Chris Kuzneski - The Plantation

Payne shook the hand of the elderly man while trying to observe as much as he could. McNally appeared to be in his mid-eighties, walked with the aid of a metal cane, and closely resembled Yoda from Star Wars-minus the green color. His apartment was cluttered with heirlooms and antiques, yet for some reason a framed Baywatch poster of Pamela Anderson hung near the entrance to his kitchen. “Mr. McNally, D.J. tells me that you might’ve seen something that could help me find Ariane?”

“Who the hell is D.J.?” the old man snapped. “I didn’t talk to any bastard named D.J.”

Jones looked at Payne and grimaced. “Sir? Remember me? I talked to you about two minutes ago. My name’s David Jones, but my friends call me D.J.”

“What the hell kind of person has friends that refuse to use his real name? You kids today. I just don’t understand your damn generation.”

“Sir, I don’t mind. D.J. is just a nickname.”

“A nickname?” he shrieked. “You think that’s a nickname? Horseshit! It’s just two capital letters. Why don’t you just use B.S. as your nickname instead? Because that’s what your nickname is: bullshit! When I was growing up, people used to have nicknames that said something about them, like Slim or Cocksucker, not pansy names like D.J.”

“Sir,” Payne interrupted, “I don’t mean to be rude, but I was wondering what you saw this morning. David said you saw something that could help me find my girlfriend.”

“Your girlfriend? Who’s your girlfriend?”

Payne rolled his eyes in frustration. This was getting nowhere. “Ariane Walker. She lives upstairs in apartment 210.”

McNally pondered the information for a few seconds before his face lit up. “Oh! You mean the brunette with the dark eyes and the nice cha-chas? Yeah, I saw her bright and early, about an hour ago. She was wearing a red top and a short skirt. It was so small I could almost see her panties.” The elderly man cackled in delight as he pondered his memory of the beautiful girl. “That gal’s a real looker.”

Payne couldn’t agree with him more. She was the prettiest woman he had ever seen. The first and only person who had literally left him speechless, which was unfortunate since he was in the middle of a speech at the time.

A few years back, Payne had volunteered to speak to a group of convicted drunk drivers about the tragic death of his parents. The goal of the program was to make recent offenders listen to the horrors of the crime in order to make them think twice about ever drinking and driving again. Payne was in the middle of reliving his nightmare-describing the devastation he felt when he was pulled from his eighth-grade algebra class and told about the death of his parents-when his eyes focused on Ariane’s. She was standing off to the side, watching and listening with complete empathy. In a heartbeat, he could tell that she’d been through the same horror, that she’d lost a loved one in a similar nightmare. It didn’t matter if it was a brother, sister, or lover. He knew that she understood.

Payne managed to finish his heart-wrenching tale without incident, but when he started his conclusion, he found himself unable to take his eyes off of her. He knew he was there to make a point, but suddenly he was unable to focus. There was just some quality about her, something pure and perfect that made him feel completely at ease. In his mind, something good had finally come from their loss. His parents’ accident and her parents’ accident had brought them together.

And the realization stole his ability to speak.

“Jon?” D.J. whispered. “Do you have some questions for Mr. McNally, or do you want me to ask him?”

Payne blinked a few times, which brought him back to the moment at hand. Turning toward the elderly man, he said, “Where did you see Ariane?”

“In my bedroom,” McNally muttered.

Payne and Jones exchanged confused glances, trying to figure out what the man meant. “Ariane was in your bedroom?”

The man cackled again. “If she was in my bedroom, do you think I’d be out here talking to you bozos? Hell, no! I’d be popping Viagra like it was candy corn.”

“Then why did you mention your bedroom?” Jones asked.

McNally inhaled before replying. “Do I have to spell everything out for you whippersnappers? I was in my bedroom when I saw her outside my window with a bunch of fellows. And let me tell you . . .” He tapped Payne on his chest. “You need to get your woman on a leash because she looked pretty darn snookered. They were practically dragging her.”

“She was being dragged by a bunch of guys? What did they look like?”

McNally pondered the question for a few seconds, then pointed at Jones.

“They were black?” Payne asked.

“No, you dumb ass, I mean they were butt ugly and had stupid nicknames! Of course I mean they were black.”

“Could you tell us anything else? Were they tall? Short? Fat? Anything?”

“They were black. That’s it. Everything about them was black. Black clothes, black hoods, black shoes. I don’t even know how many there were because they looked like shadows, for God’s sake. Shoot, they even drove a black van.”

Payne grimaced at the news. “Did you happen to see a license plate on the van?”

“As a matter of fact, I did!” McNally declared. “It was the only thing that wasn’t black.”

“You saw it? What did it say?”

“I have no damn idea,” he answered. “The numbers were just a big ol’ blur. But I do know one thing. The plate was from Louisiana.”

Skepticism filled Payne’s face. “How do you know that?”

“I got me a lady friend that lives down in Cajun country, and every year I visit her for Mardi Gras. When the van first pulled up, I saw the Louisiana plate and thought maybe she was coming here for a little lovin’, but obviously, when I, um . . .” The old man furrowed his brow as he tried to remember his train of thought. “What was I talking about again?”

“Actually,” Jones lied, “you had just finished. Is there anything else that you can tell us about this morning?”

“I’m kind of constipated. But I ate some prunes, so I’m hoping-”

“That’s not what he meant,” interrupted Payne. Even though he was sympathetic to McNally’s advancing age, he didn’t have the time to listen to him ramble about his bowel movements. “David wanted to know if you had anything else to tell us about Ariane?”

McNally pondered the question, then shook his head.

“Well, I’d like to thank you for your information.” Jones handed McNally a business card, then helped him back inside his apartment. “If you think of anything else, please don’t hesitate to call me.”

Once Jones returned to the hall, he said, “I have to admit things are looking worse for Ariane, but I don’t think we can go to the cops quite yet.”

“Why not? You heard what he said. A group of guys dragged her to their van early this morning, and no one’s heard from her since.”

“True, but Mr. McNally is not exactly what you would call an ideal witness. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think he’s lying or anything, but you have to admit he lost touch with reality a couple of times during our conversation.”

“Shit!” Payne thought they had enough information to go on, but Jones knew a lot more about police procedures than he did. “So what do you recommend?”