Part 2:
Get Rid of Your Sins Before You Die
Stupid son of a bitch, Brian thought, tossing some bills at the cab
driver as he climbed from the car in front of his home.
Nick had pissed him off
for the last time. It was a stupid idea
to have him come out here to keep him company when he was feeling so low about
his life and his marriage. And now for
him to take off and leave him who-the-hell-knows-where with nothing more than a
stupid Mountain Dew, some beef jerky, his wallet, and his cell phone was the
last straw.
Stopping at the security
gates of the house, he punched in the code and waited while the gates drew back
enough for him to slip inside, and then he walked slowly up the drive. Passing the garage, he noticed that the BMW
was not in its stall and figured that Nick had probably decided to ditch him to
do some partying. Whatever. He just didn’t care anymore. When Nick came back, he was going to tell him
to go back to Florida.
Besides, there was nothing
more that Nick could do. Leighanne had
informed him this morning that she wanted a legal separation, and there was
nothing Brian could say to change her mind.
She sounded happier than she had in months and even giggled a few times
during the course of the conversation, making him wonder if someone was there with
her?
Taking his house key out
of his pocket, Brian unlocked the back door and went inside. Turning on the pantry light, he slipped his
shoes off, leaving them on the mat by the backdoor, and went upstairs to the
bedroom. He decided not to turn on the
light; he was tired and pissed off, and all he wanted was some sleep.
Falling face-first onto
the bed, he sighed. Who would have
thought that life would turn out to be so hard, that marriage would turn out to
take so much work? He was one of those people
who believed that love conquered all. What
a crock that had turned out to be.
***
Brian didn’t remember
falling asleep until the ringing of the phone woke him up. Looking around the dark bedroom, he rubbed
his eyes and tried to make out the numbers on the digital clock on his
nightstand.
12:00 a.m.
Rolling onto his back, he
swung his arm up and over his head, fumbling around for the phone. "What," he said in a sleepy voice,
his eyes half closed as he began to drift back to sleep.
When there was nothing but
a dial tone, but he could still hear the ringing, he realized it was his cell. Patting his right pant pocket, he reached in
and pulled out the phone, punching the button to answer. "What?"
There was a pause.
"Bri.” It was Nick.
"What, asshole.” Brian
rolled onto his side.
"Bri, I’m in trouble.”
"You’re damn right you’re
in trouble. You stranded me at the gas
station, and I had to call a cab, which took an hour and a half to get there. And by the way, if you want your Mountain Dew
and beef jerky, you’ll find it in the parking lot of the gas station. I had the cab driver run over it a few times
to make sure it was good and smashed. And
another…"
"Bri, I’m in trouble,"
Nick repeated himself. His voice was low
and nervous.
Rolling back onto his back
again, Brian sighed. Great, Nick had
probably gone and gotten himself in trouble with the law again. He was always out drinking too much and
partying with people he didn't know. Even
though he was a millionaire and a Backstreet Boy, he still felt like he needed
to impress people to be popular.
"What did you do
now?" The other end was silent. "Did you crash my car, Nick? If you wrecked that car, so help me God, I
will…"
"Brian, I’m scared.” Nick’s voice was shaky, and he sounded like
he was fighting back tears.
Sitting up, Brian turned
on the lamp and let his eyes adjust to the light. Looking down at the cell phone for the number
on the caller ID, all it said was "BLOCKED CALL.”
"Where are you,
Nick? What happened? Look, whatever it is, we can figure it out
together. I didn’t mean what I said
about the car. If you wrecked it, I can
just buy another one.”
There was nothing but
silence on the other end, and Brian was getting scared himself.
"Nicky, talk to me.”
"I have your friend.”
The
voice that answered back on the other end of the phone was not Nick.
"Who is this?"
"No one you know.”
"Where is Nick?"
"He’s right here with
me. I have your friend, and I have your
car.”
Brian stood up and reached
for the phone on the nightstand.
"I’m pretty sure that
I am going to kill him," the voice said.
"But he said he was scared, so I told him that if it would make him
feel better, I would let him make one last call before he died.”
Brian could hear Nick
crying in the background. He picked up
the receiver of the phone with the other hand and punched in 911.
"You can call the
cops. It won’t matter. The only difference it will make is that I
will kill him sooner.”
Brian set down the phone
in the cradle, his hand shaking. "Please
don’t kill him," he said in a hoarse whisper. "He didn’t do anything to you.”
"No, you’re right, he
didn’t do anything to me.”
Brian paced the floor,
trying to think of the right words to say, hoping this was some kind of joke,
but knowing that it was not.
"I have money,"
he blurted out. "Lots of money. Name your price, and I can get it for you.”
"How much have you
got on you now?"
Brian reached in his back
pocket, tugging out his wallet. It fell
from his hands and hit the ground. He
dropped to his knees, flipping open the billfold and pulling out a wad of bills. "I have six hundred and two
dollars," he said, standing up and dropping the wad onto the bed. "Wait, wait, I have more.” He walked quickly to his dresser, pulling
open the top drawer and fishing around in the back, until he came up with
another wad of bills, secured with a gold musical note money clip. Stripping the clip off of the bills, he
tossed it into the dresser and counted out the bills into his hand. "I have three thousand, six hundred and
two dollars in cash. I can get it to you
right now.” He looked down at his
wedding band and his Rolex watch. "I
also have a wedding band that is worth a couple of thousand and a Rolex that
you could get good money for.”
When there was no answer
on the other end, Brian began to panic. Even
Nick’s crying had stopped. It was an
eerie silence that made him wonder if he had been dreaming the whole thing.
Wake up, Brian.
Wake up, Brian.
Wake up, Brian.
"Okay.” The
voice came back on the line. "I
want you to bring me the money, the ring, and the watch. I am going to give you an address. If you call the cops, I’ll put a bullet in
his head.”
Brian grabbed a pen from
the top of his dresser and scribbled the address on the back of an envelope he
found nearby. The man’s voice was
garbled, and he asked him to repeat himself to make sure that he had heard the
address correctly, but the guy just laughed.
"No way, buddy. You either heard me, or you didn’t. You’ll either be here, or you won’t, and your
friend will either live, or he will die.”
Dial tone.
***
Nick sat in the corner of
the one room apartment, back against the wall, knees drawn to his chest, as he
watched the guy talking on the phone. He
couldn’t hear what he was saying, but when the conversation was over, he pushed
the end button and threw Nick’s cell phone against the wall with a loud crash. Nick watched the cell phone smash into a
million pieces as the guy turned around and faced him.
"What are you two?
Some little daddy’s boys out playing with daddy’s money and daddy’s car?"
The guy moved to the table
in the center of the room, where he had placed Nick’s wallet after taking it
from him.
"Where does a kid
like you get eleven hundred dollars in cash and two platinum cards from?"
he asked, shuffling through the contents of Nick’s wallet, which he had dumped
all over the table in search of cash.
Picking up Nick’s Florida
driver’s license, he twirled it between his fingers before turning it over to
read the front. "Nickolas. That’s like Santa Claus, isn’t it? I think I will call you St. Nickolas.” The guy
laughed at his own joke as he tossed the driver’s license back down on the
table and walked across the room towards Nick.
"Hey.” The guy
kicked Nick’s leg with the toe of his boot.
When Nick didn’t look at him, the guy drew his leg back and slammed it
hard into Nick’s legs, knocking them out from under his chin. "I said, hey. When I say hey, you are supposed to say, ‘what.
’"
Nick looked up at him, his
eyes blurring with fresh tears. "What,"
he said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.
"Remember when I said
I liked your boots?"
Nick nodded, looking down
at the boots. The stupid boots.
"Give them to me.”
Nick must have looked
confused because the guy knelt down eye-level with him and grabbed him by the
back of the neck, pulling him close to him so that their foreheads touched. The guy’s skin was warm and sweaty, and his
breath reeked of beer and cigarettes.
"Give me the boots,
asshole.”
He released his grip,
slamming Nick’s head into the wall with a smile.
Nick reached down for this
left foot and tugged the shiny, black boot off, handing it to the sweaty
dickhead, and then he did the same with the right foot. The guy stood and walked to the couch in the
opposite corner of the room. Sitting
down, he pulled off his own shoes and tossed them in a pile and then pulled on
the boots slowly, one at a time.
When the guy had first
climbed in the car and pointed the gun at Nick’s head, he had gone into a sort
of dreamlike state, where nothing seemed real.
He couldn’t even remember steering the car or pushing on the gas or
stopping at the stoplights. Everything
had seemed to happen in slow motion. Even
the guy’s voice as he yelled out the directions of where he wanted Nick to go
had sounded sloppy and slow, like he was speaking under water. Even now, sitting there on the floor of the
disgusting, dimly-lit apartment, with its smell of sour milk and cat shit, he
still felt like it was all a dream.
Movies and made-for-TV cop
shows flashed through his mind of people who were kidnapped or carjacked or
worse. It seemed like in the movies,
people always tried to fight back or get away from the attacker. Nick himself had contemplated taking the guy
once they arrived at the apartment. Imagining
himself like Superman or some WWF wrestler, just kicking the son of a bitch’s
ass. But he had quickly changed his mind
when the guy had dragged him out of the car by his hair, the gun pressed into
his back, and stood him up to face him.
He had at least three
inches on Nick and outweighed him by seventy five pounds easily, all of which
was pure muscle. He had dragged Nick up
to the third floor apartment like he was a rag doll and tossed him inside headfirst,
leaving him sprawled out on the rug like an animal. He was so scared of the reality of what was
happening that Nick had quickly let his mind return to its safe, dreamlike
state, where everything was slow and had a soft glow around it.
He watched now as the
asshole strutted around the room, admiring the cowboy boots, the gun stuck in
the waistband of his jeans, and he wondered if anybody would find him
here. Nick knew that he himself had
talked to Brian on the phone. What he
had said and what Brian had said were all lost to him now. He just hoped that Brian wasn’t mad at him
for buying those stupid cowboy boots, and he hoped that Brian would miss him
when he was dead.
***
Brian pulled into a
rundown-looking motel and parked the car.
Grabbing the scrap of paper with the address on it, he walked quickly
through the double glass doors and made his way to the front desk.
A woman in her fifties sat
behind the counter, clad only in a dirty white tank top and some cut off shorts
that were about ten sizes too small. She
was fanning herself with a sheet of paper and watching a rerun of The Golden
Girls on the small black and white TV set that was beside her on the desk. When Brian approached the counter, she looked
up at him for a second and then returned her attention to the show.
"Excuse me," he
said, slapping the piece of paper down on the counter in front of her.
"What," she
snapped, her eyes never leaving the TV screen.
"I’m not from around
here, and I need your help. I am trying
to find this address.”
Her eyes looked at him and
than slid down to the address on the piece of paper and then back up to his
face. "What, are you looking for
drugs or something?"
It was strange how quickly
the scenery in Los Angeles could change.
One minute, you could be in the most posh neighborhood in town, and a
few hours later, you could be in hell.
"No, I’m not looking
for drugs. I’m trying to find my
friend.”
She reached over and
turned down the sound of the TV set and then reached below the counter and
pulled out a map. "I’m busy
watching my show. If you want to find
that place, you can find it yourself with this.” She
pushed the map at him with a scowl.
"Thanks, you’ve been
no help at all," he said under his breath, as she cranked the sound back
up and turned away from him. Taking the
map, he walked back out to the car and climbed in, locking the doors and
turning on the overhead light. Shit. He had no clue where he was or where he was
going. And while he was determined to
think positive that everything would work out okay and that this was just some
poor bastard who wanted to stiff Nick and him for some cash while scaring them
in the process, he couldn’t help wondering if everything was going to turn out
alright.
Leaning his head back
against the seat, every prayer he had ever been taught swirled through his mind,
as he tried to find the one that was right for this situation. Finally, he decided they were all right for
this situation, as he unfolded the map and rubbed his tired eyes.
"Hang on,
buddy," he said out loud, as he moved his finger down and around the
winding lines on the map. "Just
hang on.”
***
There was a loud knock at
the door that made Nick jump. But the
guy seemed to be expecting someone, as he calmly walked to the door and flipped
the three deadbolts. He opened the door
only a few inches and talked low so that Nick could not hear what he was saying
to whoever was on the other side. Then,
closing the door, he walked over to Nick.
"Okay, Jolly Old St.
Nick, get up.” Nick did as he said and got to his feet. The guy pulled the gun out of his waistband
and jammed it into Nick’s forehead. "You’re
going to do everything I say, right?" Nick nodded, swallowing hard. The guy smiled. "That’s what I thought.” Lowering
the gun, he waved it in the direction of the door.
Nick walked to the door
with the guy close behind him and opened it upon command. Stepping out onto the landing, Nick looked
down and could see that the BMW was no longer parked below. In its place was an old, dark-colored pickup
truck with another man leaning against the driver’s side door, apparently
waiting for them.
The guy shoved the gun
into Nick’s back from behind, prompting Nick to walk, stocking footed, down the
two flights of stairs to the truck. The
other guy grabbed him hard by his upper right arm and flung him into the open
driver’s side door. The first guy
climbed in the passenger side, and the second guy climbed in behind Nick,
sandwiching him in the middle.
"Okay, so where are
we going, Mo?" Mo. So the name of the guy that had carjacked him
was Mo. Seemed to fit.
"Go to the warehouse."
Mo squirmed around, trying to get
comfortable in what little space he had, what with Nick practically sitting on
his lap. He would shove Nick a little
from the right, and then Nick would bump into the other guy, who would shove
him from the left.
"Knock it off asshole,"
Mo said. Nick didn’t know if he was talking
to him or to the other guy. Mo grabbed a
pack of cigarettes out of the glove compartment and tapped two out. He then pulled a lighter out of his shirt
pocket and lit them both and passed one across Nick to the other guy.
Nick inhaled the smoke as
it passed under his nose, knowing that if he got a hold of that pack, he would
smoke it in five seconds flat. He had
promised Brian that he wasn’t smoking anymore, but what Brian hadn’t known was
that Nick was sneaking smokes every chance he got. And then he would cram his mouth full with
mints and gum and douse himself in cologne to cover the scent. One night, Brian asked him why he smelled so
bad. Nick thought he was busted for the
cigarettes, but it turned out Brian was talking about the overwhelming smell of
cologne that filled the room. So after
that, he didn’t spray himself so many times.
"…I said, do you want
one, kid?" Nick blinked himself back to reality and looked over at Mo. He was holding out a cigarette. Nick nodded, taking it and pushing it between
his lips while Mo flicked the lighter until it caught on the tip.
Nick nodded a thanks, his
eyes sliding to the clock on the dash. 2:00 a. m.
He wondered where Brian was and if he was still mad at him. He also wondered if Brian had called the
police, or if he was going to go all Mission: Impossible and try to save
him on his own. For some reason, Nick
didn’t think that it would matter either way. He already knew he was a dead man, and nothing
Brian could do could save him now.
Leaning back in the seat,
he pulled his knees up and hooked his arms around his legs, trying to keep them
from sliding to one side or the other, the cigarette dangling loosely from the
corner of his lips.
Suddenly, the guy jerked
the wheel of the truck and turned off of the main road. Mo reached down and snapped on the radio as
they bumped down the dark road. He
rolled the dial through the stations, finally settling on some country station
with a sleepy voiced DJ that welcomed them to his evening shift called the “Night
Ride.” Pulling the cigarette from his lips,
Nick leaned forward and stubbed it out in the half-filled ashtray.
"Aren’t you going to
the finish that?" Mo asked.
"Nah. I think I just quit,” Nick said, his stomach
turning and his head pounding.
Mo laughed beside him. "Yeah, that’s a good idea, kid. It’s always good to get rid of your sins
before you die.”
***
