The AV Guy

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photocopying recording or otherwise without prior written permission of the publishers. For information contact: Pink Flamingo Publications www.pinkflamingo.com P.O. Box 632 Richland, MI 49083 USA Email Comments: comments@pinkflamingo.com for Stacey Long loved and married Ashes were buried Only death did us part Doors were locked Silent the clocks Alone in the cold and dark Through window unlatched A contraband match Kindled a frozen heart Prologue When Manny hit her with the stun, the girl collapsed. Her damp hands slapped down hard on the hood of the truck, squeaking across the hot metal as she slithered down and back into Manny’s waiting arms. He cradled her easily. Manny was big, and she was a small woman. A playful wind lifted the road map off of the hood and kited it high over the road. I couldn’t help imagining that a state trooper might see it and think it was some kind a distress signal. Sitting shotgun, I checked the mirror. It was convex, and I had it aimed so that I could see both lanes beyond the shoulder. There was a car topping the rise behind us, but that was two miles back, with a deep valley between here and there. We had at least a minute or two before anyone would be close enough to see us. Sloan pulled the truck forward a few feet and hit the brakes hard enough to rock the truck a little. “Get the door, Darren.” He sounded bored, and maybe a bit irritated that I needed to be told. I squeezed between the bucket seats and wrenched the rear door open from the inside Manny poured the girl in. I grabbed her under the armpits and helped. She was wearing a jogging bra; I could feel it under the tee shirt. She had been running for awhile, and was slippery with sweat. I took her left wrist and lifted it toward one of the cuffs. Yesterday, Manny had cut the links between two pair of standard cop bracelets and attached lengths of chain to the separated cuffs. The chains were padlocked to four rings, widely spaced, and bolted to the truck floor. She didn’t resist. She couldn’t yet. The stun gun had temporarily robbed her of voluntary muscle control, but in the back of her throat she began a wordless keening. I ignored the frantic pleading in her eyes and turned away before she got a good look at my face. We were all wearing disguises. I made them myself. I didn’t go all Hollywood about it. I just used a few appliances to change the shape of our noses and cheeks. I added sunglasses, and matching ball caps with some company name on the front. Manny was wearing a fake mustache. When Manny called her over to the truck, he had kept his head low. He was pretending to study the map. She had been looking at it too when he stunned her. I carefully closed the ratchets down the way Manny had taught me, not too tight, but tight enough. Then I leaned over to get her other hand. Manny kicked her legs apart and crawled in between them, twisting around to slam the door shut behind him. There was a gold watch on her wrist. It was in my way. My mind was kicked into overdrive. I was thinking about taking the watch off, and wondering what I should do with something that might become evidence later. I decided to just slide the watch higher on her arm. Even with all that debating I had the cuff on and closed in a couple of seconds. “How’s it going?” asked Sloan. He was looking in the outside mirror, studying the road behind us. “Just a second more,” said Manny. He started snapping cuffs on her ankles and looked up to make sure I had both hands locked down. Her tore off a length of tape for her mouth, and I followed it with a canvas bag over her head. I tied the drawstring loose around her neck to let in enough air for her to breathe. “Good to go,” said Manny. Then we heard the car buzzing down the pavement from behind us, slowing as it drew closer. Up front, Sloan picked up the hero sandwich he had started eating earlier and held it left handed. When the car drew alongside us, he waved the sandwich at the gawkers inside to let them know everything was just fine here, and managed to screen his face with it at the same time. I thought it was a passable portrayal of a workman who had pulled over to have lunch. The ladder bungee tied on the roof of the truck was supposed to help sell that script. I crouched low and tried to be invisible, even though there weren’t any windows in the back of the truck. Manny just put his hands on his knees, bent over, and waited. The car sped up and pulled away. It was an old couple, just rubbernecking, no sweat. “Don’t fall into any speed traps,” said Manny. Sloan chuckled as he put the truck in gear. “Don’t worry; I won’t bruise the tomatoes getting them home.” And as simple as that, I became a kidnapper.