someone's been shot.”
Shit. This is not what we need. We need to get to WBCN.
The voice comes over the speaker again. “Mark's been killed. They found his car right outside the business district in an alley. Looks like he was high jacked no signs of the gunman. His last call came in right before a pickup at WBCN.”
An even sicker feeling settles deep in the pit of my stomach as I turn to Frank and see his face is white as a sheet. “Tanya,” he says before opening the door of the still moving cab and empties the contents of his stomach on the road as the lines separating the asphalt fly by.
“I'm calling 911. I have a feeling whoever took that car has Tanya.”
Sitting back up and closing the door, he nods his head in agreement and wipes his mouth on his sleeve. If my instinct is right, whoever has her, it's been about forty five minutes now and the clock is ticking.
The dispatch officer takes my name and number, thanking me for the tip and tells me someone from the station will get in touch with me if they have any information about the situation.
“Hey, can you drop us off near the scene?” I ask the driver and he gives me an uneasy look in the rearview. “You don't have to go there, maybe a couple blocks away. Please?” I'm not above begging at this point. I'm desperate. And from the look on Frank's face, he's no better. He hasn't said a word. His body is silently shaking and his face is positively green.
“Frank,” I say, trying to get his attention but he just stares ahead in a daze. “Frank.” I try again, nudging his shoulder in an effort to pull him out of his paralyzed state.
“Huh? What? Sorry,” he says in apology.
“You need to call George. Have him meet us down here. We don't know who or what we're dealing with. We need all the man power we can get.”
“Right, give me a sec,” he tells me pulling his phone from his pocket and taking a deep breath. “Where are we?” he asks before dialing his brother and putting the phone to his ear.
I look around us for anything familiar. I spot a sign for a motel a little way up on the left. We just left the business district behind us and I'm trying to find a street sign or something to give me an idea of something to tell him to let him know our location. I've never been in this area before. It seems extremely rundown and a little scary to tell you the truth. Not somewhere I would come willingly under other circumstances.
My mind flies back to the motel and I yell to the driver to stop the car. The motel is now a few blocks behind us. I don't think Frank noticed it. If he did, he didn't show any signs of it. Maybe it’s denial of sharing my morbid thoughts.
Something tells me that's where she is. I have no idea who could or would kidnap her. Maybe she's just a case of wrong place, wrong time. Hell we don't even know that she was in that cab but I'm not willing to leave it to chance, if she's somewhere safe, great, if not, better safe than sorry. Her safety is not something I'm not willing to gamble with. At the very least we could be helping catch the suspect in the murder. Maybe we'll be saving someone else from this sicko's game.
“Tell him to meet us at that motel,” I tell Frank as we get out of the car, gesturing down the street.
I hand the driver a crisp hundred dollar bill and tell him to keep the change. “Hey man, I'm sorry about what happened. I hope they catch him.”
He must have caught the gist of our plans because his parting words were, “I hope your friend's okay. Sick fuck.” He drives off shaking his head and we start to walk towards the motel. I look all around me at the boarded up windows of the dilapidated buildings surrounding us and I can't help but wonder how there could be such a drastic change from one part of this city to the next.
“George is on his way,” Frank tells me as he takes in our surroundings and lets out a shaky breath.
I just nod my head as we quietly make our way down the street. Neither
Shit. This is not what we need. We need to get to WBCN.
The voice comes over the speaker again. “Mark's been killed. They found his car right outside the business district in an alley. Looks like he was high jacked no signs of the gunman. His last call came in right before a pickup at WBCN.”
An even sicker feeling settles deep in the pit of my stomach as I turn to Frank and see his face is white as a sheet. “Tanya,” he says before opening the door of the still moving cab and empties the contents of his stomach on the road as the lines separating the asphalt fly by.
“I'm calling 911. I have a feeling whoever took that car has Tanya.”
Sitting back up and closing the door, he nods his head in agreement and wipes his mouth on his sleeve. If my instinct is right, whoever has her, it's been about forty five minutes now and the clock is ticking.
The dispatch officer takes my name and number, thanking me for the tip and tells me someone from the station will get in touch with me if they have any information about the situation.
“Hey, can you drop us off near the scene?” I ask the driver and he gives me an uneasy look in the rearview. “You don't have to go there, maybe a couple blocks away. Please?” I'm not above begging at this point. I'm desperate. And from the look on Frank's face, he's no better. He hasn't said a word. His body is silently shaking and his face is positively green.
“Frank,” I say, trying to get his attention but he just stares ahead in a daze. “Frank.” I try again, nudging his shoulder in an effort to pull him out of his paralyzed state.
“Huh? What? Sorry,” he says in apology.
“You need to call George. Have him meet us down here. We don't know who or what we're dealing with. We need all the man power we can get.”
“Right, give me a sec,” he tells me pulling his phone from his pocket and taking a deep breath. “Where are we?” he asks before dialing his brother and putting the phone to his ear.
I look around us for anything familiar. I spot a sign for a motel a little way up on the left. We just left the business district behind us and I'm trying to find a street sign or something to give me an idea of something to tell him to let him know our location. I've never been in this area before. It seems extremely rundown and a little scary to tell you the truth. Not somewhere I would come willingly under other circumstances.
My mind flies back to the motel and I yell to the driver to stop the car. The motel is now a few blocks behind us. I don't think Frank noticed it. If he did, he didn't show any signs of it. Maybe it’s denial of sharing my morbid thoughts.
Something tells me that's where she is. I have no idea who could or would kidnap her. Maybe she's just a case of wrong place, wrong time. Hell we don't even know that she was in that cab but I'm not willing to leave it to chance, if she's somewhere safe, great, if not, better safe than sorry. Her safety is not something I'm not willing to gamble with. At the very least we could be helping catch the suspect in the murder. Maybe we'll be saving someone else from this sicko's game.
“Tell him to meet us at that motel,” I tell Frank as we get out of the car, gesturing down the street.
I hand the driver a crisp hundred dollar bill and tell him to keep the change. “Hey man, I'm sorry about what happened. I hope they catch him.”
He must have caught the gist of our plans because his parting words were, “I hope your friend's okay. Sick fuck.” He drives off shaking his head and we start to walk towards the motel. I look all around me at the boarded up windows of the dilapidated buildings surrounding us and I can't help but wonder how there could be such a drastic change from one part of this city to the next.
“George is on his way,” Frank tells me as he takes in our surroundings and lets out a shaky breath.
I just nod my head as we quietly make our way down the street. Neither
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