JASON STARR - Panic Attack

He dragged her up the rickety steps to the porch of one of the bungalows. It was the one he used to stay in with Carlos and a couple of other guys. Some of the floorboards were so loose, probably rotting away and eaten by termites, that he thought the whole floor might cave in. When he pulled on the handle of the front door it was stuck at first, and when he yanked on it the upper part of the door came off its hinges.

It was freezing in the bungalow; it seemed colder than outside. It was musty, too, like air hadn’t circulated in this place for years. Coughing, he shined the flashlight ahead of him as he dragged Marissa along toward the bedroom in the back of the bungalow. His feet were crunching against something. He’d thought it was gravel or sand, but then he shined the flashlight downward and saw that the floor was covered with mouse shit.

The mattress on the old single bed, the one he used to sleep on, was covered with mouse shit, too, but what could you do? He rested Marissa on the bed, got the rope from the backpack, and tied her up so tightly that the rope was probably cutting into her arms, but he didn’t want to take any chances. He was about to tape her mouth shut again, but there was so much blood from her broken nose he was afraid she’d suffocate or choke to death. What he really wanted to do was shoot her right now. Yeah, she was a spoiled brat, and she’d tried to scratch his eyes out a few minutes ago, but he really had nothing against her. His grudge was against her father, so the best thing he could do for her was to put a bullet in her head.

But he knew he had to be smart about this, not humane. Besides, she’d be out of her misery soon. If everything went as planned, she had fourteen hours to live. Fifteen, tops.

Johnny woke up thinking, Note to self- next time you kidnap somebody, don’t hide out in a freezing, mouse- shit- covered bungalow. He’d barely slept. He had to get up to chloroform Marissa a few more times during the night, but he probably wouldn’t have been able to sleep much anyway because of the cold and because he was so excited, thinking about the million dollars he’d get and how he’d spend it. He was definitely gonna go somewhere warm, somewhere where there were beaches, there was no doubt about that. If he couldn’t get out of the country, he’d get a new identity and hide out in California or Florida, probably Florida. He had dark skin, could probably pass for Cuban, and he’d clean up with all the girls down there in Fort Lauderdale and South Beach. Put Johnny Long on a South Florida beach and there was gonna be trouble.

It was a cloudy day. It didn’t look like it would rain, but it didn’t look like the sun would come out either. Johnny was on the stoop in front of the bungalow, breathing in some fresh air, trying to get the all that stuffy mouse- shit air out of his lungs, when Marissa started making noise again.

“Pain in my ass,” he said as he went inside. She was screaming, her face red, trying to get loose but not making any progress. Her nose was swollen to about twice its normal size, and there was a lot of blood, some of it brown and crusted, around her nostrils and upper lip.

“Hey, can you shut up?” Johnny said. “I said shut the fuck up!” She wouldn’t, and Johnny grabbed the rag with the chloroform and said, “You have two choices- shut the fuck up or I chloroform you again. Which is it?”

“P-p- please,” she begged, sobbing. “P-pl- please…” “That’s better,” he said. “I mean, why waste your voice screaming? Nobody’s gonna hear you, and you’re just gonna give us both headaches.”

“Where… are… w-w- we?” she asked.

“It doesn’t matter where we are,” he said. Then he added, “We’re someplace safe.”

“Why?” she asked, crying. “Why?… Why?”

“It’s complicated, baby,” he said. “But don’t worry, if you stay calm and do everything I tell you to do I won’t hurt you.”

He’d been lying to her since the second he met her; why stop now?

She was sobbing harder, and then he smelled something awful. At first he thought it was something rotting, maybe under the bed, and then he realized she’d shit in her pants during the night. Maybe that was what all the screaming had been about.

“Oh, you had an accident, huh?” he said. “I’m so sorry. Man, that really sucks. I wish I could let you clean yourself up, but you’re nice and tied up now and I don’t want to risk you trying to get away. I mean, I know you wouldn’t get anywhere, because there’s no place to get to, but still.”

“You fucking asshole!” she screamed. “You motherfucking lunatic!”

“You won’t scream again,” he said, dangling the rag over her face to show he was serious. She looked away from him, toward the wall, and started crying again.

“Sorry you feel so shitty,” he said.

He laughed about that one all morning. He really had to start writing this stuff down so he could put it in the Casanova book. It was always good to have a little humor in a story; he couldn’t just go on and on about his sexual conquests for five hundred pages. Well, he could, but still.

At around eleven o’clock he chloroformed Marissa for the last time. She struggled, screaming and trying to bite his hand- and to think, just a couple of days ago she’d had such good manners. Finally she gave in and passed out. He hoped she’d stay unconscious for a couple of hours. By then he’d have the money, and he could come back and shoot her. If things worked out, she’d never wake up again.

Johnny left the bungalow and walked down the hill to the car. Looking over at the barn, he had a flashback to one night when a couple of guys were picking on him, taunting him with switchblades, and Carlos came over with a gun and ordered the guys to go away. It reminded Johnny of why he was going through all of this. It wasn’t really about the money. It was about revenge, getting even.

At about eleven thirty, Johnny pulled up just outside the parking lot of the ShopRite in Kingston. He didn’t see Adam Bloom’s SUV or his Merc in the lot, but he was mainly looking out for cops. He knew if they were here they’d be undercover and hard to spot, but that was why Johnny had arrived a half hour early. There was a good chance that anyone who was hanging out in the parking lot was a cop. So far the only person who looked suspicious was the grayhaired older woman in the double- parked Lexus. She didn’t look like a cop, which made her even more suspicious. Then an old guy, probably her husband, got in with her and they drove away.

Johnny didn’t think Bloom would bring the cops into this. He wouldn’t want to take the chance of his daughter winding up dead, and besides, it wasn’t Bloom’s style. No, Bloom had showed his cards early, the night of the robbery. He was a take- matters- into- his- own- hands type of guy. He wanted to be the big shot, the hero, and Johnny knew that driving upstate to rescue his daughter from the “maniac” who was holding her hostage would be too big an opportunity for him to resist.

At noon, Johnny didn’t see any sign of cops, but where the hell was Bloom? At ten past, he still hadn’t shown. Johnny didn’t think he’d come late and risk his daughter’s life, but what other explanation was there?

Johnny spotted a phone booth near a pizza restaurant at the other end of the strip mall. He drove over there, left his car running, and called Bloom’s cell- he’d memorized the number before he’d tossed away Marissa’s cell last night. Bloom’s voice mail picked up before the first ring. Had he really turned his phone off?

Johnny got back in the car and waited about ten more minutes, until it became clear that Bloom wasn’t showing. This Johnny hadn’t expected at all. He’d thought Bloom might show up with less money, try to bargain the price down, but he didn’t think he’d get stood up. Who the hell did Bloom think was in charge of this thing, anyway? Who did he think was calling the shots?