One Safe Place (41 page)

“When we came up here the first time at his request, he had to know you and I hang together. At least he had to be hoping I'd be a part of helping you. Once we were in front of him, he gave us more attitude than all of the forks full of nasty food he has eaten inside those walls. He would have called your mother every name in the book for you to hit him. You popped him in the mouth, and I took another beat-down swing at him some thirty years later, after the last one I gave him.”

“Damn, that asshole was a good chess player. So, since I see you know more than I could have imagined, what's next?”

“I can play chess, too, and don't like to lose. I had Velvet rent two motorcycles from your dealership up here, and they delivered them to the Hilton parking garage on Robinson Street. We'll check in, and leave the station wagon. We have somewhere to go on the bikes.”

They drove back from North Vancouver crossing the Lion's Gate Bridge. The beautiful city of Vancouver could be a pageant contestant. The city had more high-rise condos and apartments than New York City, and a city park much larger than Central Park.

In the city of Vancouver, every nationality on the earth seemed to converge and blend as one people. A half-hour away from America, and the color line of ignorance almost disappeared.

Checked in and back out on their motorcycles, Psalms and Tylowe headed to Harrison Hot Springs. Tylowe knew the Vancouver area well, and chose a lot of winding, twisting roads to make the motorcycle ride enjoyable. Once they were close, Psalms set the address by GPS, which took them to a duplex. They drove by and parked at a coffee shop and walked to the duplex. They slipped into the backyard by way of an alley.

Tylowe asked no questions, even when they drove into the parking garage in the station wagon, and even after Psalms turned the old radio dial to 99.45, the radio face flipped down, and a tray slid out. On the tray sat two nine-millimeter pistols. Psalms took one and gave the other one to Tylowe.

Psalms and Tylowe kept low and peeked in windows; they saw nothing. Psalms sniffed the air and checked to see which way the wind was blowing, and shook his head while pressing his lips tight. The neighboring fence stood tall enough to conceal their presence. They went down some steps to a daylight basement door. With Psalms' broad shoulders, he leaned firmly against the door until it gave in. The door opened as the door frame cracked, but made little noise. Psalms headed up to the first floor, but told Tylowe to stay. Twenty seconds later, Psalms called for Tylowe.

On the floor, Sergeant Royce, Phoenix Royce's aunt, lay dead. Psalms evaluated quickly, and determined someone had snapped
her neck. His military training had taught him she had most likely been dead almost a week. Psalms searched the house and the computer. Tylowe went outside and walked back to the motorcycles. The smell of death was too much to stomach.

Five hours later, Psalms, Mintfurd, Suzy Q, El'vis, and Zelda were all meeting in the condo office.

I
've been able to sit in this room with the hood off when no one is here to use my body. It's on now, though. I hear The Voice, my kidnapper, Pretty Boy. He is talking with a woman and man. They are talking openly about me, and I hear of my possible end or continued torture.

The other voices in the room are a woman with an Eastern European accent. The other voice sounds black. That black voice is different from the average black male voice. His voice has a tad Caribbean, maybe French, accent. It's almost like Pretty Boy's, but blacker and rougher.

“We need to keep her alive as a safety net. They'll be getting our little request later today,” the black male's voice says.

“Are you sure we need her? I don't want any trace of us tied to anything that could hold us back, or cause me problems later. All I want is my money. What you do is not my concern—unless you bring me unwanted attention.” The female's Eastern European accent sounds like she is the master of the other two.

The Voice pierces me with his valued opinion of my worth. “Well, she's brought in a lot of money for me. My customers love her boy- girl appeal. Shit, we had an ex-Fox Network commentator come in here, and lick and suck on everything she had. Come to find out he's originally from Mt. Vernon, Washington where that interstate
bridge fell in the river. So I'm not so interested in getting rid of her yet.

“I had to rid myself of the two who guarded her. They played with her when they were warned to keep their hands off. I have a video camera in the light above the bed. I've taped everyone who has touched her. It will give us a poker chip if we need to get out of a jam. We have a police chief and a judge, a pastor of a megachurch, and the Republican party boss and more, all on video.”

“Please don't kill me,” I cry out.

“Shut it,” the Voice that kidnapped me yells, but I can't help but weep aloud. This hood is so wet around my neck.

“Well, I have not had the pleasure of something strange since I've been in prison. I need you to turn that camera off so I can play with her, but that hood gonna have to come off, if I'm gonna get off. Plus, her boyfriend, I owe him one!”

The black man sounds foul and gruff, like a pain.
Is he speaking of Psalms? Does he know Psalms? What is he talking about he owes my boyfriend?
I hope he don't touch me.

The female screams. “Let me be clear, your black ass can go back and rot in a Canadian jail, and your partner here with his puny little French ass, he can go pimp horse shit. I want my money soon. I financed this so-called perfect plan. It looked good at first, but now the man I sent to Las Vegas is missing, and I assume he's dead. The kids have not been found. Where the hell are they? Before my man came up missing, he told me he found that bitch, Queen. Why would my old-ass father be so in love with her, despite the fact she was fucking you, I'll never know. I want those kids found, and I want them dead! I want my money! Get my money!”

She's the boss for sure, and she doesn't give a damn about my life.

“Sah—”

“Shut the fuck up, you stupid, black no-account good-for-nothing! Don't say my name around her. I want her dead now!”

“Whatever you want to call me, we can't kill her yet. Be patient. And don't think you own me?” the black male says, with some push-back in his voice.

I've been my own worst enemy. I put myself under this hood. I got myself tied to this bed. I put myself in this hell. My need for attention has made me cry wolf one too many times. With the madness that I have lived, I assume Psalms has had enough of me. He would have found me by now. He would have found me. He would have.

But I set myself up. I asked to be kidnapped. I asked for help from someone from my past life on the streets when I was pimping human toys myself. I asked her to help me set up my own kidnapping, and not know when exactly it would take place.

We set it up to happen within a two-month period, and I wouldn't be harmed. I was supposed to have water and food and be left in a room. A fake ransom note would make it to Psalms. Because he is who he is, he'd find me easily.

I wanted Psalms to come rescue me, as he had done before again and again. As the years have come and gone, I have felt Psalms getting closer to Gabrielle. She's a good woman. I don't have anything against her. It's me. It's me knowing I can't be the woman. I understand, but I need to stay relevant in his soul.

The last night he spent the night with me, I twisted like a wet dish rag thinking I needed to call off the kidnapping. I thought I had time to call it off. I guess it played right in to me being here. The woman from my past life must have made a little money selling my ass to these people. She only wants money.

Psalms always told me about hiring the right person for a job. Never hire someone who needs the money; always hire someone who makes money. The person in need will bring you drama; the one who makes money will do the job right.

Who are these kids they are looking for, and who is this woman, and the black man? Please don't let him touch me. I've had nasty people all over me for weeks, but he sounds horrendous.

Something awful has ripped into my soul. To have made the decision that I did to get attention…a part of my soul has died and will never come back. My life has known hell since my birth. Born with a woman's soul, but with a part of a man between my legs. I know I have gone through and fought demons. I can identify with not always being myself, but being what, I don't know.

If I live, if I live on, I'll get right. I'll make it all right. I have to learn to love myself. The hardest part is finding my way. I'll have to learn to trust God, after He has done His work with me here.

Am I thinking like a child who prays they don't get a whooping declaring,
Dear God, if you don't let me get a whooping this time, I'll never be bad again.
Is that me now? Is that what I'm doing?
Dear God, look into my heart.

I need some mental and emotional growth. I need to find out what being a woman is really about, because I do have love to give.
Please God, set me free from this pain in my heart and soul; I've spent enough time in a mental jail of all the sins of man, and all my immoralities.

I treated some people real bad, very bad, being two different people at times, living in self-indulgence, doing what I wanted regardless of how it would affect others. Now my egotistical self wants to live. The bad person in me has me crying under a black hood tied to a bed, and the bad in me has my body being used as
a human sexual toy. I do not want to let the good person in me die with the bad seed my father polluted me with.

Will I live? I don't know.

Psalms' grandfather had told me a story, one to help me get through a tough time when he'd shot my father who raped me. I didn't know if I could go on and live. I felt I would suffer every waking day.

He'd told me of a man who was dying of cancer. The doctors had told him he was going to live maybe a year when they found the cancers. The man said he was going to live as long as God said he would, and if he had to suffer, it was also God's will.

The man decided he would live the best life he could until his time was up. He flew to Africa to go on a safari to hunt lions. He and another man got lost from the rest. The two men were found eaten by lions; only their bones remained. Two men died, one simply out for the hunt, and the one with cancer. The question was, did God save the man with cancer from long-term suffering? Did the devil take the life of the other hunter? It is not for us to question God's way. I haven't followed God too much, but…

The door slams. I hope they have left…
Oh shit, that hurts.

“Hey, turn that fucking camera off.” It's his voice. The one I don't want to touch me.

“Now for you. Yeah, let's get that hood off you, little freak, and if you try to hit me or bite or kick, I'll knock your teeth out. We are going to have some fun, girl.”

He's untying me.
Oh no, he has horrible teeth. They're broken off. He's staring at me like a cannibal. His body is bloated. I want to put the hood back on.

E
lliot opened the bedroom door to exit with a shit-eating grin. He had just done horrible things to Evita, and hurt her deeply. He forgot his belt and turned back to fetch it.

Boom…boom…boom…boom!
The house shook, like a California earthquake. Elliot awkwardly fell backward and hit his head hard on the bed post, breaking it. Stunned, his sight went black, and his mind went blank. Gunshots went off, and screams echoed in the halls.

On the first floor in a bedroom, Suzy Q fired her long-barrel .45 pistol. Four well-placed bombs exploded at different locations in and around the house built on a bluff over the water. Sasha Ivanov had her gun up and ready to fire, but the smoke was too thick for her to see. Suzy Q, wearing a gas mask that covered her eyes and nose, aimed at Sasha Ivanov. A red beam of light put a target on Sasha Ivanov's forehead and in that spilt-second, Suzy Q shot Sasha Ivanov point-blank in the middle of her forehead.

On the floor above, EL'vis shot through a door at a man who was shooting wildly at him. The man then ran into a room and slammed the door behind him. EL'vis yelled at whoever was in that room to come out, or he was coming in with his gun firing.

Two more smoke bombs went off. EL'vis also had on a gas mask that covered his eyes and nose as he kicked the door, but the door
had a weight against it. He kicked the door again, and the weight moved. It was dead weight. The Voice that had kidnapped Evita, Pretty Boy, took his last breath when EL'vis pushed him over. Two bullet holes pierced his chest. In that room, video recording equipment lights blinked. EL'vis pulled out bags, and gathered hard drives and DVDs from the equipment.

Outside Zelda checked on the four men with zip ties around their wrists and ankles. All were sleeping and gagged. The men had been stationed outside the house when Psalms and his crew ambushed them. All Russians, all armed, and not nearly bad enough. None of the men could get their guns out in time when Psalms and his crew surprised them. Hand-to-hand combat lasted less than twenty seconds. One man got off a single punch that hit Zelda in the mouth, loosening a tooth. Zelda knocked him out with one punch, then she lit his ass up with ten punches to the head and body before he hit the ground, wailing on him much longer than she had to. On to her next task, she released some kidnapped young women and a couple of teenage boys from different wings of the house, and helped them into cars and SUVs captured from the henchmen.

Mintfurd's sleeping gas was not feasible to use in the house. The house had four floors and separate wings, with no central air to load the gas into to let it flow through the house. The bombs on the outside were meant to rock the house, and to throw things into chaos.