“Now, moving your eyes, not your head, look to your left and you’ll see a black SUV. That’s your goal. You want to reach your goal without me blowing your fucking head off, got it? Don’t nod.”
“I… I understand.”
“Good, then let’s go, and don’t forget your goal.”
The two men walked sideways toward the car, the gunman cross stepping, Rye crabbing along as best he could. He observed his captor’s appearance: coal black hair tied up in a ponytail, bull neck and a muscular build bulging out of an open sport coat. Maybe a former pro athlete, Rye thought. When they got within a couple feet of the rear of the SUV, the double back doors flew open. A man reached out, grabbed Rye by his shoulders and dragged him in the back. The gunman slammed the doors closed.
Rye landed on his back facing the rear doors and raised himself up on his elbows.
“Turn around nice and slow.”
Rye pulled his knees up under him as he turned so that he was sitting upright and on his heels. The windows in the back of the SUV were blacked out, the passenger seats were folded down and the entire inside looked so clean it could have come right out of the showroom.
When he turned to look at his second captor, he was once again looking into the barrel of a gun. Moments later the passenger side door opened and the first gunman got in, sitting braced against the back of the passenger seat.
“What’s your name?”
“Rye.”
“Well Mr. Rye, how long you been working for Lewd and Lascivious?”
Before he could answer the closest gunman turned to look at the other, they seemed to be agreeing on something and Rye knew that he’d given himself away. Claire had always said that he couldn’t keep a secret because it was always written all over his face.
It was the first gunman, the one Rye had scoop kicked, who did all the talking. Although they were both formidable in size, the one who walked him across the street was definitely the boss.
“I don’t work for Lewd and Lascivious, I’m trying to find them.”
“What exactly do you mean, you’re trying to find them? You looking for a job or something?” The two men grinned at each other.
Rye was getting fired up but didn’t want to piss off his captors.
“I think they’ve killed a man, an actor in one of their films, and they’re going to kill again.”
The two thugs exchanged looks again.
“You ain’t no cop and definitely not a bounty hunter. What’s it to you?”
“Their next victim could be a woman who came to me asking for help. Look, this guy had his liver cut out, but I don’t know if there is really a connection between the company and the guy’s death. All I know for sure is that the woman I’m looking for asked me for help. She appeared in a film made by these guys—and so did the guy.” Rye suddenly realized he’d been talking a mile a minute, something Claire said he did when he was nervous. He paused and took a deep breath. “I don’t know what you think, but I’m not associated with Lewd and Lascivious in any way.”
“OK, Mr. Rye. I see you’re pretty excited; hey, two guns in my face and I’d be pretty excited, too. I’m gonna tell you some things cuz I think we may be able to help each other. Whatchu think?”
Rye didn’t know if he was expected to answer, but was willing to do anything at this point in order to get the guns pointed somewhere else.
“Sure, glad to help. Could you put those guns away?”
The two men smiled at the request. “Put the guns away, sure why not. First put your hands on the ceiling.”
Rye raised his hands until his fingers touched the padded headliner. One of the men waved his gun under Rye’s nose.
“Palms flat and don’t move or Rock here will blow a hole in you. And at this range I’d get a face fulla guts.”
If the gunman was trying to frighten him, he’d done a good job.
He felt the man’s hands lightly run up his sides, around behind his neck, around his waist and his crotch.
“Now sit back on your butt and bring your feet around in front, nice ‘n slow.”
The process of bringing his feet around pulled Rye’s pant legs half way up his calf. It was plain to see that he wasn’t wearing an ankle holster.
“Good, now we put the guns away. Bring your hands down. Now, tell me, when did this guy get his liver cut out?”
“I don’t know exactly, but I found him day before yesterday, and he hadn’t been dead more than twenty-four hours.”
“How would you know how long he’d been dead? You a doctor or sumpin’?”
Rye was steamed and at the end of his patience with all the questions. Now that the guns were out of sight, he was feeling a little braver, but not a lot.
“I’m an emergency medical technician. But what has all this got to do with you? And how do you figure we can help each other? You can help me right now by letting me go.”
His two captors looked at each other as if trying to make up their minds about something.
“An emergency medical… you mean an ambulance driver?”
“Basically, yeah,” Rye said, trying to hide his anger.
“OK then. My ol’ man is dyin’ of a liver disease. He needs a new liver, can’t wait. The odds of gettin’ picked from an organ donor list in time to save his life ain’t so good. My ol’ man’s doctor says he can get a liver through other channels, says leave it to him. What do you know, I get a call the next day saying if I want a liver, bring a hundred gees to Pier 39, San Francisco, midnight, cash. Maybe the liver I bought and your dead guy’s liver are one in the same?”
Rye could feel the sweat trickling down his side and beading across his forehead. He could hear his own heart beat, but knew he couldn’t panic. Both his captors were built like linebackers and both still had their guns, and although he no longer felt his life was in immediate danger, he was far from safe. This man was talking about black market organ sales and he had to know it was a federal offense. The other guy had called him by name. They’d revealed too much to let him go.
Chapter Twenty Seven
Rye was right, it was no problem getting the license number of the Dodge Caravan. Claire simply asked Jake Bradshaw, her good buddy at the fire department, to run it through the DMV for a name and address. Apparently, the vehicle had been caught in a surveillance tape as it crossed the Golden Gate Bridge, and he was able to provide a crude image of the driver and the passenger. Now she had a face to match the name. Jake had pulled the face of the woman Rye identified as asking for help off the tape, but as Claire left Medford, Oregon, heading north, she began having doubts. What was she going to do when she got to this guy’s house? All she knew was Crystal’s name.
Claire pulled onto the shoulder of the freeway and dialed Paul Casey’s number on her cell phone. She got his answering machine.
“Paul, this is Claire. Rye went to LA in search of a porn company and I’m headed for 20415 Pericolo Lane. It’s just above Denton near the coast.” Claire pulled the phone away from her ear to avoid the static that suddenly came on the line.
“Great, well it was a good try,” she said and pressed the end button and put the phone back on the passenger seat.
She ran through several scenarios for getting into the house on Pericolo Lane. But who was this girl Rye wanted so desperately to help? Would she even be there and more importantly, who were these people she was involved with? She finally let it go; the whole idea was insane anyway. Paul had even told Rye that there was nothing either of them could do. Great, the message she left, outlining her intention of locating the girl, flew in the face of Paul’s advice. But, she figured, this far up the coast and having left a message for Paul—if his machine even recorded it—she sure as hell wasn’t going to turn back now.