Peter Abrahams - Crying Wolf

Were there any holes in the plan, any weak spots? He lay back on the dirt floor, tried to think of some. Couldn’t come up with any and was ready to stop, to just enjoy that feeling of success around the corner, when one cropped up. What if they did call the cops? Then came another: what if they didn’t call the cops, but brought fake money, too well made for him to tell? And a third: what if he wasn’t ready to give her up? And there were others. He could sort of see them, shapeless dark things slouching in his mind.

“A situation like this”-Freedy didn’t want to use the word kidnapping — “turns out to be complicated. Hell if I know why-there’s only two parts to it. You and the money. So how come everything’s so…” He couldn’t think of the word. The gold eye watched him. Whatever the word was, she knew it.

Freedy sat up. His shoulder gave him a twinge. Maybe that made his voice harsher than he’d intended when he spoke to her. “I’m going to take the tape off your mouth, babe. But any glitches and it’s right back on, good and tight. Comprendo?”

Comprendo: could he have picked a better moment to slip in a foreign word?

No response. The gold eye watched him. She was something else. Made for him. He pinched a corner of the tape between thumb and index finger and ripped it off. She didn’t make a sound. Made for him in heaven.

Her lips parted. Some blood, not a lot. She took a deep breath. He could hear it, like a warm breeze. He seriously considered leaning over and giving her a kiss.

She spoke; real quiet. She didn’t have a strong voice like her sister, shouting through the walls. “I need a doctor,” she said.

“Me too,” said Freedy.

The gold eye watched him.

“Won’t be long,” Freedy said. “First I need that million.”

“Let me go,” she said, and paused for breath. “Let me go and I’ll make sure you get it.”

“Think I’m stupid or something?”

“No.”

“The fact is I own my own business.”

She was silent.

“Built from scratch. You wouldn’t understand. College girl. College girl up on College Hill, everything handed to you on a silver spoon, if you see where I’m coming from.”

No answer. Now maybe it wasn’t quite so cool, this silence of hers. He leaned over, went and did it: kissed her on the lips, real light, but sending a message. She didn’t move a muscle.

“No more bullshit, that’s all. Promise?”

Pause. A real long one.

“Say yes or the tape’s back on.”

Another pause, but not as long. Then: “Yes.” He could barely hear it.

Her lips were warm. That feeling lingered on his own lips. He knew for a fact: life, his own life, was going to be sweet.

“Familiar with the flats?” he said.

“No.”

“Why would you be, right?”

“I need a doctor.”

“Why would you be? That’s the whole point. Even though the flats is this whole town, except the goddamn college. Say hello to the kid from the flats.”

She didn’t. The gold eye closed. He closed his own eyes, went over the plan. What if they did call the cops? He’d hear them coming, of course, hear them in the tunnels, but what good would that do? He’d be trapped. Have to kill her then-that’s what it said in the note. Then what?

He opened his eyes. “Time for a little…,” he began. What was the word? The gold eye opened, watched him. A little what? He knew the word, had heard it a thousand times on the infomercials. Something about thunder, lightning: “Brainstorming!”

Maybe he’d said it a bit loud. He lowered his voice, back to that intimate level he liked to use with her. “Time for a little brainstorming,” he said. “You understand what I mean by that term? It’s an entrepreneurial kind of thing.”

“Yes.”

“This friend of mine, she and me used to do a lot of brainstorming. Back when I was just starting out.”

Freedy got the feeling she was going to say something. He waited, heard the dripping sounds. She spoke: “What happened to her?”

“Happened to her? Nothing happened to her. She’s out in California, leading the good life. Why would anything happen to her?”

“No reason.”

He heard that warm breeze breath again, slow and long.

“Been to California?” he said.

“Yes.”

“Whereabouts?”

“Heavenly Valley.”

“What the hell’s that?”

No answer.

“Been all over the fucking state, from Tijuana to LA. Never heard of it.”

“It’s a ski place.”

“A ski place?”

No answer.

“A ski place, I said.”

“Yes.”

“That’s what you do in California? You ski?”

“I did.”

“The college kid go with you?”

No answer.

“I asked you a question. The college kid, you know who I’m talking about, who the two of you are so hot for-what’s his name, again?”

No answer.

“That was another question.”

Nothing, zip. Couldn’t allow that. But what to do? All he could think of was kissing those lips of hers again. Weird: what kind of reprimand was that? No explaining some things. But it was what he wanted to do, and he started to do it, rolling over, lowering his face to hers.

“Nat,” she said.

He paused. “Huh?”

“His name is Nat.”

The answer to his question, but not what he wanted to think about right now. “Don’t tell me. He owns a condo out there.”

“No.”

“But he’s got money to burn. I know the type. Never worked a day in his life.”

That got her angry. Was it possible? “He works right now.” Another long slow breath. “And in the summer he works in a mill.”

“What kind of mill?”

No answer.

“His old man probably owns it.”

“His old man’s not around.”

Freedy felt another twinge, more than a twinge, but he’d call it a twinge, in his shoulder. He rolled over, lay on his back. They lay there, breathing together. Shadows made jittery motions on the ceiling. Water dripped. Sleeping would be a bad idea.

Blackness.

“You awake?”

Candle out.

“Babe?”

He had a horrible thought-she’d escaped somehow-and as he had the thought his good arm lashed out. Struck something sort of soft. She screamed, like in agony. He jumped a mile.

“Hey,” he said. “That wasn’t even a hit.”

She was already quiet. Then she took one of those breaths. “I need a doctor,” she said.

“Me too.”

They lay there. Freedy tested his bad arm. Hey! Felt better, a lot better. What a little sleep would do, especially when you were a fuckin’ animal. “Me too,” he said, “but you don’t hear me complaining.”

He relit what was left of the candle, had a look at her. Nothing wrong that he could see, beside the obvious, that eye, one or two other things. “That was a nice little siesta.” Comprendo, siesta- he was on a roll. “Now we’re feeling refreshed, how about we get back to brainstorming?”

No answer, just that warm breezing breath.

“You know that word, siesta?” he said.

Zip.

“It’s a spic-Spanish-word for, like, sacking out.” He thought: a cool million, the girl, siestas in the Florida sun, maybe by the rooftop pool of Agua Group HQ. “You like pools?” he said.

No answer.

“Swimming pools.”

Zip.

“I asked you a question.”

No reply. Maybe she was going to say something, but before she could, Freedy heard a little scratching sound. It came, it went, a rat probably, or something like that, not important. But it got him thinking.

“We got to think,” he said.

Silence.

“Say ‘About what, Freedy?’ ”.

“For God’s sake,” she said.

He liked that. Breaking in a horse: he’d seen it in the movies. “We got to think about our plan. There’s…” He wasn’t sure exactly how to put it, about those problems slouching in his mind.