Changes - Coming Again - Book II in Progress: Roger Vaughan

Coming Again

Book II in progress by Roger Vaughan

Chapter 1: Escape

The handcuffs hurt.

They weren’t really handcuffs; they were those wire-tie things that law enforcement was using: mean, thin but tough plastic bands designed to confine bulky bundles of wires. They proved very damaging to one’s wrists if they were put on too tightly, and they were always put on too tightly. The least bit of struggle caused painful chafing and blood. They were inhumane, ought to be outlawed. But they did have one advantage, Isha thought. She tried to find the most comfortable position for her bound wrists as the officers led her into the elevator. The ties calmed her down, creating enough discomfort that her blind fury was reduced to a level where her more rational self could preside over the situation. Because rational was required.

Her calm had started with the detective, that large, cool hunk of African manhood who had moved that bitch Becky off her and had gently drawn her to her feet by one arm as if she were a feather. Becky had blindsided her when she’d gone for the gun. The detective had read her Miranda warning quietly, with meaning, as if it were a poem. His eyes were powerful, stern and controlling without being threatening. Admittedly, she had been transfixed by him. There would be

The detective read her plenty of time to Miranda warning quietly, be furious, plenty with meaning. of time to vent the rage that comes with failure, the deep-seated anger that follows a devious plan gone wrong; plenty of time to nourish the vicious revenge that was already growing like a tumor in her heart. She’d been through several ugly years of scheming and pretending, being charming to idiots, jumping into bed with creeps, all to end up in handcuffs thanks to an incompetent partner who couldn’t get his side of the job done, thanks to the clever little bastard son he had underestimated. That she had underestimated. She had to share that part.

Being able to blame it on someone else dilutes some of the curse. When you have to take some of the blame, when it’s your screw-up, well, that’s the worst, the very worst.

She’d had Andy wrapped around her little finger. She had. No question. At first, anyway. It was textbook stuff. Anything she wanted he got for her, including her pair of world-class breasts. Not that they weren’t prize-winning to begin with. But now they were impossible to ignore. Andy was putty in her hands, nothing a little time between the sheets couldn’t fix if things got testy, with the emphasis on little. Portion it out, like candy to a baby.

Poor confused Andy, angry Andy, poor rich white boy. Just give him another drink, roll him another joint, buy him another toy. Such a simple mommy’s boy. And then, what happened? He had started to think! She had seen it that night when he caught her going through his Mountain View plans, that stupid astronomy-theme hotel idea of his. She’d heard the wheels turning, seen it in his eyes, and she had let it go, not given it the attention it deserved. Thinking, for chrissakes. Is there anything more dangerous? And she had let it go.

It was that goddamn ocean race around the world. It had to be.

Mitch’s obsession to make Andy go on the race really blew the entire scam. Mitch and his infantile need to punish Andy after his drunken gaffe at the New York Yacht Club had forced Mitch’s hand, a gaffe that had forced Mitch into entering a boat in the race. Upwards of $15 million it had cost the company. That bit of pocket change wasn’t really the problem. It was the old baggage, rotten to the core. Mitch had always hated the kid, the issue of his mother Deedee’s one mistake in her otherwise pristine life: getting knocked up by her father’s boat captain, some Australian dude. And that crippling business of her half-witted father She’d had Andy wrapped sending the boat around her little finger. captain packing and She had. No question. insisting his daughter marry Mitch, his ambitious protégé in the company. “Bastard,” Mitch called Andy, often to his face. Andy might have been a bastard, but he was in line to inherit the company, screwing Mitch out of what he thought should be his. Mitch had actually tried to have Andy killed once, stupid Mitch who couldn’t wait to hand Isha over to the cops as the evil witch behind the plot. What a hideous oaf, so blinded by greed. She’d lost count of how many times, after sex with him, she’d dashed into the bathroom and thrown up. And then there was Deedee, standing firmly behind Andy going 150

on the race. Who knew that would happen? Mother Deedee, who had always bailed Andy out, who had saved his butt time after time. Not this time. Turned out Deedee was still in love with the boat captain, figured going on the race was the way to make Andy pursue his roots, and betting he’d respond to the challenge. Talk about a long shot. But damned if the old lady wasn’t right. Faced with having to race 30,000 miles around the world with eleven strangers on a stripped-out race boat had turned him around, turned fat into muscle, forged anger and fear into commitment, and had made him start to think.

Andy was on the race, all right. Or he should have been. It was Mitch’s idea to bring everything to a head during the race layover after the finish in Fremantle, Western Australia. Give Deedee her terminal cocktail. That would bring Andy home. Overcome with grief, he would be a piece of cake for Mitch’s thugs. How wrong could he be, and she had gone along with it. Impatient Mitch. Isha letting her guard down. She knew better. Rage began boiling again in her guts.

The elevator door opened and the cops flanking her each gave her a pull, the cuffs punished her wrists. She’d better start to think. The two cops, one a woman, guided her into

the handsome lobby of the posh apartment building on Manhattan’s Central Park West where she and Mitch had been living. Ralph, the night doorman, was stunned by the sight of his fantasy woman in custody. Ralph’s building had its fair share of gorgeous women, but this one was something else, a BlackAsian mix underpainted with a liberal dose of Caucasian. The result was sultry to the max, with those big, wide-set eyes and that full, expressive mouth so striking in a little girl’s face, framed by the perfectly tousled hair. Uncanny. And that body that defied gravity. . . She was small, not a fraction over 5’3”, which advanced a certain Isha letting her guard down. girlish innocence She knew better. Rage began that Isha made the boiling again in her guts. most of. And here she was, in handcuffs! Isha gave Ralph her best bedraggled look, eyes sad as she mouthed, “It’s okay, a mistake.” The cops were taking her to the local precinct while Andy and the detectives were still upstairs dealing with Mitch. Isha stopped abruptly, causing the wire ties to dig into her wrists. “I need a toilet,” Isha mumbled to the woman officer. “I’m about to burst.” It was an old ruse, but not a bad one. And probably the only one available. The delivery was everything. Isha bent over and produced a wet, throaty cough, pressing her hands to her stomach. “You can make it to the station,”

Coming Again had tackled her, she had been totally subdued in the lobby. She seemed the male officer interjected. “It’s ten nauseated, sick. And how could she minutes.” His name tag read “Qui- do her business with her hands tied? mby.” Three minutes later, Gaines

“I will foul myself and your car,” would urge Isha to hurry it up. Five Isha said, casting an imploring look minutes later, Gaines would begin in Ralph’s direction. “I am ill.” pounding on the locked toilet door.

“She could use the little service Ten minutes later, Quimby would toilet down the hall.” It was Ralph, attempt to kick the door in, injureager to help his favorite tenant. Isha ing his foot. Twelve minutes later, let her head drop. She appeared in Ralph would find the key and unlock obvious distress. the toilet room, which was empty.

The woman cop looked at her The grid to the heat vent was lying partner, who had rank. He grimaced. on the floor. The opening seemed

“All right. Damn. Hurry it up.” impossibly small, but Isha had nev-

Ralph led the way. The woman er weighed more than a hundred officer kept a hand on Isha’s arm. pounds. Quimby questioned Ralph Outside the toilet about where the heat door, Isha held up The grid to the heat vent was duct led, and Gaines her cuffed wrists to lying on the floor. The opening ran off in that directhe officer. seemed impossibly small. tion. She was too late.

“I’ll need my Isha was gone. hands.” After exiting the apartment build-

The woman officer opened the ing’s back entrance and running toilet door and glanced inside at the up the alley to the street, Isha had tiny, windowless room with a toilet hailed a taxi. It was good luck she’d and a utility sink. A broom and a had her wallet in the pocket of the mop stood in a bucket. There was jeans she was wearing. Before the barely room for one person. police had arrived, she’d gone out to

The officer cast a glance over her get ice cream. She gave the driver a shoulder, removed a set of clippers hundred-dollar bill and told him he from her belt and cut the wire ties. needed to cruise around for an hour. Later, under questioning, the offi- Where he went was up to him. She cer, whose name was Gaines, would curled up on the rear seat out of sight tell her angry superiors that while it and dozed, considering her options. was true Isha had tried to unholster An hour later, she directed the Quimby’s gun during the arrest, and driver to cruise by her apartment while she’d had a screaming fight building. It was now around 1 a.m. with Andy’s girlfriend Becky, who The place looked quiet. No suspi154

cious-looking cars. On the next pass, she stopped the cab. Ralph came out, his face full of concern.

“They’re gone,” he said. “They taped off the door is all.”

Isha asked the driver to wait in the back where he had picked her up. The driver took in the building, the doorman, who obviously knew this woman, and said he would.

“It’s a colossal mistake,” Isha said to Ralph. “Our lawyers are already on it. This is going to cost the City plenty. Help me out and you’ll be taken care of.”

“Of course, Ma’am.”

“I’m not here. You have not seen me. I need a key.”

“Got it,” Ralph said, disappearing for a moment into his cubby by the front door as Isha headed for the elevator. Ralph returned with the key. Isha stared into Ralph’s eyes, grabbed the lapels of his uniform coat and put her cheek against his chest. His arms automatically went around her.

“Thank you, Ralph. You are such a good man.”

Ralph could hardly speak. “Anything . . . just call,” he managed.

This was almost as good as hiding at the police station, Isha thought, stifl ing a rueful laugh that tried to escape as the elevator door slid shut. The tape on the apart-

ment door was for show. She’d leave it just as she found it. She took her time shedding her clothes, fi lthy from crawling through the heat ducts, showering and dressing in a late night, lower Manhattan street outfi t for November: jeans, a black cashmere turtleneck and warm, fl at boots. She’d wear her threequarter-length black down coat that could be squashed into a tiny bag and a dark designer stocking cap. Isha packed one of her larger roller suitcases, selecting a variety of outfi ts for both winter and warmer climes, along with jewelry and accessories. She even considered getting a night’s sleep and venturing off in the morning, but This was almost as good as decided not to push hiding at the police station, it. They had taken Isha thought Mitch’s computers, but the cops would want to tear the place apart come morning. They hadn’t found her iPad, which was lucky. She went to the safe and removed several thousand dollars in cash .her partner kept on hand, muttering a sarcastic “Thanks, Mitch.” She grabbed the spare fl ip phone they kept in the safe, put her wallet and a few essentials in a canvas tote bag, grabbed the roller bag and took the freight elevator down to avoid Ralph. The taxi was waiting. “Chelsea Hotel,” she told the driver. vaughan.roger@gmail.com