How to Successfully Kidnap Strangers (7 page)

“Oh, right. Duh. But, okay, get this crazy shit.” Lucy leaned forward on the counter, pushing her boobs together. Nick was momentarily distracted. Maybe her short story hadn’t been so bad, after all. “When Billy finished beating them, he threw ’em both in the driver’s trunk and drove off.”

“What?”

“He straight up kidnapped them.”

“Holy shit.”

“I know! The cops were here and everything. One of them even asked for my number. Like, as if, right?”

“Did they catch Billy?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Shit.”

“I know. Where do you think he’d take them?”

Nick bit his lip. “Probably my place.”

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense.”

“What did you tell the cops?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. I said I didn’t recognize either of them.”

“What about the guy Billy jumped?”

“Nah, dude. I mean, he comes in sometimes and fucks around on his iPad or whatever, but I don’t know him or anything.”

“All right. Thanks. I’ll find Billy, try to straighten this shit out.”

“No problem.” She thought for a moment, then said, “So, I’ve been working on this new story . . .”

“I’ll have a scone, please.”

16. KIDNAPPERS & HOSTAGES

Harlan and his
trunk companion were pushed into the apartment. The man who’d attacked them outside the coffee shop was mysteriously absent, which was fortunate. The man was a psychopath and every second they spent separated was a second Harlan could avoid breaking out into an anxiety attack. He looked around the apartment and grimaced. He didn’t care if they
were
kidnappers. They could have at least tidied up a little before snatching him. “This place is a pigsty.”

“Ah, it’s not too bad,” Lewis said. “It beats my trunk.”

“Quit kissing the kidnappers’ asses.”

“Yeah,” one of the women said, sipping from a gas station coffee cup. “We know this place is trashed. What’s your name, anyway?”

“L-Lewis.”

“Well, Lewis, you don’t need to lie. We aren’t going to let you go because of compliments.”

“Well, what will make you let us go?”

“Hmm. We don’t know yet.”

The other woman, the one who’d opened the trunk an hour or so ago and looked at them, then freaked out and closed it again, sat at the edge of the couch, staring at her hands. Her body was shaking. Maybe she was in shock. He didn’t know why she was acting like a victim. She wasn’t the one fucking kidnapped. She wasn’t the one who’d been attacked on the street and stuffed into a trunk. She wasn’t the one who’d lost her eReader in the middle of the street. Some homeless person had probably found it by now and bartered it for crack cocaine.

“Why are we even here?” Harlan asked, almost in a growl. “Why did that asshole jump me? Do you guys think I have money? Because, oh my God, that’d be hilarious.”

“And, really,” Lewis said, “there’s no reason at all you’d want me. It’s him you want. I have nothing to do with any of . . . whatever this is about.”

Harlan sneered at him. “Dick.”

Lewis exhaled. “This isn’t my fight.”

But Harlan was no longer listening to Lewis. His attention was stolen, refocused on the many stacks of books piled along the walls of the living room. Books everywhere. Books he recognized. Books he regularly reviewed on his blog.

“Why . . . why do you have so many BILF Publishing books?” He knelt down and traced his finger along the cover of Nick Twig’s
The Trampoline Incident.
Possibly one of the worst books he’d ever read in his life. Talk about pretentious trash.

“What’s a BILF?” Lewis asked.

“It stands for ‘Books I’d Like to Fuck’,” the male kidnapper said.

“That’s, uh . . . that’s an interesting name.”

Harlan still couldn’t process what he was seeing. “But, why . . .?”

The woman drinking coffee set the cup down and stepped forward, smiling and lifting her arm up and revealing the true identity of the dildo crucifix. “SERGIO PLACID’S THE CUMMING OF CHRIST” could clearly be read across the horizontal sex toy.

Harlan gasped and stepped back, dropping
The Trampoline Incident
. “No . . .”

She nodded. “Yes.”

He turned to the other hostage, the one named Lewis. “Run! These people are going to fucking kill us!
Help! Help!
”

Harlan sprinted toward the door.

Behind him, the woman who’d been drinking coffee shouted, “Halt!” Then something bashed into the back of his skull and he fell forward, slamming his face into the bottom of the door. He turned around and sat against the door, holding the dildo crucifix in his lap. He thought he saw a drop of his blood on one of its tips. The fucking thing was deadly.

Lewis looked at Harlan, then at the steak knife in the male kidnapper’s hand, and opted to sit down on the couch. “I think the apartment is perfectly fine.”

“Take off your belt,” the dildo crucifix thrower said.

The male kidnapper cleared his throat. “What the fuck, Louise?”

She rolled her eyes. “Shut up, doofus.” She nodded at Lewis. “Come on, off with it.” She looked down at Harlan, still groaning on the floor. “You too, dickwad.”

***

Louise and Eliza tied the hostages’ arms behind their backs while Stephen paced around the living room. Once in a while he’d look at the knife in his hand and gasp, then continue pacing.

A car started up. Stephen stepped outside just in time to see Lewis’s vehicle speed out of the parking lot. “I think Billy just took off.”

“Of course he did,” Eliza said, still on the couch next to Lewis. She had managed to finally stop shaking, but her skin was still pale and sickly. “Like he’d ever clean up one of his own messes.”

“Can somebody please explain why this is happening?” Lewis asked. “I’m so confused.”

“Sure,” Harlan said, looking more pissed off than afraid. “These psychopaths run a small press. They publish these weird little bizarro books. And, on my book review blog, I’ve given some negative criticism of some of their books. And now, I guess, they must want some kind of revenge, because God forbid they ever actually learn how to write.” He looked at Louise. “That about sum it up?”

Louise looked at him for a minute, giving him the same kind of look a parent might give her misbehaving child. “You said
Grits & Clits
was the product of a mentally challenged child molester eating crayons and shitting out words.”

“Whoa,” Lewis said. “That’s harsh.”

Louise nodded. “Right?”

Harlan shrugged. “I stand by what I said.”

“Wow,” Eliza said. “What a complete dick.”

“Yeah,” Stephen said. “No wonder your brother kidnapped him. Jesus Christ.”

“Hmm,” Harlan said. “You said our attacker’s name was Billy, right? I’m guessing he’s the one responsible for that
Chlamydia Kamikaze
book.” He looked at Eliza. “And if you’re his sister
,
that must make you Eliza. The so-called ‘interior designer’. No wonder the insides of the books look so shitty.”

“Fuck you.”

He nodded to Louise. “And you’re obviously Louise Truesdale.” He looked to Stephen. “And you must be our wonderful editor-in-chief, Mr. Nick Twig.”

“No, I’m Stephen, man.”

“Who?”

“I, uh, do photography sometimes.”

“Then where’s your loyal commander? Where is Nick?”

17. UGH

Officer Joseph Nous
was having a bad day. Twice in a row he’d been called to an assault-in-progress, and both times the perpetrators got away. The second time, he even walked past them, even
talked
to them, and still let them continue on their way. Then he tried to arrest the man who’d been assaulted, the big biker guy. That hadn’t gone over too well. The biker was threatening to sue the police department now. Joseph was dreading his inevitable return to the station. His captain was going to kick his ass. And maybe he deserved it. Only a moron would let two criminals stroll right past him.

He was ready to go home. He wanted to snuggle with his wiener dog and forget about all his many, many inadequacies. Unfortunately, his shift wasn’t even close to over. It’d never be over. Even in death, he’d have to wear this stupid uniform. He’d have to walk around with this pointless badge. Have to carry a gun he knew he would never use, not even if it meant saving someone’s life. He was a coward. An idiot. He knew it and so did everybody else.

He headed for his speeding-trap, thinking he’d had enough bullshit for one day. He was just going to read
The Cumming of Christ
and relax. If someone wanted to speed past him, then screw it, let them speed. He wasn’t going after anyone else today. If the mafia executed the Governor in front of his squad car, he wouldn’t look up from his book. He was officially done.

First a kidnapping, and now a gas station brawl? Who kidnaps people anymore? Who fights in gas stations? The whole world was inhabited by savages. And it was supposed to be his job to protect them? How could you protect something that wanted so desperately to destroy itself? You couldn’t.
He
couldn’t. He wouldn’t. In high school, he was so nervous he shit his pants during his graduation speech. How could he be expected to stop a kidnapper?

According to dispatch, nobody had a clue who this kidnapper even was, anyway, nor the man he attacked in front of the coffee shop. They had video surveillance of their faces, and the news was currently broadcasting the images on TV, so hopefully that would lead to someone recognizing one of them.

But at least they knew the identity of the man who’d been driving the car and stopped to help, thanks to an outside camera being able to read the license plate numbers. The car belonged to a Mrs. Helga Hill, who had been murdered two days ago in her home. The primary suspect was her currently missing husband, Lewis Hill.

18. THE SUPERMAN OF CHRISTIANS LOVES METH

The publishing company
duct taped the hostages’ mouths and dragged them into the closet. It was their best temporary solution. Maybe it could be their permanent solution. Just leave them in there until they eventually suffocated or starved to death. Buy a bunch of nice smelling candles to block out the scent of decay. Eventually they would just be bones, and they could use them as Halloween decorations. Win-win.

Louise brought up this option to the others, but they didn’t seem to be on board. Bummer.

“All right, then what’s your brilliant plan?” she asked, leaning back in the kitchen chair. They were all at the table, drinking shitty coffee from unwashed mugs they’d stolen from Denny’s months ago. It was a drastic downgrade from the gas station cappuccino. The kitchen was typically used for business meetings. Today it was being used to debate kidnapper etiquette.

“I just don’t get why Billy would do this in the first place,” Stephen said. “I mean, yeah, he’s been a dick online and stuff, but holy shit, kidnapping? This is way over our heads. We’re all going to prison.”

“He was high as hell this morning,” Eliza said. “Wasn’t in his right mind at all. He said he’d been up all night, doing meth with some bartender.”

Louise laughed. “The one from Nightscapes?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“That dude was ultra-Christian. Like, the Superman of Christians.”

“Well, the Superman of Christians loves meth, apparently.”

Louise laughed and drank coffee. Stephen sat still, his coffee long cold and untouched, his skin pale and sweaty.

“Whatever Billy did, it’s already done,” Eliza said. “And whether we like it or not, we are definitely involved.”

“I am not involved in any of this,” Stephen said.

“Dude, you waved a knife at them,” Louise said. “Not to mention the fact we just robbed a gas station this morning. Why not add another offense to our beautiful, growing list?”

“Good point.”

“Wait, what?” Eliza said.

Louise shrugged. “Just a little assault and robbery this morning. No big deal.”

Stephen raised his hand. “Uh, it was totally a big deal. What are you talking about?”

Louise dismissed him with an eye-roll. “I’m telling you guys. Let them rot for eternity in the closet.”

Stephen gulped. “That’s not even funny.”

“What if we let them go?” Eliza asked. “Right now, just untie them, and walk ’em out the front door? Do you think they’d rat us out?”

Louise shook her head. “I don’t know about the one dude, but that Harlan motherfucker most definitely would. You’ve read his reviews. Fuck him.”

“Well, if we can’t let them go, then . . . what are we going to do?”

Hands trembling, Stephen said, “Maybe we could bribe them.”

Louise laughed. “Bribe them with what? We run a small press. None of us have any money.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Maybe Eliza could fuck them in exchange for their silence,” Louise suggested.

“Fuck you,” Eliza said.

“No, not me. Fuck
them
.”

“Who are we fucking?” Nick asked, standing in the walkway between the living room and kitchen.

Everybody at the table jumped at the sound of his voice, then settled down when they realized it was only their faithful editor-in-chief and not the police.

“Oh my God,” Stephen said. “I almost just had a heart attack.”

“How long have you been here?” Eliza asked.

“Just walked in.” Nick took a bite of a scone.

Louise smiled, genuinely excited. “Wait until you find out what kind of fucking crazy shit you’ve missed.”

Nick nodded. “I have one question, first.”

“But wait, you—”

“Where are the people Billy kidnapped?”

The table was quiet for a moment, until Eliza asked, “Where have you been?”

Nick held up the half-eaten scone. “Coffee shop.”

19. THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID

They drank more
shitty coffee and thought about the situation. Billy was still missing in action. Nick wondered if he’d ever see him again. If he did, he was pretty sure he’d punch him in the face.

If it wasn’t for Eliza, Billy wouldn’t even be involved with the company. The guy wrote one book and it sucked, but Nick still published it, because the press needed Eliza’s formatting skills. She was cheap and local, plus she was a friend. Going with somebody else would be a disaster, so yeah, he published Billy’s novella,
Attack of the Chlamydia Kamikazes,
and a year later it still hadn’t received a single sale on Amazon. Yet he acted like he was this big bad author, doing whatever the fuck he pleased. Like kidnapping reviewers, for instance. Sure, a reviewer who was a complete asshole and probably deserved a good kidnapping, but still, Nick had to clean up the mess.