The Wrangler: The only thing standing between the beautiful kidnapped heiress and death was -- The Wrangler. (6 page)

She felt hands moving around her head, then suddenly, the ball gag was pulled out of her mouth.

"What did he say to you?" the voice shouted.

Christine gagged and coughed reflexively after the gag was gone. Her jaw felt stiff and unwieldy after being forced open for so long, and she moved it around, trying to get some feeling back.

"He said he was going to kill me," Christine reported. It felt strangely satisfying to say so, as if the opportunity to tell on him for making such a threat alone was a victory of some kind, even though she doubted if the other captors cared.

"Did he say anything else?" shouted the Wrangler over the white noise.

"No," she said.

She felt hands on her head again, and something pressing against her mouth.

"Please ..." she said, meaning to say, "Please don't gag me, I won't scream or anything, I promise." But she felt the gag pressed relentlessly into her mouth, forcing her sore jaws open, secured there, and she was as helpless and silent as before.

As soon as the gag was back in place, the Wrangler and the Cleaner left the room.

"Satisfied?" asked the Wrangler.

The Cleaner looked thoughtful, nodded.

"You have a rep for being on the level," said the Cleaner. "Let's get outta here."

"Fine, I'll get the bag for the girl and we'll go," said the Wrangler.

"Be faster and safer to leave her," the Cleaner said.

"Not much faster, and in the long term, a lot more dangerous," said Wrangler. "Now that the Man has changed the game, our chances of being caught go up a lot, which means out chances of facing a murder rap go up if she dies."

"Good point," said the Cleaner.

"Plus, I'm pissed at the Man for planning to kill me," said the Wrangler. "I don't want any of his plans to work, right up until I put a bullet in his skull."

"I'm with you there," said the Cleaner.

The Wrangler went out to the car and pulled a bag out of his trunk. It was a round leather suitcase, looking like one of the containers that marketing types used to haul the props for their dog and pony shows around in. Because that's what it was.

Christine felt her thigh slapped again.

"Don't worry," said a voice. "We think the guy who told you he's going to kill you plans to kill us, too, with a bomb planted somewhere hereabout. So we're all going to get the hell out of here."

Christine felt a surge of pure joy at these words. She would live! She would live!

The relief was literally inexpressible. It was pure joy that matched the dread that had enfolded her a few moments ago measure for measure. The relief was overwhelming.

She felt hands undoing the fetters that held her to the bed. She desperately wanted to resist, to escape, but hours spent lying with her legs in a split and having men many times her size pounding on her crotch while her legs were secured wide apart had left her legs cramped and so stiff that they were unable to move at all. She just laid their passively as her captor slowly bent her legs at the knees. He seemed to understand that her legs would be cramped.

Then he tied her ankles together and then tied her ankles to her thighs with several strands of rope. It hurt when he bent her legs so severely after having them stretched out for so long, it hurt a lot. But all she could do about it was mmph into her gag.

She felt another rope being secured around her entire body, running behind her back, between her arms and then over her shins, several times. She could not move at all. All she could do was wiggle her head back and forth and do the same with her feet. Once again she wondered if she had been captured by kinky types. Instinctively, she doubted it. If they'd been kinky types they would have played with her more.

Then again, maybe they were playing with her and this was just the beginning.

Nasty thoughts. She didn't need nasty thoughts right now. She really didn't.

The Wrangler tightened the ropes on Christine so that they fit snugly but didn't cut her circulation and picked her up. He carefully dropped her into the circular suitcase. She fit easily, with room to spare -- Christine was a very small woman. The Wrangler had had to really cram a couple of captives into it, bending their heads and feet and then leaning on the lid to force it shut over their furiously mmphing bodies. Christine would have a relatively comfortable ride in it.

When the latches were shut, the Wrangler easily picked up the case and carried out to the car, casually tossing it into the trunk as if it were much lighter than it actually was. He was rehearsing for when he would be doing this within sight of others. If he didn't look like he was carrying anything heavy in the case, potential witnesses wouldn't make the connection.

The Cleaner came out of the trailer.

"It's clean," he said, meaning he'd destroyed anything that might constitute evidence inside the trailer.

"Good, said the Wrangler.

"You got your cell, right?" the Cleaner asked.

The Wrangler nodded as he got behind the wheel of the car. He wanted to get out as fast as possible.

"Good," said the Cleaner, "cuz I've been thinkin' about what I'd do if I was the Man. I'd call one of us on our cell phone before setting off the bomb," said the Cleaner. "That way, I'd be sure I was killing people and not just blowing up an empty trailer."

"What if he doesn't bother calling us first?" asked the Wrangler. "What if he just pushes the button and then calls to check things out. He'll know we're alive if we answer the phone. That'll make recovering the money a lot harder."

"It's possible but I don't think he's gonna," said the Cleaner. "It's not as sure as blowing us up while he's talking to us."

"Not as satisfying, either," said the Wrangler, nodding.

"Exactly," said the Cleaner.

"The other thing I'm wondering about, is how are we gonna know whether or not he blows us up, when he calls?" said the Wrangler.

"No problemo," said the Cleaner. "That's what this laptop is all about. I set up a webcam and hooked it up to the desktop computer while you were strapping up the package. It's transmitting to a little site I keep up for various reasons, giving us a nice view of the living room. The minute it goes black, we know we've been blowed up. Only problem is, we just gotta 56K connection in that place. So there might be a second or two of delay in pic transmission. I've got the window on my site set at absolute minimum, so it shouldn't be much more than that, but those 56K connections really suck."

"So, let's see," said the Wrangler. "When the Man calls, you answer, unless it's my cell, in which case I answer. You monitor the computer and as soon as the screen goes blank, you shut off the phone."

"OK," said the Wrangler. "If it works, the Man don't know we're on to him. Make collecting our share a lot easier."

"Ya still gonna collect just our share?" asked the Cleaner.

"Of course not," said the Wrangler. "If we leave the Man alive, he'll track us down and kill us, sure as shit. I'd like to get that problem sorted as soon as possible by killing him first."

"Gotcha," said the Cleaner. "What about the Driver and the Agent?"

"I got no beef with them, if they're alive," said the Wrangler. "I'm still square with the original deal. But I think the Man is gonna kill them, too, if he hasn't killed them already. If he'll kill us for our shares, he'll kill them for their shares."

"Probably," said the Cleaner gloomily. "Maybe we should call them and give them a heads-up."

"Good idea," said the Wrangler.

Then a moment later, the Wrangler said, "Maybe not such a good idea for us."

"Why?" asked the Cleaner.

"Could blow our cover," said the Wrangler. "If the guy answers the phone and the Man figures out somebody has given him the heads up, the Man's gonna figure out who did it about a second later. Then we'll have a hell of a time, and so will whoever warns him."

"I don't think the Agent will give himself away like that," said the Cleaner. "He's a cool one."

"Yeah, but what if the Agent is dead and his cell starts ringing?" asked the Wrangler. "The Man is gonna wonder who's calling him, because I don't remember him or the Driver getting many calls at all on this gig, 'cause they're using hot phones just like we are. No, the Man is gonna think it's one of us. And it'll give us away."

The Cleaner nodded.

"OK, what'll we do with Christine?" he asked.

"Keep her with us until we get the ransom money, then dump her and give her father a call," said the Wrangler. "Her father hasn't screwed up, the Man has."

"Wouldn't be that you don't like to kill your captives," said the Cleaner.

"I don't like to kill my captives UNNECCESARILY," said the Wrangler. "It's an important distinction. I've killed three captives when their ransoms went south, hell, should I be killing them just for the fun of it?"

"Hell, no," answered the Cleaner. "We just notice how much care you take of your captives, is all and we like to ride you about it."

"It's my JOB," said the Wrangler. "I don't notice anyone riding you for your cleaning or the driver for his driving."

"Yeah, but ..." the Cleaner said, but was interrupted by his cell phone ringing.

The Wrangler glanced at the Cleaner and grinned, pulling over to the side of the road. They were on a two lane blacktop with not much traffic, and there was plenty of cover under the moss-draped oaks and palmetto thickets that fringed the road.

"Hello," said the Cleaner. "What? The Driver? I'm sorry to hear that. Yeah, we're pretty sure he was planning to kill us. Yeah, sure. Repeat that ... OK, we'll come getcha. We're in the green Grand Cherokee. Yeah, wave at us when you see us. See you in a bit. Watch out for the cops."

The Cleaner disconnected and said, "That was the Agent ..."

Then his phone rang again.

"Hey, how ya doin?" said the Cleaner. "Nah, nuthin'. Watchin' TV with the Wrangler. Yeah, he's watchin' with me."

The screen on the Cleaner's laptop went blank. He quickly turned off the phone.

"Well, we're dead now," he said, grinning, "as far as the Man is concerned."

The Wrangler nodded. "Who was that first call from?" he asked.

"The Agent," responded the Cleaner. "The Man tried to kill him. He DID kill the Driver, but the Agent managed to throw himself out of the car and roll into a marsh and act dead. The Man didn't stop to check him out. Probably figured he was dead and didn't want to attract attention with all the traffic out there. The Agent says he took one in the shoulder, but he's OK."

"I'm surprised the Man didn't come back to finish him off," observed the Wrangler. "So, I guess the Agent needs a ride?"

"Yeah, he's over on that side road that runs towards St. Simon's," said the Cleaner, "hiding out in the palmettos, but he'll watch for us and flag us down when he sees us. You need to slow down when you go past the Quickie Mart that's just over the bridge is all."

"All right, then," said the Wrangler. "I'm kinda surprised the Man took on the Agent directly like that, though. I'd have cut a deal with him."

"You ain't the Man," said the Cleaner.

"Damn right," said the Wrangler, grinning. "But I don't think the Man is the Man, or at least, not the Man he thinks he is."

A few minutes later, they drove past a Quickie Mart. A few seconds after that, the Agent stepped out from behind a palmetto thicket. He did not flag them down, and it was easy to see why not -- his suit coat had a large dark stain just below the shoulder.

The Cleaner got out of the car and helped the Agent in. But before he let the Agent get in, he spread a large plastic sheet over the seat. He made sure the Agent was sitting on it and only it. The Cleaner hated blood. It was DNA evidence, it spattered everywhere very easily, and it was damn hard to get out of fabric once it soaked in.

In his mind, he was already figuring out a discreet way to burn the Agent's clothes.

"Gimme the medicine kit in the glove compartment," said the Cleaner. The Wrangler pulled the medicine kit out and tossed it back to the Cleaner. Then he pulled into traffic. He drove slowly and carefully. With a wounded guy in the back seat and a naked, bound woman in the trunk, all it would take is a traffic stop. They'd have to ice the cop and run for it. And that was how competent criminals wound up in jail.

"I'm going to find a place where we can hole up for a time," said the Wrangler.

"Good idea," said the Cleaner. "Got anything in mind?"

"A lot of places along the marsh have side roads for people to fish and crab from," said the Wrangler. "Some of them have big stands of brush that'll conceal us from the road."

The Wrangler soon found such a road, a white, dusty shell path that ran from the main road to the swamplands that fringed the road everywhere this close to the coast. He pulled in it and soon had the car completely screened from the road.

"Good job," said the Cleaner, surveying the spot. "This is only gonna take about twenty minutes."

He helped the Agent out of the car and onto the dried mud that fringed the road.

"Great," said the Cleaner approvingly. "Place'll be underwater in a couple of hours." And would clean up any clues such as bloodstains they might leave behind.

He stripped the coat and shirt off the Agent. He'd already plied him with oxycontin and penicillin from the medicine kit. There was a small hole in the front of his shoulder with blood slowly leaking out of it. There was a much larger hole in the back of his shoulder with a lot more blood leaking out of it, also slowly.

"Great, no arterial," said the Cleaner. "You been lucky."

"I dunno how lucky I am to get shot, but yeah, it coulda been worse," the Agent said in a strained voice. "Bastard."

"We all owe the bastard," said the Cleaner. He was sweating profusely. All of them were. The swamp was hot and incredibly muggy, it was almost like being underwater. Small crabs and insects scuttled everywhere, their buzzing muted by the sounds of traffic on the road behind the thicket.

The Cleaner doused the wound with hydrogen peroxide. The Agent winced as the peroxide burned at the infection in his wound, but made no sound. He was a tough guy, and it bugged him that he even winced for something like peroxide.