Susan was lying on a pile of filthy sheets in a creaky bed a some dingy room in an abandoned house in one of the grimier sections of town. This was her second experience at being kidnapped; the first had been at the hands of Shawn McClellan, a man she considered terrifying with his threatening scar and callous disregard of her apparent fear. He'd brought her to the edge of madness with his calculated indifference, cool logic, and gallows humor.
Now she considered his behavior generous, even warm, compared to the stark terror her current captors inspired. Shawn had been a living recognizable entity, a real live person. He'd talked to her, shown her his face, asked her questions, even tried, after an awkward fashion to explain her predicament. These men, three she believed, were just gravelly surly voices, none distinguishable from another. They weren't merely indifferent to her plight; they seemed to relish her fear, her dread.
These men had torn off her clothes, bound her with duct tape, and though short of outright rape, took liberal advantage of her helpless body, groping and pawing her like she was some stray animal. Their behavior was a far cry from the silk pajamas and delicate manacles of her first tormentor. She wondered how long it would take before these monsters actually did rape and kill her.
Quite a paradox, a humorless conundrum, Shawn she had seen as a monster, but in the presence of these men she understood the true meaning of the word.
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Shawn understood the reason for Susan's second abduction. She meant nothing to her captors. They wanted him. They knew he would come to her rescue, and indeed, that was the plan.
He had sped east in stolen cars to reach the new theater of action. He had no idea what the time frame was. He knew he had to move quickly before it was too late. He reasoned her life was on a short leash. His trusted friend and one time co-conspirator Kim had scoured the underworld landscape. Finding out where Susan was hidden was easy; they'd wanted him to know.
Armed with rudimentary knowledge he secured as much additional information as possible. Borrowing a gentleman's work uniform and truck he posed as a coca cola vendor supplying the innumerable small businesses that populated the neighborhood street corners. The coke delivery man he left safely secured in the back of the truck while he pretended to serve an imaginary clientele. Up and down the streets he drove, watching, listening, and noting everything he could.
The neighborhood, once an upscale Jewish community, was the perfect choice for would be assassins. It was overcrowded, forgotten, and now overwhelmingly minority. Shawn, a white Anglo-Saxon Protestant, stood out in the largely black and Hispanic population. Easily seen, he would have been an easy target.
The house where she was held couldn't have been more secure if it was Fort Knox. A large three storied dwelling, set in the middle of a substantial yard, it was surrounded by other equally decrepit structures. All had certainly been carved into several small rental units. Storming the house meant having to know which of the units was hers. It would have been incredibly difficult for an experienced invader, for a relative novice like Shawn the project was impossible. To succeed in saving Susan in these circumstances would have required perfect timing and a total understanding of the layout. Shawn simply lacked the ability.
Worse, his survey of the street revealed at least two additional outposts, one on the front street, and another across the alley. If he could reach the house they'd pin him down and kill him before he'd gained the front or back door.
He retreated from the neighborhood, released the coca cola man, thanked him, paid him some money, and drove off. He pounded the wheel of his car. He smashed his fist into the dashboard. He tore at his hair. Susan he mentally exclaimed, how am I ever going to get you out?
The more he stubbornly refused to surrender, the more he reflected on the futility of the situation, the more he realized what he had to do. He remembered an old adage, 'If one wanted to kill a snake, one had to cut off its head.' If he couldn't rescue Susan by direct assault, he had to find and destroy the nerve center behind her, and now his, torment.
The men guarding Susan worked for someone. He had to find out who it was, and run a counter kidnapping. He slapped himself on the back, and then laughed. He might find out who the chief Fagin was, but running a successful counter kidnapping was as hare brained as openly charging the building of Susan's captivity in broad daylight. Neither alternative was realistic. However, if he found out who the primary malefactor was, and found out where he lived, he might be able to break in. Once inside he might be able to negotiate a new arrangement. That was a possibility.
He needed time. Shawn considered the current situation. He'd make a couple threatening calls. They might deflect the enemy from his primary objective, for a little while anyway.
Yes, make a call threatening to harm her immediate overseers. Make it sound like he hadn't discovered where they were holding her. They'd fall for it. They'd believe he was as stupid as they were; that he lacked the intelligence to ascertain her whereabouts. That might give him some additional time.
Then he'd make a second threatening call to the original contractor; the man who'd been Susan's courtroom victim. He was a yellow son of a bitch, and he'd certainly light up the sky with calls for protection. The men in the syndicate would think Shawn was on a scavenger hunt; casting about for leads indiscriminately.
With additional time Shawn could accomplish his next primary tasks. If he was to buy Susan back a second time, he'd need more money, a lot more than the original $100,000.00. He'd also need to find out who was at the epicenter of the current scheme, where he lived, and how he might break in without being caught.
Shawn went back to his old farm house, currently the property of Kia and Kim. If he could negotiate some kind of trade they might agree to mortgage the farm long enough for him to get enough money. It wasn't his anymore, and it wasn't really his place to ask, but they might help this once anyway.
Shawn pulled up the driveway to his old home, got out, and knocked on the front door. Kia was there immediately. She asked, "How is it going?"
He responded, "Not good Kia. They've got her sewn up tight. It would take a battalion of marines to get her out."
Kia asked another question, "Then what's our next plan?"
He liked the way she said 'our next plan', "Kia?" He paused and took a breath, "I need something."
Kia waited.
"I need money. I need lots of money." He dropped the big one on her, "All I had was what I gave you and Kim." He hated himself for this, "Could you?"
Kia stopped him, "Come inside."
He followed her in. They must have known he was coming. The whole crew, all twelve of them were there. Kia went first, "How much money do you think you'll need?"
