I checked the rearview mirror obsessively until I made it to the 610 Loop. When I’d made it that far without a tail, I relaxed and began looking around the interior of the car. It was a nice ride. It had Sirius radio, so I switched to The Joint and was in luck. They were playing Marley. A plan began to take place as I drove. What if I sold the car to Jimar? It’d serve those punks right for abducting and threatening me. I’d had such an easy time losing them, I was pretty sure they weren’t really FBI agents. I never got a look at the badge Miu Miu flashed, and the goons were as inept as they come. I figured they were working for Jimar’s rival. It still bothered me that they knew about my movements.
I pulled off the road and into the middle of a WalMart parking lot that was full of cars. Then I went over the vehicle searching for anything like a tracer. Found a SpyTech GPS tracker on the undercarriage and smashed it with my shoe. Did the same thing with my phone, although it broke my heart to do it.
Inside, I found a cheap, no contract phone to use instead of my SmartPhone. I cursed the bitch that made it imperative that I lose it, but it had to go. I wasn’t sure crushing it was good enough, so I dumped it in the fish tank at an aquarium store after petting the pocket poodle in the window.
Breathing easier, I pulled back into traffic and headed toward the Heights. I had something to do before I told Jimar about the Escalade.
It was the middle of the morning. Murderer guy would be out of the picture. I wanted to see what else he had hidden and figured this would be the perfect time to break in. I hoped the camera on the burner phone would take decent pictures. Man, I was going to miss that Android. I’d really gotten used to it. Good thing I had memorized the important phone numbers I’d need. Traffic was a snarling beast. I gritted my teeth and inched along until I got through the downtown area. The Heights are north of downtown Houston, and I started on the south end. Getting from one side of town to the other is never fun, but the Reggae music softened the ache. I mean, who can help but sing along when Marley tells you to Get Up Stand Up?
I parked a block over and walked to my mark’s house. I was happy to see that the tool box with the dead guy was not sitting on the murderer’s lawn. The place looked deserted, but I wanted to be sure there were no cameras that would snap my picture. I didn’t see anything that appeared to be suspicious in front, but I went to the back of the house to be out of sight of any passers-by. The window over the sink in the kitchen had no shade, so I peeked inside. The place was a pig sty. Dirty dishes in the sink and on the counter, a pizza box, open with two slices rotting away on the table, beer cans everywhere. Your typical psycho’s house. I mean, if you’re crazy and like to kill people, housekeeping is probably not on the top of your list of things to do. Wouldn’t be on mine, anyway.
There was an alarm on the window. Damn. I hate those things. I can dismantle them, but it would be so much easier if people would forget to set their alarms. I decided to make my entry through the side door of the attached garage. A lot of people alarm the house but fail to set up in the garage. I jimmied the lock and breathed a sigh of relief when no sounds came screaming at me. The garage was just as cluttered and dirty as the kitchen. No surprise there. If the guy had been a neat-nick, he wouldn’t have had to park his truck on the driveway. I kicked a large, dusty box with my foot and heard something.
“Who’s there?” I said.
“Mmmm mmm mmm.”
“What the heck?”
I scrambled around and got lucky, found a flashlight on a workbench and switched it on. I followed the beam around the junk. A motorcycle that had seen better days; cans of gasoline, way more than anyone needs in one garage; boxes overflowing with duct tape; shovels, brooms, rakes; and a woman chained to the wall.
What? I ran my flashlight back quickly. Sure enough, there was a woman, arms in the air in handcuffs, feet duct taped together, and a red rag like I’d seen in the boxes stuffed in her mouth. Her eyes were as wide as any I’d ever seen as she stared into the light. I moved boxes away until I got to her. She was dressed in a jogging bra, shorts and cheap running shoes, and she was shivering despite the heat in the garage. When I got closer, I could see that she had bruising on her arms and a black eye that was almost healed. Her blonde hair was stringy and dirty. She must have been there a while.
“Mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm.” She was trying to talk. I ripped the rag out of her mouth and she started screaming.
“Get me out of here! He’s coming back. You’ve gotta help me.”
Well, duh, I thought. I used my picks to unlock the handcuffs and found a utility knife on the workbench that I used to cut the tape around her ankles.
“Can you stand up? How long have you been here?”
“I think so,” she said. She rubbed her wrists and winced. Pushing herself up, she used the wall to slide up into a wobbly standing position.
“You said he’s coming back. Do you know when?”
“He comes at lunch, takes me to the bathroom, feeds me and goes back to work. What time is it?”
I flipped my new phone open and read off the time.
“Eleven twelve.”
“We have to go.” She tried to push off the wall and her knees buckled. I wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her along with me to the door.
“Wait here,” I said. I wanted to see what he had in the house.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going in.”
“Are you crazy? The guy’s gonna be here any minute. Let’s go,” she was screaming at me. Pretty hysterical. I guess being abducted by a psycho and held in his garage for bondage play time will do that to a girl. I had never been so frustrated. People kept messing up my plans.
“Car’s a block over. Can you make it?”
“Yes, let’s just go.” she started pushing me.
“No shoving your savior,” I said. She didn’t crack a smile. No one gets my humor.
“How’d you end up handcuffed in the garage?” I asked as she limped along beside me. I would have jumped the back fence and cut through the yard behind the house, but she didn’t seem up to that, so we were in broad daylight on the sidewalk.
“I was jogging,” she said. “He pulled over the curb and opened his truck door and just grabbed me off the street. It happened so fast, I was inside before I thought to scream.” She shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. Tears swam in her eyes. Just what I needed, a crying woman on my hands. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d shed a tear. Maybe when my old man left me stranded the first time. It was too long ago to know for sure.
“Buck up,” I said. “You’re safe now.”
“I don’t feel very safe. What if he drives up?” She swiveled her head around, looking for trouble as we turned at the end of the block and headed toward the Escalade.
I wondered what the psycho was driving these days. SOB, served him right. I hoped he was in a tiny rental that wouldn’t go over sixty miles per hour at its best.
“I guess we better hurry. Can you walk any faster? I’ll take you home. Where do you live?”
“Don’t you think we ought to go to the police?”
“You can do that after I drop you off.” No way, bitch, I thought. I’m pretty good about keeping those thoughts to myself, though. Yeah, I’m that good.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” she said.
“You think a reward might be in order?” I figured I might as well ask.
“Uh, I guess that would be something I could do. How much are you thinking would be fair?”
Really? She was going for it. Bingo. But just as the dollar signs were reflecting in her teary eyes, I spotted a second black Escapade exactly like the one I’d stolen barreling down the street toward us.
“Shit! How’d they find me?” I shouted. I dropped my arm from the woman and broke into a run for the car. Just as I got to the door, the other car pulled up beside me, and I’ll be damned if Miu Miu didn’t jump out and stick a gun in my side.
“Going somewhere?” she asked.
I looked down the street where the girl I’d saved was sitting on the sidewalk surrounded by two guys in black suits.
“Getting my phone, so I could call the cops to come help blondie over there,” I said. I’d lifted my hands in the air and Miu Miu was patting me down.
“Yeah, and I’m the Queen of Sheba waiting for my new throne to arrive from Amazon.” She patted perilously close to a portion of my body I hold dear.
“Watch the hands,” I said.
“I think we’ve covered this ground before. I say shut up, you close your mouth. Got it?”
“You always want to get in the last word. Such a spoiled brat.”
And then she hit me on the side of the head with the gun barrel. Last thing I remember was falling toward the car and wondering if I’d have a goose egg.