Torque (22 page)

“I didn’t leave the scene. I just left the
interview.”

“Oh. Well. That’s okay, then.” Tony looked in
his rear-view mirror but could only see the tops of Fenn’s knees.
“So, Superfly, what’s your next brilliant move?”

“Did you get that rack and pinion set
installed in the Challenger?”

Tony shook his head. “One of the ring teeth
had a flaw so it had to be returned. I put the old 3:55 set back in
it.”

Given the circumstances, ‘the old 3:55 set’
was ideal. With the Challenger’s powerful engine, that gear ratio
would provide decent off-the-line acceleration, and a top speed
close to 250 kph.

“I need Kim to look up another licence plate,
so I should see if she’s ready to accept my apology. What time is
it?”

“Quarter to five.”

“She gets off work in fifteen minutes. I’d
rather catch her at home but I need to clean up a bit and do it
properly. We’ll go to the barn so I can pick up the Challenger,
then I’ll head back to my hotel room. What are you going to
do?”

Tony grinned. “See that box in the trunk?”
Since there was no back seat, Fenn only had to peer through the
metal body supports to see a cardboard container with
NOS
stamped on the side.

“You didn’t!”

“I did. This time tomorrow, The Black Mariah
will have a nitrous oxide system under the hood. An instant boost
in power with the push of a button.”

Fenn laughed. Nitrous systems, while not
legal for street use, often found their way into muscle cars. The
injection of nitrous oxide into an engine allowed for more fuel to
be burned in the cylinders. The result is higher piston pressure,
which translates into more power.

“Running nitrous is gonna be a blast! I can’t
wait to meet Cheevers in his Camaro.”

“Careful what you wish for,” Fenn warned.
“All that heat and extra pressure will blow your motor if you run
it too long.”

“Yeah. I figure ten seconds will be good.
That’ll be enough time to win, or lose, any race.”

== == ==

Knee socks now sufficed to cover Kim’s wound
so she’d opted for one of her favourite Fall outfits; a kilt and a
V-necked cashmere sweater. Brogue-style loafers, of course, and a
lightweight overcoat because October in Southern Ontario was often
cool and usually damp.

Jess was waiting at the door when she got
home. As she put on his leash, the crunch of gravel alerted her to
a vehicle in her driveway. It was a white van. The driver was a
tall guy wearing grey slacks, windjammer, baseball cap, and
sunglasses. He slid open the van’s side door and produced a bouquet
of fresh-cut flowers wrapped in plastic.

Jess was always ready to greet company and
pulled at his leash. Kim made him sit then stepped outside and
pulled the door closed behind her.

“Can you accept a delivery for Kim
Klassen?”

Kim wondered if they were from Chas Fenn, and
if so should she refuse them? But that wouldn’t be fair to the
delivery guy.

“Uh, sure. That’s me.”

“Great. I just need your signature.” Still
holding the bouquet he walked back to the van with Kim in tow. Then
he did something strange. He tossed the flowers inside, reached
down, and turned back to her with a roll of duct tape in hand.

Startled, she was slow to react. The man
moved quickly and wrapped his arms around her waist. Kim cried out
and a hand went over her mouth. A second man had jumped from the
rear of the van and another set of hands grabbed at her legs. The
two of them were trying to get her through the side door.

Kim squirmed and twisted in desperation.
Kicking out, one of her loafers came off and knocked the driver’s
sunglasses to the ground. She caught a glimpse of his face. It was
familiar. Jimmy? Jonas? What the hell was his name? He used to
bring students into the Ministry. Why was he doing this?

Tape was being wound around her ankles. Now
her wrists. The hand on her mouth was replaced with another strip
leaving only her nostrils to supply the vast amount of oxygen her
lungs now demanded. They put a cloth bag over her head, increasing
the sense of suffocation. Her frantic resistance seemed to do
nothing more than wear her out. Now she was on the floor of the van
and the side door banged shut.

“Lie still and you won’t get hurt,” she was
told, and the van started to move.

== == ==

Inside the house, Jess, with his acute
hearing, heard the commotion outside but couldn’t understand the
meaning. He listened to the van drive away until the sound of its
motor intermingled with others passing on the main thoroughfare.
The visitors were gone. He tried to pick up the sound of Kim’s
footsteps. Had she gone for a walk without him? The hall clock
ticked. His leash was on so he must be going out soon. The house
grew dim. Still no Kim. The dog sighed and lay down on the rug.
When it became dark in the hallway he went to sleep.

CHAPTER
31

Fenn left Tony at the barn to tinker with
his new toy. He’d removed the sling to drive. It wasn’t a
comfortable experience, and neither was depressing the clutch pedal
with his swollen left knee, though piloting the Challenger along
country roads somewhat made up for it. With a big motor and a small
chassis the 1970 Hemi Challenger was one of the fastest pony cars
to come out of a Detroit factory. In stock trim, only the Boss 429
Mustang and the Chevy 427 Camaro could rival it for straight-line
acceleration.

Fenn was the Challenger’s third owner. He’d
rebuilt it from the ground up, adding after-market parts to improve
the handling and increase the horsepower and torque. Horsepower
referring to the power output of the motor, torque being the
application of that force to spin the drive shaft, which in turn
rotates the wheels.

He didn’t run nitrous but with close to 450
horsepower under the hood, translating to nearly 500 foot-pounds of
torque, he really didn’t need it. The only thing the car did need
was the pearl white paint job it had been prepped for. Tony had
removed all the paper and tape from the glass and chrome so the car
looked close to normal with only a coat of grey primer. Driving at
speed with the engine growling through headers and dual pipes was
like flying low to the ground. A Spitfire without wings.

At the hotel he ordered a club sandwich from
room service then shaved and had a hot bath to soak the soreness
from his limbs. He tried rewrapping his chest with the elastic
bandage but couldn’t get it right and gave up. He lay back on the
bed when the ibuprofen started to kick in and, while wondering how
Byron Evelyn Whatsisname was doing, fell asleep.

== == ==

Wednesday, October
28th

Fenn woke with a start. The lights were on,
the drapes were open, and it was dark outside. It was 3:15 a.m.

Damn. He’d intended to go to Kim’s house
after supper to try and mend some bridges. Plan B would be to catch
her before she went to work this morning. That was probably better,
anyway. She’d have had a good night’s sleep. She’d be fresh. And in
a good mood. He set the alarm for six a.m. but couldn’t return to
sleep so he got up and phoned the hospital. Byron Evelyn Rupnick
was in intensive care. His condition had been upgraded from
extremely critical to critical-but-stable. Good to know.

== == ==

Fenn parked on Highview Drive where he could
watch for Kim coming out to her garage. Remnants of fog hung about
and the hedges, wet with dew, played host to a myriad of sparrows
and other small birds. They flitted about looking for seeds until
scared away by a gust of wind. He’d been waiting about twenty
minutes when a detail he hadn’t noticed before got his attention.
There was a shoe lying in Kim’s driveway.

He left the Challenger and walked to where it
lay. It was a brown, good quality, loafer. Definitely something Kim
would wear. The gravel around it had recently been scuffed and
scattered about, and a short shallow trench where a spinning tire
had flung the stones away led to the street. Fenn scanned the front
of the house. Drapes were open on all windows and the light over
the small portico was on. He went to the front door and rang the
bell. There was a muffled bark and then silence.

The garage attached to the side of the house
had a window. Kim’s Volkswagen sat within. He jogged back to the
front door still holding the shoe, and rapped with the heavy iron
knocker. The sound echoed and there was another woof but that was
all. He turned the knob and the door opened to Jess, wriggling and
wagging and wearing a leash.

“Kim?” Fenn walked down the hall to the
kitchen.

The only signs of activity in the house were
the empty water bowl and the smelly deposit that Jess had left by
the back door. Fenn found a roll of paper towels and did a hasty
clean-up, then opened the back door and sent the dog into the yard.
He climbed the stairs to the second floor. There were two bedrooms.
Beds made up in both. The sink, shower, and towels in the bathroom
were all dry. On his return to the kitchen he noticed a flashing
light on the phone set. He pushed PLAY.

“Hi Kim,” said the caller. “It’s your sister
checking in. It’s ten p.m. and you haven’t called me tonight. Maybe
you’re tired and have gone to bed. All right, then, just make sure
you call me first thing in the morning. Okay? First thing.”

This was not good. He racked his brain for a
benign reason for her absence but the indicators of abduction were
all too obvious. Reis and Jenner had to be behind it. Ron Jenner
would know that he had dated Kim—hell, Jenner had tagged along. And
since Kim would be familiar to the ex-driving instructor, getting
her address would have been simple.

Whether for leverage, or just revenge for
putting Rupnick in intensive care, they had elevated the stakes and
there could only be one step after that. Fenn knew they were
capable of it but he also had leverage of his own. As long as he
possessed the disc, it was in Jenner’s best interest to keep Kim
alive.

He tore the top off a bag of kibble he found
in the pantry and let Jess in. He refilled the water bowl and for
good measure left the bathroom door open and the toilet seat up.
From the hall closet he grabbed a pair of sturdy ankle boots.

“Wait here, Jess,” he said. “I’m going to
bring her home.”

The abduction was the most effective form of
coercion that Reis and Jenner could have come up with, and it was a
good ploy except for two weak points; Fenn knew where they were,
and they didn’t know he was coming.

== == ==

He raced through the Challenger’s gears and
got to the barn in a handful of minutes. He was surprised to find
Tony inside.

“I didn’t expect to see you, here,” Fenn
said.

Tony, on his knees beside the open door of
the Black Mariah, was working at an awkward angle under the
dash.

“I’m just wiring up the arming toggle for the
nitrous tank.”

“So, you’ve been here all night.”

“One of the damned carburetor bolts broke. I
had to drill it out, machine a new one, and tap the hole. Apart
from a few hours kip on the couch I’ve been at it since you left.”
Tony eased himself out of the car, stood up, and arched his
back.

“It wasn’t supposed to take this long. I
cancelled my shift at work, but I’m finally finished. Shall we take
her for a test drive?”

Fenn, instead of checking out Tony’s
handiwork was rooting around the workbench.

“Lost something, Chas?”

“Yeah. Kim.”

“She didn’t take to your apology, then.”

Fenn stopped his search to look directly at
Tony, who now saw the anxiety on his face.

“She’s been kidnapped.”

Tony held his stare, then said quietly but
emphatically, “Time to face it, Chas. This is now officially out of
hand. We need to call the cops.”

“All they will do is file a missing person’s
report. We don’t even know, for sure, where she is.”

“You’ve got some idea, though. I know
it.”

Fenn found a box on the floor and rummaged
around in it. “I think she’s at the funeral home but I need to make
sure before I call in the cavalry. Don’t forget, I’m also wanted
for questioning. Until I can verify all the facts, it’s best that I
stay away from police stations.”

He pulled a small voltmeter from the box and
plugged a dangling wire into one of its ports.

“I need a cover story. Something that will
allow me to search the premises without attracting attention.” He
turned a knob on the meter. “Maybe a phone technician. Have we
still got that hard hat?”

“It’s on top of the fridge. And you can
borrow my coveralls from work.” Tony went to the Pontiac’s trunk
and handed Fenn a blue bundle. Fenn took it then made a face like
he’d swallowed sour milk.

“These smell like mouldy Kielbasa.”

“Well I am a meat packer. You’ll get used to
it.”

Fenn began pulling on the coveralls and Tony
cleared a path for the car to exit the barn. There was no question
he was coming along. Fenn could have said no, but it would have
fallen on deaf ears. Besides, being an army of one was starting to
wear him out. He needed assistance and could think of no one he’d
prefer to watch his back. Fenn planned to station Tony outside the
grounds, anyway. If something went wrong, it would be good to have
a friend on-hand to identify his body.

== == ==

Tony parked the GTO on a tractor access that
led to a hayfield. A favourite haunt of radar cops, it offered a
modicum of concealment and a decent view of the surrounding area.
The objective was a quarter kilometre farther on. He brought out a
small brass telescope and began to clean the lens with a rag.

Harrowport & Dynes Funeral Home was
surrounded by four acres of land at the base of an escarpment
outcropping that overlooked the adjacent farms. The cliff face was
a jagged wall of broken rock about forty meters high. Known locally
as Mount Nemo, Fenn judged it as a Class II ascent—an experienced
climber could scale it without a rope.