John Locke - A Girl Like You

“Technically.”

“And legally.”

“There’s that.”

“You see the irony, yes?”

“Should be a simple thing,” I say. “We both love her, want what’s best for her.”

Lou chuckles, softly. “I agree there’s not a finer mind on the planet than Sam Case’s. He’s more logical than a super computer. Spock, from Star Trek, could take lessons.”

“Sam is so methodical and orderly, he makes Spock look like Richard Simmons,” I say.

“You think he’ll help you?” Lou says.

“Not in a million years.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Formulate a plan.”

“How can I help you?”

“You can start by getting me a snake.”

“A snake,” Lou says.

“Yeah. One that bites.”

“A snake that bites,” Lou repeats.

“A snake that will bite a man in the dark.”

“How big?”

“At least three feet.”

“What species?”

“One that can handle being in water.”

“How about a water moccasin?”

“I don’t want to kill Sam, I just want to encourage him.”

“I’m on it. When do you need this three foot, night-biting, water snake?”

“Midnight tonight. At the back entrance to Sawyer Park, on Lakeland.”

“Any magic to that location?”

“It’s a mile from Sam’s house.”

“Burlap bag okay?”

“Yeah, that’ll work. You got someone here locally?”

“I can get someone. But it’s going to cost you.”

“It always does.”

“Anything else you need?”

“You still on premises at Sensory?”

“Of course. And by the way, your office is still vacant. They keep expecting you to come back.”

“Fat chance. Is the medical center still running?”

“As always. Full staff, twenty-four seven.”

“Good. I’m going to need access.”

“I can get your code reinstated.”

I think about it, working my plan in my head. “I’m going to need a vehicle, and some people.”

“This is turning into a major caper,” Lou says.

“You up for it?”

“Lay it on me,” he says.

And I do.

12.

My next call is to Sam Case, Rachel’s husband.

“Case,” he says.

“Hi Sam, it’s me.”

There’s a long pause. “I thought we had a deal.”

“We do, but I’m fuzzy on the details. Maybe we should meet and discuss it.”

“You promised.”

“Sam, have you heard from Rachel lately.”

“You trying to be funny?”

“The reason I ask, she’s been kidnapped.”

I wait for a gasp, or an exclamation of shock or surprise, but he gives up nothing.

“Did you hear me Sam?”

“I think you’re probably trying to set me up somehow. I can come up with a thousand how’s, but not a single why. But I haven’t completed my thoughts on it yet.”

“Save your thoughts. It’s not a set up. I need your help to find Rachel.”

“Uh huh. Why me?”

“You’ve got every reason to be skeptical.”

“Ya think?”

“Yes. I can see why you might not trust me, but—”

“No,” Sam says. “Let’s not rush past those reasons I might not trust you.”

“We’re wasting time,” I say.

“Indulge me this recap.”

I sigh. “Fine.”

Sam says, “You lured me into an affair, kidnapped me, forced me to witness a double homicide, kidnapped me a second time, locked me in a container, and came within an inch of killing me.”

“That’s ancient history. You can’t live your life dwelling on the past.”

“It was barely a year ago, you asshole. Anyway, I’m not finished. You stole my wife, destroyed my business, and ruined my reputation. You subjected me to physical assault and mental torture. You put my life in danger.”

“You already said that.”

“No, I didn’t. You put my life in danger twice. The second time, by double-crossing my clients.”

“Water under the bridge, Sam. Rachel’s in trouble.”

“You think I give a rat’s ass?”

“I do.”

“Well, I don’t,” he says, and slams the phone down.

I wait for Rachel’s phone to ring. If I’m right about him caring, her phone is going to ring any second.

Rachel’s phone rings.

It’s Nadine. She wants to know what I’ve learned.

“Nadine, unless you’ve got something new to add, you’re going to have to trust me to handle this. Do you?”

“Trust you to handle it? Yes. Have anything new to add? No.”

“Then don’t call me again. It’s distracting. Concentrate on getting better. When I get Rachel back, you’ll be the first person I call.”

“Be safe, Donovan.”

“Take care of yourself, Nadine.”

I call Sam again.

“You blinked first,” he said.

“What is it with you? I’m trying to save your wife.”

“Oh, fuck you, Creed.”

“Why are you so antagonistic, Sam?”

“Shall I repeat my list of grievances?”

“No.”

“Then let’s be clear.”

“Let’s.”

“You’re not trying to save my wife. You’re trying to save your girlfriend.”

“Okay.”

“You’re conceding the point?”

I sigh loud enough so he can hear. “Yes, Sam, I concede. Now help me find Rachel.”

He hangs up again.

“Shit!” I use my cell phone to call Lou. “You got that snake yet?”

“I’m working on it. You said midnight.”

“Midnight still works.”

Lou pauses. He can tell I’m agitated. Finally he says, “Was there anything else?”

“Yeah. It can be a water moccasin.”

“You know your snakes?”

“Mostly.”

“It’ll be dark. Won’t be easy handling a water moccasin in the dark. Or situating it.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll be able to tell instantly if your guy brings me a poisonous snake.”

“How?”

“Because you’re going to have him bring me two syringes with anti-venom.”

“Okay. No syringe means it’s not poisonous.”

I pause. “You’re not going to use this as an opportunity to come at me again, are you?”

“No. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Because Callie and I have a pact.”

Callie’s my lethal associate. She and I agreed a long time ago that if one of us dies, there are three people the surviving one will kill before learning the cause of death. Lou is the first person on that list.

“I know all about the pact. You and I used to have one.”

“I’m trying to trust you, Lou,” I say.

“I appreciate that, Donovan. It’s more than I deserve.”

I agree. But what I say is, “We can still do some great things together.”

“You’ll get her back, Donovan.”

“I know. I just hope there’s still enough Rachel left in her to build a future with.”

13.

Sam’s home.

If ever there was a creature of habit, it’s Sam. You could set your clock to his routines. It’s after eight-thirty, so he’s home.

I have Pete take me to Wal-Mart, where I pick up some heavy-duty gloves, goggles, a glass cutter and a suction cup. I stow those items in one of the two duffel bags I brought to Louisville this afternoon. When Pete drops me off at the abandoned Chevy dealership on Gordon, I tell him to stay in the general area and wait for my call. Carrying one bag in each hand, I cut across two fields and a golf course, which puts me in Sam’s back yard. It’s dusk, and I can see him moving around in his kitchen. I work my way to a thicket, near a dried-up creek about fifty yards from the sliding glass door that leads to his deck. From there I cut to the evergreens that shield the back of his swimming pool, and take up a prone position among the trees so I can view his windows through my scope.

Sam’s house is large, but wide open from the back. Only his bedroom and office windows have curtains. His bedroom curtains are closed, but his office is clearly visible. Sam never closes his office curtains because they’re heavy, lined, and when you close them and try to put them back the way they were, they wrinkle. Sam is a meticulous guy. Hates wrinkles. Irons his underwear, he hates wrinkles so much. And his pillow cases, too. And his sheets. I know all this because I secretly lived in his attic for nearly two years and watched his every move through pinhole cameras while plotting to steal his clients’ money.

I’m a former sniper, with two years experience. I know how to remain still, completely soundless, whether laying in a field or living in someone’s attic. Proof of that are the seven deer that casually walk from the opposite stand of trees and stop twenty feet from me to chew the green off some low branches. Realizing this means the area is completely free of people, I punch Sam’s numbers into my cell phone. I have a silent key feature, so it’s only after I say, “Sam, don’t hang up,” that the deer freak out and start running in all directions.

“I’m not going to help you, Creed,” he says.

“Fine. But at least let me tell you what I’ve got.”

“You’re wasting your breath.”

I can tell he’s about to hang up. I say, “Rachel gave blood eleven days ago.”

He pauses. “Rachel doesn’t give blood.”

In the house, I see the light come on in his office, see Sam take up a seat by his computer.

“Are you with me?” I say.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Sam stands, suddenly, walks to his windows, and looks out. Then he shuts the curtains.

“Pay attention, Sam,” I say. “Because I can’t do this without you.”

“That’s obvious. Because I’m the last guy you’d turn to.”

“True. For lots of reasons.”

“How did you get her to give blood?”

“I don’t know. Nadine talked her into it somehow. Anyway, Nadine took Rachel to a doctor’s office, a guy named D’Angelo.”

“Go on.”

“One of the nurses drew Rachel’s blood, sent it to a lab. A week went by, and D’Angelo died from a sudden heart attack.”

“What day?”

“Tuesday morning. Between midnight and six a.m.”

Sam places me on speaker phone. I hear keyboard strokes, and assume he’s checking internet records to verify Dr. Dee’s death. After a minute he says, “Go on.”

“At four the same morning, a professional extraction team broke into Rachel’s apartment. Nadine was given an injection that induced a heart attack. She only survived because of her proximity to the hospital one floor down.”

“She had time to get downstairs?”

“No. She pressed her panic button by the nightstand. Someone from the hospital came and got her.”

“Someone from the hospital had a key?”

I hadn’t thought to ask Nadine about how they knew to come in the back door. I doubt it’s important, but this is a perfect example of why I need Sam.

“I doubt they had a key,” I say, “but the back door was left unlocked after the break in. The hospital guys probably tried the front door, couldn’t get an answer, went around to the back. It’s just around the corner of the hallway, by the stairwell.

“Did they inject Rachel with something?”

“Nadine doesn’t know. But I’m sure they did. Rachel would have pitched a fit, otherwise.”

“They wanted to keep her alive,” Sam says.

“Apparently. But who took her? And why?”

Sam says, “Who do you suspect?”

“Some branch of the government.”

“And you’re wondering what could show up in Rachel’s blood test that would cause that type of reaction.”

“Exactly.”

“Do the cops suspect foul play in the doctor’s death?”

“No.”

“But you think there’s a link.”