Christopher, Craig & Co.
Part 114: Friday Evening.
I breezed into the house and set about prepping for a romantic dinner for two. I switched on some music, set the table, and lit a few candles. I hurried up the stairs, took a quick shower, got dressed, fought with my hair and was back downstairs at ten minutes to six.
With time to kill, I checked the answering machine—which was empty—and my email, which was full of junk. Everything was going so well I actually had time to sit and catch my breath.
Six o’clock came and went with no sign of Scott. Oriental Kitchen was probably just busy, I thought as I perused a few news headlines on my computer.
At a quarter after six the front door opened. I rushed into the foyer. “I’m glad you’re here,” I said. “I’m starved and I missed you!”
Wade stopped short. “I’m not who you thought was coming in?”
I laughed. “No, Scott was supposed to be on his way home with Chinese.”
Wade hung his coat up in the closet and said, “I haven’t eaten yet either. I’m due at Kampas at 8. And I have a paper to write this weekend.”
Wade dashed up the stairs and moments later I could hear the shower running.
At 6:30 I picked up my cell and dialed Scott. The phone rang until voicemail finally picked up. I hung up without leaving a message. Scott would see the missed call and call me back.
Wade came bounding back down the stairs at 6:45, dressed in fresh clothes for work, with his brown hair still damp. “Scott didn’t get here yet?”
“No. And frankly I’m not sure if I should be worried or annoyed. He could have called to say he’d be late.”
Wade held out his hands. “He’s been working really hard on wrapping up the case of the disappearing boys. Maybe they got something?”
“Still, it’s not like him to just not call…” I picked up my phone and texted him. Are we still on for dinner?
Wade retrieved his coat from the closet. “I’m sure he’s fine, Chris. Scott’s a big bad FBI agent. I’m going to stop and hit a drive thru on the way to work. Text me and let me know what’s up.”
I nodded absently. “Be careful,” I called as Wade shut the door.
I stared at the phone in my hand, willing it to ring. Scott wouldn’t break plans without at least texting. Something was wrong.
Stop. I needed to not let my imagination run wild. Wade had a point. Scott had been working much longer hours the past couple of weeks. The number of local unexplained and suspicious deaths had increased and the investigation was feeling pressured to come up with results.
The readout on my phone was 7:00.
Scott? I sent.
No reply.
I’m going to order the food. I’ll save you some. Text me.
I grabbed my coat and keys, locked the house and headed for my car. If I called now the food would be ready when I got there. No, I’d wait and order at the restaurant. That would give Scott more time to get in touch.
I pulled onto Greenhill Road and headed into town. I decided to detour past the Club. The building as lit up. Soon it would be filled with revelers out for a night of debauchery. As it should be.
I drove downtown and passed Craig’s apartment building. Craig still hadn’t been seen or heard from since Wade’s abduction. I was certain Richard would know where Craig was, but after Richard’s change of heart today I wasn’t sure I wanted to poke the bear. I had a twinge of worry about Craig, but he was a grown man and he had made the decisions that put him on the path to where he was now. Then again, if Richard was behind what had happened to Craig—as I was convinced he was—then this was partly my fault.
I shook it off. I couldn’t agonize over that tonight. Once Craig turned up I would see what had been done to him with hypnosis and end up helping him. I could only imagine how popular that idea would be with Scott.
I passed Kampas. By now Wade would likely be inside eating his takeout and getting ready for his shift. It was so much easier when I knew that Scott was there, too. Scott’s real job was much more dangerous than bartending. Why wasn’t he texting me back?
I drove past the college. The campus was well-lit and I could see several students milling about on their way out for the evening. I hoped in the near future we could all be as carefree.
I eased the car into a spot down the street from Oriental Kitchen. It was 7:35. Is there anything special you feel like eating?
Finally, the telltale signs that someone was typing into the phone appeared. Hallelujah, I thought.
A picture appeared. I tapped it and it filled the screen.
It was a picture of Scott.
On the ground.
Unconscious.
Fuck me.
To be continued in Part 115…
Christopher, Craig & Co.
Part 115: Friday Night.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I stared at the photo. The lighting was uneven and not that good.
Scott’s eyes were closed, but he didn’t look like he was bleeding or injured. He was lying on cement.
My mind was racing but I didn’t feel panicked. I felt very in control. This was not random. This was not unrelated to the events of the past few years. Whoever took this photo sent it to me knowing who I was and who Scott was to me.
There were two options for who would text me this photo: Craig or Richard.
Craig had gone off the deep end lately, culminating in trying to kidnap Wade.
But Craig hadn’t been acting alone. He was following orders; there was no doubt in my mind.
Richard had seemed so acquiescent today. He was almost civil.
I heard his voice in my head. “You always were a foolish boy.”
Fuck me.
I threw the car into drive and pulled out into traffic. I knew where to start. I sped back toward Craig’s apartment building. I parked in an open visitor’s spot and popped the trunk on my car. I retrieved a hammer and strode toward the front door of the building.
Inside I located the spare key where Craig seemed to have left it and opened the door. The apartment was quiet and dark. Since I wasn’t exactly in stealth mode I flipped on the lights.
It didn’t look like anyone had been around since the last time I was here. I was starting to wonder what had happened to my life that I kept ending up in my friends’ deserted apartments. I checked the kitchen and the bedroom and then stood in the middle of the living room.
I chose my words carefully. “I don’t know if anyone is listening or if this apartment is being watched. Scott Wilson is missing. I got the text showing he’s unconscious. If anybody can hear me and wants to get in touch, my phone number is apparently well-known.”
I walked out of the apartment, still carrying the hammer, locked the door, and dropped the key in my pocket.
Moments later I did a circuit around the parking lot. I didn’t see any vans or any sign that someone had noticed my presence. I got in my car and started the engine.
I didn’t know how to contact any of Scott’s people at the FBI. And any numbers he might have would be in his phone—which was with him.
I could go to Kampas, but I didn’t want to worry Wade yet.
I could go home, but there was no way Scott would be there and it just seemed like a waste of time. Unless there was a message there for me about all of this. But that wouldn’t make sense either since whoever it was just texted me the last time.
I could go to Richard’s house. But I knew Richard well enough to know that even if he had grabbed Scott personally and thrown him to the ground and taken the picture he would not have taken Scott to his house. There would be no clear path tracing this to Richard; of that I was sure.
The clock on the radio said 8:01.
So where to?
The Club!
I didn’t know if Richard would be there or not, but if I was going to establish an alibi while I had somebody kidnapped I would be in a public place with video surveillance. I mean, this is kidnapping 101. I’ve watched enough Days Of Our Lives to know that.
I backed out of the parking spot so fast the hammer flew off the passenger seat, landing somewhere on the floor of the car.
As I drove I weighed options. I could call the police and report the photo. I could try to find a way to call the FBI. I could call any of my friends. Everybody knows that when you send the hero into the dangerous situation alone the movie is just about over and there will be some horrible set piece that ends with a ridiculous fight scene.
Although for the life of me I couldn’t think of a single movie where that occurred in a gay club.
And, honestly, as heroes go, even armed with my trusty hammer I was no Thor.
I pulled into the private lot behind the Club and parked. There were no other cars in sight. This wasn’t creepy at all.
Yeah, right.
I leaned down and retrieved the hammer.
When I sat back up there was a man standing outside my car.
Fuck!
My heart was racing. I looked more closely at him. I realized he was dressed in black and carrying a flashlight. I rolled down the window part way.
“This is not a parking area for Club patrons,” he said.
“I’m not a patron.” I squared my shoulders. “I’m the new owner.”
He shined the flashlight in my eyes, temporarily blinding me. I tightened my grip on the hammer.
“I recognize you. You’re a friend of Leatherman’s. Sorry to bother you.” He walked back down the alley to the front of the building.
I swear to God I am taking a vacation when all of this is over.
I opened the car door and stood up. Reaching into my pants pocket I realized I didn’t have the keys to the Club with me. I grimaced. I wouldn’t be able to get in through the private entrance.
I fished my phone out of my pocket and switched on the flashlight app. I hurried down the alley toward Fox Street. There was a small crowd at the door waiting to get in. I wanted desperately to try to cut the line, but I didn’t recognize the bouncer and I didn’t want to attract negative attention at this point.
I tucked the hammer up the sleeve of my coat and I waited in line. It had cooled off tonight and I was not dressed for the weather or for a night at the Club.
My phone vibrated in my hand.
Everything ok?
The text was from Wade. I didn’t know what to respond so I ignored it. I’d get back to him when I had something to tell him.
I reached the front of the line, paid the cover and passed through the doors to the Club. The bass was pumping and the temperature was much warmer inside. I scanned the room. I didn’t recognize anyone but that didn’t mean much at this point. I worked my way toward the bar. I was thankful it was early. If it was primetime I’d still be waiting outside to get in.
My phone vibrated in my hand again. I was going to have to text something to Wade. I swiped my phone screen but the text wasn’t from Wade.
It was from Scott.
Rather, it was from whoever had Scott’s phone.
It wasn’t a photo this time. It was a video.
I pushed the little play arrow.
The camera panned up from Scott’s booted foot. I could see a metal shackle holding his ankle in place. The camera continued to pan up and over his body. The shackles held him at the ankles, thighs, wrists, biceps, chest and neck.
A bondage chair?
As the camera panned up to Scott’s face I could see he was gagged. The picture froze on the look of fear in his eyes.