“Barone couldn’t find his dick with both hands.” The Russian drove with his headlights out through the dark streets at a speed that made Ben fear a whole different cause of death. “He is an idiot.”
Ben didn’t argue. The guard next to him had jammed the muzzle of his handgun into Ben’s side, and point-blank, he couldn’t miss. He and Erik had both been kidnapped more than Ben wanted to recall, and it never got less terrifying.
Ben tried to settle into his seat and felt a hard knot in his back pocket.
The dog collar had a tracker. Maybe Erik can use that to find me.
If Jenny remembers to mention it. If Erik can get in touch with the renters to have them track the tag. If the dog owners aren’t too far out of range to pick up the signal.
That had better not be my only chance, or I’m royally screwed.
The sound of sirens faded. Occasional flashes of lightning lit up enough for Ben to realize they were heading out of town, toward the port. That made sense, since the commercial fishing hub had plenty of big warehouses, some of which were less active in the Fall. Even if Erik suspected that was where the Russians took him, finding them would take far too long.
“Get out.” One of the goons dragged Ben from the van, and he nearly fell. The two men caught him and marched him inside at gunpoint.
Inside, a few security lights kept the warehouse from being completely dark, and Ben could hear the hum of a generator.
The smell of fish and industrial cleaner warred with each other. Outside, the storm still raged, and they were close enough to the ocean for the sound of the waves crashing on the seawall to rise above the thunder.
Ben remembered his hostage training, but the darkness made it difficult to see his surroundings, and his captors wore black neck gaiters pulled up to hide the lower half of their faces. He listened as they talked to each other in Russian and wondered what they were saying.
One of them disappeared into the shadows and returned after a time with a metal chair and a length of heavy rope, stained with fluids Ben didn’t want to think about too hard.
“Sit.” The man closest to Ben shoved him, and Ben fell more than sat. A second goon wrapped the rope tightly around Ben’s chest. From the way he moved, Ben could tell the guy had plenty of practice. The Newark Mob were stone-cold killers, but the Russians brought a whole different level of lethality to the game.
“And now, we wait for Mitchell to do the sensible thing,” one of the men said.
The Russians stayed in sight of Ben, but one found a table and another pulled out a deck of cards and some dice. Ben couldn’t understand their conversation, but the tone and gestures reminded him of soldiers passing the time on a boring assignment.
Ben felt a chill and sensed that the warehouse ghosts had awakened. The Russians didn’t seem to notice, or maybe they just didn’t care. Some of the spirits hovered in the shadows around the edge of the large room, while others didn’t—or couldn’t—make themselves visible to Ben. He couldn’t usually communicate with the ghosts, but an idea struck him, and he decided to try his luck.
“Warehouse ghosts. I can see you, and I need your help,” he whispered, hoping his kidnappers would think he was praying, and hoping that the spirits would hear him and bother to assist.
“If you can leave this place, I need you to tell my friends where I am.” Ben told them where to find Monty and Haley.
“These guys are mobsters. They’re going to kill me unless you tell my friends where to find me.” He thanked the ghosts and offered to return with a medium who could help them pass over.
Ben forced down his fear and let his training take over. He carefully scanned what he could see of the darkened warehouse, looking for anything that might work in his favor. That included memorizing the faces of his captors, now that they had removed their masks.
The few portable lights barely illuminated the center of the space. That made it easier to hide if he got loose, but gave him no idea of what might be hidden in the shadows. Equipment could shield him from pursuers or be an obstacle to his escape. Wires, cords, and pipes posed hazards if he needed to run.
Ben couldn’t see far enough in the semi-darkness to spot any other exits aside from the door where they had entered. That meant running in any other direction could leave him trapped with no way out. If the warehouse had a security system, it was clearly deactivated. He wasn’t very familiar with the port area, but there was little reason for traffic here, especially during the storm. No one was likely to notice unusual activity and call the police.
I won’t allow them to use me as a bargaining chip with Erik. They’ll kill both of us. No one is going to find me here, so I guess I’m going to need to figure out how to save myself.
He took inventory of what he could use. The goons hadn’t patted him down since his gun was gone, so they didn’t notice his pocketknife or the dog collar with the tracker. Ben had a keyring with several keys, but his phone was in his slicker, which got left at the rental house. His pen and notebook were also there.
Ben had remembered to inflate his chest before they wrapped the rope around him, but that didn’t get him enough wiggle room to get free, and his captors could see his every move. The metal chair wouldn’t break easily, and while they hadn’t tied his ankles, he wasn’t going to get far in the dark. He might be able to stand up and smack someone with the chair, although that wouldn’t deter men with weapons for long.
But several feet to his left, Ben spotted a large pile of boxes. If they weren’t too heavy, he might be able to get to the stack and knock it over if a diversion was needed. It wouldn’t hold back the mobsters for long, but it might slow them down for a few seconds.
The same darkness that kept Ben from seeing more of the warehouse would make pursuit difficult, unless the mobsters had flashlights that they hadn’t used yet.
Time dragged. Ben had no idea how long it had been since he’d been brought in, but he guessed a couple of hours had passed. Outside, the wind rattled loose sheet-metal panels, and the thunder echoed. Somewhere in the shadows, water dripped with a relentless patter. Lightning streaks glowed through windows high up on the walls, but otherwise, the lack of light told Ben it was still night.
Ben tried to remain alert for an opportunity. He reminded himself that circumstances could change suddenly and that he might still find a way to escape, or at least put up a good fight.
The leader called Erik a second time, telling him to bring the haunted stained-glass window and the location of the Tiffany dome to a parking lot near the port at dawn. That didn’t reveal much about where Ben was imprisoned, since it was a large area with hundreds of hiding places. He didn’t have any faith that the Russians would let him and Erik walk away, even if Erikmet their demands. The two of them had been too effective at stopping both Bratva and the Newark Mafia too many times for them to be set free.
