Death By The Riverside Part 9

"That phone call I made?" I said.

"Yeah?" she sniffed.

"The police are already looking for us," I consoled her.

"The city. Not here," she answered. "G.o.d, this is a h.e.l.l hole. I hate rats."

"He was lying about that," I said, hoping that I was right. "Trying to psych us out."

"Do you think they'll really leave us here all night?"

"I hope so. They don't know that the police are looking for us.

Let's see if we can do anything with these ropes," I said as I started straining against the knots.

"And I'm sure those two doors can be kicked in," she replied, but she was working on her knots.

She gave up first. I tried for a while longer, until I had rubbed painful raw spots on both my wrists. Turner knew how to tie knots. I had hoped to slip my bonds, because I still had my purse. And that purse contained my gun. A .45 would be a pleasant greeting for Turner in the morning. Maybe my wrists would shrink through starvation during the night. The only other hope was that somehow Ranson would find us.

"Let's try to sit down," I suggested.

"Down there with the rats?" Barbara asked.

"There are no rats. There's nothing to eat down here."

"Except us."

"Besides, my clothes are permanently saturated with the odor of one of the great rat-catching cats of New Orleans."

"What are our chances, Michele?" she asked.

"The police are looking for us..." I started.

* 65 *

"Our chances?" she persisted.

"I've got a gun in my purse."

"Our chances?"

"I think we'll get out of here," I said firmly. I had to believe that.

She didn't say anything for a moment, then replied, "Thank you. I know you're lying. But it does make me feel better. Let's sit down."

We slid slowly, hoping to minimize splinters, down the post.

I remembered what Danny had told me. "The police think that these guys might be using the place next door, a plantation called One Hundred Oaks. They might put two and two together and start searching abandoned buildings in the area."

"A long shot."

"Perhaps, but a shot," I replied. I didn't like thinking about Danny.

I remembered that I hadn't talked to her since I had hung up on her and that I might not get a chance to again. I thought about crying. Stop it, I told myself, you're getting maudlin in your old age.

"I can't believe this, but I'm sleepy," Barbara said.

"Sense deprivation. It's dark, you can't move, and you're probably very tired." Nothing like thinking you're going to die to tire you out.

"Maybe. I didn't get much sleep last night. Cissy wasn't feeling well and I had to get up a couple of times. Oh..." She stopped. I knew she was wondering if she was ever going to see her kids again. I heard her start to cry.

"It's going to be all right. I promise..."

"Don't," she broke in. "Don't make promises you can't keep.

You're not G.o.d. None of this is your fault, Michele, you..."

"Yes, it is," I interrupted. "If you hadn't met me, you wouldn't be here, you'd be home safe with..."

"How do you know? Two weeks ago, I pointed out to Milo some discrepancies in s.h.i.+pping vouchers. He didn't seem very pleased that I had caught the problem. Also, I walked in on a meeting last month when it was hot and the men had taken off their jackets. They were all wearing guns. Let's face it, whether you came along or not, I know too much. I know clients' names, s.h.i.+pping dates, what people look like.

Too much." She stopped. I heard a heavy sigh.

She was probably right. Barbara Selby had been disposable from the beginning. d.a.m.n them.

* 66 *

"I'm just sorry to have someone like you for company," she finished.

"I was about to say the same."

"Michele..."

"Micky. All my friends call me Micky."

"Okay, Micky. Not to get too sentimental, but if you survive and I don't, tell my kids and my mother that I love them."

"I will. I hope I don't have to."

"Any messages you want to send?" she asked.

I paused. "On the off chance that you get out and I don't, tell Danny, Danielle Clayton of the D.A.'s office, 'It's not true that only the good die young.' I'm living..." I caught myself. "I'm proof of that."

"I will. And I hope that I don't have to. Is Danny your lover?"

"No. Not now. We went to college together, and we did end up sleeping together for a while. But..." I trailed off.

"What happened?"

"I don't know." If you can't be honest in the dark, when you're about to die, when can you be? "Yes, I do. The idea of living with and depending on one person terrified me. I ran out the back door and into the arms of as many women as I could find until Danny had had enough and told me to either grow up or stay out of her bed. So I found another place to sleep. And she did too, of course. Somehow we managed to stay friends. And someday, when we're both ready to settle down, maybe we'll end up together."

"I thought you were the one who wasn't ready. Is she waiting for you?" Barbara asked.

"Well...no," I had to admit. "As a matter of fact, she's been living with some woman for," I had to stop and think, "for over a year now."

"Micky, people move on with their own lives whether we want them to or not."

I suddenly felt very lonely. Barbara was right. I had always dismissed Danny's lovers because it had been convenient for me to. I knew that she was looking for someone to love her and live with her, but I never thought she'd find anyone. And...and leave me. That was why I was lonely. I had done something that I despise in other people, I had a.s.sumed that she saw the world the way I did. That if I was a cynic about love, then she was. That if I didn't want a joint checking * 67 *

account and a queen size bed, then she didn't either. Danny was gone, long gone, and I hadn't even noticed. I had taught her Kant, drilled her on his philosophy over and over again that semester, and now I was the one had who flunked the real test.

And worse, I was stuck here about to be killed (and Danny wouldn't even gloat about being right about that) and would probably never get the chance to make it up to her. What good is gaining insight into yourself if you can't show it off? Or at least apologize for the things you've messed up?

"Yes, you're right," I answered Barbara. She probably thought I had fallen asleep on her. Well, one of us had. I could hear her rhythmic breathing in the background. I was glad she was asleep. It was a much better way to pa.s.s the time than listening for rat sounds and trying to figure some way out of here.

I dozed fitfully, disturbed by dreams, which I could remember only in s.n.a.t.c.hes. One of running, running down a dark street, only to turn a corner and find the same street still in front of me, demanding that I run down it again.

* 68 *

CHAPTER 10.

When I woke, I had no idea what time it was. I did, unfortunately, know where I was, due to the pain in my shoulders and arms and the stinging in the raw places on my wrists. I guess I must have jerked awake, because I heard Barbara's breathing pattern change, become more shallow, then she woke up, too.

"Good morning, I think," I said.

"s.h.i.+t, are we still here?" It was the first unladylike word that I had heard Barbara say. "I was so hoping this was a bad nightmare."

"So was I," I said. Then we heard footsteps. Reality had arrived.

"s.h.i.+t," Barbara said again.

"Maybe it's the police," I said, being an unreasonable optimist.

First the trap door opened, then I heard the bolt being thrown back on the cellar door. If it was the police, they certainly knew their way around the place.

Goon boy and friends. The bas.e.m.e.nt light seemed very bright after the hours of pitch dark.

"Bring them up," called Milo's voice from the top of the stairs. "I want to talk to them."

Goon boy was grunting over the knots. He finally got them loose.

My hands started throbbing from the flow of blood. Everything hurt as I stood up. Barbara would have collapsed if I hadn't caught her.

Goon boy motioned us up the stairs. It was very early morning, barely gray and still dewy with a chill in the air.

Milo was sitting in the front parlor in the best of the rickety chairs.

Turner and two other men I hadn't seen before were also there.

"Good morning, have a pleasant night, ladies?" Milo asked with a sneer.

* 69 *

"No," I answered, forgetting that I was supposed to be a bimbo.

"Too bad. Now, Barb, do you remember where that notebook got to?" he asked as he stood up and started to pace.

"What book?" she asked.

"Don't play games with me, b.i.t.c.h," he exploded. I realized that we weren't the only people in trouble. Milo was, perhaps literally, under the gun. We may have taken the notebook, but he had let it get taken.

He had to get it back. Milo was not a man who took pressure very well, it seemed. Somehow I doubted he was in charge of this, he was too nervous and high-strung. Also nowhere near smart enough.

"Where is it?" he demanded.

"I don't know," Barbara answered truthfully.

Milo made a tense motion to Turner. He backhanded me across the jaw. I had seen it coming and had tensed my jaw and rolled with the punch, but it was bad enough. I could feel the drip of blood down my chin.

"You want to watch your friend get hurt? You want to hurt her?

Tell me where it is and it'll all be over."

"I don't know," she said in a cracked whisper, as if noise itself would be painful. She shook her head.

Milo was losing his temper. He grabbed her jacket and started shaking her.

"G.o.dd.a.m.n it, tell me where that f.u.c.king book is!" he shouted. She was crying, but she still shook her head no. Then he punched her in the stomach. She made a low grunting noise and doubled over. I started to move, but Turner stepped in front of me.

"Okay, we'll do it your way," Milo said. He grabbed Barbara's hair and pulled up her head to make her watch. "Turner." He gave the go-ahead.

Turner smiled. Then he licked his lips. He was looking forward to this. He cracked his knuckles, then took a few practice swings. I ducked, making him think that I was a very easy target. Then he pulled back for a third time and I knew that this was the real one by the way his muscles tensed. Turner was not a good fighter; he was big and mean and with bra.s.s knuckles and a gun, he got by. But he was off balance and exposing a lot of vulnerable areas.

He threw a punch that would have done damage if it had landed.

But I blocked it, grabbing his fist and pulling him off balance. Without * 70 *

a break, I stepped in, smashed my elbow into him and broke his jaw. It snapped with a loud crack. He didn't even have time to look surprised before his face collapsed.

For a moment, no one in the room knew what happened, until Turner went to the floor and made a noise that sounded like a whimper.