All Aboard Andi's Dream

©

2024 Duleigh Lawrence-Townshend. All rights reserved. The author asserts the right to be identified as the author of this story for all portions. All characters are original. Any resemblance to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental. This story or any part thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the expressed written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review or commentary.

All Aboard Andi's Dream

Chapter 19

Paul's Dream

It had been a wonderful party. Seeing Josh propose to Veronica in front of the entire company was beautiful. Of course, seeing Josh step out to the dance floor in his US Air Force semi-formal dress blues was a shock. Paul wore his uniform, but as a lieutenant colonel flight surgeon, he probably had a quarter of the ribbons that Josh earned. As an aerial gunner on AC-130s for years, Josh was awarded dozens of ribbons and medals. All of Josh and Veronica's co-workers were stunned when Josh stepped up to the dance floor in his dress blues and tapped on Mitch's shoulder to cut in as they practiced. Mitch was in his dress blues too, a major in the NY National Guard, and he had been Veronica's dancing coach for years.

Neither Mitch nor Veronica expected to see Josh in his dress blues, and both were shocked to see the array of ribbons, badges, and wings. The only people that knew he was going to do this was Andi, Macy, John and Paul Jarecki. "Holy shit... step aside and let someone else win the war, will ya sarge?" said Mitch as he eyed Josh's badges and medals. Unconsciously he went to the top of Josh's ribbon rack to see if the baby blue Medal of Honor was there... it's just something you do when you see someone with that many ribbons.

Josh and Veronica danced to the romantic country classic, "

Could I Have This Dance for the Rest of my Life,"

and scores of women sighed as Veronica was swept off her feet. The genuine shock came at the end of Josh and Veronica's dance when Josh knelt and proposed to Veronica. As one, the entire population of Andalon Data Systems gasped. Their crazy buddy Josh was proposing to the backbone of the company, the beauty queen Veronica. And she said yes!

As a couple, they were gorgeous together, handsome Josh in his sharp uniform covered with ribbons and medals, ravishing Veronica in her lovely white gown. They were made for each other, and it looked like they were dressed for their wedding. They posed for a thousand photos. They even posed with Paul and Andi's son Daniel in Veronica's arms and Macy and John's sweet daughter Katarina in Josh's arms. In fact, Josh refused to give his 'little milk dud' back to her parents.

Then somebody noticed that Andi, Macy, and Veronica were all wearing the same dress. They were just different colored. "They are the colors of the flag," said Macy. "American Blue, Cranberry Red, and Snow White." That caused the boss, Anthony Friedman, to line the women up, and pose for more photographs. Anthony branded them "The Springville Three" and promised to make them famous.

"Let's get out of here before he discovers that we sing," said Andi, and Macy agreed.

It was a beautiful ride back to Springville. The snow gently spiraled down from the sky and the Christmas lights were still lighting up the villages they passed through. They took the long way home so they could stop at Tim Horton's in North Boston, NY and get some hot apple cider and look at the Christmas lights in the gentle snow.

It had been two months since the babies were born, and both couples had enough abstinence. For John and Macy, they finally got Cholly to spend the night in his own bed. (Sleeping with his puppy Chiot was what helped.) They were ready for love and kissed all the way home. Then Paul said something that guaranteed their evening. "Yi says that Cholly is doing fine at our house with the girls. Why not let him spend the night?"

"Thank you!" gasped John between passionate kisses from his beautiful wife. Macy hasn't been this playful since last Christmas, when they played a naked game of hide and seek in Paul's attic.

Paul dropped John and Macy off at the beautiful old farmhouse that John was actively re-building. "Busy tomorrow?" Paul asked.

"I'm working out at Gus's wood shop. What do you need?"

"I need a little time with my pastor. I need to make sure my head is screwed on straight as I head into this election."

"Let's do lunch out at Gus's workshop," said John. "I'm buying if you're flying."

"I will buy," chuckled Paul. "What would you like?"

"The usual: ham, provolone, lettuce, onion, tomato, oil, vinegar, salt and vinegar chips, ice cold Pepsi. That's if Fran is behind the counter, if it's Yano, I want the roast beef with lettuce, onion, tomato, mayo, mustard, barbeque chips and a root beer."

Paul tried not to laugh. John was always picky, but selecting your sandwich at the deli based on who is making it? That's just weird. "I'll call to double check. Love ya."

"Love you too," said John as he got out of the van with a fussy little girl in his arms. John and Macy were excited to get into the house. Their year and a half old boy, Cholly, was sleeping at Paul and Andi's house and Josh and Macy were going to take this opportunity to make love in front of their fireplace for the first time in almost a year.

Over on Howard Avenue, Paul pulled into their driveway and stopped at the back patio and he hit the remote to open the garage door. He got out of the van, opened the side door, crawled in the back, and got Danny out of his car seat. The little guy was still asleep from the biggest night in his short life. As Paul carried Danny into the house, he helped Andi up the slippery steps. He placed Danny's diaper bag on the kitchen island and turned to Andi. "That was a wonderful party. Thank you for coming."

They kissed long and sweetly, and as they kissed, Andi's hand traced over Paul's swelling cock. He wanted her so much that his balls ached. Then Andi said, "You left the motor running in the van."

"That's not the only motor that's running," he said with a grin.

Andi was so happy that the headaches he's been having had faded as was the black eye. "Go!" she said as she took Danny from his arms.

"Ok, be right back." Paul stepped back outside, and Wonka happily zipped past him as he went out the door. But once off the porch, Wonka stopped and looked around. The normally happy chocolate lab began growling and snapping, then he barked viciously. "What's wrong, boy?" That's when Paul noticed a crappy Nissan minivan in the driveway behind his Ford Transit van.

He walked toward the running minivan when somebody leaped out from between the vans and put a canvas bag over his head. Someone stepped up from behind and helped the first person yank the mouth of the bag down over Paul's waist and drew the bag tight. Someone zip tied his ankles together, and he fell to the ground. He shouted for help and suddenly heard a loud bang and a loud, heartbreaking yelp of pain from Wonka.

"Keep your mouth shut or the next one goes in your wife."

Paul was then lifted by three people and thrown into the minivan like a chunk of firewood. It must not have seats in the back because he rolled against the side of the van's interior as they shot out of the driveway, slammed into the snow pile on the curb on the other side of the street, then tried to take off but Howard Avenue was covered with a sheet of ice. It had been warm (warm-ish) that day and the snow on the street melted, but the sun didn't come out, so the streets were covered with a layer of water that froze smooth and glossy. A Western New Yorker wouldn't have a problem driving on something like that. It's an annual annoyance and something you learn to deal with in the days of your learner permit. But someone from further south wouldn't be able to travel on a Buffalo area road easily in the winter. Paul could hear the front wheels spinning wildly and decided to brace for a crash.

He turned himself sideways in the van and pressed his feet against the side of the minivan. He noticed that the bottom of the sack wasn't secured and he wiggled it loose and slowly eased it up while the thugs that grabbed him argued up front. One of them was swinging a gun around and another one ordered him to put it away in a voice with a Russian accent. "Put gun avay or I vill find bodily orifice to shove it in," shouted the Russian. He was clearly the brains of the outfit and it didn't sound like it took much brains to earn that title.

Paul's arms were free, and he reached down to discover his ankles were zip tied and he couldn't break the zip tie. He slowly pulled the sack over his head and peered at his kidnappers. There were three of them. The one with the Russian accent was in the passenger seat, the one with the pistol was in the seat behind the driver's seat, and the seat behind the passenger was folded down. He watched the thug in the back reluctantly put his pistol under the seat. Paul tried the rear door, but it was locked. The ancient minivan had manual locks and the knob you'd lift to unlock the door was removed so he couldn't hop out the back.

He quietly crept forward and came up behind the thug with the pistol and immediately put him in a choke hold. The thug gasped and coughed and tried to break free, but Paul was a wrestler in high school; he knew this hold intimately. "Let me go and I won't say a word," said Paul. "I'll say it was a prank by my golf buddies."

"Vith dead dog in yard? I do not tink so," said the Russian in the front seat. "Go. Kill if you vant. Is no matter to me."

Suddenly, the front wheels hit a dry patch, and the madly spinning wheels got traction. The minivan shot forward onto another sheet of ice and spun around before colliding with an enormous pile of snow. The guy with the Russian accent got out and opened the side door next to the man Paul was choking. "I'll fucking kill him!" snarled Paul.

"You tink you vill, after all, he kilt your dog! You Americans... so sentimental over dogs. In mother Russia, dogs are working animals! They are also meals when times are hard or ven they bite hand that feeds."

Paul hauled back, so the thug was half over the low back seat and he could put more pressure on his throat. The thug started shuddering from lack of oxygen to the brain. "I'll kill him! Let me go or I'll kill him!"

"You vill not kill, you are doctor. Hippocratic oath!" said the man with a grin.

"He's not my patient," snarled Paul.

"You vould make goot Russian!" the Russian laughed. "He is useless pain in ass," said the Russian. "I vill allow you to do this vun favor for me. To me, he is vorthless, pain in my ass. Kill if you like! To my employer, you are vorth one hundred million dollars. Ze math is simple, my doctor." The Russian produced a hypodermic needle and poked it in Paul's neck and injected him with something that made him feel light, dizzy, warm... "Now sleep, doctor. Ve have long vay to go before..." but the rest was lost to Paul, who lay unconscious in the back of the van.

The van got back on the road and headed east on NY-39 to Sardinia. Their route took them down the back roads. They were heading generally south and east into the frigid night. "How long is that stuff going to keep him under?" asked the driver.

"Who knows?" said the Russian. "That is my vorry. You? Your vorry is to get us there before sunrise."

"He almost killed me!" gasped the man in the back.

"If he had meant to kill you, you vould be dead," said the Russian. "He is cardiologist. He knows vays to kill you vich make you sorry you ever alive."

"This place sucks," grumbled the driver.

"Is very pretty," said the Russian. "Vat is not to like?"

"It's fucking cold!" he whined as they drove through the sleeping village of Arcade, NY.

"Is colder in Denver no? Vhy not liking New York?"

"It's wet! It's slushy and sloppy, then it all freezes. We'll be lucky to get there before sunrise."

"Where's my gun?" demanded the guy in the back, and suddenly he had the barrel of the gun pressing against his forehead.

"I can gif back. Vun bullet at time." The Russian had whirled around so fast that the guy in the back didn't see it happen.

"Jesus Aleksei, relax!" said the man in the back seat. He didn't know it, but using the Russian's name with a captive in the van, conscious or not, just sealed his fate. "Damn, I should know better than to get involved in one of Rosetti's schemes. The fucker owes me ten grand as it is."

The Russian allowed the man to complain through the night as they wove down forgotten highways and crossed into Pennsylvania. Finally, at six thirty AM, they pulled into a tiny, all-night café just outside of York, Pennsylvania and went inside to have coffee and wait. The driver and the gunman were edgy and didn't like sitting in a café, not with a kidnapped man in the van outside. "Something to take the edge off?" said the Russian, and he set a pill bottle on the table. Outside, a big 18 wheeler pulled into the lot and the Russian went outside to speak with the driver.

The gunman looked inside the pill bottle, and there were two white tablets in there. Shrugging, he washed down one of the tablets with lukewarm coffee and the driver followed suit. Meanwhile, outside, the Russian and the driver of the 18 wheeler hoisted a semiconscious Paul into the cab of the 18 wheeler. They put him in the sleeper and, after dropping Paul's cellphone in a trash can, the Russian named Aleksei Yevgeniy Markov climbed into the cab of the large truck.

There was a chuff and a hiss as the air brakes released, followed by a snort and a growl from the big Cummin's engine and they drove off. They turned onto US 30 and the truck disappeared into the US highway system. Behind them, they left two thugs who sat in the coffee shop. They were supposed to take the mini-van back to Denver, but they sat with cooling coffee as the sun came up, peacefully dying of a fentanyl overdose.

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"This is the last time I'm going to waste my time with you!" snapped the man on the other end of the phone. "Give me the money and I'll release the prisoner." In the most recent calls, the caller has been calling Paul a prisoner. For some reason, the caller also called Paul a planet killer, insinuating that the cars he sells were destroying the earth. Quite often he would spend most of the call spouting semi-coherent bilge about the coming ecological calamity. "Ignore this crap," Judge Atherton whispered into Andi's ear. "It's just mental masturbation. He's either a recent convert to the religion of Eco-lunacy or he's wasting time for some reason."

"Let me talk to Paul," she demanded. "I have what you want right here, one million in cash, one hundred fifty-six million in bitcoin. I have the means to drop it anywhere in the United States. First, I want to hear from Paul." The terrified mouse was gone. Andi was a snarling lioness. The attack on her children had the opposite effect from what the kidnappers had expected.

For the first time in weeks, Andi heard Paul's voice. "Darling Adrianna, I love you. I love Sandy, Maddy, Danny, and Melony. I will be seeing you all soon."

Then another voice came on the line and said, "Ve vill be in touch... soon." Then the line went dead.

"Who was that other voice?" demanded Judge Atherton. A small crowd of FBI agents and police officers clustered around Andi, who was weeping and babbling something. Lucy held Andi in her arms and Veronica looked about nervously. Something set Andi off. Ever since they tried to kidnap her children, she had been a tiny lion. Now she was a shattered mouse again.

"Who was that?" demanded Nicoletta. "The damn commie! Who the hell was that?"

"We believe that was Aleksei Yevgeniy Markov," said an FBI agent at the folding table. He was working extra hard to conceal his terror of the judge. "He's a heavy hitter in the Colorado drugs and gambling cartels." He was scrolling through a laptop, then spun it around to show Nicoletta a picture of Aleksei.

She looked at that face and it reminded her of a hundred faces just like that. Angry, bitter, respectful only of the meanest and the most vicious. They were the trash of Eastern Europe, gutless bullies that crawled through our porous border to avoid Putin's wars. If anyone with a face like that ever stood before her, they soon ended up in a Supermax for a few years, followed by a flight home to Mother Russia. "Denver..." mulled the judge. "Andi baby, do you know him?"

Andi looked at a face she hoped she'd never see again. Aleksei. She never learned his last name, but he came over to their tiny apartment where he, Frank and their idiot buddies played cards, smoked reeking cheap cigars, and swilled whiskey like it was water. And she had to wait on them in a French maid's costume if she wanted to avoid going to work at the hospital with a black eye. She nodded when she saw the picture. "Aleksei," she whispered.

"Yeah, I've seen him too," said Lucy, and she held Andi tighter.

Judge Atherton turned back to the FBI agent. "Any connection to a man named Rosetti?"

"Yeah, good guess, ma'am. Markov owns a thug named Francesco Liberatore Rosetti. Mostly small time, gambling, prostitution... says he sold his wife off as a fuck doll... oh... I'm sorry Missus Jarecki..." said the agent as he read deeper into Frank's profile. Andi just nodded and waved him away. That was then. "Anyhow, he graduated to the big time here in Springville, New York. Attempted murder, attempted vehicular homicide, and is doing hard time in Upstate Correctional."

"What's the matter, baby?" asked Lucy as Andi cried on her shoulder.

"Adrianna... Paul called me Adrianna," she sniffed. "I made him promise he'd only call me that at my funeral."

"Maybe he's terrified that you're in trouble. He doesn't know about this army you have around you now," said Judge Atherton, trying to cheer up Andi.

"No," sniffed Andi. "He said 'I love you Adriana, Sandy, Madeline, Danny, and Melony. I'll see you soon.'" She started crying even harder.

"What is wrong with that?"

"Melony was his first wife," said Lucy as she comforted her friend. "She died ten years ago..."

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Cold... so bitterly cold. Paul moved through his barn, hoping to find something to warm himself with. If he only had a metal bucket that he could start a small wood fire in, and huddle over for warmth. The ground floor was a dirt floor, he could easily start a small campfire on that but all the equipment was moved inside the 150 year old structure: his Ranger, the reliable old Ford 8N tractor, the new Kubota tractor, the snowmobile... There was no place he could safely build a fire to warm himself over. The big old structure creaked and groaned with every gust of wind. Snow found its way through every crack and snow drifts built up inside the structure. He loved this big old building... it was going to be tough to say goodbye when his time came.

His old ham radio gear puts out some heat. The old Hallicrafters SX-115 receiver and the Hallicrafters HT-32 transmitter both put out quite a bit of heat when they get going. He stepped into his ham shack (an old storage room in what used to be the milking parlor) and fired everything up, even the old Collins 30L-1 linear amplifier. He rarely used it, but it was fun on a lonely night cranking up the full kilowatt amplifier and calling "CQ, CQ, CQ. This is KB0LVZ calling CQ, CQ, CQ..." This was old school HAM radio, separate tuner and transmitter. It's possible to be off frequency when transmitting. Getting the receiver and the transmitter both on frequency was an art.