Kay David - Obsession

The car swerved to miss a speeding taxi, then they took the next corner on two wheels, heading off the nearest ring and straight for downtown. She’d never seen the police station in Santa Cruz and had no idea what to expect. On the other hand, she’d never been arrested in the United States, either. All bets were off, that much she knew. A phone call, a plea for help, any chance she’d get some assistance depended purely on the whims of the men in the front seat. Bolivia was a republic, but that didn’t mean democracy ruled.

Before they’d left her house, she’d tried to call Raul. Sneaking the portable phone into the closet with her, she’d dialed his number as she’d grabbed a pair of jeans and shirt. The effort had produced only near heart failure when the officer in charge had come in unexpectedly. Yelling at her to hurry up, he’d failed to notice the phone she’d thrown into a pile of clothing already on the floor. She had no idea where Raul might have gone after he’d left her house, but he hadn’t been home.

Now they were slowing down and she still had no plan.

The car stopped in front of what she assumed was the cuartelillo de policia. It looked like the rest of the official buildings she’d seen in town; a grim two-story stuccoed block with a severe brick front and a few dirty windows facing the street. The two officers in the front seat climbed out of the vehicle, their coarse laughter echoing in the humid night air. They moved slowly; only when they got behind the wheel were South Americans in a hurry. Finally one of the men opened the rear door of the police car, grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly from the back seat. Emma’s shoulder screamed in protest, but fear-absolute, blood-thinning, heart-stopping fear-kept her from speaking.

They dragged her up the sidewalk and into the building, passing through a lobby even bleaker than the exterior, an empty, echoing chamber with nothing but a desk and a single chair behind it. She heard the distant sound of phones ringing and laughter, but no one else was in sight as the two men herded her toward the rear of the building. Reaching the last door, they pushed it open.

Blinking, she saw what appeared to be a sort of reception area, dirty and crowded with other men in uniforms. They were all talking, their voices as loud and rough as the two men beside her. A numbing disbelief swelled inside her as she swung her head from one side to the other and looked at the room and the men who filled it. Terror, unlike anything she’d ever felt before, rose inside her, as well. One or two of them turned and briefly stared at her, then they went back to what they were doing, her presence so insignificant it didn’t even warrant a second glance.

Later, she realized she should have known at that point. But she was too numb and too frightened to understand. Only afterward did she figure it out.

By then, it was too late.

RAUL EASED THE TRUCK door open and climbed out, shutting it behind him with a soft click. The moon had disappeared completely. Crossing the yard in front of the hut, he thanked God for the darkness and the poverty. The people who lived here didn’t look outside when their dogs barked. They didn’t dare.

He made his way toward the tiny house, then slipped through the inky darkness to the backyard, the smell of charred beef-someone’s dinner-hanging in the air. He moved slowly, stealthily, until he reached the rear door. It was propped open with a pile of handmade bricks, the night air welcomed for its breeze, its humidity ignored.

Pausing by the entry, he allowed his eyes to adjust as he stared inside. The house had a single room, one corner the kitchen, the other a bedroom, a small cot tucked against the wall. The man had no family. Raul had watched him for several days after he’d followed Emma, and no one else had come in or gone out of the hut. The man slept soundly on the bed, his raucous snores competing with the howls of a neighborhood dog. Raul could have driven his truck straight into the room, and the guy would never have heard him. An empty liter bottle of beer rested at a crazy angle by his feet.

Raul shook his head in disgust, then he walked into the hovel and knocked over the stack of bricks, slamming the door shut behind him.

As the sound reached his ears, the man struggled up from his stupor, his confusion evident. “¿Qué-?”

He had no time to say anything else. Raul’s kick landed exactly where he’d planned-on the man’s hand as he reached under his mattress. He screamed a curse, his voice filled with pain, and jerked back his hand.

Raul reached under the stained and dirty bed and pulled out the.38 the drunk had been trying to get. The fetid smell of beer wafted up between them as Raul pressed the muzzle of the pistol into the man’s cheek. Above the dull black metal, his eyes rounded.

“I want to know about your friend, amigo. The one who hired you to follow the blonde.” Raul’s voice was calm and cool, his Spanish perfect.

“Talk to me, por favor.”

THE NARROW WALKWAY smelled even worse than the two men pressing in behind Emma. It was dark, too. A single, bare bulb, hanging from two wires, offered the only illumination. She stumbled slightly, then straightened and yanked herself away from the policeman who reached toward her. A second later, they stopped her in front of a scratched and dirty door. It had a window too high to see into and more locks on the outside than she had time to count. Within seconds, one of the men had them all undone, and they opened the door and pushed her inside.

Before Emma could get her bearings, she stumbled again and immediately hit her shin on something sharp, losing her balance completely in the dimness. Crying out, she fell to the floor, turning at the very last second to land on her shoulder, instead of her face. The maneuver didn’t help; the concrete was hard and cold when it rose up to meet her with a sickening jolt.

Stunned, Emma lay motionless until the smell beneath her registered. She gagged and quickly rolled over, scrambling to her feet, her wrists still handcuffed behind her.

The room was minuscule-not even as big as her closet-and filthy, an open drain in the center of it, the source of the gut-wrenching odor. A scarred, wooden table and two broken-down metal chairs listed near the doorway. One of the chairs lay on its side-she’d obviously run into it-a leg now dangling by a single screw. The only light came from the square of glass set in the door at her back, yet it was enough to see the walls. They were scratched and nasty, the paint too old to tell the color beneath the jumble of desperate messages the room’s former occupants had managed to scrawl.

With a hopeless moan, she closed her eyes and began to sob.

IT DIDN’T TAKE too long.

Within a matter of minutes, Raul had the man talking, but he certainly didn’t like what he had to say.

“Señor Kelman hired me, sí, sí. I went into her house once just to check it out, and I…I put the bug in the lady’s purse, but that’s it. Nothing else.” His eyes were too wide and frightened for him to be telling anything but the truth, and Raul let his fingers open slightly. The man’s breathing was rapid and shallow as he clawed at his collar, still tight against his neck.

“What else were you supposed to do?” Raul shook him slightly. “C’mon. There’s got to be more.”

“No! I swear!” Beads of sweat broke out on the man’s greasy face, dotting his skin with marks of fear. “Nothing more. That’s it.”

Raul put his thumb on the hammer of the pistol and pulled it back. The sound was loud in the tiny room, and the threat produced instant results.

“I gave him the name of some friends!” he cried. His voice shook, rising and falling in panic.