Not Another Soldier (24 page)

The door swings open and Meathead grabs my legs and
slides me out. I try to fight but don’t have much luck. He’s practically as
thick as he is tall and his arms are probably wider than my waist, covered in
matted ginger hair. He snatches my arms and rights me. My feet are bare, having
lost my shoes in the fight, and the ground is still cold as the sun hasn’t
warmed it yet. I shudder.

I get a good look at Meathead now. He’s probably not
much taller than I am, with a podgy nose and thick lips. Nothing about this man
is small apart from his dark eyes. They’re sunken and kind of piggy. I’d love
to tell him that but at the moment my tongue won’t work.

I peer around him and realize we’re at the docks. The
noise of machinery and vehicles surrounds us. One large tanker, loaded with
crates waits at the dockside and a drab grey warehouse looms to one side. With
his hands clamped firmly around my arms, Meathead leads me to the warehouse. I
struggle briefly and his only response is to pull harder so my toes scrape on
the ground and I’m forced to jog to keep up.

Not far from us, behind more crates, I see workers and
further along, I spy the cranes working. The metal boxes pretty much block us
from the busy men but I hope the guys in the cranes might spot me and call for
help. Though I’d bet to them we look so small, they can’t tell what’s going on.

“Come on,” Meathead insists with another sharp tug on
my arm.

“I’m not going anywhere!” I finally find my voice and
it’s high-pitched and squeaky. “Help!” I scream, fighting his hold once more.
It comes out quiet against the background noise of the docks but I try again.
“Help!”

I don’t even see it coming. The back of Skinhead’s
hand comes across my face, dazzling me. Everything goes white for a minute and
I sag, only supported by Meathead’s grip on me. Skinhead takes my other arm and
they haul me to the warehouse. I’m vaguely aware of the painful chafe of
concrete on the tops of my toes and going into a wide, dark entrance. Then one
of them throws me over his shoulder and steps are whizzing past my face. My
already queasy stomach lurches.

My journey ends in a plain office. I’m dumped on a
chair, my hands still bound behind my back. They make no attempt to secure me
but Meathead is standing in front of the door and there’s no other exit. A
single paned window looks out over the tanker and a cheap wooden desk sits in
front of it. One of those swivel chairs is behind it, like the one I’m on, its
stuffing practically spilling out of the worn fabric. There’s no paintings or
photos. No sign of this being used as an actual workplace. There’s a filing
cabinet to one side of the window but no paperwork on the desk. For some
reason, the grey carpet, bare desk and dingy yellow walls makes me more
nervous.

“Mike, go get Mr. Johnson.”

So Skinhead is Mike. I prefer Skinhead. He definitely
doesn’t look like a Michael. The other name makes me shake. I’m going to meet
the guy responsible for everything that’s happened to me. I really don’t think
I want to.

I hear Mike leave the room and twine my fingers
anxiously behind me. I flit my gaze from side to side, trying to figure a way
out of this. I could try to run but Meathead makes a pretty good wall. I doubt
I’d be able to push my way past him plus I suspect they’re carrying guns. My
gaze lands on the window and I shake my head. Too high up.

Maybe they’ll leave me alone for a while and I’ll be
able to shout for help? I cling to that idea. I need to get out of this. I need
to see Nick.

The door clicks open again and I stiffen as footsteps
approach. An older guy, in his fifties, strolls around me and perches on the
desk in front. I take my time appraising him, while he does the same to me, a
finger tapping against his chin. I gulp. There’s something about this man I
find very, very scary.

His polished shoes and well cut suit tells me this
must be Mr. Johnson. He doesn’t appear very bad though. In fact, he’s quite handsome.
Slightly on the slender side for my liking but his short grey hair and strong
jawline make him look like the kind of guy you wouldn’t mind asking directions
from.

But then I glance into his eyes and realize why he
scares me. And it’s not just ‘cause he’s kidnapped me and probably wants to
kill me. It’s because there’s that stone cold cast to them. Their icy depths
echo something I’ve seen before as a nurse. It’s usually in the occasional
patient who doesn’t think the rules apply to them and they should be your
priority. Or the son who is only visiting his dying mother because he has to
and is praying for them to die so he can get his inheritance. That look says
the most important thing in their lives is themselves and if you get in the way
of that, you’re in trouble.

“Mrs. Wright…” he murmurs.

I narrow my eyes and draw my chin up. If I can help
it, I won’t let him see my fear. “Can I help you?”

He chuckles. “You can indeed. I’d like my drugs back
please.”

So he does think I still have them. “I can’t do that.”

“And why not? Have you sold them already?”

“No! Look I don’t know who you think I am, but I don’t
have your drugs—”

“In that case, I think you owe me a great deal of
money.”

“I don’t have money! I’m a nurse for Godsakes!”

Mr. Johnson leans forward, the slightest smile
twitching on his lips. “A nurse with a fine piece of real estate. How exactly
does a nurse afford a down payment on an apartment so close to the city
center?”

“What?” I splutter. “Rob’s life insurance paid for
that!” I wriggle against my bonds. This is getting ridiculous. I can’t believe
this guy thinks I would sell drugs. I barely knew what the stuff looked like
before the other week and now he thinks I funded my apartment with drug money.

“I suspected you’d sold them you were able to purchase
that apartment. I’m guessing you probably sold them to one of my rivals. Not
many people can afford that much coke. But I bet you didn’t even get much, did
you? Your husband didn’t teach you too well, sweet thing. You should have at
least tried to leave the country. But maybe you thought your boyfriend would
protect you…?”

“Leave him out of this.” My heart does a little flip
flop at the mention of Nick’s name.

The slight smile on the man’s lips expands. “Ah. Was
he involved too? Or didn’t he know anything about your criminal ways?”

Okay, it’s time to set this guy straight. He’s talking
in circles and my head is spinning. “Look, I don’t have your drugs. I didn’t
even know about them until that asshole,” I motion with my head to Mike who’s
stood to the left of me, “tried to attack me. But I found them and I handed
them over to the cops. Your precious drugs are locked away somewhere where
you’ll never get hold of them again.” I try to sound triumphant but the cold
look that slithers across his face makes me squeak the word ‘again.’

“If what you say is true, Mrs. Wright, then you owe me
a great deal of money.”

“I don’t have any money. I told you, I’m a nurse. I
have like a few thousand in savings and that’s it!”

He studies me for a moment, that damned finger tapping
at his chin again. I meet his gaze boldly, praying—hoping—he’ll believe me and
just let me go. What use am I if I can’t give him his drugs? Unfortunately the
twisting in my stomach keeps drowning any vague feelings of bravery I might
have.

“Look,” I try again, “if I had your drugs I would give
them to you, I swear. I didn’t want anything to do with this. I’m just a nurse.
I’ve never done a bad thing in my life. Please let me go. I won’t tell anyone.”
I can see he’s still not convinced. Or he’s deciding what to do with me. “There
was an article in the papers about the drugs. The cops thought you’d see it.
It… it was in the Glenwood Gazette over a week ago. I’m telling the truth.
Please, let me go.”

Mr. Johnson snorts. “You might be. Or perhaps you’re a
very good actress. Your husband had a very gifted tongue. And you do plead your
case well.” He looks over my shoulder. “Al, do you have her cell?”

“Yep.” He passes it over me.

My eyes are wide as he flicks through my phone. I
think I know what he’s looking for and I’m terrified. My heart pounds and I
desperately need to pee. I clamp thighs together and try to breathe slowly.

“Your boyfriend… Nick, isn’t it? Shall we see what he
says? Maybe he can confirm your story.”

“No!” I don’t want Nick involved. I just know he’ll do
something stupid if he realizes I’m in trouble. No way am I going to let him
put himself in danger. I would actually rather die than let anything happen to
him.

Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever truly felt like that
about another person.

“Let’s see. We’ve got a Nicholas F or just plain old
Nick. I imagine that’s the one.” He offers me the phone. “Are you going to
speak to him and ask him for help?”

I clamp my mouth shut and shake my head.

“Brave woman, aren’t you? But foolish. You must
realize you are way in over your head.”

Of course I realize that. And I don’t know what I’m
doing. I suspect this is going to end very badly for me. I want to cry when I
think of not seeing Nick again or how my parents will react when they get the
news. But I bite down on my lip and somehow keep my composure.

Mr. Johnson presses my cell and I hear the ringing as
he puts it on speakerphone. Nick answers quickly. “Sienna?”

 There’s panic in his tone. Does he know
something’s happened to me? I make a small sound and then bite my lip again. I
don’t want to give him any reason to worry about me.

“Nick?” Mr. Johnson says. “I have Sienna with me here.
Did you know your girlfriend was involved with drugs?”

“What are you talking about?” Nick’s tone hardens.
“What have you done to her? I swear to God—”

“Yes, yes.” Mr. Johnson waves a hand to himself. “Now,
listen. Your pretty little Sienna says she doesn’t have the drugs anymore. Nor
does she have the money apparently. Now I must admit to being a little annoyed
about this. As you can imagine, this puts me quite out of pocket. Would you
like to tell me if you know anything about this? You could save your girlfriend
quite a lot of hassle if you could tell me where the drugs are.”

The line goes quiet and I hold my breath. What’s he
doing?
Just tell him there’s no drugs
, I scream in my mind.

“Let me talk to Sienna,” Nick finally says.

“No, I don’t think so.”

Another pause. “What do you want?”

“I want the drugs or the money.”

“If I bring the drugs, will you let Sienna go?”

“Absolutely.”

I shake my head, more to myself than anything. What’s
he doing? He doesn’t have the drugs. So what the fuck is he saying?

“I’ll bring the drugs,” Nicks says firmly, “and you’ll
let Sienna go.”

“Good.” Mr. Johnson meets my gaze and grins. Somehow I
doubt I’m going anywhere. “Come to the docks. My man, Al, will meet you at the
gate. You’ll recognize him. You met before when you tried to run him off. And,
Nick, I don’t think I need to say this but come alone. I’ve got a ship waiting
to leave and I may just decide to throw her overboard if you don’t comply.”

“I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

This triggers something in my brain and I jump to
standing. “No! Nick,” I call, “don’t come!” I’m pushed back on the chair and a
hand whips across my cheek, the same one that was backhanded. I’m not sure who
did it but I can’t help but cry out as pain sears my face. When my vision
clears Mr. Johnson is still holding my phone but I don’t know if Nick’s remains
on the line. I pray he didn’t hear my scream.

***

Nick

If there’s anything more agonizing than the sound of
the woman you love in pain, then I don’t know what it is. My heart hurts, my
skin is hot. I feel a little like my eyes might pop out of my head in rage. I
slam my palm into the door, the sharp sting not really distracting me from the
very real agony inside.

“Fuck!”

I draw in a long breath through my nostrils. But I
know where she is, which is more than I knew five minutes ago. I could have
guessed she was at the docks but it was a shot in the dark and the place is
huge. But she’s alive. For now. I don’t doubt this Johnson would happily kill
us both if we don’t hand over the drugs.

The drugs… yeah, one minor problem. But I wasn’t going
to let on we didn’t have them, not when there was a chance I could find out
where Sienna was.

And now I know. I curl my fist and glance around the
apartment. Part of me wants to sit down, think out a plan and the other part
just wants to drive down and tear apart anyone who’s laid a finger on her. I
force myself to keep my pace slow as I shut the door and ascend the stairs.

I’ve got my gun tucked safely in the back of my pants,
it’s weight reassuring against my spine. I think I’m going to have to play this
by ear. I’ve got no idea what I’m going up against and the docks are huge. If I
don’t play along for a while, I’ll never find her and it will be too late.

I climb in my car and gun the engine. As I drive
downtown, I consider the possibilities. Most of the scenarios end up with both
of us dead. I’m going to have to call the cops—the call from Johnson
interrupted my first attempt. I’ll try to speak to that Detective perhaps—but
not yet. I’m not risking them harming Sienna if Johnson sees I’ve brought a
load of friends with me.