled between two dead sagebrush plants. He knew just what it was and landed the chopper in the field, twenty feet from the body.

He switched off the rotors and jumped to the ground. The rain had turned the earth into sludge and it squished around his boots as he trudged across the field toward the asphalt road. As he stepped on to the pavement, he noticed that the agent-in-charge was bent forward with her head and shoulders in the rear-seat compartment of the truck.

He stopped just behind the agent and said, “You need to see this.”

Angela Hawk stood and turned toward his voice. He found himself addressing a woman in her mid-thirties with high cheek bones and a beautiful ruddy complexion. Strands of long black hair, the color of her damp jacket, had become rustled under her baseball hat, and lay tossed and twisted on her shoulders.

“See what,” she said with a small black flashlight in her hand.

He pointed toward the field on the opposite side of the road. “Over here. I spotted it from the air.”

“Agent Hawk,” she said, as she followed him. “FBI.”

“Captain Parker, ma’am,” he said and flashed a broad grin. “US Border Patrol. I guess we have the same boss. This way, please.”



They arrived at the body and Angela squatted beside the man. “This was an assassination,” she said as she rolled the dead man’s head back and forth to examine the bullet’s entry wound. “They’re taunting us.”

When Patrolman Parker had interrupted her, Angela had been examining what looked like fresh blood on the floor of the truck. Against the dark carpet it didn’t appear to be in enough quantity to be a gunshot wound, but rather more like a cut bled out for a while. They would test it against all known donors in this case, yet she was pretty sure they would match the DNA to the toothbrush Detective Caesar Garcia of the LAPD had taken from Natalie’s apartment for comparison. This meant she had still been among the living within the last hour but the only reason Angela could see that Natalie had been kept alive was because the perps wanted her for their sex toy. With discoverable bodies in their wake, they were getting careless—or is this a dare? If they chose to get rid of Natalie, they would have no qualms about dumping her where she could be found.

She stared at the crumpled remains of a man in the sagebrush and felt a deep sadness begin to build. Too many victims over time had formed a reservoir of unspent tears and now even though they threatened, she reinforced the spillway. He probably had a family and friends who won’t understand. She felt his back pockets, found a wallet and opened it to his driver’s license.

“Jose` Osorio,” she said as she glanced at the picture. “He turned twenty-six on his birthday last month.”

She flipped through the wallet, and found pictures of a baby and a little girl on the lap of a cute young Mexican woman. With a shake of her head, she took one last look at the body, pushed the sorrow down and let anger rise in its place.



Rudy didn’t know where Tony had gone, so he decided to build a fire. He knew he couldn’t make it big enough to heat the whole barn, as that might cause unwanted attention from a passerby outside, but as it was still daylight, he thought he could get away with one just big enough to give two people reasonable warmth.

He gathered the loose combustible material from the barn floor—remnants of the gate and fallen pieces of the decayed roof—and arranged them in a clearing in the corral. Since Tony was a chain-smoker, he went back to the car to see if there were any matches to be found. There were none. He searched around the inside as best he could in the dark, found the trunk lever and pulled it. The lid popped open.

He stepped around to the opening and looked inside. In the gloom, his hand bumped something cold and steel. He located the lid, opened a toolbox, and by feel found a flashlight. He flipped the switch. A course metal file and a screwdriver lay in the top tray. The jute rope he and Tony had used to open the barn door was still tied to the bumper, so he made quick work; removed it and dragged it to the side of the car with the gas tank fill pipe. With just enough room to feed the end of the rope down the throat, he pushed it through the opening until he heard the splash of liquid. Then, he forced another three feet down the spout. Satisfied, he pulled the rope out and took his tools to the pile of wood he had assembled.



Natalie by this time had been able to sit up and clean her nose enough with Rudy’s sweatshirt that she could breathe easier. She found some potato chips, bread and a jar of peanut butter in the bag Rudy had left her. She rinsed her hands with water from a bottle Rudy had left and used her finger to spread the peanut butter on a slice of bread. She licked the peanut butter off her finger. The best thing I’ve had ever tasted, she thought. As soon as it hit her tongue, she realized just how food deprived she had been and gorged the sandwich into her mouth. She chased it down with the bottled water, but it wasn’t enough. She grabbed a handful of chips as Rudy returned to the coral and watched him clear a space in front of her.

He took the gasoline soaked end of the rope, coiled it in the center of the opening, and tossed the remainder off to one side. Natalie caught his eye as he looked toward the pile of loose hay where she sat. He looked away, tossed several handfuls of the hay into the space in front of her, and added some of the roof fragments he had collected. With the file next to the rope, he stroked the screwdriver over the rough surface with a brisk rubbing motion. Only seconds passed before a spark flew out and the rope burst into flames. He laid the hay and kindling against the rope. The fire began to consume it. As the flames grew, he stacked the broken planks and framing so they too would catch.

Within a couple of minutes, Natalie could feel the heat begin to warm her legs and hands.

_____

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72 Born to Make the Kill

Angela saw the parade of flashing lights in front of her peel off to the left just ahead. She unconsciously engaged her left turn signal and followed them. Less than two minutes later, brake lights came on and everyone came to a stop.

She pulled over into the opposing traffic lane and moved slowly to the head of the line passed a half dozen law enforcement vehicles from various agencies. Uniformed peace officers stepped out into the rain with their guns drawn. Over the din of the rhythmic drops on the roof and windshield of her truck, she heard the loud thump from the blades of a helicopter overhead and looked up as it passed by.

The road ahead dipped down and as she crested the drop off, what she had been looking for appeared on the road to the right. She pulled her weapon and stepped from her vehicle.

The license number matched the plate of the Dodge Ram she had pursued since this morning. With her black waterproof FBI jacket on her back and ball cap on her head, she crept toward the burgundy truck. There didn’t seem to be any movement but she took no chances. Behind her, other officers backed her up and over a field to the left, the helicopter hovered ready to give chase. She knew the suspects could have been lying on the seats, so she began to give the pickup a thorough search. First, she checked the bed. With the exception of some farm tools, it was empty.

She held her gun in front of her with both hands. With her right forefinger ready for action on the trigger, she approached the cab. A quick tug opened the back door on the driver’s side. The seat area was empty. Through the cab, she could see both the doors on the right side of the truck stood open. She stepped to the front door and, through the window, found it too had been vacated.

She holstered her weapon and shook her head. The suspects had fled again, but which way and in what?



Meanwhile, the dim light offered by the doom light in the car, and the bruises and blood smeared on Natalie’s face, made it difficult for Rudy to see whether she had turned like Hank, the pallor of death, or if she was just discolored from the abuse she had suffered. If she took breath at all, the effort so shallow, her chest didn’t rise or fall. He patted her gently on the cheek and called her name. She didn’t respond.

He tore the masking tape, ripped it away from her mouth, and removed the diaper gag. The bite-mark impressions she had pressed into the soggy mess, he knew came from a combination of frustration, fear and rage. He found a bottle of water on the front seat and poured some the contents into the palm of his hand. He stoked her forehead with hopes the coolness would bring her around.

“Come on, Natalie breathe,” he said, just loud enough for her to hear. “Breathe! Don’t let the son-of-a-bitch win. We can beat him.”

She laid on her side in the backseat with her arms and legs still tied behind her. Her right cheek rested on the cushion next to the infant seat. He tipped her head gently and began to pour water slowly into her mouth. When she started to cough, he felt the tension begin to recede like storm-waves at the shore of Lake St. Claire near his home in Detroit. She took a deep gasping breath, and then another and another. And when she opened her eyes, they began to flick up, down, left, and right in a frenzy of panicked confusion.



Everything around Natalie seemed dark, foreboding, shapeless and distant. Nothing came into focus. Nothing made sense. She didn’t know where she was. Only moments before she had been filled with blissful euphoria as she drifted devoid of effort within reach of a place beyond her senses, beyond her dimension. But then something, without her consent, brought her back. Back to a place she somehow knew she desperately didn’t want to be, back to a reality filled with terror. Then suddenly she floated as if carried on the wind and a voice called her name; no, not her name, her name was Amy.



“Natalie,” Rudy said after he slipped her out of the back seat of the car. He clutched her to himself and carried her into the corral with the broken gate. A pile of hay against the wall of the barn looked like a comfortable place to rest, so he laid her there with such care, even if she had been fully conscious she wouldn’t have known the difference between his arms and the dry bed on which she now lay.

The knowledge she was alive gave Rudy hope. Tony having killed the man in the field had left him despondent. He wondered when it would be his turn to have that blazing lead bore a hole through his brain. If Natalie had died in the backseat, he felt he had nothing left to live for, so bring it on. Natalie had been right. He had crossed a line and couldn’t go back. So, whatever happened to him, his only redemption now would be to save Natalie.

On his knees beside her, he began to peal the masking tape from her blond hair. The strands tugged against her scalp, but she neither flinched nor moved her eyes away from his. She laid still and transfixed.

“I know this must hurt but I’ll have it off in a minute.”

After he finished, he started on the knots in the white nylon rope that bound her hands and feet.

“What the hell are you doing?” shouted Tony, as he walked into the corral.

While he tended to Natalie, Rudy had tried to put Tony out of his mind. Nothing Tony could do to him now would be worse than what he deserved.

“What the hell does it look like I’m doing? I’m untying her.”

“Did the whore ask you to, lover boy?”

“No, and I’m not asking you for permission either,” he said and continued to pour his attention to the tight knots. “Look at her Tony, she’s not going anywhere. As it is, you almost killed her. She’s too weak to run and even if she could, where’s she going? It took you, me and a car to move that damn door. She sure the hell can’t do it by herself.”

“Damn it! Remember, she’s the enemy here. She’s got you so twisted up. She already got Hank and she’ll kill you too if you give her a chance.”

“Maybe she should kill me just like Hank, I deserve it, but I’m untying her anyway. I don’t give a shit what you say.”

“All right, but damn it, if anything happens, I’ll be on you like a dog sniffin’ its own shit,” Tony said, and walked away.

“She needs to eat.” Rudy said, as he finished the last of the knots. “I’m giving her some food and water.”

He didn’t wait for consent and it didn’t come anyway. As he walked across the corral, he coiled the nylon rope and dropped it on the ground next to the four by four post to which the gate had been tethered at one time. He stepped to the car, and grabbed a plastic bag with some food and water from the front seat. When he stepped back to Natalie, still wrapped in her black leather coat, he saw her eyes had slid closed again. Grateful to hear shallow breathes, he sat down beside her and cradled her head in his left arm. With his right hand, he put the bottle to her lips and began to pour slowly. When she revived with a small cough, her stopped pouring and smiled down at her.

“Here,” he said and held out the bottle to her, “take this.”

While he continued to hold her head up, Natalie lifted the bottle to her mouth and began to sip.

“Oh isn’t this touching?” Tony shouted from across the barn. “She’s got you pussy whipped, lover boy.”

Rudy turned but in the darkness couldn’t tell where the voice had come from. “Shut the hell up,” he said, more to himself, but loud enough Tony would have heard.

Rudy turned back to Natalie and saw part of the reason for her distress. Her nose had clotted with blood. He wanted to win her allegiance back, so he took off his sweatshirt, moistened the sleeve with water from another bottle and handed the wet garment to her.

“You might want to clean your face,” he said with hope that the gesture would mellow her anger toward him. “It’ll make you feel better.”

She took it and before she used it as a washcloth, she said, “I’m cold. I’m so cold.”

_____

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71 Born to Make the Kill

Angela Hawk arrived at the roadblock set up south of West Fork just as the Mulden’s RAV4 pulled back onto the highway. She left the engine running and stepped from her government issue SUV. A patrolman with a yellow rain slicker over his shoulders approached. “I’m Special Agent Angela Hawk, FBI,” she said.

“Patrolman Samuel Jenkins,” he replied and extended his hand. The Washington State Patrolman had first spotted the Dodge Ram and he had just finished an interview with the Muldens. “We may have gotten a break.”

Angela took his hand and said. “Great, let me have it.”

“The men and the truck were spotted about fifteen minutes south of here on Magillian Road,” he said and released her hand. “It would appear they were trying to commandeer a new vehicle.

“We have a cooperative agreement,” he continued, “with the US Border Patrol and they have a bird on its way but it won’t arrive for a few more minutes.”

“We don’t have time to wait. Direct it to the last known site, please. I’m heading that way now.”

“If it’s just the same to you, I’d like to lend a hand.”

“Happy for the assist,” she said. “Bring some of the troopers with you, too, but let’s keep enough here to continue with the roadblock. We don’t want the fox to slip through a hole in the back fence. Why don’t you gather them ‘round.”

Samuel spoke with two Ferry County sheriff’s deputies who manned the roadblock. When he finished with them, he gave a loud whistle and swung his hand over his head in a circle a couple of times. The officers caught the sign and gathered on the southbound side of the highway.

“Good afternoon. My name is Special Agent Angela Hawk. Yes, I’m FBI. Obviously we’re doing more than looking for a stolen pickup truck. I want to give you a quick briefing as we’re on a severe tick tock and we’ll be running out of daylight in the next few hours.

“We’re looking for two men and a teenage woman. We’ve reason to believe the girl was abducted and raped in Los Angeles three days ago. We also know as of last night, she was still alive. Our goal is to keep her that way. Originally, there were three abductors but one of them was found today shot and killed. In addition, they’re wanted for questioning in two states on counts of murder and armed robbery. These are some real bad boys, here. Reports are they’re headed for Canada, and we need to stop them before they get there.

“We now know the location of the men as of twenty minutes ago, a mile or two east of the highway on Magillian Road, and we’re on our way there to pick up their trail. If you can mount up, you are welcome to join us. Just remember, they are armed and very dangerous, so if you find them, don’t approach without back up.”

No sooner had she finished than the men and women officers of the State Patrol and county sheriff, were back in the cruisers. Some made U-turns and others headed straight out, but all traveled south in a loud cacophony of sirens and whirring strobe lights.

She watched for a moment as travelers swerved off the road on to the soft shoulders in both north and southbound lanes to let the procession pass, then she mounted her black beauty and joined the chase.



Tony found some half inch jute rope inside the barn and a steel dirt rake with a handle broken to a nub. He hoped the rope would be heavy enough and not rotted through somewhere. He tied the rope to the rake’s frame and with Rudy’s help, secured it to the front bumper of the old Subaru. After he got back into the driver’s seat, Tony shifted the transmission into reverse and eased his foot on the accelerator. Rudy meanwhile held the tines of the rake against the inside of the door frame. After the slack went out of the rope, the door began to swing open.

As the door moved, however, Tony saw the barn began to list even further. The door had been supporting the structure’s weight. Tony watched with a wary eye. He didn’t want to be trapped under the debris of the fallen building, but as he continued to ease backward, he saw that once the door came free from the ground, the barn stopped collapsing. He felt relieved. The opening now wide enough to let the car pass through, he applied the brakes.

Rudy hurried to untie the rope from the front bumper, and then held the door open wide enough for Tony drive through. Then Rudy tied the rope to the rear bumper and guided Tony as the car pulled the door shut.

The inside of the barn was illumined by shafts of daylight that streamed through plentiful holes in the roof, but Tony left the headlights burning while he looked around. The barn had been abandoned for several years. The lights caught some movement on the back wall and he saw this was home to field varmints, but it would make do until the sun went down. On the right side of the barn, a loft which still had some hay rose more than a dozen feet from the floor. It might make a comfortable place to stretch out for a while. About half way down, a ladder spanned the distance between the dirt and the loft’s wooden frame. He couldn’t tell if the rungs would support the weight of a grown man after years of neglect, but he could test it later.

The left side of the barn held the remains of a couple of corrals on the ground floor. One of them had a gate still intact, swung to an open position. The other’s gate lay on the dirt floor. The wooden four by four support post long ago gave up the battle with decay and released the rusted screws that had held it and the gate together. Of the two corrals, this one had a large pile of hay stacked against the back wall of the barn. The barn’s dirt floor was strewn with debris, and patches of moss grew beneath the holes in the roof. The rest of the barn was empty except for the stench of dried manure, hay and mildew in the air, and the rhythm of large raindrop’s drum on the frail roof.



Rudy had been worried about Natalie as he hadn’t heard her rustle in the backseat for several minutes. As soon as their hiding place was secure, he dropped the rope and rake head and ran to the back door of the Subaru. He opened it and gasped. Natalie lay motionless and wasn’t breathing.

_____

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70 Born to Make the Kill

As soon as he saw the black SUV appear in the mirror mounted on the door, Tony lifted his head, and, with one eye trained on the receding object, followed the car in front of him back to the highway. His heart began to return to normal pace as the truck faded to a black dot and finally disappeared around a corner.

“Hell, that was too close,” he said and exhaled a loud sigh.

Rudy sat up again and looked at the map. “I think we’re coming up on the turn. Yeah look, there’s a road sign.”

Tony signaled right and slowed to make the turn.

As he straightened the wheels on the narrow road, he said, “Now we’ve got to find a place to hide ‘til nightfall. It won’t be long before they discover the Ram and the body. Damn, I should have taken that bastard’s wallet.”

Tony sensed control had begun to slip away. So far, they had escaped capture by following his gut but this small mistake evidenced that the stress of the last three days had taken a toll on him and without rest, he might lead the cops to his doorstep. With the wallet, the feds would discover the identity of the man and that would lead them to the Subaru. Even if he could find a place to sleep soon, the few hours between now and nightfall wouldn’t be enough, but maybe it would take the edge off his weary mind.



Natalie knew none of this was her fault but she couldn’t shake the guilt. Tony showed no remorse for the people he had killed, so she grieved for the victims of his violence and for the families left to pick up the pieces. There were four, possibly five people dead because of her. One she killed in self-defense, but the others were the unfortunate victims of her situation. She didn’t know anything about them, except for the last one.

He had a baby who would ride in the infant seat next to her on the way to buy groceries or visit McDonalds. He or she would never know their daddy. There had to be another child as well as the child restraint seat was so small it had to be for an infant, yet on the back seat laid a coloring book and other toys too mature for a baby. Suddenly, two children had become fatherless and their mother didn’t know yet she would have to raise them alone.

Natalie began to cry again, not for herself, but for the pain caused because of her. If she could do it again, she would have never left the cornfield, never moved to LA, never have changed her name from Amy Westerhill, and never said to that girl in mirror, “Whatever it damn well takes.”

She felt faint from lack of food and water. The last thing she had consumed had been taken from the faucet in the gas station’s restroom over sixteen hours before. It certainly hadn’t been the most sanitary way to get fluids, but she knew if she didn’t find ways to hydrate her body, if she got the opportunity, she wouldn’t have the strength to escape. She could live without food as she often did to keep her slender figure, but she had been allowed so little to eat since her abduction more than two and a half days ago, she felt weak and nauseous.

The bruises, bites and abrasions on her body were too many to count. Over the last two days they had become a dull painful reminder of the horror imposed on her, and played continuously in the background. Every shift, every twist of her body as she tried to find a comfortable position, a state she never achieved, brought with it an unwelcomed aching memory.

In the last few minutes, though, she had a new sensation, worse than the others. With the gag in her mouth, she had survived all day by breathing through her nose. Since Tony hit her in the face a few minutes ago, now she was sure it was broken. Blood clotted inside her nostrils. She couldn’t inhale enough oxygen to fill her lungs. They screamed for relief, but were unsatisfied. Her head began to swirl in a black haze.



Agent Hawk continued to drive north toward a roadblock that had been erected. Darkness began to invade her like the damned of a thousand souls entwined her bowels. It grew more intense with each mile. The adrenaline rush had faded to a fear that once again, they had slipped past her.

Her suspicions were confirmed when a report came over her radio that the burgundy Dodge Ram never came through the roadblock. Ten minutes from the manned barricade, she called the Washington State Patrol and asked them to stand by until she arrived.



“There,” was all Rudy said as they came over a small rise on the country road. His right arm and index finger pointed to the left.

Tony followed his gesture and saw an old barn set back a couple hundred yards. From its dilapidated condition, it appeared to be abandoned. At the eaves of the barn, stands of trees and wild berry vines of various genus grew untended. The vines had grown long enough they covered some of the roof. The only side not overgrown completely was the front. The walls listed to one side and Tony got the uneasy feeling a strong wind might topple the building. But with luck that wouldn’t be today. Today they had no choice. Today they had to find cover for themselves and the Subaru.

Unlike SR 21, no traffic travelled this road, so without watchful eyes, Tony steered the car across the open ground toward the decayed structure. The rain that had come a few minutes before had obscured any evidence of car or tractor presence near the barn, and he hoped the threatening sky would deliver and wash the proof of their arrival away as well. Tony stopped a few feet back from the door to the barn.

Rudy got out of the Subaru. The barn door was large enough to drive the car through with ease and it stood ajar. Through the windshield Tony watched Rudy try to pull it out of the way. It didn’t budge. With the building teetering to one side, it had forced the bottom edge of the door into the ground.

Tony got out too help, but with both of them pulling and pushing, it still wouldn’t yield. Frantic wasn’t an emotion he often experienced but it began to mount now. At any minute the law might come over the rise and then it would be over. He had no intention of suicide by cop, that would thwart his plan and he wouldn’t have earned Ma’s absolution. They had to get under cover now.

As the dappled clouds had folded gray upon gray patterns in the afternoon sky, they now began to wring the rain out once more. Tony slipped around the barn door and ducked inside.

_____

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© Jearl Rugh 2012

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