ONE CUP (Part 27)

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112

Nick Taylor

I watched the video again, this time with Jackie, who had arrived with Rylee half an hour or so earlier at the apartment. It had taken a while to get the child to sleep.

The video we were viewing was not taken inside the apartment. Those videos were filled with images of everybody’s All-American boy Mike Prescott dressed in a wig, wearing heavy makeup and, garter belt, stockings and heels, being humiliated in ways I’d never imagined. Seeing it once was enough for me.

I have learned over the years not to judge. To each, his own. I really did feel sorry for him, the poor bastard, his penis was no bigger than my little finger. I mean, here’s a guy who’s got a mega-bucks contract, making more money than God. He’s admired by baseball fans everywhere, but, he’s got a really small dick! Some things, you just have no control over.

This particular video was taken outside, in the parking lot. Jackie and I watched in disbelief. Kayla Prescott could clearly be seen attacking the girl and putting her in the trunk of a car. Shortly after, her husband, and two teammates, Lou Brannigan and Ian McGregor, arrived. There was an animated discussion among them, ending when a brown pickup truck pulled up. On the side of the truck, white lettering advertised Brown’s Towing Service, along with an address in Page, Indiana and phone number. Two men got out. Money changed hands, and everyone dispersed. The thinner of the two men who arrived in the truck got behind the wheel of the BMW, and drove away, followed by his friend in the truck.

Jackie looked at me. “What are we going to do with this, Nick?”

“What do you mean?” I said. “We have to turn it over to the cops, report an assault and kidnapping.”

“That creates problems.”

“I don’t care! We have to do it, Jackie.” I said. “What kind of problems?”

“Well, there is the matter of our involvement in all this,” Jackie said. “The word, ‘Blackmail’ comes to mind.”

I opened my mouth to speak, then exhaled heavily.

“And, from what I’ve heard about the man, things could get very uncomfortable for us if Graham Jackson isn’t kept in the loop. In the loop, meaning he’s the only one told about it.”

“We have to do something!” I said. “You’re not willing to risk your friend’s life, are you?”

“Keep your voice down,” Jackie said. “Rylee’s in the next room.

We will do something. We have the address. We know where they are taking her. She’s either dead, or at this guy Brown’s place.”

“Okay,” I whispered. “And?”

“And we go there. If she’s alive, we get her and bring her back.”

“I suppose.”

“These videos are worth a lot of money now. The Prescotts. Graham Jackson. The media. They would all be willing to pay big money for what we have here,” Jackie said.

“Yeah,” I agreed, “Or maybe just kill us.”

113

I used the Google app on my iPhone to look up Brown’s Towing Service.

“Okay, here’s the address,” I said. “It’s in Page, Indiana. About an hour from here.”

“We have to get there before—” Jackie glanced at Rylee, then back to me. “You know.”

I nodded.

“Come on, Rylee,” Jackie reached out for the child to take her hand. “We have to go somewhere.”

“Where are we going?”

“A place called Page.”

“I have a friend named Page in my class,” Rylee said. “Are we going to her house?”

“No, it’s a town named Page.”

“Why would they name a town the same as my friend?”

“I don’t know. Come on, let’s go.”

Rylee took Jackie’s hand and we headed for the door.

“I want my mommy,” Rylee said. “Is she going to be there?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can I take Sally?”

“No. We can’t bring any friends.”

“Sally wants to go.” Rylee held up a doll. “Tell her Sally. Tell her you want to go.”

“This is Sally?”

Rylee nodded. “Uh huh.”

“Okay. We’ll bring Sally with us.”

“How far is it?”

“About an hour.”

“Is that a long time?”

“Not too long.”

“How many minutes?”

“About sixty.”

“One, two, three, four . . . –”

114

Ray Garrett

My stomach was churning with anxiety. Whitney was in trouble. Somehow, and I don’t pretend to understand why, I had to help her. I might be her only chance. For whatever reason, Kayla Prescott was involved, and probably on her way to get to her.

I opened the doors of the machine shed and began my walk-around pre-flight inspection of the airplane. Beginning at the nose, I methodically worked my way around, removing engine covers, checking for obstructions such as bird nests blocking air intakes, checking engine oil, and draining fuel sumps to rid the lines of water. I took a look at all the surface controls and tire pressures, and stepped up on the wing struts to check fuel levels. Satisfied the Cessna would fly, I attached the hand tow bar to steer the nose wheel and grabbed the propeller, pulling the airplane out into the sun.

I was ready to go. Inside the cockpit, I strapped myself into the pilot seat, pushed in the mixture and pumped the throttle a couple times. “Clear!” I called out, sticking to procedures even though I knew nobody was around. I turned the key to engage the starter. Nothing.

I unbuckled and got out of the Cessna, ran inside the machine shed. I wasted a few minutes searching in vain for a rope of suitable length. Eventually, I spotted a fifty foot ten gauge electrical extension cord. I hustled back to the airplane, ran one end of the cord through the tail tie-down loop, tied a slip knot, and tossed the cord onto the ground. Satisfied that it would serve its purpose, I went back into the shed and brought my LeSabre outside, parking it within a couple feet of the tail of the airplane.

I then took the short end of the extension cord and tied a slip knot around the front bumper of my car. The longer section, I pulled up into the cockpit. I checked to make sure the parking brake was set, the mixture rich, throttle cracked open just a bit, and the magnetos off. From there I ran around to the nose of the plane and pulled the prop through a few times, to allow fuel to get into the pistons. Back to the cockpit, turned the magneto switch to BOTH, and back to the nose. I brought my right leg up and then pivoted toward the right as I pulled the prop through. My momentum took me away from the propeller. It didn’t fire. I tried again. And yet again.

The flashing blue and red lights of a police car coming down the country road toward me caught my attention. Were they coming for me? Or was there a problem at one of the neighboring farms? I didn’t intend on sticking around to find out. I put my back into the fourth attempt, and the engine came alive. The airplane strained against the extension cord, like a race horse eager to go. As I ran around to the left side of the plane and climbed into the cockpit.

Back in the pilot’s seat, I gave a yank on the extension cord to release the slip knot, closed the cockpit door and began taxiing toward the end of the grass strip, buckling my seat belt and shoulder harness along the way. The grass hadn’t been mowed in a while, and I had to apply more throttle than normal just to keep the airplane moving. At the end of the runway, I lined up into the wind and set the brake. I checked the fuel selector was in BOTH, and the mixture rich before running the engine up to seventeen-hundred RPM. Engine gauges were all in the green, carb heat and mags checked good. The airplane was ready to fly. I brought the throttle back to one-thousand RPM. There was only one thing more to do. I pulled my cell phone from my pocket.

115

Larry Brown

I left Leon in charge of feeding the dogs and the woman we’d found in the trunk of the BMW while I went into town to take care of some business. I wasn’t comfortable keeping her. Someone might come around looking for her, and it wouldn’t look good if she was found in chains. I decided we’d have to do something with her when I got back.

Our local radio station was calling for the heat wave we’d been experiencing for more than a week to come to an abrupt end later in the day. A fast moving cold front was expected to pass through in the middle of the afternoon, with the possibility of severe thunderstorms and tornadoes. That sounded good to me. The cooler temps would be a welcome relief. The dogs would fight better tomorrow night, which would in turn inspire the bettors to put down more money.

First thing I did was stop by the bank and withdraw a few thousand to stock up on beer, sodas, and food for the concession stand. What was left over would be used to cover bets. I make a lot of money off my dogfights. You might think it’s cruel, but how is it any different than the horse racing industry? What do you think happens to all those pretty foals you see frolicking in the pastures when they grow up to be losers at the track? Me and Leon are feeding them to my dogs, that’s what. So next time you see a pretty lady with a big fancy hat sipping a mint julep on TV just before the derby, ask yourself why she is any better than the hard working folks who come to my place to drink beer in their baseball caps.

As long as I’m on a rant, what about boxing matches or cage fights, where human beings pay to watch other human beings beat one another unconscious?

I stopped in at Peggy’s Uptown Diner for a late breakfast. Sheriff Bridges was in a corner booth with Perry Winters, the owner of the funeral home. Perry is also the county coroner. I nodded to them, but didn’t join them. Between me and you, we help one another out from time to time, and it works out good for all of us. It’s best, though, if word don’t get out that I have anything to do with them, so we keep our dealings strictly professional and private.

After I finished my breakfast, I got back in my pickup and headed over to Richmond, to see a new gal I’ve been sniffin’ for a couple weeks now. Her name’s Jeanie and she’s married to a car salesman. I called her and let her know I was on my way so she could open the garage door for me to drive right in. That way, nobody sees my pickup in her driveway.

After an hour or so, I left Jeanie’s house and headed back to my place. The sky was getting dark. Ugly dark, like when you dump what’s left in near-empty cans of different colors of paint and start mixin’ ‘em together. Blue, green, purple and black, and the clouds were boiling, too, with lots of lightning. I sped up, hoping to get home before the storm.