Misplaced Innocence (21 page)

“I told you this wasn’t going to work. We should have done this earlier, when she was first out. Could have used one of them sleeper-mask things. You know, like the ones they give you on an airplane. Works like a charm,” the voice hissed, lowered to little more than a murmur. Charisma had to strain to hear what was being said. She hung on every word, wondering what was coming next.

“Shut up,” a gruff growl exploded from somewhere close to her head. The man tying the folds of fabric so tight she nearly cried out. The knot tangled in her hair and yanked sharply at her scalp.

“Seriously, it’s brilliant,” the first voice shot back, louder than before. She wondered how long the men would go back and forth about the beauty mask. If she was going to be dragged around the world and hauled around like a sack of feed, she didn’t want to know there was dissent and vapid incapacities among her captors.

Charisma tried to wiggle discretely into a good position, trying to angle herself for a swift kick to some unsuspecting groin when the gruff voice sounded again. “That’s enough!” he barked, and a hand fell across her face with a loud crack and a wave of pain. She yelped out, the sound catching in the gag that had begun to chafe the corners of her mouth raw, but her body stilled. So much for seeing where she was. So much for kicking someone squarely and scooting off for help. So much for implementing any one of the plans she had come up with during her time in the van. If there had been any doubt before, it had entirely abated. These people were definitely not amateurs. She consoled herself that even if she had managed to kick one of them the others would have quickly subdued her and they would have taken it out on her later. Clearly, resistance in a traditional form was out of the question. She tossed all the plans she had come up with so far and started to consider new ones. Maybe cooperation would be the key to success.
 

“It’s not brilliant. It’s stupid. It’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard. Why would be use a mask when we can use, I don’t know, a blindfold.”

“It’s not stupid. I’m telling you. Those things are made to cover eyes. And they have that elastic thing. None of this knot tying. That’s what we need. A pre-made blindfold.”

“It is,” chimed in a third voice, apparently belonging to a new arrival or a chronic lurker, “she could wiggle her way out of that elastic. Too flimsy for what we need.”
 

Charisma’s heart plummeted. Something about that statement didn’t seem to bode well for her immediate future. What exactly could these people need from a blindfold?

“That’s enough!” the gruff voice snarled with a finality that ended the conversation. “If I hear one more word about the blindfold…” The sentence trailed off, but the conversation ended abruptly, and even Charisma didn’t doubt the threat that was to come. “Let’s get her inside.”

Harsh hands grabbed her from the shoulders and feet and carried her like a dead body. The crisp air was welcomed against her exposed skin, and she hoped fervently that it wouldn’t be the last time she felt the breeze against her face and in her hair.
 
The motion stopped abruptly and then a moment later there was a rush of stale air and the sound of a door swinging open. Even though she wore the blindfold she could tell the room was dark, the dank scent of mildew seeping around her. She clenched her eyes shut beneath the blindfold, pretending the world was black by her choice and not by this twisted reality. She was carried further into the room, the last wisps of outside and freedom slipping away.
 
Her breath rushed out of her as she was unceremoniously dumped on a chair that badly needed to be re-stuffed.
 

She heard the man with the gruff voice say something else, just out of her hearing range.. He was clearly the leader of the little band. She felt the whisper of something land on her lap and then the yank of cord against the tender skin of her ankles and wrists. About the only thing she had going for her right now was that during the transfer her blindfold had slipped and now she let her head lull back as though she didn’t have the strength to support it another moment. Through the barest of gaps she could make out the group of men, now standing in the eerie glow of a desk lamp.

“We sure this is her? I thought she’d be, you know, prettier,” a skinny man asked. Charisma was almost offended, but then again, she was wearing a blindfold, dusty clothes, and tied to a chair. There was a fairly good chance she actually did have the capacity to look prettier.

“Yes, this is her. For sure,” the third man answered with confidence. “Did you see those legs? Everything they should be.” A sudden new fear swept down her throat and into her stomach. That was something she hadn’t yet considered. She felt more vulnerable than she had just a moment before, as though her body were on display for these men and they could take whatever they wanted. It was already perfectly clear there was little she’d be able to do about it. He nodded in the direction of the skinny man, then looked towards the burly man Charisma assumed was the proud owner of the gruff voice before continuing, “We might as well give the man a call, let him know we got his lady.” There was a substantial pause before anyone moved and Charisma imagined there was an understood protocol where a lack of vocalized disapproval from the big man was active approval.

The skinny man suddenly burst into motion, yanking a cell phone out and flipping it open. “Don’t forget to use the codes,” the other man said before turning to the gruff man. “Can’t trust him to remember those things, you know. Needs constant reminders.” He shook his head slowly, the epitome of the anguished father with a less than stellar son. His attention turned from the other men to Charisma, who, up until now, had hoped she might never become the focal point of their scrutiny again. “Now little girl, what should we do with you?”

Charisma groaned in response. Or tried to. Her mouth was cottony. The gag was still firmly in place. She definitely didn’t have the ability to be gruff in response. Something about her extreme captive status would make that role pretty laughable. She had to work with what she did have, though, and she wasn’t sure if playing dumb or being cooperative was the best way to go. Her mind clutched at what other options she might have at her disposal. There was apparently some small chance that they weren’t entirely positive of her identity. It might be something she would be able to exploit. Deny, deny, deny. Or she could cooperate and beg for mercy. Whatever she did, or didn’t do, there was no guarantee of her safety. If they wanted her to be silent, well, there was only one way to ensure that.

The skinny man launched into conversation from the corner of the room. Charisma could make out his whiny voice, interspersed with assenting grunts. “We picked up those groceries. We’ve got them in the refrigerator now. Don’t worry, they’ll keep ‘til we get home.”
 

Charisma tried to remain impassive, but it was difficult. Her code word was groceries? How ridiculous was that? These masterminds couldn’t come up with something else? She couldn’t be a priceless work of art? She got to be perishable goods? That thought stopped her short. Maybe she
was
just perishable goods to them. She wondered if they thought they were being watched, or maybe worried that their phones had been tapped. Why else would they need a code? Then again, even if they weren’t being watched it was probably poor taste to announce of the phone that the helpless kidnapped woman was safely had and in restraints. At least there was a phone she could potentially have access to. Not much, but it was more than she had had before.

“Frankie, you stay with the girl. I’m going to go out for food. Don’t worry, I’ll bring some back for you. Fuck, I’m starved. You tell Benedict everything’s under control if he asks. I’ll be in touch with him after I grab some takeout.”

“Might as well take Freddie with you, Dom.”

The burly man chuckled. “You kidding? I’ve spent all day with the two of you. He can stay here and keep you company. I need a break”

 
“Why you have to be like that?” Frankie whined to Dom’s retreating back. His only answer was the sharp sound of the door closing, and one less man in the room with Charisma. “Fuck that piece of shit, Dominic.” Frankie grumbled once Dominic was well out of earshot and he could say whatever he wanted without fear of repercussion.

Benedict and Dominic? Freddie and Frankie? This was something straight out of the
Sopranos
, straight out of every stereotype in the book. Charisma swallowed hard. This was not her life; this was a nightmare. This was a horrible, made-for-television movie starring none other than herself. She had nearly convinced herself that this was all it really was, something she would surely wake up from. Then she would roll over in Jared’s big bed, her heart beating maniacally and she could cuddle up against his warm, hard body. She would wake him up, she decided, so she could tell him all about this horrible dream and he could wrap his big arms around her and comfort her, tell her he would never let that happen. Dammit. That definitely was not going to happen and there was no real use in wishing for it now. Oh, why did she leave the house? Frustration welled in her; her whole life had been one stupid decision after another. One of these days she deserved to get something right. Freddie and Frankie were whispering in the corner of the room, not even paying attention to her. Just another day on the job.
 

Charisma was wallowing in the remains of her life when her attention was violently redirected to the two men left in the room. “Get out of my face,” Frankie said to Freddie, apparently letting testosterone get the best of him for a moment.

“No, you get the fuck out of my face.” Freddie answered snarkily. “I’m just saying, ain’t no one around and ain’t nobody going to believe anything she says and even if they did, ain’t nobody even going to care.” The skinny one turned his eyes toward Charisma and the alarming subject of the conversation became crystal clear to her. Charisma began to shake involuntarily, anticipating every bad thing they could do to her before Dominic came back in the room, imagining them moving toward her and then their hands on her body.
 
Then there was a sudden burst of activity as Frankie turned toward Freddie and clocked him squarely in the face, sending him flying backward into the wall before he slid down to the ground.
 

Freddie pushed himself up and rubbed the side of his face, even in the dark and half hidden behind the blindfold, Charisma could see the shocking red mark. Frankie crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at Freddie, letting his chest swell in an effort to emphasize how much larger he was, how he was clearly the lackey who deserved to make all the shots. “Ain’t no way I am going to go down for you ‘cause you can’t keep your pants zipped the fuck up. Go find someone else. This one’s for Benedict.”
 

Charisma shuddered and awaited her fate. There didn’t seem much else she could do.
 

~*~

Caution tape stretched along the length of the house and around the truck, as though this were some sort of high traffic area that needed to be protected from meandering passersby. Jared couldn’t blame them too much, though; Carlton didn’t see much action like this, and he noticed that there were a lot of people who never made it out this far who had stopped by just to gawk. The sheriff and the local police force were inspecting the scene, taking what seemed like thousands of photos of everything in the house, from every possible angle. Fingerprints were dusted for and witnesses were interviewed. Jared had been interviewed three times today already. He was the best they had, and he was the only one who knew any part of her story. But even the little he did know seemed inadequate when faced with the questions they posed. What did he really know besides the fact that things had been bad enough to spur her exit from the east coast and arrival in Arizona.

He had been polite and cooperative, in his opinion, but now he was getting impatient. He didn’t see anything actually getting done. Everyone was taking notes, assessing this, assessing that, discussing possibilities. But nobody was moving, and it sure as hell didn’t seem probable that they would catch up with Charisma and whomever she was with if they never made it out of the front yard. He paced in the yard, far enough from the scene that he wasn’t bothering anyone. He had been pacing the same stretch all day. Bill stood near him, the hat he was supposed to wear to protect his head from the sun balled up in his hands. He had closed the store for the day, concern furrowed his brow, beads of sweat glinted in the sunlight. Bill had already been interviewed, providing shockingly to-the-point responses. It was the most direct and focused Jared had ever seen him be, and even that was unnerving. Those who could be spared made their way down town and toward the half a dozen townspeople who had come into contact with the increasingly mysterious Charisma before her disappearance.

“I just don’t understand” he mused again and again. Jared had explained the story to Bill as best he could, but he couldn’t quite grasp why anyone would come after her when so much time had already passed.

Not that Jared really understood it either, but, he rationalized, it was better that way. He would truly have to question his sanity the day he began to understand the mentality and motive behind organized crime.

“I don’t know” he said, the words laced with a hopeless sense of uselessness. They hung there between the pair of men, neither knowing what to say to the other or what the next thing to do should be. They had already been informed that this would be a waiting game. Everything that could be done was being done.

It wasn’t enough. Jared started his repetitive trek again, wearing a path in the dirt. One stellar example of their crime force took off his hat and looked up toward the sky. “Yup,” he drawled, “some time has gone by since this happened.” He pursed his lips as though he was in deep thought, thought Jared suspected such thought was difficult for him to achieve. “Don’t know how much information we’re going to get from here. Skid marks will give us a direction…”