Smith's Monthly #24 Page 4

  The bigger question is why this guy was telling them all this information?

  “I have put tapes of my conversations with Mr. Robins in a locker at the train station.” The man flipped Bonnie the key.

  She was so surprised that she almost didn’t catch it.

  “The locker number is on the key. If you get out of this alive, that’s the key to the locker.”

  Craig, in all his years of police work, had never been this confused before. “So why are you telling us this?” Craig asked.

  The guy laughed. “I suppose this all does seem a little odd to a police detective used to criminals trying to cover their guilt instead of admit it.”

  “A little,” Craig said, as sarcastically as he could.

  The man snickered. “Trust me, Detective, I will never be caught for this crime.”

  Now Craig understood. “But you want Charles Robins to be, is that it?”

  “Exactly,” the man said.

  “Why?” Bonnie asked.

  “Because the man wouldn’t pay me what we agreed he should pay me for the work I did.”

  Now it was Craig’s turn to laugh. “The old saying comes back to bite you, huh?”

  The guy smiled at Craig. “You are right, detective. No honor among thieves is how the saying goes. But I keep my word and I expect others to do the same. Charles Robins did not.”

  “And now he must pay the price,” Bonnie said. “Is that it?”

  “Exactly,” the man said.

  “So couldn’t you have just called the police, left the tape, and ran like hell,” Craig asked. “Why go through all the problems of kidnapping us?”

  “For one I would have never had the pleasure of seeing your fine wife here without clothes on.”

  Beside him Craig could feel Bonnie tighten even more, but she said nothing and didn’t move.

  “Secondly,” the man said, going on, “Charles Robins is an idiot and I want to make sure he is so deep into this mess that no amount of money will buy his way out.”

  “And that’s where we come in,” Craig said. “Right?”

  “Exactly,” the man said. “Let’s go.”

  With that he opened the door, and with the point of his gun, indicated that they should get out of the limo.

  Craig climbed out with Bonnie behind him, followed by the man.

  Outside a third man had joined the other two. He was very large and muscled, with a military posture and build. He was perfectly proportioned and as Craig got closer he realized the guy had to be at least six-four.

  The big man nodded to the one who had been talking to them in the limo, then turned to the other two guards. “Tie their hands behind their backs.”

  Each guard did as he was told.

  Craig could feel the rope being pulled painfully tight as he attempted to keep his wrists apart and his muscles flexed.

  “Ow!” Bonnie said, glancing back at the guy behind her. “Not so damned tight. I might need those hands again.”

  After they were finished being tied, the tall man turned to the guards. “Take our two prisoners to Mr. Robins’ study, then have him awakened. Give him this note.”

  The big man handed the guard behind Craig a piece of paper.

  “Through the front gate, sir?” the guard asked.

  “Does it matter to you?” the large man demanded, moving up into the guard’s face. “Or would you like me to do it and find someone to take your place?”

  The big man towered over both Craig and the guard.

  Craig could hear the guard swallow behind him.

  “No, sir,” the guard said, clearly afraid of the big man.

  Smart thinking.

  Craig wouldn’t want to tangle with the guy either.

  “Now follow orders,” the big man said. “I have another task to complete.”

  The guard pushed Craig down the street while the other shoved Bonnie ahead of him.

  After about twenty steps Craig glanced back over his shoulder. The man they had overheard on the fairway on Friday, the man who had told them he was hired to complete the plot against the Senator, was climbing back into the limo with the larger man. Both were laughing.

  That made Craig shiver.

  Craig looked ahead at the distant front gate to what must be Charles Robins’ walled estate. And just to the right, sitting peacefully on the street, was the white van Craig knew held the FBI observers. Maxwell was going to go nuts when he saw this on tape.

  If Craig had had his hands free, he would have waved as they passed.

  And that was exactly what the guy who had kidnapped them had wanted.

  He and Bonnie were bait.

  The FBI was the weapon.

  And the target was Charles Robins.

  Craig had a feeling that getting him and Bonnie out of this alive was going to take more luck than he wanted to admit.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Monday, April 10th

  2:17 a.m.

  CHARLES ROBINS DIDN’T much like getting awakened in the middle of his sleep. And tonight was no exception.

  Yet the guard didn’t seem to want to let it go.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the guard said, his voice seeming to blare over the private intercom. “It is important that you come to your study at once.”

  “I’ll be right there,” Robins said. He crawled out of bed slowly, rubbing his face. Screw going right there. He was in charge here, and he’d get down there in his own damned time.

  It took him ten minutes to put on clothes, use the bathroom, and pour himself a glass of juice before he finally went down the private stairs to his office.

  He expected Grant to be there with some problem, standing at attention in front of his desk like he always did. But instead he saw two guards with a tied up man and woman. Both the man and the woman were in shorts.

  “What’s this all about?” he demanded.

  “Charles Robins, I presume,” the tied man said.

  “And just who the hell are you?” Robins asked.

  “I’m Detective Frakes,” the guy said, smiling. He nodded at the woman beside him. “This is Officer Stanley. We’re both with the Seattle police department.”

  Robins felt his stomach clamp up into a tight ball. These were the two who had been playing with Senator Knight all weekend. What in the hell were they doing here?

  “What were you two trying to do, break in to my estate?”

  The man shook his head no. “I’m afraid your men came and got us from our hotel room bed.”

  Charles glared at the guard. “Is that true?”

  “Yes, sir,” the guard said.

  Charles just stared at the guard, not really believing what he had been told. His men had kidnapped two cops, the same two who had been playing for two days with Senator Knight, from their hotel room and brought them to his study.

  “Why would you do that?” Charles almost screamed. “Where’s Grant?”

  Charles stared at one guard, then the other.

  The guard behind the tied-up detective stepped forward. “Grant told me to give you this note, sir,”

  “Note?” Charles asked. “I don’t want any note. I want to talk to him. Now!”

  The guard only shook and looked afraid, so Robins took the note and opened it.

  Dear Charles,

  Since you saw fit to short me one-half-million dollars for the job you hired me to do on Senator Knight, I felt you deserved something for my troubles.

  Enjoy,

  Bill

  Underneath the first note there was a second hand-scrawled note in another color pen. It said:

  Dear Mr. Robins,

  I cannot work for a man who would hurt a Senator and kidnap fellow police officers. I quit.

  Sincerely,

  Grant

  “Damn, damn, damn,” Charles said, reading the notes over again. There was no chance at all of being able to show this note to anyone. He stopped and looked up at the guard. “You said Grant gave you this note?”
<
br />   “Yes, sir,” the guard said.

  “Was there another man with Grant when he gave it to you?”

  “Yes, sir,” the guard said. “A man who called himself Bill.”

  Suddenly the past few years were all making sense. It was no wonder this Bill person could get into the estate through the security so easily every time he was called. He and Grant, his chief of security, had been working together all this time.

  And now the guy had made Charles look as if he had ordered the kidnapping of these two police officers. And that might be enough to tie him to what happened to Senator Knight. With the motive, it was more than enough, that was for sure.

  Charles moved over and sat down behind his desk, trying to clear his mind.

  He had to figure out what to do next.

  And no option looked good.

  “Sir?” the guard asked, “what do I do with the prisoners?”

  Charles glanced at the two cops, then shook his head. “Put them in a closet and guard them until I decide what to do next.”

  “But sir,” the guard said, “the FBI knows they are in here.”

  “Of course they do,” Charles said. “Don’t you think I know that? Now do as I say. And for god’s sake, don’t hurt them.”

  As the two were being led out Charles drank his juice as calmly as he could. He hadn’t thought of the FBI. The man named Bill had set a perfect trap.

  Charles leaned back and looked around at his beautiful study. With the Senator not voting tomorrow, he was going to keep control of his fortune. And that meant he could afford the expensive attorneys who could get him off this hook.

  He would blame Grant and the man named Bill as getting greedy, as taking too much control in his problems. His lawyers would get him off as a man who let his employees take too much control.

  He could feel the plan starting to form. In a few hours he would turn over the two detectives personally, claiming he just had learned about the plan.

  If he worked it right, with enough spin and good enough attorneys, he might just come out of this all right.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Monday, April 10th

  2:36 a.m.

  THE GUARDS SHOVED them both into a small hall closet and closed the door, plunging them into darkness.

  Bonnie bumped against Craig and then used the right wall of the closet to get her balance. The ropes around her wrists had become painful about ten minutes after they had been put on, and now they were just a dull ache. From what she saw before they were shoved inside, the closet had a few coats hanging in it, all on wooden hangers. Nothing more.

  “You all right?” Craig whispered.

  “Fine,” she whispered back, keeping her voice soft enough so that no one outside the closet could hear. “Just completely confused.”

  She still couldn’t believe what had happened to them.

  Taken from their hotel room by a man who wanted to frame another man. Then told about it.

  It was just too weird.

  “Seems like we’re pawns in a game between murderers,” Craig said, his voice low and coming out of the darkness. “I sure don’t much like that idea.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” she said. “That Charles Robins gives me the creeps.”

  “Slime describes him just fine,” Craig said.

  “So what do you think is going to happen next?” Bonnie asked. “You think the FBI guys saw us?”

  “They would have had to be asleep to miss us,” Craig said.

  “It’s getting lighter in here,” Bonnie said.

  Her eyes were adjusting to the dim light coming through under the door and around the cracks in the casing. She could barely see the outline of Craig leaning against the other wall a foot or so from her.

  “It is,” Craig said. “And we have to be ready for anything that’s going to happen next. How tight are your ropes?”

  “Tight,” she said. “But I can still move my fingers.”

  “So can I,” he said. “You want to try untying mine first?”

  “Sure,” she said, turning her back to him. “Let me get into a stable position and you put your ropes in my hands.”

  “Good idea,” he said.

  Bonnie leaned forward, head against the wall for balance. Behind her she could feel Craig’s hands against hers. Then he lowered his hands so that her fingers were on the ropes around his wrists.

  The knots felt tight and it took her a moment to find a place to even try to start working the knot loose.

  Then she noticed that Craig’s fingers were between her legs, against her crotch because of how she was leaning forward.

  She moved her butt slightly. “This could be more fun than I thought.”

  He laughed lightly and moved his fingers against the seam of her shorts, keeping his wrists still so she could work on the knot.

  She could feel that she was making a little progress, but not much. “Can you move your wrists to your right slightly, and turn them to the left?”

  “Sure,” he said. As he moved to the right he slipped one finger under the leg of her shorts and pulled up as he twisted his wrists to the left.

  That put two of his fingers right up against her bare flesh. She made herself focus on untying the knot.

  “No underwear,” he whispered. “Nice.”

  His fingers moved back and forth.

  She tried to focus on the knot, and it seemed to be coming free slowly, but Craig’s fingers were distracting her.

  “That feels wonderful,” she said softly. “But you’re not helping me get you untied.”

  His fingers stopped. She desperately wanted to push back against them, but the fear of losing the progress she made on the knot stopped her.

  She forced herself to work at the rope, ignoring the sense of his touch against her crotch.

  What seemed like an eternity later she said, “I think I’ve almost got it.”

  His fingers slid a little farther along her crotch.

  “I’d agree with that,” he said, the humor clear in his voice even in the dark.

  “You keep that up and I’m never going to get this untied,” she said.

  “Nothing but promises,” he said, laughing as his fingers moved a little again and then stopped. The movement sent chills through her, and small ripples of pleasure swirling in her stomach.

  She focused on the knot, finally pulling it free.

  “Got it,” she said.

  “Nice job,” he said. “Stay put and I’ll untie you.”

  She could feel his hands working on the ropes on her wrists, and as he did she moved her butt back against his crotch.

  “Now you’re the one slowing down this process,” he said.

  “Well then hurry up and get me untied,” she said, moving her butt slowly back and forth. She loved teasing him, just as he loved teasing her.

  Finally she felt the wonderful relief of the ropes coming off. She stood up and rubbed her wrists, trying to get circulation back through them. She had no doubt she was going to have bruises there for weeks.

  “Now what?” she asked.

  Craig kissed her quickly, then turned and pulled one of the wooden hangers off the bar. He slapped it against his hand. “Get one and let’s see if we can get out of here.”

  She did as he suggested, the weight of the hanger in her hands not giving her any reassurance at all.

  Craig turned and carefully tried the door handle. It was locked and as he tried to turn it, the knob rattled.

  “You two stay quiet in there,” a guards voice came from the other side of the door, loud and very, very close. “You’ll be let out soon enough.”

  “Shit,” Craig whispered.

  Bonnie turned and put the hanger back on the hook, then sat down on the floor, her back against the back wall of the closet. They weren’t getting out of this closet any time soon.

  She watched as Craig gave the closet one more close inspection and then sat down beside her.

  “What a way to spend
a vacation,” she whispered.

  “As long as it’s with you,” Craig said, “I’d spend it locked in a closet.”

  “We are locked in a closet,” she said.

  “Oh,” was all he said.

  To be continued…

  Sometimes, to save the world, a guy must take on the cheerleaders.

  John Divine lived through a vision of the end of the world, a world ruled by cheerleaders, a world he refused to live in.

  His choice obvious.... He must stop them.

  CHEERLEADER REVELATION

  ONE

  John Divine, leader of the chess club, scholarship student next year to MIT, and total geek, hated cheerleaders. To him they were vain, shallow, stupid, and mean-spirited. They ran in packs like wolves, preying on any unsuspecting geek stupid enough to be in their path in the hall between periods at Jericho High.

  Because he didn’t look like the average geek, but instead was tall with thick shoulders like his father, he had managed to avoid contact. But that didn’t reduce his hate for them.

  Trudi Stevens was their leader, the worst of the worst with her long blonde hair, bright white teeth, and perfect body. He often had nightmares about that body, waking up sweating and shaking with a raging hard-on. After every dream about her, he was disgusted at himself.

  It didn’t stop the dreams.

  Then one night in October, John had a dream like no other.

  It was as if a spirit had come to him in his sleep, talked to him, given him a vision of the world to come, the worst vision of ruin that John could have ever imagined. People screaming and running nude in the streets, others being helped out in clear pain, others just standing mute in shock.

  It felt like the end of the world.

  And all in vivid color.

  In the vision, he kept thinking over and over how real it felt, that he never dreamed in color, that he didn’t want to even think about the end of the world. He was going to MIT next year. The world couldn’t end yet.