ONE CUP (Part 26)

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106

Ian McGregor

Kayla picked up on the second ring. “Did you find him?”

“I did.”

“Is he out of the picture now?” Meaning, had I killed Ray yet?

“Not yet.” I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“Damn it, Ian, you know what has to be done.”

“Just listen a minute, Kayla.” I said. “We’ve found the girl.”

“She’s with him?”

“No, but he did some hocus pocus on her cell phone. He had it on him. And anyway, we used it to find her iPad.” I gave her the address and told her we were coming.

“I’ll see you there,” she said. “We’ll take care of them all when we get there.”

107

Ray Garrett

We had a long drive ahead of us. I decided Ian’s decision to make a pit stop in the restroom before hitting the road was a good idea, and headed inside to do the same.

The interior of the truck stop was typical. A café with a twenty-four hour buffet to the left as you come through the front entrance. A retail store to the right sold everything from souvenirs and maps to junk food and automotive supplies. The sign overhead indicated the restrooms were straight ahead.

“I did.” The voice, the Australian accent, was definitely Ian’s.

He was standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall a few feet beyond the men’s room entrance, his back to me and his cell phone pressed to his ear.

“Not yet,” he said as I reached the entrance.

I didn’t want to eavesdrop, so I walked on through the entrance.

“Just listen a minute, Kayla. We’ve found the girl.”

I stopped when I heard that, stood there where he couldn’t see me, but I could hear him. Why would Ian be telling Kayla what we were doing? Maybe eavesdropping wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.

“No,” Ian said, “But he did some hocus pocus on her cell phone. Ray had it on him. And anyway, we used it to find her iPad.”

I listened as Ian gave her the location.

“We’re on our way, but it will take four or five hours to get there.” Ian said. He paused, listening for a moment, then said, “Okay. See you there.”

108

Ian McGregor

When I came out into the parking lot of the truck stop, my rental car was gone. I looked around a bit, thinking perhaps Ray might have moved it, although I couldn’t imagine why he would have felt the need. I went back inside to see if I might find him, but no luck.

I called Kayla.

109

Kayla Prescott

Upon receiving the call from Ian, telling us where the girl was, we jumped into the Escalade, Michael and Lou Brannigan in front, me alone in the back. We’d been on the road only a few minutes when Ian called me back. I listened as he told me how Ray left him at a truck stop. “I don’t care what you have to do, Ian. Get here as soon as you can,” I said, and ended the call. “Shit!”

Lou Brannigan turned to face me and said, “Uh-oh. I don’t like the sound of that. “What’s wrong?”

“Ray Garrett is on his way. Alone.”

“What happened to Ian?” Michael asked, looking over the top of his sunglasses to see me in the rearview mirror.

“Ray ditched him.”

“Why?” Lou Brannigan said. “They were supposed to come together.”

“Well, there’s been a change of plans, Lou.” I said. “My guess is Ray figured out something is up. Ian may have said or done something stupid and Ray put it together. I don’t know. Anyway, Ian is of no help to us now. We’ll just have to be ready to deal with Ray when he shows up.”

Lou lifted a baseball bat he’d been holding between his right leg and the passenger door. “This ought to discourage him from causing any trouble.”

I rolled my eyes. “Ian said they are somewhere out in the sticks in Illinois. Said it will be at least four hours before Ray can get there.”

“That should give us plenty of time to get there, do what we have to do, and get out,” Michael said.

110

Whitney

I sat alone in a patch of shade beneath a maple tree, my hands cuffed in front. One end of a ten, maybe twelve foot length of chain was secured around the trunk of the tree by a four-digit combination padlock. From there the chain ran a few feet and then looped tightly around my waist, crisscrossed my thighs and ended with the last link locked in place by a second four-digit padlock. Harry Houdini might have escaped it, but I wasn’t going anywhere. 

The afternoon heat was oppressive, and I was thirsty. A little weak from not having eaten in what, thirty six hours, now? But mostly, I was thirsty. I watched as Larry’s women paraded around the yard in my costumes, smoking weed, laughing, and acting foolish. One of them was cracking the whip as she chased the other, my handcuffs tucked into one of the suspenders on the garter belt. And then Larry came outside, shouting at them. “Get your fat asses back inside! I done told you I’d be there in a few minutes.” He slapped the face of the one with the whip, grabbed it from her. “Go on!” he shouted. “Get back in the trailer!” he said, lashing out at the other one with the whip, leaving a mark on her right buttock. She yelped, and they both scurried for the relative safety of the dilapidated house trailer.

Seeing how these women were being treated, how ridiculous they looked, and keenly aware of my own appearance, I felt fearful, ashamed. How had my life come to this?

I’d heard of Stockholm Syndrome. Was this how Larry keeps his women, using fear and intimidation to get them to do his bidding? Breaking their spirits, building them back up from nothing?

Would I become one of them? Was this Larry’s plan for me? Keep me chained, starved and dehydrated, waiting for even worse treatment, until I came to view him as my protector?

And, would I ever see Rylee again? I’d never felt so low, so discouraged and hopeless. And then, my hopes soared at the sight of a police cruiser pulling into the driveway.

PAGE COUNTY SHERIFF was emblazoned on the side of the police cruiser, along with an image of the state of Indiana surrounded by a five-star badge. Larry, who had just grabbed the whip from one of his women, showed no alarm as the cruiser pulled into his driveway and stopped next to him.

111

Larry Brown

“How’s it going, Larry?” Sheriff Bridges rasped. His larynx was crushed a while back when a man thrust the blade of a shovel into his throat. The sheriff survived the attack, but his voice was never going to be the same. He glanced toward my women scurrying to the trailer. Then he looked at the other woman, chained to a tree. “Anything going on here I need to know about?”

“Nope,” I shook my head. “All Good, Mike. Just doing a little training, that’s all. It’s all good. You comin’ by for the dogfights Saturday night?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

I nodded, reached into my pocket, and pulled out a roll of money and handed it over to our county’s top cop. “See you then.”