ONE CUP (Part 19)

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72

Whitney

When the car stopped. I listened, straining to hear the voices outside. There were two of them, and I was pretty certain they were speaking English. Beyond that, I was unable to determine what was being said. The trunk popped open, and I nearly peed when I saw the face of the man looking at me. My memory never fails me, even after my having been knocked unconscious. Be wary of Larry. Larry with the brown teeth. Larry Brownteeth!

73

Larry Brown

“Well,” I said. “What have we here?”

“What is it?” Leon banged his head against the car’s doorframe in his excitement to know what treasure I’d found.

“Looks like we got us some company, Leon,” I said.

Leon rushed around to join me. When he seen what was in the trunk, his mouth dropped open. He couldn’t believe his eyes. There in the trunk, all curled up in the fetal position, was some chick. Generous amounts of duct tape had been used to secure her hands behind her back and her ankles were taped together as well. Another strip covered her mouth.  “It’s a girl!” Leon shouted.

I looked over at Leon. “No shit?”

She was groggy, but she was alert enough to be scared, I could see it in her eyes. Damn, but this girl had a fine body. . She was dressed up like one of them dominatrixes I’ve seen in movies, where they whip guys and kick’em in the balls, and shit like that. There was a big knot on her head, with a stream of dry blood running down into her left eye. In her condition, she looked like shit, but she would clean up good and look presentable. I looked at her for several seconds, trying to make a connection. Something about her was familiar. On her right thigh was a small tattoo of a scorpion. It looked familiar, like maybe I’d seen her on a video.

I shrugged it off. I had more important things to think about. I was busy sorting things out. Kayla Prescott, the ballplayer’s wife, insisted we burn the car and bury it. For that, she agreed to pay two thousand dollars. And now, lo and behold, we find someone bound and gagged in the trunk. What was really going on here? More important, how could I best use this to my advantage? Next time, I told myself, Check the trunk. And ask for more money.

“She’s still alive!” Leon shouted. “Let’s get her out!”

As he leaned forward and reached for the girl, I grabbed his arm, stopping him. “Hold on,” I said, “Not so fast.” I pointed at the pathetic figure in the trunk. Bound and gagged, bleeding and bruised, wearin’ a sexy leather outfit. I grinned. There had to be one hell of a good story behind this. And I was determined to cash in on it. “Get some pictures of her first, Leon.”

“Huh? What?” Leon froze, bent over, arms still outstretched, looking at me perplexedly, confusion momentarily paralyzing him. After a few seconds, he shook his head a couple of times and stood upright. He turned to face me and said. “But why do we wanna do that, Larry?”

“This is a gift from the gods, Leon,” I said. “Somebody wanted this girl dead. Wanted us to burn the car with her alive in it.”

Leon nodded and said, “And we’d be the ones killed her.” Sometimes, Leon surprises me. I like to think his insight comes from being around me so much.

“Without getting’ paid nothin’ extra for doin’ it,” I added. I thought it worth mentioning.

“But Larry, I thought we was gonna take the car to Spider’s garage,” Leon’s eyes narrowed, giving the appearance he only had one eyebrow. “How come you never told me we was gonna burn it?”

“Because even though we was gonna take it to Spider,” I replied, “that broad back in the parking lot wanted us to burn it. Good thing I always make a habit of checkin’ the vehicles before I do anything with them. Hell, Leon, me ‘n’ you coulda been sent up for murder if we’d’a done what we was told to do.”

Leon nodded, trying to process it all. “How come we need pitchers, Larry?”

“Anyone willing to pay,” I started to say ‘two grand’, then caught myself in the nick of time, “what was it, three hundred dollars? Anyone willing to pay three hundred dollars to get rid of her would be willing to pay a lot more to keep us from ratting them out.”

That thought hung in the air as me and Leon looked at the girl in the trunk She looked pretty pathetic, trussed and muzzled with cable ties and duct tape. Her nostrils flared as she struggled to breathe, and her eyes were wide in fear. Damn, but she looked familiar.

“Whataya reckon, Larry?” Leon broke the silence. With a grin spreading on his face, he said, “maybe we could get a couple hunnert more?”

If he only knew. I put a hand on my friend’s shoulder. “Leon, it wouldn’t surprise me. Now, get your cell phone out and snap of a few pictures of her. Then, we’ll get her out of the trunk and tend to her. I got a feelin’ we’re in for a big payday, Leon.”

“Okay,” Leon nodded enthusiastically. “Thanks, Larry.”

Now it was my turn to be confused. “Thanks? For what?”

“For being my friend and always looking out for me like you do.”

“You’re not gonna to hug me or nothin’, are you, Leon?”

74

Nick Taylor

Mike Prescott, in his stupidity, provided everything Mr. Jackson needed. He didn’t know it yet, but very soon he would sign a multi-year contract with the Indianapolis Bobcats. His squeaky-clean image would be preserved and the embarrassment and humiliation that would have come with the disclosure of video showing him with a dominatrix could be avoided. And the size of his manhood would remain a well-kept secret.

And Kayla, the dumb bitch, made things even worse. First by taking up with a sixteen year-old kid. Then, by attacking the girl, the dominatrix her husband was been seeing. And finally, by tossing the girl in the trunk. Had she killed her? If the girl was still alive, how long until she expired?

I never like to awaken people in the middle of the night, especially wealthy people who employ me. But, dammit, I needed some direction here.

“Mr. Jackson,” I began, “This is Nick Taylor. I apologize for calling at this hour.”

“Quite alright, Nick. What’s on your mind?”

“I have some very disturbing news for you.”

Mr. Jackson listened as I filled him in. I told him of the video showing Mike Prescott with a dominatrix. Of Kayla leading a teenage boy into her house, where he stayed for the better part of an hour. I told him of Mike Prescott pushing the girl down the stairs, leaving her. Of Kayla’s attacking her once he was gone. And, finally, of the girl being driven away in the trunk of a car.

When I’d finished with my account of what had happened, Mr. Jackson asked, “Who else have you told about this?”

“No one,” I said. “Only you.”

“Good. Good.”

“I wanted to give you a heads up before I call the police. You know, so you’d have a chance to do some damage control.”

“Do NOT call the police!” Mr. Jackson said.

“But—”

“Don’t ‘But’ me, Taylor!” he shouted. “Any idea where the girl was taken?”

I started to reply, tell him about the name on the truck. But instead I said, “No. I have no idea, sir.”

 75

Larry Brown

After me and Leon got some pictures on Leon’s cell phone, we helped the girl out of the car trunk. She struggled with us, like she thought we was gonna hurt her, even though we was only gonna help her. I mean, she was like a wildcat. Kickin’ and twistin’, and thrashin’ around, lookin’ back and forth between me and Leon, her nostrils flaring. I could see the fear in her eyes, and I liked it. But all that thrashin’ was beginnin’ to piss me off, so I grabbed her and flung her to the ground. “Now you knock that shit off, lady, or I’ll heave your ass right back in the trunk!” She laid there on the floor of the barn, on a pile of dried up horse turds, thinking it over.

“Leon, yank the tape off her mouth.”

Leon knelt beside her. As he reached toward her, she twisted around in the dirt and let him have it full force in the balls with both her feet.

Leon howled like a scalded dog. I laughed so hard, I thought I was gonna piss myself! It was funnier than shit.

I figured she’d try something. That’s why I’d told Leon to take the tape off her mouth, instead of doing it myself. Call it an executive decision, delegating tasks. One of the advantages of being the boss in our little two-man operation. Leon lay on the ground, groaning in agony, as I walked over and lifted her up by her hair and, still laughing, gave her a of good, solid backhand across her face, then hit her again with my palm as I swung my arm back the other way.

“Now I’m gonna take this tape off your mouth,” I said to her. “If you scream, or do anything like what you just done to my friend here, I’ll snap your neck and feed you to my dogs. You understand?” She nodded, and for the first time, stopped resisting.

Without a thought of being gentle about it, I ripped the duct tape from her mouth. “Now I want to know who you are, and how you ended up in the trunk of this Beemer. I’m a businessman, understand? I got other shit to do, so I ain’t wastin’ any time on you, lady,” I said. “You tell me now, or I will kill you. I pulled out my switchblade and flicked it open. “You want to play games with me, go ahead. See if I’m bluffing.”

I looked over at Leon. “You alright?”

Leon was still suffering, but tried to put on a brave face. “I’ll be okay, Larry.”

“Could’ve been worse, Leon,”

“How?”

I said, “It could’ve happened to me.” Leon didn’t get the joke. “You walk it off a couple minutes, then finish up here,” I grabbed the woman by her hair, yanked it hard. “While I take care of this bitch.”

76

Whitney

“Can you undo my hands and feet, too?” I asked. “I’m in a lot of pain.”

“You gonna try somethin’ stupid, like you done with Leon?”

I truly believed the man standing over me was capable of doing what he said he would do. I shook my head. “No, I’m not going to do anything.” Then I turned to the large man struggling to get to his feet. “I’m sorry.”

Larry removed the duct tape, first from my feet, then my hands. I began shaking my arms and legs in an effort to regain circulation. He held the knife menacingly. A not-so-subtle reminder.

“Now, you answer my questions,” he said.

I nodded.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Fredericka,” I replied. “I’m a professional escort and dominatrix.”

That bit of information seemed to fascinate him, and he wanted to know things like, how much did I charge? Did I do threesomes? What was the kinkiest thing I’d ever done?

For a businessman who had other shit to do, he sure did ask a lot of pointless questions, but considering my circumstances, I didn’t point that out. I answered truthfully. Normally, three-fifty for an hour of my time. Once in a while. And, remembering Jackie, the third question I answered by saying, “Depends on how you define kinky.”

The knife was now lowered, although still pointing in my general direction. “How the hell did you end up in the trunk?”

“I don’t know.” I saw the tip of the blade coming back up, and quickly added. “I don’t remember much,” I said, gingerly touching my head, feeling a knot the size of a marble. “I must have been unconscious when they put me in there.”

“We was s’posed to burn the car with you in it,” Larry said. “Any idea why someone would want you dead?”

77

Larry Brown

It had been a long time, but I recognized her. The girl from the parking lot at the grocery store.

I just don’t get some people. I help this bitch get her car started, and then she treats me like dog shit on the bottom of her shoe. Lied to me about living on the other side of town, tryin’ to get rid of me, like I’m some low-life pervert or a stalker, or something. That’s why I followed her, ‘cause I knew she was lying. It ain’t like I can’t get me a woman any time I want. I’d been shackin’ up with a skank name of Vanessa for damned near a year. I was getting’ tired of her and was fixin’ to toss her out on her ass soon. Thing was, I had a little somethin’ goin’ on with her sister, too, and . . . Forget it. It’s a long story.

I pulled in behind her in the parking lot of her apartment building. I hopped out of my truck and was just about to teach her some manners when the lady cop pulled up. She didn’t scare me none, but I didn’t want to hang around and wait for the rest of ‘em to get there. Me and cops don’t get along so good. I’d just end up on the bottom of a pig pile, and then spend the night in jail. They always claim you tried to resist, no matter whether you do or not, to justify roughin’ you up just for the fun of it.

I got the hell out of there and went down to the riverfront. Shot some pool and drank some beer at Earl’s Bar. My plan was to kill a few hours, then go back and have me some fun with that stuck up cunt. Instead, I got busted for trying to sell some coke to an undercover cop out in the parking lot. That son of a bitch was a damned liar, too, ‘cause before I showed him the coke, I asked him was he a cop and he said “Hell, no!” So, the way it turned out, I ended up on the bottom of a pig pile that night anyway. And just like I said, them assholes roughed me up some, and then they went and charged me with resisting arrest, too. It was all this bitch’s fault I was even there that night.