A Thousand Tombs (12 page)

Gen felt a rush of certainty that he was about to walk away. Over her dead body would a guy blindside her again. She’d rather choose first, for both of them, than hear the news from him.

“Maybe we should take a break,” she replied. “Until this is over, and Luca has a permanent place to stay.”

There it was.

Sorrow skipped across his face, then pain, then that neutral, self-possessed expression she knew so well replaced it.

Was she wrong? Had she let wrath and insecurity get the best of her? Gen’s back straightened. Her chin came up. She blew out air and felt her stomach muscles tighten like she’d just taken a blow to the solar plexus.

“If that’s what you want.” Mack slowly unclasped his fist from the chain around his neck and dropped his hand.

She stepped forward and touched her fingertips to his cheek, then turned and walked toward the exit. From the corner of her eye, she saw Carla duck back through the doors and into the main gallery.

Bitch.

On the way home Gen cycled between bereft and irate, but furious won. She jammed the sedan into its place in the underground garage and marched to the elevator with her heels in hand, wearing the spare tennis shoes she kept in the back seat.

During the drive, she’d taken off her earrings and pulled her hair into a ponytail on top of her head. The look was distinctly different from the way she’d started the evening, and she didn’t give a freaking hoot. Her mind was roiling like a tornado when she exited the elevator on the sixth floor and padded to her condo with the key ready.

But she didn’t need it.

Her front door was cracked half an inch.

The minute she saw that, she reached to unholster the stun gun mounted inside her purse, but no luck. She’d taken an evening clutch to the gallery instead, a decision she now chalked up as stupid move number three hundred and forty-two.

And that was only this evening.

It was turning out to be a really bad night.

She crept to the door, then leaned in to check out the jamb and have a listen. No evidence of forced entry. No sounds of movement inside, no rifling of drawers or scraping of electronics off the shelving and into pillowcases to be hauled away.

Had she accidentally left it open? She recalled the self-satisfied state she’d been in on the way out. Yeah, it was possible. Or had someone picked the lock? She should have moved the note
have a deadbolt installed
to the top of her to-do list long ago.

Too late now.

She straightened, thinking. There was another possibility, of course; Oliver could be inside, leaving something in her closet.

Gen pulled out her cell and sent him a text.

Where are you?

She paced in the hall and waited for a reply. Two beats later the phone pinged, and she sighed and felt her keyed-up nerves relax as she read the message.

In your kitchen.

She pushed through into the foyer and cried, “You left the door–” and stopped cold.

Oliver was standing on the threshold between the dining area and the kitchen, holding a broken plate. His hands were trembling. All the color had drained from his face. He waved the piece of china around vaguely, and it was only then that she really looked at the room.

Someone had torn the place apart.

Every drawer was ajar and the contents spilled out over the top. The furniture, including Oliver’s favorite chair, had been upended and the cloth underneath cut away to reveal the stuffing.

The huge old antique reproduction clock had been ripped off the wall and lay on the floor with its inner wiring sprung. Cabinets and baskets and pillows and books had been methodically opened and cut and emptied and tossed into piles in the middle of the floor.

Gen took it all in.

Oh yeah, this was fast approaching the worst night ever. Worse than the morning she got the black eye, worse even than any perceived drama that had ever happened in high school or any time thereafter. Worse than the broken leg she’d suffered when she fell off the ski lift.

Worse than Ryan leaving her.

She felt the anger drain away, and an odd sort of gallows humor took its place. “Was it something I said?” she deadpanned.

Oliver pursed his lips. “Not funny.”

“Too soon?”

“Genevieve.”

Livvie wasn’t in the mood for jokes, so she moved on. “What happened?”

“Your place got ransacked, that’s what.” He finally put the plate down on the dining room table. “Help me with the couch,” he said. They each grabbed an arm and righted it, then re-zipped the cushions, replaced them, and took a seat.

“I was just getting off the elevator when two guys walked out your front door,” he said. “I passed them and pretended I was going to the condo beyond you. They were in a hurry. I heard them take the stairs, and I turned around and came in and found all this. If it’s any consolation, it looks like they didn’t make it to your bedroom.”

“How long ago did you pass them in the hall?”

“Four-point-eight seconds before your text.”

“So they were going down the stairs while I was coming up in the elevator.”

“That’d be my guess.”

“What did they look like?”

“Tall, gnarly, dark hair, heavy five o’clock shadows, lots of hairy chest. Unsmiling beasts, both of them.”

“Would you describe them as ethnically Italian?”

“Pretty much.”

“So not street kids, not druggies, not Latino gang types? Not your typical crash-and-grab addict trying to score enough for another fix?”

“No. They looked like professional wrestlers, for whatever it’s worth. Nice clothes, muscular. Good shoes. You know I always notice shoes. What do you think they were after?”

“I have an idea.” Gen slammed a fist down on the arm of the couch.

“You better call Mack.”

When she didn’t respond, Oliver took one look at her stony expression and knew. “Oh no. Genny.”

She stood and righted a chair and put it back where it belonged. “I suggested we take a break, so that’s what we’re doing. Are you going to help me?”

“Genny–”

She held up her palm like a barrier between them. “No, Oliver. Off limits.”

“Are you at least going to call the cops?” He kneeled and began to close the chaotic pile of books and stack them neatly on the floor.

“I’ll think about it. But what good would it do? It’ll just be another B and E in a long list of unsolved home invasions. I’ll settle for being relieved that you weren’t here when they arrived.”

“But it could give you a lead. If you report it, I can look through mug books and maybe find one or both of them.”

“If I report it Mack might hear and feel obligated to see if I’m okay. Or console me. And right now I don’t want either of those scenarios. You can look through mug books anyway, if you’re willing. All you need to do is say someone stole your wallet. That would keep me out of it.”

He finished the books and stood, then leaned over and picked up a pillow with the stuffing hanging out. “I’m sorry, Genny.”

“Don’t worry about it. That one never matched anyhow.”

“I’m not talking about this,” Oliver replied. “I’m talking about–”

“Nope, nope, stop.” Gen held up her palm again.

“That is so damn aggravating.” His tone was in sync with his words. He stomped to her side and stopped with a foot of air between them. “Denial will not make the problem go away.”

She stared at him, breathing hard, and worked to replicate the fury she’d felt on the way home, but couldn’t. Not toward Oliver. But she needed to cling to that rage right now, knew it would protect her.

“Angry is better than sad, Liv. For now, anyway. I can’t change what happened tonight. I messed it up. It was my fault, because I just couldn’t keep my mouth shut. So I’m going to keep it shut now, and I’m going to stay pissed off, and I’m going to focus that anger on whoever did this and whatever is going on. Will you please just let me do that?”

When Oliver nodded, she could tell he understood. He reached for her hand but she stopped him again. “No pity, Liv. No tears, no talking about it. I can’t open the floodgates. And if I did, I’d only be feeling sorry for myself. I’m a screw-up, and I need to move on and see if I can make it right.”

“You could just call him.”

She shook her head. “I won’t, and you’d better not, either, I’m warning you. He won’t fall on his knees and beg me to change my mind. In fact, he might just write me off forever for kicking us to the curb.”

“Taking a break is not kicking anyone to the curb.”

“I’ll overthink all that and more tomorrow. Right now, I need to deal with this mess. Will you help me?”

They spent nearly two hours cleaning and stacking and filling garbage bags with discarded upholstery stuffing and broken décor. Gen lovingly pushed the wiring back into the clock and re-hung it. They replaced the pictures on the walls, then moved into the kitchen and did the same.

It was midnight before Oliver went home.

Gen opened a bottle of wine and collapsed on the sofa with her glass. Her mind started to pour over the argument with Mack but she forced it away, and instead concentrated on who, what, and why.

Was it the same pair of hoodlums she’d seen yesterday, rousting Zuccaro? What were they after? Why had they trashed her house but skipped the bedroom? It was almost as if someone had tipped them off she was on her way home.

She got a refill and drank and looked around the reconfigured room. It was time to get the locks changed. Not that a new lock would keep out an experienced burglar with a good set of lock picks, but what else could she do?

She understood now why people felt so violated after a break-in. Somebody she didn’t know had touched her stuff, for God’s sake. She wondered how long it would take her to feel the same about this place.

Maybe Oliver was right.

Maybe it was time to get out of the city.

But the only thing she had the energy to get out of right now was her clothes, and this room. She struggled up from her seat and went into the bathroom. When she turned on the light, it all looked the same. She and Oliver had gone through it and verified that everything was where it had been before. Then why did she feel as if it had all been defiled and something important was gone?

She looked at herself in the mirror and knew.

It was Mack. Mack was what was missing.

Gen raised her glass and toasted her reflection. “Congratulations, Dumbass. Tonight you managed to alienate the very thing you wanted more than almost anything in the world.” She took a pull on the wine, then twirled the stem in her fingers.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” she whispered.

A week had passed since Mack’s show. Gen had moved beyond anger to self-pity and was aching to get back to some kind of normal, but her regular morning walks around the city failed to provide any relief.

She wanted a way to let off steam about the break-in, and to pound out some of the resentment she harbored against herself for needling Mack until he broke. Mentally, she’d been stuck since her perp walk out the gallery door.

What she needed was a good dose of Stan’s. Weeks had passed since the last class, so Tuesday morning she dressed in sweats and drove over to join the group.

“Good morning, ladies. Today you’re going to learn several effective methods to escape from an assailant who has you under his power.”

The same instructor was at the helm today, and Rick was a husky guy. Gen doubted even the ablest student would be able to get away from him once he had them in a solid hold.

“You’re not just going to learn how to get out of physical holds, you’ll also explore how to get out of a car trunk you’ve been shut inside, even how to get your hands out of zip tie handcuffs.”

“What if you don’t want to?” The question came from a buxom bottle-blond at the front of the group. “Get out of handcuffs, I mean.”

She was smiling at Rick with a come-hither look, but her invitation backfired. His eyes slid to her and she withered beneath his to-the-point reply.

“Miss, what you consent to in your personal life is your business. But we don’t joke about the type of life-threatening events women face every single day. I hear stories all the time that would make you break down and cry. That’s why I’m here, to try to equip you with tools and resources and the wherewithal to prevail.”

He panned the gathering. “Any more questions?” The place was as quiet as church.

“Okay then, let’s get to it.”

Rick took a fighter’s stance and held up a fist, as if punctuating what he was about to say. “I want you to unlearn everything you’ve been taught. When you get in a tight spot, I want you to ditch any ideas you might have about kindness, or thinking nobody’s going to hurt you because you’re a girl.

“I’m here to testify that there are people lurking in every place you think is safe who dream about hurting women. You better get clear about that today. And don’t make the mistake of thinking only men are out to get you. Don’t trust strangers, just like your parents told you when you were a kid. Don’t get into a car or any vulnerable place with a woman because you think there are no women predators. If you think that, ladies, you’re wrong.”

The crowd was silent, no doubt considering the implications of what he’d just said.

“I’ll address the bad guy as ‘he’ today for convenience, but don’t you forget what I told you. Do you copy that?”

A sea of heads nodded in tandem.

“If you ever find yourself in a life-threatening situation, I want you to think of me. I want you to fight dirty, gouge their eyes with your fingernails, knee the guy or girl hard in the crotch, do anything you can – and I mean anything – to get away and avoid being restrained. Because once you’re cuffed, taped, or tied up with rope, it’s a whole different ball game.”

He stared at them, hard. “Do you know the statistics? One in five. Look around. There’s a couple dozen of you here today. That means five of your compadres will have an attempt made on their wellbeing, or will be sexually assaulted, or worse. I don’t want you to let that happen. So today you’re going to learn how to avoid it.”

Twenty-five women applauded while Rick went to a duffel at the side of the mat and pulled out a handful of common plastic zip ties, the kind used to bind cables.

“Zip ties can be purchased at any Walmart or big box store, and they’re the experienced and prepared kidnapper’s preferred method of restraint. But if you ever find yourself bound by one, do not despair. You can get free. The truth is, there are several ways to escape. You just need to keep your head on straight and focus.

“The first method you want to try is to slip your hands out. The best way to do that is to set up the possibility while the ties are getting put on you.”

He beckoned to a woman at the front. “Pam, you wanna try first?”

“Yes.” Pam almost ran out onto the mat.

Rick smiled and said, “I like your enthusiasm. Turn toward the group so they can see you.”

Pam adjusted her position.

“Here’s what I want you to do. When your assailant demands that you show him your hands, I want you to clench your fists and hold them out palms down with your thumbs side by side and pressed together, like this.”

He demonstrated.

“Understand? Put your fists together sideways, fingers toward the floor. When you do that, you’ll create extra room in the bindings, and, with a little work, you can turn your palms together and slip out.”

He straightened his fingers and pressed his hands together. “Not until your captor is gone, understand? Don’t let them see you do it. When you’re alone, turn your wrists inward. It’ll be tight, but you can manage it. Use your mouth to hold the tie, then just work one thumb out first.”

He beckoned to Pam and she moved toward him, fists out, just as he’d said. He took a single zip tie and slipped it over her hands and tightened the locking bar over her wrists. Pam winced, then her expression morphed to determined.

Rick brought her a chair and gestured for her to sit. The minute he turned his back, Pam flattened her hands and rolled her palms together and went to work trying to slide out.

Rick ignored her and again addressed the class.

“If your assailant suspects and doesn’t go for it, and he makes you change hand positions before he tightens the tie, you won’t be able to slip out. So the next option is to break the ties. They’ll be most likely to break at their weakest point, which is the locking mechanism. Here’s how you’re going to set it up.”

Rick slipped a tie over his own hands. “First, grab the tail in your teeth and position the locking mechanism so it’s in the air space between your hands, not over your skin.” He demonstrated, then held out his arms. “Can everybody see that?”

The women murmured, “Yes.”

“Okay. Now use your teeth to tighten the lock down. It’ll be scary, but do it anyhow. The tighter the zip tie, the easier it is to break the plastic. Now spread your arms wide so your elbows are straight out on each side, and flex your back like you’re trying to make your shoulder blades touch at the same time. Put lots of tension on that tie, then raise your hands up over your head and punch down hard toward your stomach. Put everything you got into it, ladies. Your freedom depends on it.”

He sat down in another chair, brought his arms up over his head, then smashed them down to his thighs. The band broke. The class applauded, but Gen wasn’t convinced.

“But Rick,” she said, “you have a lot more muscle power than us. Do you think we can do that?”

“Most of you,” he replied. “Who wants to try?”

When a petite woman volunteered, Rick affixed a tie around her wrists and sat her down. Pam, still over to the side, was concentrating on freeing a thumb and did not break focus as the smaller woman split her binds on the third attempt.

Rick clapped along with the rest when her hands sprang free, and pounded even harder when Pam wriggled one thumb out of the bindings, then pulled off the tie and waved it in the air.

“Good job, ladies. Now, last but not least. If the first two methods don’t work, you need to defeat the locking mechanism. That’s much easier if you’re with another captive, but you can do it yourself if you keep your wits about you.

“To pull this off, find some kind of shim. That could be anything from a fingernail or a key or a hairpin or safety pin to a loose nail or a piece of metal. Even a credit card. Look around. Be creative.

“When you’ve got it, stick your shim into the lock and lift that little bar up off the track, then spread your wrists and pull the tie loose.” This time he demonstrated with a credit card on a loose tie. “Push your shim into the lock, lift, and slide the band out. See? Easy.”

“Okay, let’s move on to breaking a choke hold. I need a volunteer. Genny, you ready to take me on again?”

“Sure.” She moved to the middle of the mat.

He gave her face a hard look, then grinned. “I see your eye is back to normal. That must be a relief.”

“Yeah,” she replied. “I don’t have to explain over and over how I ran into a door in the dark after a couple of glasses of wine.”

The women surrounding them laughed.

“As long as you don’t forget the truth, my friend. It’ll help you stay prepared.”

She clenched her fists at the thought of the thug’s punch coming at her, then moved on to a visual of the man passing her in the restaurant aisle. “Don’t worry, his face is burned into my brain. My memory on that score is sharp as a tack.”

“Good girl.”

Rick looked at Gen and circled a finger in the air. “Turn around and start walking. I know you’re a clever one, now, so I’m going to ask you not to try to fight back yet. At this point, we’re in demonstration mode only.”

Gen chuckled, then pivoted and walked toward the audience. Rick eased up behind her. He was quiet for a big man, a proper reminder of how it might go if her own goon came after her again.

He put an arm around her neck and she stopped.

“It’ll be real common for someone sneaking up behind to throw their arm around your throat and tighten it. This is called a front choke hold.

“It’s critical for you to get out of a choke as quick as you can, because it doesn’t take long without air and you’ll be unconscious. You gotta act fast. That means ditch the senseless struggling and clawing at their hands. Do you understand?”

Gen nodded along with her classmates.

“The good news is it’ll be more difficult for him to overpower both your arms in this situation. So I’ve got my right arm around your neck and I’m squeezing with all my might. I’ve got my left hand holding your left arm to your side, but I won’t be able to apply a lot of pressure to your right arm. Genny, what are you going to do?”

She’d thought about this a lot, wishing she’d used her head when the gorilla grabbed her from behind at Vitelli’s that morning. So rather than answering Rick, she wrenched her right arm free of his hold and jammed her thumb over her shoulder toward his eye. Then she lifted her right foot and stamped down, stopping just above his instep.

“That’s right.” Rick’s voice held a tinge of admiration. “Gouge for the eyes and inflict a powerful blow with your foot. Turn your fear to anger and use it. Do enough damage that your attacker will be taken by surprise and loosen his grip.”

He let her go and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll add two things. First, instead of random stabbing with that thumb, use your fingers to find the jerk’s temple and drive that thumb into his eye socket. If he evades you, stab your fingers into his throat like a knife.

“Second, the human knee is vulnerable. So if you use your foot as a piston and drive it into his kneecap, there’s a good chance he won’t be able to run after you. And another thing, if he manages to keep his face and neck protected behind your head, you can use your hand as a fulcrum instead and bend one of his fingers back until you break it.”

He manipulated Gen’s hand to demonstrate. “Everybody got it?”

He loosed her hand and she turned, exultant, and gave Rick a hug. Her move took him by surprise.

“What was that for?”

“Just to say thanks,” she replied. “On behalf of everybody. It’s empowering, knowing what to do and thinking we can do it. We all appreciate you.”

“You’re welcome.” Rick grinned and clapped her on the back. “All right, ladies, grab some water if you need to hydrate and let’s move out to the parking lot. We’re going to take turns escaping from the trunk of Stan’s car.”

* * *

She was just about to start the car when her cell phone rang. Gen fished the phone from her purse; the incoming call was from Luciano. “Hey, it’s the Carabinieri,” she said.

“You sound as if you have had a good morning,” he replied.

“So far it’s been great. I just learned how to get out of a car trunk.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

“An escape tactic in case I ever get abducted,” Gen added. “You never know what might come in handy.”

“I see,” he said, but his tone implied that he did not.

“Aren’t you required to take self-defense courses?”

“Yes, but our training happens on the shooting range.”

“Oh. I’m not much of a gun aficionado.”

“Odd, given your choice of career,” he replied, then added, “I called to inquire if you had changed your mind about my offer to watch Vitelli.”

Gen’s brow furrowed. Why would he think she would? “No, sorry. I’m still not interested. What makes you think I might be?”

Luciano hesitated. “Miss Salvatore mentioned you had a falling out with your friend. I thought you might welcome something to do.”

Gen stiffened at the mere thought of Carla Salvatore and the fact that she’d been eavesdropping, just as Gen had suspected. The woman had a lot of nerve.