Chapter 9

Pete used his killer smile on the woman at the front desk. She lit up in response. “No, a friend made the appointment for me. It’s a birthday gift, really.” He perched on the side of her desk leaning in. “I know he has this surprise planned right after I get inside.” He put his fingers to his lips. “Shhhh. Don’t tell him I told you so! I’ll save you a piece of cake, okay?”

Cassy, or Sally, or Halley, whatever her name was, bought into their planned intrigue right away. That immediately left Peter wondering how much intelligence it took to sit at a desk and push a little button every time the computer screen in front of you said approved. “So, it’s okay if I go in?”

“I guess.” The young woman hesitated for show. “But since it’s your birthday, I guess it will be fine.” Cassy, or Sally, or Halley pushed the button, her entire job, and Peter threw her a kiss, as he disappeared down the hall toward the locker rooms. “Happy, um, birthday, Mister…”

Peter moved into the men’s locker room, talking softly on his comm. “In. Heading to the loading dock now.” He wore designer sweats and tennis shoes, so he fit right in with the local clientele, except for the bulbous muscles and straining veins he saw all around him.

The loading dock was on the east side of the building, and it took seconds to slip through the Staff Only door. It occurred to him that a club catering to the elite clientele of South Padre Island should have better security. He’d walked right into the loading and supply area without being challenged, or even noticed. There were no cameras in the staff area. Maybe that was on purpose. His mind was winding around a conspiracy theory that included the entire staff of this club. A seeming dumb bell at the front desk? A German war god for a trainer and a sweet cheerleader to lend enthusiasm? A muscle-man masseur for the dirty work? It all fit in Pete’s mind. This was a snake pit and he was strolling on in like nobody’s business.

He eased the door to the loading dock open admitting Conrad, Evie, and Bull Cheddar. “I have a date with Master Moto. But I may need a chaperone. Care to accompany me?” He grinned at his friends and said a prayer of thanks for the cheesy guy with the bright shoes.

“Simon’s watching the cars. He’s on comm in my rig. You knock and go on in. We’ll follow. I want to know what this guy did with my wife.” Pete could hear the angry snarl in his friend’s voice. This was not going to be pretty.

“Right.” Pete waved them past. “Hang back. I’ll leave the door open a crack. We all ready?”

The small group answered in unison, “Ready.”

Pete trotted down the hall and the rest followed. Outside Moto’s room, he paused motioning to his team before knocking loudly. “Master Moto?”

The door swung open to reveal a short, stocky man of Asian descent. “I am Master Moto. You are my seven o’clock?” The masseur stuck out his hand in greeting.

“Yep. That’d be me. I’m John.” Pete shook his hand and followed Moto into the massage room, leaving the door just a touch ajar. Enough for someone to enter, if the door locked upon closure.

“Have you ever experienced a massage before, John?” Moto stood against the back wall between two tall shelving units that held jars and tins, a stack of sheets and towels, a fleece blanket and several candles. Soft music played in the background. It was a pleasing room, decorated in muted colors and smelling of some sort of witch hazel or camphor.

“Ah, yeah, sure.” With his comment, the team came through the door.

“What is this? What are you people doing in…” Obviously startled, Moto pressed his back against the wall and eased toward the door.

Bull put a stop to his movement. “Where you think you’re goin’ there, shorty?”

“You cannot be in here. You must leave. This is not…” As Moto tried to threaten his way out of the precarious position, Bull reached into his cargo pants and pulled out a roll of duct tape, slapping a piece over the masseur’s mouth. Bull’s huge hand clamped around the man’s throat, stilling further movement. His fingers actually wrapped all the way around as Moto’s eyes settled on Conrad. Recognition dawned and fear replaced recognition.

Conrad leaned close in the small room. “What the hell did you do with my wife?” Spittle sprayed Moto’s face. “Let’s go have this conversation somewhere else. Somewhere quiet.”

Conrad led the way as Bull dragged Moto through the hall. Pete followed with Evie behind the group. “Simon, bring Conrad’s rig around to the back.” Pete spoke through the comm.

“Okay. I mean, roger that!” Everyone heard Simon’s snicker following the military type response.

Pete thought Evie’s boyfriend was having a little too much fun and this was a critical mission. “Okay is fine, Simon. Just get the SUV as close to the door as possible. Less for the casual observer to see.”

As they left the club through the loading dock exit, Bull taped Moto’s hands and feet. Lifting the masseur into Conrad’s SUV, Bull got in beside him. Through the window Pete could see Bull staring at their captive, an evil smile plastered across his face. It was a very intimidating look, and very effective. Moto sat immobile and did not struggle at all.

Conrad got into the front passenger seat. “Drive, Simon. Back to Pete’s place.”

“Roger that!” Simon chuckled over the comm. “I love this military stuff.”

“Yeah, my sista here be real proud, bro.” Pete heard Bull comment over the comm link. Pete’s car was on the street and as Conrad’s SUV pulled out of the parking lot behind the club, Pete caught sight of Brittney, the salesclerk in the athletic store next door. She was locking the front door and glaring directly at him. Pete smiled and waved. He got a middle finger for his efforts. And a Kodak moment, as she raised her phone and obviously caught their actions on her camera.

“Our little adventure is now recorded for posterity, guys. We need to move fast. The clerk next door got it all and probably, so did the security camera.” Pete waved at Britney for no other reason than he kind of liked her and he’d already been caught. Maybe it would help him if they were found out and cops got involved. She’d liked him before their cover was blown. Maybe… He trotted around the corner, and ran for his ride.

If Brittney called the police, all they’d have to do is check Conrad’s license plate for identification and residence. It wouldn’t be long before the Padre Island’s finest put two and two together and came looking for Pete. He pulled a U-turn in the road to avoid exposing his own license plate to the girl and the store’s one functioning security camera. “Hang on, Evie. See you at my place.” He stepped on the gas and followed his team in the SUV ahead of him.

Conrad just grunted in reply. The comm was quiet as Pete followed. There would be consequences for their part in this caper, but Andrea’s life was at stake. Hopefully it would be worth it.

Close to his place, Pete pulled in front of the little convoy. Since he owned the entire building and, as of yet, there were no other tenants; they had the underground parking lot to themselves. He pressed the button on his rearview mirror to open the gate and sat drumming the steering wheel as it slowly inched up. “Damn, I should have upgraded that gate.” As soon as there was clearance, he sped through.

Pete could see Conrad’s SUV was right behind him, Simon at the wheel. The man’s huge smile could be seen a mile away let alone one car length. Hoping they got through the gate before someone, someone in blue with a badge and a gun, drove by looking for a group of kidnappers in fancy cars, Pete led the way to the central freight elevator and parked right in front. No one else would need to use the handicapped spot anyway.

As everyone got out, Bull tossed the bound Moto out onto the pavement and Conrad dragged the mumbling and flailing man into the spacious and padded elevator.

Pete punched the button for the third floor. He actually lived on the tenth floor, but number three was a complete mess of construction debris and tarps. “Three’s got a bunch of old tarps in case we need a body bag.” He tried to leer at their captive, but his total good looks and pretty-boy image just made him seem like a three-year-old that had stolen his sister’s cookie. Some men had that hard, committed look that said don’t fuck with me. Peter Newcastle’s serious look was more like, hey babe, wanna take a shower together, and then I’ll cook us something vegan?

The third floor was intimidating. Old tarps and rolls of dusty plastic lay scattered everywhere. Pipes and discarded lumber littered one corner, and the windows were blacked out with centuries of grime and weather. Loose wires hung from various timbers holding up a warped ceiling. Nails, screws, and wooden pegs were scattered all over. Several of the wall bricks were lose, having lost their mortar in the last millennium. It was dim and smelled of rust and mold. It was perfect.

Conrad threw Moto against a sack of some kind of dirt and ripped the duct tape from his mouth. Pete winced as part of the man’s scraggly beard came away on the tape. “Go ahead. Scream. No one will hear you here.”

Moto looked around at the circle of serious, threatening faces, except for Pete, who looked like he was impatiently waiting in line for a skinny, mocha, van-cher delight coffee from the Human Bean Delight coffee house downtown.

“What do you want?” Moto choked out. Tiny beads of blood appeared around his mouth where the tape tore out hairs. He looked like he was sweating blood.

Conrad stormed over and punched the man in the jaw sending his head swiveling. “My wife. I want her back.”

“I don’t know your wife, mister. I don’t know you.” Moto whined pathetically. “Please, there is some mistake here. Let me go and I won’t say a word. I promise.”

“You’re trying to tell me you don’t know Andrea McIntyre? Bullshit. She’s been going to you for massages for over a year now, and you don’t know who she is? Pure bullshit.” Conrad punched the man again.

Each strike made Pete a little more queasy as memories of his own torture came flooding back in bright flashes. Conrad wasn’t a small man. The punch accompanied a sick crunching noise as blood spewed from Moto’s nose. “I don’t know the fucking bitch. I tell you. I don’t know what this is all about.”

None of the people on floor three believed what Moto was saying, including Master Moto. But he realized that just a second too late for his own good. Bull stepped up and placed one very orange tennis shoe on Moto’s ankle and applied pressure. “Man, tell me when you remember.”

Moto screamed in pain, as Bull levied his weight on the bone. Pete had to look away. He was feeling everything as if it was happening to him. It had, once upon a very different time and in a very different place.

In between screams and cursing, Moto ground out. “Kill me and you’ll never find the fucking cunt.”

Bull stepped back with a big evil grin. “Man, I forgot how much I liked that.”

Pete was amazed how quickly Moto had given it up. What a wuss that tough guy turned out to be. He saw Evie shake her head. This was nothing compared to what they’d been through. Pete giggled like a little kid watching some kind of prank. It just slipped out unexpectedly and the nausea disappeared. This man was a fake from the word go, a marshmallow in kidnapper’s clothing.

“So now that we understand each other, let me set you straight. Give me my wife and I won’t kill you, Moto. Where is she?” Conrad squatted next to the masseur, old rusty pipe in hand. “Where. The. Hell. Is. She?” He punctuated each word with a strike to some portion of Moto’s body that caused incredible pain. “You see, I consider myself a master at torture. Granted, I was an unwilling student, but I learned all the tricks of the trade in the months I was taught by the Taliban’s experts.” He squinted at Moto. “For example, see this little bone on the side of your wrist here? Did you know it could turn to jelly with enough hits?” He smacked Moto’s wrist.

Moto screamed and tried to struggle away from the crazed Conrad. Pete saw realization dawn in Moto’s eyes. He’d seen the same look on faces of some of the rebels they’d roomed with in their Taliban Motel 6. Moto thought he was never going to get out of this alive. That was a plus for their team. Pete was sure Moto was right where Conrad wanted him, afraid and not thinking, just reacting. The man believed he had to give up the location of Andrea to save himself.

“Stop, stop please.” Moto finally whimpered. “I’ll tell you.”

“I’m listening.” Conrad dragged a cement foundation block over and sat in front of Moto.