get downstairs, over to the Dufferin and remove Camille before he returned to the room. There wasn’t enough time. I would also have to cross the entrance to that alley to get to the other hotel. He would see me pass by or worse, I would come face to face with him. I couldn’t let him see my face, since it was identical to Camille’s. There was no way he wouldn’t notice the resemblance.
I looked down at the slingshot in my hand. It could be a deadly weapon when used correctly. A well-placed shot with symmetrical ammunition such as a ball bearing… or a marble… could kill.
The question was, how good was I with the thing?
I could accurately hit a target in the daylight or a fire escape, the side of a building or a window in the dark. Did I honestly think I could hit a shadowy figure in a darkened alley two floors below with a lethal shot?
The second question was, who said I wanted to kill anyone?
Shooting at an armed man who was probably a police officer wasn’t a smart idea. It might injure the man and was certain to piss him off. My location would be revealed. What would happen then? Either he would shoot me dead or I would wind up in handcuffs for assaulting an officer.
None of those things would help Camille.
The fucker had firepower and I didn’t. I knew that much now. I knew the approximate size of him but still hadn’t gotten a good look at his face.
I needed to figure out a way to make him leave that room long enough for me to get my sister out of there.
~ Chapter 8 ~
Red Room
I dozed off at some point and woke at about 5 am. I was stiff and sore from sleeping in the chair but felt less contaminated than if I’d spent another night on that repulsive bed.
The lights of Camille’s room were still on.
Fuck this shit.
Enough was enough.
It was time for action and I had a plan. I went to a pay phone across the street, called the Dufferin and asked to be put through to room 241. A man’s voice answered.
I spoke in a deep raspy growl, “I know your little secret, motherfucker.”
“Who is this?”
“You’ll shut up and listen if you know what’s good for you. I have something of yours I think you might be missing. If you want it back, come and get it. I’ll be waiting for you at the White Surf Motel, room 102. Bring a thousand bucks or I’m taking this little item to the LA Times.”
“You’re fucking dead.”
“White Surf. Room 102. Tick tock, asshole. Time’s a-wastin’. I can have your story on the front page by morning.”
I hung up the phone, congratulating myself for thinking of such a clever plan. I guessed if this guy was a corrupt cop, he had plenty of secrets. It was just a matter of which one he thought someone was threatening to expose. People who had something to hide usually panicked at the prospect of the press airing their dirty laundry. It was what made them ideal targets for blackmail.
I estimated the time it would take for him to travel all the way to Malibu, only to discover no extortionist waited for him.
He would be relieved and probably mad as hell when he returned, but by then Camille would be gone. I would have had plenty of time to rescue her. By the time he made it back from Malibu, we would be in a taxi bound for the airport or anywhere out of the city. It didn’t matter where we went just as long as I got her out of that room.
I wandered down the street, appearing to look into shop windows, using my peripheral vision to keep an eye on the front doors of the Dufferin. Any minute now, a tall, pissed-off looking man should storm out of the doors.
Any minute now.
Nobody came out of the Dufferin. My heart started to thump in panic as my mind began to invent every possible scenario. What if he was going to take Camille to Malibu with him to prevent her from escaping again? I began to panic even more when it occurred to me that he might not go at all. He might simply send one of his cop buddies to go and check it out.
I strolled slowly down the
I looked down at the slingshot in my hand. It could be a deadly weapon when used correctly. A well-placed shot with symmetrical ammunition such as a ball bearing… or a marble… could kill.
The question was, how good was I with the thing?
I could accurately hit a target in the daylight or a fire escape, the side of a building or a window in the dark. Did I honestly think I could hit a shadowy figure in a darkened alley two floors below with a lethal shot?
The second question was, who said I wanted to kill anyone?
Shooting at an armed man who was probably a police officer wasn’t a smart idea. It might injure the man and was certain to piss him off. My location would be revealed. What would happen then? Either he would shoot me dead or I would wind up in handcuffs for assaulting an officer.
None of those things would help Camille.
The fucker had firepower and I didn’t. I knew that much now. I knew the approximate size of him but still hadn’t gotten a good look at his face.
I needed to figure out a way to make him leave that room long enough for me to get my sister out of there.
~ Chapter 8 ~
Red Room
I dozed off at some point and woke at about 5 am. I was stiff and sore from sleeping in the chair but felt less contaminated than if I’d spent another night on that repulsive bed.
The lights of Camille’s room were still on.
Fuck this shit.
Enough was enough.
It was time for action and I had a plan. I went to a pay phone across the street, called the Dufferin and asked to be put through to room 241. A man’s voice answered.
I spoke in a deep raspy growl, “I know your little secret, motherfucker.”
“Who is this?”
“You’ll shut up and listen if you know what’s good for you. I have something of yours I think you might be missing. If you want it back, come and get it. I’ll be waiting for you at the White Surf Motel, room 102. Bring a thousand bucks or I’m taking this little item to the LA Times.”
“You’re fucking dead.”
“White Surf. Room 102. Tick tock, asshole. Time’s a-wastin’. I can have your story on the front page by morning.”
I hung up the phone, congratulating myself for thinking of such a clever plan. I guessed if this guy was a corrupt cop, he had plenty of secrets. It was just a matter of which one he thought someone was threatening to expose. People who had something to hide usually panicked at the prospect of the press airing their dirty laundry. It was what made them ideal targets for blackmail.
I estimated the time it would take for him to travel all the way to Malibu, only to discover no extortionist waited for him.
He would be relieved and probably mad as hell when he returned, but by then Camille would be gone. I would have had plenty of time to rescue her. By the time he made it back from Malibu, we would be in a taxi bound for the airport or anywhere out of the city. It didn’t matter where we went just as long as I got her out of that room.
I wandered down the street, appearing to look into shop windows, using my peripheral vision to keep an eye on the front doors of the Dufferin. Any minute now, a tall, pissed-off looking man should storm out of the doors.
Any minute now.
Nobody came out of the Dufferin. My heart started to thump in panic as my mind began to invent every possible scenario. What if he was going to take Camille to Malibu with him to prevent her from escaping again? I began to panic even more when it occurred to me that he might not go at all. He might simply send one of his cop buddies to go and check it out.
I strolled slowly down the
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