Cargo: an edge of your seat thriller Page 5
Bang…bang…bang…
Suddenly, the cell phone went off again and startled him out of his daze. He almost laughed at his reaction. The one thing he had been waiting for was this phone call, but when it came, it scared the hell out of him.
Maybe he was cracking up.
He hit the green icon and stood up to pace some more. It was better than sitting there and banging his head. “Yeah?”
“It’s Tom,” came the voice. Peterson rolled his eyes again. Why the fuck would Tom bother identifying himself? It was either him or the kidnapping asshole. “Alright, I cleaned the rainy day funds.”
“Good.”
“No, not good. We’re still gonna be a short a couple million.”
“Shit.” He cursed under his breath. How could this be? There was always money…now…this. “How the fuck did that happen?”
“Don’t blame me, Tony-Pete!” Tom said back, using a very forced nickname almost too casually. “Those accounts were always just outliers.”
“And the safety–”
“The safe deposit box, Anthony. Think about it. We’d have to have someone clear it out, sell the stuff, then deposit and transfer it. Yeah, I got that started, but it sure as hell can’t be finished before your time is up.”
Suddenly, banging his head didn’t seem like such a bad idea. What good was a rainy day fund if…or should he have called it a kidnapped and boxed by terrorists fund?
Tom took advantage of the silence and spoke up again. “Look, uh, Anthony, again, are you sure this is the way you wanna go? I mean, there may be some other options. Do you have any idea where you are?”
How thick was this guy’s head? “I told you, I’m in metal shipping crate, trapped. Cargo containers aren’t generally known for their scenic views, Tom,” Peterson barked, impatiently.
Tom was only lightly fazed. “Uh, well, can you hear anything? Outside? That might pinpoint where you are.”
Dutifully, Peterson paused then said, “No. Nothing.”
“Are you on land or on water? A ship? The air, maybe?”
Peterson was frustrated enough without Tom’s nonsense. Did Tom really think he hadn’t thought of all of this already.
“I don’t fucking know! Land, maybe. I haven’t heard or felt anything. No engines, no turbulence.”
“How about the weather? Wind? Rain? Anything?”
“Nada,” Peterson said firmly, hoping to either move Tom to another subject or at least a part of this one he hadn’t thought of already.
“Okay, then odds are you’re indoors,” the genius deduced. “I assume you’ve been pounding like a motherfucker to get out of there, so you’re probably somewhere secluded. Is it hot or cold?”
“Cold.” No question about that one.
“How ‘bout the cell phone they gave you? Any phone numbers or any information that might give you any indication?”
Again, as if he hadn’t thought of that. “No, I checked, everything’s blocked. It’s a cheap knockoff, nondescript. Cheaper than the case.”
“Expensive case?”
Peterson chuckled without humor. “One of the best. One of those AfterSHOK cases they advertise.”
“Right, the one with Frankenstein in the commercial. Well, can you take the phone out? Anything inside? Price tag, maybe?”
Peterson’s eyes widened with hope, and he did exactly that. But his hopes were dashed. “Ah… nothing. Nothing at all.”
“Dammit.” Tom paused in thought. “What about the voice of the kidnapper?”
“Low. Deep. Calm. Cruel.”
“No, I mean, accents or anything?”
Peterson shook his head. “The whole time he’s talking in this subdued whisper. It’s almost impossible to recognize anything in his voice.” Peterson thought about it for a moment. “Maybe American, maybe Canadian, I guess. He doesn’t sound like a foreigner. He’s…an older guy, maybe. He sounds very sure of himself. Confident. Like a man with a gun to your head.” Peterson paused, wondering whether to go on. “And he…he knows a lot about me.”
Tom didn’t get it. “Like what?”
Peterson sighed and pushed out the words, painfully. “South America.”
Tom was silent, as if running those words through his mind. Tom knew about La Aldea. Peterson just waited for Tom to put it together. Finally, a pained sigh told Peterson that Tom got it at last. Now Tom understood. Now Tom knew they were fucked and why.
“Oh, fuck,” Tom said. He waited, clearly thinking and came back more determined to solve this. For maybe the first time that night, Tom didn’t sound distracted. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
“Like I told them, being on the street and then being…smothered.”
He had been through this a hundred times over the past few hours. He ran through it again in his mind, trying to go backward into the past, working to access the memories of that day.
“Wait…I remember…I was at a bar. That’s right, I stopped on my way home from work at that joint over on Thirteenth Street.”
“That kind of sleazy gastropub?”
“That’s the one. I had a few drinks, and I went to the head.” He thought some more. “And then, when I came back to my table…” Peterson replayed it all in his mind. “… my drink had a strange taste. Just a little. I didn’t think much about it at the time. Could have been a bad shot or something…but now…”
“Can’t be a coincidence, chief. You were drugged. That’s the only answer. Someone at the bar did it. Did you notice anyone suspicious?”
“Well, it’s…the drinks are good, but it’s kind of a dive bar. Everyone was suspicious.” He laughed in spite of the situation.
Tom was quiet again. He must have been spooked by the story. If it could happen to Anthony Peterson, it could happen to him.
Sadly, Tom didn’t come up with anything useful, so he went back to the subject at hand. “So, what do you want me to do about the…the rest of the money?”
Peterson hesitated. All of his money was gone, the rainy day funds were gone too. The gold could not be sold in time. Where else could he go for cash? He really didn’t want to have to do it, but he had no choice.
“Sell the houses, all of them.”
“I can’t,” Tom said quickly. He had already thought of that, hadn’t he? “You can’t transfer property that fast, Anthony. Ever hear of escrow? And, besides, man, you…you’re mortgaged in balls deep as it is.”
Peterson was annoyed on top of being frightened. Why Tom?
“Well, we’ve got to think of something, you fucking asshole. I need to get out of here! Fast! In less than twenty-fours, I run out of air! And that’s not even to mention they’ve got this whole place hooked up like a goddamn electric chair,” he snapped.
Tom was horrified. “What the fuck? Are you serious?”
Peterson practically yelled, “Serious as it gets. They keep torturing me by electrifying the goddamn place. It’s a lot like feeling your brains in a red-hot cauldron inside your own head. I might have permanent damage already. I can’t take much more of this shit.”
“But that would take…” he calculated and then gave up. “Who would have the kind of money to set something like this up? You’ve just heard the one voice on the phone, right?”
Peterson shrugged. “Yeah.”
“Well, maybe it’s not a crew. Maybe it’s just one guy. Maybe he’s some rich fuck with a mastermind complex looking to torture other rich fucks for his own sick fuckin’ amusement. Maybe somebody you burned on a business deal?”
Peterson bowed his head in complete exhaustion. “I never burned anybody this bad,” he said.
It was a serious moment of pain for Peterson, but Tom actually laughed, seeming to genuinely find this cynically amusing.
Peterson’s anger roiled again. “What the fuck are you laughing at?”
Tom tapered off the laughter and said, “Nothing, nothing. It’s just good to see you still haven’t lost your sense of humor during all this.”
“No, no, no. Just…you must be joking. You know how badly you’ve burned people before. You’re the king of–”
“Look, I suggest you get on the fucking houses right now! If you can’t sell them, borrow against them. For God’s sake, you find something we can sell, damn it, or Susan is dead, I’m fucking dead, and that leaves you, Tommy-boy, very, very unemployed.”
Peterson heard a whimper in the background. “I gotta go,” Tom said.
“Damn right you do. You better!” Peterson scowled and hit the hang up button, clearly not amused.
What the fuck was Tom’s problem? Laughing at a time like this?
Anthony Peterson knew he didn’t deserve this. Nothing like this.
7
Men of Principle: 3:50 AM
Anthony Peterson paced his cargo cell like a caged lion.
Waiting.
Parched, pained, tired, sore, starving, and angry.
Having to appease these monsters was driving him mad. Did they think he owed them something? Christ.
The damnable thing was that now he was rehearsing in his head how he would tell them that they would have to settle for stealing less of his money…and he was the one who had to be apologetic.
Damnable.
Frustrated, and finding no other option, he raised the cell phone and hit send.
“Mr. Peterson,” the kidnapper immediately answered.
Peterson was tense. He had a nasty taste in his mouth about the whole thing. “Yeah.”
“How are you progressing?”
He took a deep breath. “I tapped into the rainy day funds like you said.”
“…and?”
He closed his eyes tight as if expecting a blow. “I’m still gonna be short.”
The kidnapper showed emotion again, blasting out threats almost breathlessly. “If you’re short even one penny or late one second on delivery, I’ll kill you and your expensive trophy wife.”
“We can make a deal here. The banks aren’t even open yet.”
“No deals. Ten million or you pay in blood.”
Peterson was at his wit’s end. He shouted, “This is crazy! You’re gonna throw away potentially millions of dollars?”
“I’m a man of principle, you might say,” the kidnapper proclaimed with a smile in his voice.
“I might say you’re a man who’s fucking out of your mind!” Peterson scoffed.
The buzz sound rose again, and Peterson immediately regretted the talkback.
Suddenly, the entire container was a Tesla coil. Peterson’s head snapped backward violently, and his eyes rolled back in his head, his body trembling at the voltage.
It was another eternity for Peterson. He felt as if his brain was cooking. It was a physical torture that brought about mental torture. His eyes clouded over with purple again, and he could see skulls floating out of the darkness. It was as if they had floated to the surface of a canal filled with blood. And those floating skulls rose to greet him face-first as if to look upon their proxy murderer, accusingly.
When, at long last, the electricity was turned off, he collapsed, hitting the floor hard.
Gasping for air, he slowly opened his eyes. Gradually, he was able to regain his vision. He focused his eyes to see the phone waiting there for him on the floor.
“Now…I’ll bet that was a shock to the system,” the kidnapper joked and hung up.
8
Distracted at Work: 4:07 AM
Anthony Peterson was counting on one man more than any other, and that man was Tom Pocase.
Tom sat on the floor of the corner of the room and stared forward with angry eyes. This was an unexpected development, and it was surely going to keep him from doing his job quite as well as Anthony Peterson had come to expect.
Tom felt sick. Why did this have to happen tonight?
Didn’t the universe know he had shit to do?
Of all nights…tonight?
Why?
Hell, was it even night anymore? He scoffed as he looked at his watch. Morning. Why today? Ugh. Why?
Tom brought his knees to his chest and hugged them. Then, he let one fall to the side and rested one arm on his raised knee.
Here, he wouldn’t have to face what he had done. Out of sight, out of mind.
Maybe if he just sat here against the wall and looked at the bed at this angle, he wouldn’t need to face reality. He wouldn’t need to…
Ugh, but what a fucking mess. Everything was a mess and his life kept getting worse and worse.
He wondered…how could he make this better for himself?
Maybe if Anthony were to take good care of him? After all, Anthony was right. He would soon be very, very unemployed and with this situation he had found himself at the center of.
He also faced the very real possibility that he might face jail time.
How had he gotten himself into this fucking mess?
Anthony.
He had to focus on Anthony to get his money.
Tom needed to get Anthony his money, then Tom would get his. He would make that clear. He had to.
Tom pushed back with his heels and started to slide up the wall. He wasn’t quite the athlete he once had been, back in his boxing days, but he was still strong. Damn strong.
He let out a sob as soon as he got to his feet and saw that horrible sight.
Maybe Tom was not that strong.
He stared at the bed and shivered. The phone rang, and he jumped.
It could be Peterson. It could be the other…the other…
He sobbed and walked forward to stare down at the bed. It was not empty.
What had he done?
How had he gotten himself into this mess?
This wasn’t him. This…
The phone rang again, and he wiped his eyes. He sat on the bed and reached for the phone and tried to sound calm, but the next ring made him sob again, then dissolve into nervous, ironic laughter.
He tried to compose himself.
Unknown number. It was Peterson. Had to be.
He took a deep breath and pushed the button and immediately heard his name.
He jumped in shock. Sounding normal again was not going to be easy.
9
Party Monster: 4:14 AM
Anthony Peterson hated waiting. He had given up sitting and staring at the wall and had given up banging his head against its neighbor, but his frustration was not abating.
He had been calling Tom, and the bastard was not answering.
There was no time for this. Didn’t Tom know this was life or death?
Peterson needed this to be finished. Now.
He slowed down his tense pacing and loosened his tie. The air was getting thin. This was the end, wasn’t it? Maybe. Maybe just close to it.
The pacing wasn’t helping. He needed time. He needed air. He needed Tom to answer the goddam phone.
He hit redial and waited. At last, Tom picked up, and Peterson exhaled, relieved. “Tom!”
“Oh…hey,” Tom said meekly. This was not the response Peterson expected.
Tom sounded like he had been crying. In fact, he could hear sniffling right then. What was going on?
Was it the kidnappers? Had they gotten Tom too? Tom’s wife? Tom’s kids?
“Tom? Tom, what’s wrong with you?”
Tom’s tears turned to light laughter. It was light, yet somehow crazy laughter that, filtered through his tears, still sounded like crying.
“Tom, have you been crying?”
“No,” Tom said defensively and weakly. Then, as if trying to cover up his lie he coughed and deepened his voice again. “No. In fact. Uh… Oh, God. In fact…I was just about to call you back. But, uh…you see? There’s been a complication.”
Peterson didn’t like the sound of that. He forced himself to remain calm. “Complication?”
That soft, crazy tear-laughter returned for a second, and Tom said, “Yeah. I think you’d better cal
l someone else. We’ll talk later. You’d better call somebody else, Anthony!”
Peterson had been putting up with Tom’s bullshit for the entire night, and this was not what he needed to hear. He patiently tried to school him, calm him, and get past this shit.
“No, Tom, no. I can’t call anyone else. You know that! You’re my closest business associate for a reason; you’re the only one with access to any of this, because you’re the only one I can trust.”
The nervous laughter returned. “You’re going to have to call somebody else.”
Peterson realized he was going to have to help Tom before Tom could be of any help. And only Tom could help him.
“Tom? What’s wrong?” Peterson asked in his most patient, least realistic voice.
Tom was trying to be calm, Peterson could hear that, but he was also afraid to tell Peterson what he needed to know. “Well…see? When you called…I left something out.”
“Something? What?”
Peterson’s heart drummed in his chest. What had Tom not told him?
The pause Tom subjected him to was interminable. At last he mumbled “I, uh…I wasn’t exactly alone. I’m still not.”
Peterson knew he wasn’t going to like this one bit. “Who is there with you, Tom?”
He sniffled. “A…uh, a…a woman. A girl.”
Peterson scoffed. “A girl? You mean a hooker?”
“No!” Tom said quickly. “No, no, no. Just a girl I met online.”
It was becoming difficult for Peterson to remain cool. He was impatient. This was his life on the line and Tom was out for some free candy?
“Tom. God knows I’m the last person to lecture anyone on infidelity, we both know that. But for God’s sake, man, you know you’ve got a wife who is pregnant and three little kids at home, right?”
“I know,” Tom whispered shakily. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. Ah, God, I love her. I do, I just… I made a…” Tom coughed several times before continuing. “But that’s…that’s not the complication, man. See, this girl, she’s…well, it turns out she’s quite the party monster.”