John Locke - A Girl Like You
“Water under the bridge, Sam. Rachel’s in trouble.”
“You think I give a rat’s ass?”
“I do.”
“Well, I don’t,” he says, and slams the phone down.
I wait for Rachel’s phone to ring. If I’m right about him caring, her phone is going to ring any second.
Rachel’s phone rings.
It’s Nadine. She wants to know what I’ve learned.
“Nadine, unless you’ve got something new to add, you’re going to have to trust me to handle this. Do you?”
“Trust you to handle it? Yes. Have anything new to add? No.”
“Then don’t call me again. It’s distracting. Concentrate on getting better. When I get Rachel back, you’ll be the first person I call.”
“Be safe, Donovan.”
“Take care of yourself, Nadine.”
I call Sam again.
“You blinked first,” he said.
“What is it with you? I’m trying to save your wife.”
“Oh, fuck you, Creed.”
“Why are you so antagonistic, Sam?”
“Shall I repeat my list of grievances?”
“No.”
“Then let’s be clear.”
“Let’s.”
“You’re not trying to save my wife. You’re trying to save your girlfriend.”
“Okay.”
“You’re conceding the point?”
I sigh loud enough so he can hear. “Yes, Sam, I concede. Now help me find Rachel.”
He hangs up again.
“Shit!” I use my cell phone to call Lou. “You got that snake yet?”
“I’m working on it. You said midnight.”
“Midnight still works.”
Lou pauses. He can tell I’m agitated. Finally he says, “Was there anything else?”
“Yeah. It can be a water moccasin.”
“You know your snakes?”
“Mostly.”
“It’ll be dark. Won’t be easy handling a water moccasin in the dark. Or situating it.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ll be able to tell instantly if your guy brings me a poisonous snake.”
“How?”
“Because you’re going to have him bring me two syringes with anti-venom.”
“Okay. No syringe means it’s not poisonous.”
I pause. “You’re not going to use this as an opportunity to come at me again, are you?”
“No. I’ve learned my lesson.”
“Because Callie and I have a pact.”
Callie’s my lethal associate. She and I agreed a long time ago that if one of us dies, there are three people the surviving one will kill before learning the cause of death. Lou is the first person on that list.
“I know all about the pact. You and I used to have one.”
“I’m trying to trust you, Lou,” I say.
“I appreciate that, Donovan. It’s more than I deserve.”
I agree. But what I say is, “We can still do some great things together.”
“You’ll get her back, Donovan.”
“I know. I just hope there’s still enough Rachel left in her to build a future with.”
13.
Sam’s home.
If ever there was a creature of habit, it’s Sam. You could set your clock to his routines. It’s after eight-thirty, so he’s home.
I have Pete take me to Wal-Mart, where I pick up some heavy-duty gloves, goggles, a glass cutter and a suction cup. I stow those items in one of the two duffel bags I brought to Louisville this afternoon. When Pete drops me off at the abandoned Chevy dealership on Gordon, I tell him to stay in the general area and wait for my call. Carrying one bag in each hand, I cut across two fields and a golf course, which puts me in Sam’s back yard. It’s dusk, and I can see him moving around in his kitchen. I work my way to a thicket, near a dried-up creek about fifty yards from the sliding glass door that leads to his deck. From there I cut to the evergreens that shield the back of his swimming pool, and take up a prone position among the trees so I can view his windows through my scope.
Sam’s house is large, but wide open from the back. Only his bedroom and office windows have curtains. His bedroom curtains are closed, but his office is clearly visible. Sam never closes his office curtains because they’re heavy, lined, and when you close them and try to put them back the way they were, they wrinkle. Sam is a meticulous guy. Hates wrinkles. Irons his underwear, he hates wrinkles so much. And his pillow cases, too. And his sheets. I know all this because I secretly lived in his attic for nearly two years and watched his every move through pinhole cameras while plotting to steal his clients’ money.
I’m a former sniper, with two years experience. I know how to remain still, completely soundless, whether laying in a field or living in someone’s attic. Proof of that are the seven deer that casually walk from the opposite stand of trees and stop twenty feet from me to chew the green off some low branches. Realizing this means the area is completely free of people, I punch Sam’s numbers into my cell phone. I have a silent key feature, so it’s only after I say, “Sam, don’t hang up,” that the deer freak out and start running in all directions.
“I’m not going to help you, Creed,” he says.
“Fine. But at least let me tell you what I’ve got.”
“You’re wasting your breath.”
I can tell he’s about to hang up. I say, “Rachel gave blood eleven days ago.”
He pauses. “Rachel doesn’t give blood.”
In the house, I see the light come on in his office, see Sam take up a seat by his computer.
“Are you with me?” I say.
“Yeah, go ahead.”
Sam stands, suddenly, walks to his windows, and looks out. Then he shuts the curtains.
“Pay attention, Sam,” I say. “Because I can’t do this without you.”
“That’s obvious. Because I’m the last guy you’d turn to.”
“True. For lots of reasons.”
“How did you get her to give blood?”
“I don’t know. Nadine talked her into it somehow. Anyway, Nadine took Rachel to a doctor’s office, a guy named D’Angelo.”
“Go on.”
“One of the nurses drew Rachel’s blood, sent it to a lab. A week went by, and D’Angelo died from a sudden heart attack.”
“What day?”
“Tuesday morning. Between midnight and six a.m.”
Sam places me on speaker phone. I hear keyboard strokes, and assume he’s checking internet records to verify Dr. Dee’s death. After a minute he says, “Go on.”
“At four the same morning, a professional extraction team broke into Rachel’s apartment. Nadine was given an injection that induced a heart attack. She only survived because of her proximity to the hospital one floor down.”
“She had time to get downstairs?”
“No. She pressed her panic button by the nightstand. Someone from the hospital came and got her.”
“Someone from the hospital had a key?”
I hadn’t thought to ask Nadine about how they knew to come in the back door. I doubt it’s important, but this is a perfect example of why I need Sam.
“I doubt they had a key,” I say, “but the back door was left unlocked after the break in. The hospital guys probably tried the front door, couldn’t get an answer, went around to the back. It’s just around the corner of the hallway, by the stairwell.
“Did they inject Rachel with something?”
“Nadine doesn’t know. But I’m sure they did. Rachel would have pitched a fit, otherwise.”
“They wanted to keep her alive,” Sam says.
“Apparently. But who took her? And why?”
Sam says, “Who do you suspect?”
“Some branch of the government.”
“And you’re wondering what could show up in Rachel’s blood test that would cause that type of reaction.”
“Exactly.”
“Do the cops suspect foul play in the doctor’s death?”
“No.”
“But you think there’s a link.”
“I know there is.”
“And you’re certain you’ve narrowed her disappearance to the blood test.”
“Yes.”
“Then I can’t help you,” he says, and hangs up.
I wait a few minutes, then leave my bags by the trees and walk to the side of Sam’s house, where the roof hangs low over his bathtub. I pull one of the bricks loose, turn it lengthwise, push the end back into the wall where the side had been, making a ledge for my foot. I step on that brick and pull out another one, three feet higher. Then I stand on that one and repeat the process until I have a brick ladder that takes me up to the roof. I have several ways to access Sam’s roof, but this is my favorite. I created this brick ladder years ago. There’s another one just like it on the other side of his house, where the roof hangs low over his breakfast room.
I follow the incline of the lower roof to the area that gives me access the next level. I take that to the eave where the stucco meets the brick, where years ago I created a crawl space that’s invisible from the ground. I wedge my body underneath that, and open the door I built that leads to the command center I created in Sam’s attic back in the days when I was spying on him and Rachel.
In the beginning, I had two command centers in Sam’s attic: the one I wanted him to find, and the one I wanted to keep secret. The secret one is tiny, accessible only from the crawl space, and is restricted to one small eave.
The command center Sam knew about didn’t have any cameras. Sam always assumed I did my spying after he and Rachel left for work each morning, at which time I roamed through his house, eating his food, using his bathrooms and shower, extracting files and installing programs on his computer.
I power up my old system and immediately see Sam through the pinhole camera I’d placed in his office. There are dozens of these cameras located throughout his house. My old laptop is still connected to the power source. I start it up, expecting to view the keystroke capture device I attached to Sam’s computer that will show me everything Sam is typing on his office computer.
But I’m getting nothing, which tells me he’s installed a new computer since my last visit.
My little nook is soundproofed, and I’m above the second floor of Sam’s enormous house. He’s on the first floor. No way he can hear me if I decide to call him again.
So I do.
14.
“How’s it coming, Sam?”
“I’m not going to help you, Creed.”
“There must be some arrangement we can make.”
“Nothing comes to mind.”
“Money?”
“I’ve got money.”
It’s true. I’d given him a cut from the heist. It was only fitting, since I’d put him through hell and destroyed his business.
“I could always torture you.”
“Good luck with that.”
Also true. There’s a very small percentage of people in the world who don’t respond to torture. Sam is one of them. It’s not that he feels no pain. It’s more like he shuts down when subjected to repeated pain. You can shock Sam with pain, but you have to attack him through his mind. The problem with that is, he’s smarter than me.
But I’m more cunning.
“Sam, Rachel means the world to me.”
“Do you ever listen to yourself? I’m supposed to care about your feelings? Rachel meant the world to me, too, you bastard. I know what it’s like to lose her, remember?” He pauses. “Actually, there is something you can do to make me help you.”
“Name it.”
“Promise when we get her back, you’ll walk away.”
“Done.”
“You’ll never contact her, never allow her to contact you.”
“Okay.”
“You’ll remove yourself completely from her life. Forever.”
I remain silent a moment, allowing the full weight of his words to sink in.
“I agree to your terms,” I say.
“You’re a lying sack of shit,” Sam says. “Your word means nothing. I’m not going to find her just so she can be with you. Wherever she is, whatever they’re doing to her, she’s better off.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“Goodbye Creed. Suffer greatly.”
He ends the call.
I know he’s working downstairs, know in my gut he’s making progress. Sam will have this whole thing figured out in an hour or two. Of that I’m certain. But knowing Sam, he’ll be content just knowing what happened to Rachel, and why. Because the world is like a puzzle to Sam, and this is just a challenge. Once the puzzle is solved, he’ll move on to the next puzzle that turns up.
This detachment is the reason Rachel stopped loving him long before I entered the picture.
I check my watch and see it’s three hours till midnight. I call Pete and tell him I’m done for the night. He knows to add an extra twenty percent to the built-in tip charge. In a few hours when I need a ride, I’ll take one of Sam’s cars. I call Lou again, to work out all the arrangements for what’s going to happen after the snake does its job. If the snake doesn’t bite Sam when he sits on the toilet, I’ll put it in his bed. If that doesn’t work, I’ll knock Sam unconscious and push its fangs into his chest. Bottom line, I’m not leaving till Sam gets snakebit.
I look at my watch again, and wonder what Miranda is doing instead of being with me.
I wonder where Rachel is, and hope she’s being treated humanely. But I worry she’s not, since her abductors killed Dr. Dee and tried to kill Nadine.
I set the alarm on the clock in my command center, the one that wakes me with a flashing light instead of a buzzer.
I lie down.
My stomach growls, and I realize I haven’t eaten since this morning, so I turn off the alarm, slip out of my command center, climb down the brick ladder on the side of Sam’s house, go back through his yard, across the golf course and fields, past the vacant Chevy dealership, and take a seat at the counter of a nearby Steak ’n Shake.
15.
Sam didn’t go to sleep at his usual time.
Being an extremely orderly guy, Sam sticks to a rigid schedule, unless he’s working on something important. When he is, he loses all track of time. I’m hoping this project isn’t going to stump him. For a guy like Sam, this should be simple. What could be in Rachel’s blood test that would frighten the government so badly, they’re willing to kill people to keep it hid? There couldn’t be many answers to that question. But when I leave his house, Sam is still at his computer.
On the way to the park, I call Lou and ask him to check with the Sensory Resource doctors, who are among the best in the world.
“I already asked them,” Lou says.
“And?”
“They have no idea.”
I hang up and call Dr. Howard, Chief of Staff, who works the day shift.
When he answers, I say, “Hi Doc, it’s Donovan Creed.”
“You know what time it is in Virginia?”
“Yeah. Same as Louisville.”
He yawns. “How’s the face holding up?”
Doc Howard headed the team of plastic surgeons that made me look handsome.
“You made me look like a sissy.”
I hear him chuckle.
“I need to ask you something, Doc.”
“Can it wait till morning?”
“If it could, you’d still be asleep.”
