Panic Attack (37 page)

Johnny drove through northern New Jersey toward upstate New York. In Tuxedo he pulled over on the side of the road and turned on Marissa’s cell. In her dialed call log he found dad cell and clicked message. He sent Adam Bloom the text saying he’d kill the little bitch if he didn’t call back within a minute. Johnny wouldn’t’ve really killed her— why kill her before he got paid?— but, man, it was a rush to mess with Adam like that, to be in total control.

Naturally Adam called back, sounding desperate. Yeah, Johnny could hear the terror in his voice, and he knew he had him by the balls. Man, it felt so great to have all the power, to be the guy calling the shots. Knowing how much Bloom hated him made it even better. Johnny was the last person in the world Bloom wanted to talk to, but he had no choice but to stay on the phone and listen and do whatever Johnny told him to do.

After he gave Bloom the instructions, he ended the call while Bloom was still talking and turned off the phone. Then he wiped off all the prints and tossed the phone into the woods as far as it would go.

He drove another hour or so to a small town called Accord. When he was growing up at St. John’s, Father Hennessy would take Johnny and the other kids up to an old bungalow colony called Max’s for one weekend every summer. Although the bungalows were falling apart and the grass was overgrown, the kids loved getting out of the hot city and running around all day and breathing in fresh air. Johnny loved it, too, except when Hennessy took him on long hikes in the woods and raped him. He told Johnny that if he didn’t keep it a secret God would punish him. Johnny never told anyone, but not because he was afraid of God. He just didn’t want the other kids to make fun of him and call him a faggot.

Johnny figured that one of the bungalows would be the perfect spot to hide out with Marissa. He remembered Hennessy telling him the place was always empty during the off- season and there was no one around for miles.

They drove along the narrow, winding country road. There were so many weeds and overhanging trees in front of the max’s sign that Johnny missed the turnoff and had to make a U-turn and go back. The road going up the hill to Max’s used to be gravel, but it had become almost completely overgrown, and it was hard to even tell that it was a road. Johnny had thought the orphanage was still using Max’s, but it seemed like the whole bungalow colony had been abandoned, like no one had been up there for years.

Johnny parked where Father Hennessy used to park the mini school bus, at the bottom of the hill near the old barn. The barn had been dilapidated and bat- infested back then, but it was where Johnny and Carlos and the guys used to hang out at night and watch TV and play poker and blackjack.

When Johnny cut the headlights it was pitch- dark; he couldn’t see Marissa or the dashboard or anything. Then he turned on the flashlight he’d brought, and maybe the light startled Marissa or she just happened to wake up at that moment because she started moaning, “Where . . . where am I? . . . Where am I?” and Johnny said, “Someplace safe, go back to sleep.” Then she said, “How come we’re—” and Johnny said, “Just shut the fuck up and sleep,” which was probably a mistake because she suddenly started screaming. Johnny wasn’t very concerned— they were in the middle of nowhere, and no one had been to Max’s probably for years— but the screaming was loud, hurting his ears, and he just wanted her to shut up.

“Shut the fuck up!” he yelled, but she was fighting back, trying to scratch his face. Then she knocked the flashlight out of his hand, which really pissed him off. He fumbled around on the floor while she continued screeching in his ear, “Help me! Help me!” and then he grabbed the flashlight and smashed her in the face with it. He hit her harder than he meant to— he heard bone, probably her nose, breaking— and it didn’t shut her up at all; it made her scream even louder.

He found a rag he’d brought on the floor and poured some more chloroform onto it and then pressed it over her face. He was pushing down hard, right on her probably broken nose, which had to kill, but after about ten seconds she stopped fighting back and then passed out again.

He waited several seconds, enjoying the sudden silence, and then he put on his backpack and dragged Marissa out of the car. It was about ten degrees cooler up here than in the city— it felt like it was in the low forties, maybe the upper thirties. He should’ve brought a warmer jacket or a sweater and blankets and, oh yeah, food and water. But, come on, he couldn’t think of everything, right? Besides, they were only going to be here one night.

He dragged her up the rickety steps to the porch of one of the bungalows. It was the one he used to stay in with Carlos and a couple of other guys. Some of the floorboards were so loose, probably rotting away and eaten by termites, that he thought the whole floor might cave in. When he pulled on the handle of the front door it was stuck at first, and when he yanked on it the upper part of the door came off its hinges.

It was freezing in the bungalow; it seemed colder than outside. It was musty, too, like air hadn’t circulated in this place for years. Coughing, he shined the flashlight ahead of him as he dragged Marissa along toward the bedroom in the back of the bungalow. His feet were crunching against something. He’d thought it was gravel or sand, but then he shined the flashlight downward and saw that the floor was covered with mouse shit.

The mattress on the old single bed, the one he used to sleep on, was covered with mouse shit, too, but what could you do? He rested Marissa on the bed, got the rope from the backpack, and tied her up so tightly that the rope was probably cutting into her arms, but he didn’t want to take any chances. He was about to tape her mouth shut again, but there was so much blood from her broken nose he was afraid she’d suffocate or choke to death. What he really wanted to do was shoot her right now. Yeah, she was a spoiled brat, and she’d tried to scratch his eyes out a few minutes ago, but he really had nothing against her. His grudge was against her father, so the best thing he could do for her was to put a bullet in her head.

But he knew he had to be smart about this, not humane. Besides, she’d be out of her misery soon. If everything went as planned, she had fourteen hours to live. Fifteen, tops.

Johnny woke up thinking,
Note to self— next time you kidnap somebody, don’t hide out in a freezing, mouse- shit- covered bungalow.
He’d barely slept. He had to get up to chloroform Marissa a few more times during the night, but he probably wouldn’t have been able to sleep much anyway because of the cold and because he was so excited, thinking about the million dollars he’d get and how he’d spend it. He was definitely gonna go somewhere warm, somewhere where there were beaches, there was no doubt about that. If he couldn’t get out of the country, he’d get a new identity and hide out in California or Florida, probably Florida. He had dark skin, could probably pass for Cuban, and he’d clean up with all the girls down there in Fort Lauderdale and South Beach. Put Johnny Long on a South Florida beach and there was gonna be trouble.

It was a cloudy day. It didn’t look like it would rain, but it didn’t look like the sun would come out either. Johnny was on the stoop in front of the bungalow, breathing in some fresh air, trying to get the all that stuffy mouse- shit air out of his lungs, when Marissa started making noise again.

She was screaming, her face red, trying to get loose but not making any progress. Her nose was swollen to about twice its normal size, and there was a lot of blood, some of it brown and crusted, around her nostrils and upper lip.

She wouldn’t, and Johnny grabbed the rag with the chloroform and said, “You have two choices— shut the fuck up or I chloroform you again. Which is it?”

“That’s better,” he said. “I mean, why waste your voice screaming? Nobody’s gonna hear you, and you’re just gonna give us both headaches.”
“Where . . . are . . . w-w- we?” she asked.
“It doesn’t matter where we are,” he said. Then he added, “We’re someplace safe.”
“Why?” she asked, crying. “Why? . . . Why?”
“It’s complicated, baby,” he said. “But don’t worry, if you stay calm and do everything I tell you to do I won’t hurt you.”
He’d been lying to her since the second he met her; why stop now?
She was sobbing harder, and then he smelled something awful. At first he thought it was something rotting, maybe under the bed, and then he realized she’d shit in her pants during the night. Maybe that was what all the screaming had been about.
“Oh, you had an accident, huh?” he said. “I’m so sorry. Man, that really sucks. I wish I could let you clean yourself up, but you’re nice and tied up now and I don’t want to risk you trying to get away. I mean, I know you wouldn’t get anywhere, because there’s no place to get to, but still.”
“You fucking asshole!” she screamed. “You motherfucking lunatic!”
“You won’t scream again,” he said, dangling the rag over her face to show he was serious. She looked away from him, toward the wall, and started crying again.
“Sorry you feel so shitty,” he said.
He laughed about that one all morning. He really had to start writing this stuff down so he could put it in the Casanova book. It was always good to have a little humor in a story; he couldn’t just go on and on about his sexual conquests for five hundred pages. Well, he could, but still.
At around eleven o’clock he chloroformed Marissa for the last time. She struggled, screaming and trying to bite his hand— and to think, just a couple of days ago she’d had such good manners. Finally she gave in and passed out. He hoped she’d stay unconscious for a couple of hours. By then he’d have the money, and he could come back and shoot her. If things worked out, she’d never wake up again.
Johnny left the bungalow and walked down the hill to the car. Looking over at the barn, he had a flashback to one night when a couple of guys were picking on him, taunting him with switchblades, and Carlos came over with a gun and ordered the guys to go away. It reminded Johnny of why he was going through all of this. It wasn’t really about the money. It was about revenge, getting even.
At about eleven thirty, Johnny pulled up just outside the parking lot of the ShopRite in Kingston. He didn’t see Adam Bloom’s SUV or his Merc in the lot, but he was mainly looking out for cops. He knew if they were here they’d be undercover and hard to spot, but that was why Johnny had arrived a half hour early. There was a good chance that anyone who was hanging out in the parking lot was a cop. So far the only person who looked suspicious was the grayhaired older woman in the double- parked Lexus. She didn’t look like a cop, which made her even more suspicious. Then an old guy, probably her husband, got in with her and they drove away.
Johnny didn’t think Bloom would bring the cops into this. He wouldn’t want to take the chance of his daughter winding up dead, and besides, it wasn’t Bloom’s style. No, Bloom had showed his cards early, the night of the robbery. He was a take- matters- into- his- own- hands type of guy. He wanted to be the big shot, the hero, and Johnny knew that driving upstate to rescue his daughter from the “maniac” who was holding her hostage would be too big an opportunity for him to resist.
At noon, Johnny didn’t see any sign of cops, but where the hell was Bloom? At ten past, he still hadn’t shown. Johnny didn’t think he’d come late and risk his daughter’s life, but what other explanation was there?
Johnny spotted a phone booth near a pizza restaurant at the other end of the strip mall. He drove over there, left his car running, and called Bloom’s cell— he’d memorized the number before he’d tossed away Marissa’s cell last night. Bloom’s voice mail picked up before the first ring. Had he really turned his phone
off
?
Johnny got back in the car and waited about ten more minutes, until it became clear that Bloom wasn’t showing. This Johnny hadn’t expected at all. He’d thought Bloom might show up with less money, try to bargain the price down, but he didn’t think he’d get stood up. Who the hell did Bloom think was in charge of this thing, anyway? Who did he think was calling the shots?
Suddenly furious, Johnny drove out of the lot. It was time for plan C, or D, or whatever the hell letter he was up to. He’d go back to Max’s and shoot Marissa. Killing a guy’s wife and daughter was good enough revenge. Yeah, the million dollars would’ve been nice, but Johnny knew money wouldn’t matter once the Casanova book sold, and he’d get hundreds of thousands of dollars, maybe millions, someday from the Bloodworks. Yeah, he’d have to let Adam live, but maybe that was a good thing. Living was so much worse than dying. Why give the guy a break?
Then, a few minutes later, Johnny looked in his rearview and saw a red midsize car about a hundred yards behind him. There was another car in between, and it was hard to see the driver of the red car, but then, as they went around the bend, Johnny caught a glimpse of the guy, and he couldn’t believe it. Who the hell did he think he was kidding?

Around sunrise, Adam left Forest Hills. The reporters were finally gone, but he had a feeling that, no matter what happened upstate, they’d be back very soon.

He’d left a note for his mother on the kitchen table:
Running some errands.
He knew she’d get worried when he didn’t come home and was unreachable, but he had no choice. If he told her he was driving up to the Catskills to try rescue Marissa singlehandedly, she would’ve called the police and possibly gotten Marissa killed.

Adam drove to La Guardia Airport, parked in long- term parking, and then rented a Taurus at Bud get. He knew Xan would be looking out for the SUV or the Merc, and he wanted to be as incognito as possible.

Several times, he almost stopped and turned back. He knew he was taking a huge risk by going up alone, but he didn’t see any alternative. If he called the police it would be the equivalent of gambling that the police would bust Xan before he had a chance to kill Marissa or that Xan had been lying about how he’d kill Marissa if the police got involved. He’d misjudged Xan from the beginning— they all had— and he wasn’t going to do it again.