Housebroken (13 page)

Blake’s demeanor must have revealed the absolute horror he was feeling. The pharmacist snatched the bills, taking a step back from the register.

“If we don’t take her to a vet, will she live?” Blake asked.

“Without treatment? You won’t be able to stave off infection. That cream will do as much good as handing two aspirin to someone who’s broken an arm.”

“Dogs don’t have arms,” Joje said.

“What kind of dog is it?” the pharmacist asked.

“Just a bitch,” Joje said.

The pharmacist placed the change from the register on the counter, backing away.

“Take her to a vet. Or a hospital. If you’ll excuse me.” He stepped behind the partition into the adjoining room of licensed drugs and plastic containers. It was the only time Blake had seen someone use prescription drugs as an escape without actually swallowing a pill.

The BMW’s tires spun beneath the loose gravel on the road as Blake took a turn too fast on the drive back up the coast. His thoughts were spinning even faster, but on a hamster’s wheel, never making progress. The ping from his phone announcing an incoming message or e-mail was gasoline to the fire.

The conversation with the pharmacist had left him rattled. He had to get Jenna to a hospital, he just wasn’t sure how. Add to that complication the fact that his captors were secretly robbing him blind.

“How much have you taken?” he asked.

“Taken?”

“My money!”

“We’re not robbing you, Bwakey. I’m no thief. It’s all there. You just won’t have access to it. Not during the next phase of our pwoject.”

“The next phase?”

“I’ll be honest. I got a little upset when I saw how many zeroes were attached to the numbers in your bank, and yet you wouldn’t buy a ten-dollar subscription?”

“That has nothing to do with why you’re here,” Blake said.

“It has everything to do with it. Can’t you see? Who would you be without your money, your success? That’s all I’m interested in finding out.”

Another ping. This time Joje answered the text, silently typing a short reply, probably to Drew.

“You can have it all—take it! Just leave me and my family alone. Take Drew, take this car, I don’t care, but leave! Get out of our lives, just—just leave.”

“You know I can’t do that,” Joje said.

“Then let me take my wife to the hospital. We can leave her there. Continue at home with your project. No one will know!”

“You have nothing to bargain with.”

“Oh, no?” Blake skidded around another corner, pushing his rage into the machine that was his car. The speedometer climbed, fifty . . . sixty . . . seventy. He took the next curve without hitting the brakes, tires chirping as they grabbed and slid, grabbed and slid, the BMW fishtailing before catching. And still Blake refused to let off the gas. Seventy . . . seventy-five . . . eighty.

“Do I look afraid, Bwake? Or concerned?” Joje’s voice was calm, relaxed, even as Blake’s knuckles turned white from gripping the wheel.

Flashing lights and a burping whirl suddenly sprang from behind them, an unexpected answer to prayer.
There’s my bargaining chip, you bastard
, Blake thought.

“Don’t pull over,” Joje said as Blake braked. “No, pull over.”

Blake slowed but continued driving, a floodgate of ideas breaking through the dam of depression. One way or another, he had stumbled onto their way out.

“Pull over!” Joje said, glancing behind them. Blake continued driving, passing a gravel turnout with more than enough room to have stopped. Joje laughed. “Bwake, I’m trying to help you.”

“No, but this cop might. Should I lead him to the house?”

“Lead him wherever you want,” Joje said. “Just whatever you do, don’t let him open your trunk.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I left a little insurance in there,” Joje said. “In the off chance we might need it.”

Another wide turnout was ahead. Blake brought the car over, gravel grinding beneath the wheels. He put the car in park, a cloud of dirt sweeping past them.

“What the hell is in my trunk?”

“You can’t believe I wouldn’t have a plan for something like this?” Joje asked. “Get the cop to leave, or you will never see your family again. In more ways than one.”

“What’s in there?” Blake repeated.

“Not what. Who.”

“What—?”

“Your fingerprints on the body, murder weapon in your house,” Joje said.

“Bullshit.”

“Think. Do I need to bluff?” Joje held up Blake’s phone. “One button and your family disappears forever, long before any cops can arrive. No, the insurance is for something more, for when you’re no longer afraid to lose your family.”

Blake looked in the rearview mirror. It was a motorcycle cop. He couldn’t see the face beneath the helmet from this distance. “Whose body is it?” he asked.

“Does it matter?”

“Whose body!”

“Your neighbor. The one you were arguing with on the street.” Joje’s lips pulled to the side, his tic taking over. “Your little dispute was convincing on camera—his, not mine. Probably provide a nice motive. He had a lot of surveillance, that one.”

Tom Jones.
He’d never be placing his sausage finger into someone’s handshake again. Blake wanted to believe it was all a fabrication, an elaborate lie to keep Blake from talking. The emblem of Tom’s business card spun in Blake’s mind—a diamond being crushed by another diamond, just as Joje was crushing him now.

Because the only crime is letting them put you away.

Blake wondered if Tom would think so now. “How do I know you’re not lying?” he asked.

“Because. I don’t lie.”

“Fine. I won’t say a word, but in exchange, I’m taking Jenna to the hospital.”

“No,” Joje said.

“She’ll die if I don’t!”

“She won’t die.”

“I promise—I’ll play by your rules. I won’t say anything!” Blake said. “Just let me get her help.”

A knock at the window. Blake jumped. The uniformed cop was at Joje’s door.

“Promise me I can take her,” Blake said.

“I can’t make that promise.”

“Promise me, Joje—she’s my wife!”

Another knock. Joje glanced outside, held his finger up. One minute. It should have been a hilarious gesture, given to a police officer. Blake only wished he had held up two fingers; he needed more time.

“You will never step foot in a hospital while we’re here,” Joje said. “Play by the rules, and no one else gets hurt. Or call my bluff. But you should have said your good-byes before we left.”

Without looking away from Blake, Joje pressed the tiny lever, lowering his window. A light shone directly into Blake’s face, causing him to squint. As he shielded his eyes, he watched Joje’s smile creep onto his face like a spider scurrying from beneath shadows. Phone in hand, thumb rested lightly against the button that would decide the fate of Blake’s family, Joje broke eye contact.

“Good mauwning, offisoh.”

Adam sat on one of the swing-out chairs attached to the kitchen island, having finished the bacon and eggs Drew had made for him. Greasy dishes and pans were piled in the sink like the blocks of a Jenga game after one wrong move.

There have been a lot of wrong moves lately
, Adam thought.

“
Modern Warfare
?” Drew asked.

“Yeah, sure.”.

Jenna lay on the couch in front of the TV, still covered in blankets. She wasn’t shivering anymore, and the even rise and fall of her chest suggested she was asleep. Drew and Adam both hovered over her, their shadows enwrapping her in yet another layer.

“Why’d you do it?” Adam asked. Drew stood there a long time without answering, so long Adam began to wonder if he had vocalized his question.

“She has to learn,” Drew replied, as if it was answer enough. In a way, Adam supposed it was. “Sorry about your dog.”

“Sorry about your hand.”

Drew nodded.

In some ways, they were so similar. Sacrifices had to be made in order to demonstrate how far one was willing to go. If anyone understood, it would be Adam. Still, he was fairly certain Jenna was a far way off from “learning her lesson.” Her injuries wouldn’t turn her into the submissive housewife Drew and Joje were hoping for. You don’t tame a lioness by breaking its legs; you just piss it off.

Beneath her closed lids, Jenna’s eyes hadn’t moved since Adam and Drew had stood over her. She was playing dead. Adam wanted to smile.

“You wanna play upstairs? In the theater room?” he asked.

A pause. “We need to stay down here, to watch her.”

“She’s not going anywhere. I’ve never played on the projection screen. It’d be awesome. Life-size soldiers, bombs exploding, bullets whizzing by in surround sound.”

“Why haven’t you played there?” Drew asked.

“My dad won’t let me. But he’s not here.”

“We can’t be there when George gets back,” Drew said.

Bingo. Adam went to the TV, unplugging the game console from beneath the mounted racks. “Grab some Pepsis?”

Drew moved to the kitchen without a word, so used to following orders. Holding the console and controllers against his chest, Adam went back over to Jenna. With his other hand, he reached out, gently squeezing her hand. He had expected her to return the squeeze, let him know she understood the time he was buying her. Instead, her hand lay limp against his, cold to the touch. Maybe she wasn’t faking.

Adam felt Drew’s presence before he heard him. For such a big guy, Adam was surprised by his stealth.

“You trying to wake her?” Drew asked.

“Just wanted to be sure,” Adam said. “I don’t want us to get in trouble.” Let him think they were in this together. Who knew, maybe they were?

Drew reached down, his hand sliding beneath the blanket as he groped Jenna’s chest. She gave no reaction. For the first time, Adam felt a twinge of fear from the pale face next to him. Eyes that seemed to look but not see. Like a stuffed animal.

Maybe they weren’t that similar.

Adam led the way through the foyer and up the stairs to the theater room. By the time Jenna’s eyes popped open, they were both immersed in their game.

“I interrupting?”

The cop did not sound happy, a short, pudgy Asian with a clean-shaven face that made him look much younger than he probably was. He had a dark, fat mole where his left nostril met his cheek that looked like an obscene and bloody pimple. His suit was pressed, badge shined, hair trimmed so short it wasn’t possible to have it out of place.

“Sorry, officer,” Joje said. “Been a long day. Our dog just died.”

“Eat your homework too?” He ignored Joje’s laugh, eyes training on Blake. “You been drinking?”

“I don’t drink, sir,” Joje said.

“Not you.”

Blake opened his mouth, a plea for help preparing to leap from his tongue. The words collided head-on in a pileup that went on for unspoken paragraphs.

“You look a little banged up. Something I need to know about?”

A lot he needed to know about. Joje’s finger circling around the send button on the phone had a way of rejuvenating Blake’s vocal chords. “Uh, no, sir. Just an accident.”

“Uh-huh. Where you headed?”

“Home,” Joje said. Blake couldn’t stop the shiver that raced through his body. Joje may not have noticed, but the police officer certainly did.

“Where’s home?”

“Couple miles up ahead. What’s the address, Bwakey?”

“Sixteen Vanilla Banks,” Blake said.

“Have it for the weekend?”

“Seven days,” Blake replied. He looked up. “I mean, we bought it. We’ve only been there, well, about seven days.”

“So the Welchsetzer home sold.” The officer’s lips curled up on the left side of his face, making the mole widen as his nostrils flared.

“Moving trucks should have given it away,” Joje said.

It had to Joje, apparently, though Blake was having a hard time believing their encounter was nothing more than chance. Someone must have sent them. And if they were sent, it meant they were after something, something more than Blake’s money.

The officer stuck his hand through the window, and Joje took it.

“Officer Randall,” he said, reaching across Joje and offering his hand to Blake. “Welcome to the neighborhood. Me and Deputy McClellan run tight end D on the PCH. Anyone not local, we make sure they’re running from point A to point B. No pit stops in between. I’m sure you’ve heard, crime rate in Malibu is the lowest in all of LA County.” He paused as if in a high school play, waiting for the line the other actor was struggling to remember.

Blake nodded after a moment. “Thank you.”

“Hey, it’s what we do. I don’t want you to think the locals get a free pass or anything, but,” he shrugged, “we look the other way, you know, when we need to. Malibu is sort of a throwback to the Old West. A town where . . . money still talks.” He laughed, then looked out over the car toward the ocean. “We make it a point to know the residents on a personal basis. We’d love to come by. You married? Family?”

“Yes,” Blake said, almost too eagerly. Joje’s face was crinkled as if he were squinting, though the sun was overhead.

“I don’t want to invite ourselves . . . ,” Randall said, implying quite the opposite.

“Now’s a bad time,” Blake said. “We might be going to the hospital, right George?”

“Someone sick?” Randall asked.

“My wife,” Blake said.

“You don’t want to go to the hospital, trust me—you’re new here, there’s a lot to learn. Here, the hospital comes to you. I mean, you’re living in Mount Olympus. Even the cops are like your own personal escorts.” The left side of his mouth curled up again in that half-spawned smile. “Here,” Randall pulled out a business card and jotted a number down on the back, handing it to Joje. “Dr. Cheverou. From Russia or something. Makes house calls. I hear he’s phenomenal. And discreet.”

“Thank you,” Joje said.

“My number’s on the front. Give me a buzz once you’re settled. McClellan and I can swing in one evening at shift’s end. For drinks or something.” He glanced between the two of them one final time. “You sure everything’s all right?”

Joje conceded to Blake, it was the moment to either fold or go all in. Joje’s finger continued its swirling pattern on the phone’s keypad in his lap. How long would it take Drew to respond to that text? Minutes? Seconds?