above it, I know it’s bullshit, okay? You play your little game, but I know.”
“I’m not above it,” Will said. “No man is. Or woman, for that matter. It’s called human frailty. It’s pathetic, but it’s the story of life. You don’t have any special knowledge. I think my wife knows everything you just told me, even without experiencing it. She just chooses not to let it touch her.”
“So, she’s above it, huh? Maybe that’s why she isn’t doing it for you in the bedroom.”
“You still haven’t told me how or why you switched from blackmail to kidnapping.”
Cheryl drank off what was left of her rum and Coke. “Blackmail gets messy. You can’t predict what guys will do when you hit them with the pictures. The reality of it. The end of life as they know it. Most of them can’t wait to pay, of course. But you never know. One guy wanted copies to give to his wife and everybody at his office.” She smiled at the memory. “But some of them freak. They run home and confess to their wives, or try to kill Joey, or…”
She trailed off, and in the moments of silence that followed, Will knew what she had not said. “Some of them kill themselves,” he finished. “Right?”
She squinted at the television. “One guy did. It was bad. He left his copy of the tape playing on the VCR when he shot himself. His wife found him. Can you imagine?” She poured more rum into her glass, straight this time. “The cops nearly got us for that one. After that, Joey decided we were going about it the wrong way. The thing to do, he figured, was a small number of jobs, but get the maximum bang for the risk.”
“Kidnapping?”
She nodded. “When he was working the blackmail gigs, he saw that what these guys were most scared of-way more than hurting their wives-was their kids. They couldn’t take the idea that their kids would lose all respect for them. Their kids were what they lived for. So, the way to get the most money was to make the guys pay for their kids.”
“That’s a hell of a lot riskier than blackmail.”
“It is if you do it the way everybody else does it. That’s like asking the FBI to stomp on you with a SWAT team. Joey’s smarter than that. But I don’t have to tell you, do I?”
Will stepped to his left and collapsed into the chair by the window. After all that had happened, it was Cheryl’s last story that brought the full weight of reality crashing down upon him. He wasn’t special. He was merely the latest in a long line of fools victimized by a man who specialized in exploiting human weakness. Hickey had made a profession of it, an art, and Will couldn’t see any way to extricate himself or his family from the man’s web.
“Tell me one thing.”
“What?”
“Did any of the other fathers take you up on your offer?”
Cheryl intertwined her fingers and put her hands behind her head, which showed her implants to best advantage. A strange smile touched her lips. “Two out of five. The others tortured themselves all night. Those two slept like babies.”
Despite his speech about human frailty, Will couldn’t believe that fathers whose children were in mortal danger would have sex with one of their kidnappers. It seemed incomprehensible. And yet, he knew it was possible. “You’re lying,” he said, trying to reassure himself.
“Whatever you say. But I know what I know.”
Special Agent Bill Chalmers thanked a black homicide detective named Washington and closed the door of the police interrogation room. Dr. McDill and his wife had followed the FBI agent’s car the few blocks from the Federal Building to police headquarters, and what they had come for now lay on the metal table in front of them. A stack of mug books two and a half feet high.
“I know it’s not great,” Chalmers said. “But it’s more private than the squad room.”
“There must be thousands of photos here,” McDill said.
“Easily. I’ll be outside, accessing the National Crime Information Center computer. I’ll check all past records of kidnappings-for-ransom in the Southeast, then hit the names ‘Joe,’ ‘Cheryl,’ and ‘Huey’ for criminal records under actual names and aliases. ‘Joe’ is common as dirt, but the others might ring a bell. Also, I talked to my boss by cell phone on the way over. We may see him down here before long. Right now he’s waking up some bank officers to set up flags on large wire transfers going to the Gulf Coast tomorrow morning.” Chalmers looked at his watch. “I guess I mean this morning.”
McDill sighed. “Could we have some coffee or something?”
“You bet. How do you take it?”
“Black for me. Margaret?”
“Is it possible they might have tea?” she asked in a soft voice.
Chalmers gave her a smile. “You never know. I’ll check.”
After he went out, Margaret sat down at the table and opened one of the mug books. The faces staring up from the page belonged to people the McDills used all their money and privilege to avoid. The faces shared many features. Flash-blinded, dope-fried eyes. Hollow cheeks. Bad teeth. Nose rings. Tattoos. And stamped into every one, as though dyed into the skin, a bitter hopelessness that never looked further than the next twenty-four hours.
“Are we doing the right thing?” Margaret asked, looking up at her husband.
McDill gently squeezed her shoulder. “Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“The right thing is always the hardest thing.”
Abby sat scrunched in the corner of the ratty sofa, crying inconsolably, her Barbie held tight against her. Huey sat on the floor six feet away, looking stricken.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. “I just did what Joey told me to. I have to do what Joey says.”
“He stole me from my mom and dad!” Abby wailed. “You did, too!”
“I didn’t want to! I wish your mama was here right now.” Huey squeezed his hands into fists. “I wish my mama was here.”
“Where is she?” Abby asked, pausing in mid-wail.
“Heaven.” Huey said it as though he didn’t quite believe it. “How come you ran away? It’s because I’m ugly, isn’t it?”
Abby resumed crying, but she shook her head.
“You don’t have to say it. I know. The kids in my school ran too. Nobody liked me. But I thought we was friends. All I wanted to do was be nice. But you ran. How come?”
“I told you. You stole me away from my mom.”
“That’s not it. You don’t like me because I look like a monster.”
Abby fixed her swollen eyes on him. “What you look like doesn’t matter. Don’t you know that?”
Huey blinked. “What?”
“Belle taught me that.”
“Who?”
Abby rubbed her eyes and held out her gold-lamegowned Barbie. “This is Belle. Beauty and the Beast Belle. She’s my favorite Disney princess because she reads books. She wants to be something someday. Belle says it doesn’t matter what you look like. It only matters what you feel inside. In your heart. And what you do.”
Huey’s mouth hung slack, as though he were staring at a magical fairy risen from the grass.
“You never saw Beauty and the Beast?” Abby said incredulously.
He shook his head.
“Let’s pretend I’m Belle, and you’re Beast.”
“Beast?” He looked suddenly upset. “I’m a beast?”
“Good Beast.” Abby wiped her runny nose. “Beast after he turns nice. Not mean like at first.”
She slid off the couch and held Belle out to him. “Say something Beast says in the movie. Oh, I forgot. You missed it. Just say something nice. And call me ‘Belle,’ remember?”
Huey was at a loss. Tentatively, he said, “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Belle. I’m going to keep you safe till morning comes, and your mama comes to get you.”
Abby smiled. “Thank you, Beast. And if the villagers come and try to kill you, me and Mrs. Potts and Chip will make them go away. They won’t get you!”
