Johnny wasn’t about to take any chances. He wasn’t going to just hang out in his apartment and hope the cops didn’t show up to bust him. No, Johnny wasn’t a gambling man, especially when it came to the safety of his own ass. He knew he wasn’t above screwing up and getting caught, and he was smart enough to know that sometimes shit happens that you can’t control, which was why he always had a backup plan- and not just a plan B. He had plans C, D, E, and F, too.
It was a good sign that Marissa hadn’t told her father where Johnny lived. The name Xan Evonov wouldn’t help the cops out, and it would probably take days for them to figure out that his real name was Johnny Long; by then he’d be long gone, living under a new name, somewhere far away from New York. Although he would have to give up the fantasy of living in the Blooms’ house, he could still get all the money and still watch Adam Bloom die in pain. Hey, like Meatloaf says, “Two out of three ain’t bad.”
When Marissa ended the call with her father, Johnny made sure she’d turned her phone off. It was an iPhone, and he knew those had GPS. He didn’t know how badly the cops wanted to talk to him, but he didn’t want to take any chances that they’d try to track him down by tracing Marissa’s phone. Next, he needed to subdue Marissa, so when he poured her a glass of Coke he slipped a roofie into it. Johnny occasionally had to drug the women he hustled, so he always had plenty of Rohypnol and chloroform on hand. He only used drugs to rob women, though, never to rape them. Every woman Johnny had ever seduced had gone to bed with him willingly. Johnny knew that rape was the worst thing you could possibly due to a person; murder was a favor compared to rape. When you kill somebody, they’re gone, they’re done feeling pain. But when you rape somebody, the pain goes on and on. Besides, he didn’t want to scar his record as a Casanova. Someday, when somebody wrote a book about him, or they made a movie, or movies, when Johnny Long became a legend, he didn’t want to be like those athletes who were caught using ste roids. He didn’t want there to be any doubts about his achievements.
When Marissa passed out, Johnny carried her to his bed and tied her up and taped her mouth shut. Yeah, he had the rope and tape ready- you always had to be prepared. He made sure her nose wasn’t covered by the tape and she was breathing. He needed to keep her alive, for a little while anyway.
He went out, stole a Toyota, and parked it in front of his building. He’d been gone less than an hour, and Marissa was still unconscious. He went around his apartment and packed a backpack with clothes, toiletries, and whatever else he could fit into it. He was bummed that he’d have to leave his Bloodworks behind. He hoped when the landlord cleaned out the place he was smart enough to save the paintings, or at least give them to some gallery or art dealer. When Johnny Long became the world’s most famous Casanova, how much would those pictures go for? A few hundred thousand each? More? Yeah, probably.
When it got dark out, Johnny untied Marissa and removed the tape from her mouth, she moaned when he did this but remained unconscious. Then he walked her- well,really carried her- out of the apartment and down the stairs to the street. It was perfect because if anyone noticed it would look like she was drunk and he was helping her get home.
He had her in the car, ready to go, but he couldn’t bear to leave the paintings. He rushed back up and took all six of the Bloodworks. They wouldn’t fit in the trunk but were just barely able to fit in the backseat area, thank God. He couldn’t think of anything else he needed and, with Marissa passed out next to him, he headed happily out of the city.
twenty- six
Adam must’ve tried calling Marissa fifty times, and he still couldn’t get through. He’d left a few messages, but the other times he ended the calls as soon he heard her voice mail greeting.
“Something awful’s happening,” his mother said. “I know it is.” Adam was getting sick of his mother and her psychic hunches. He knew that if he were alone he wouldn’t be nearly as panicked, but with his mother lurking nearby, on the verge of hysteria, it was impossible to stay calm.
“Call Clements again,” she said.
“I left a message for him ten minutes ago.”
“Maybe he didn’t get it.”
“He got it.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he did, okay?”
“Maybe he found out where Xan lives. Maybe he knows something.” “If he did he would’ve called us.”
“You don’t know that. Maybe he-”
“Okay, that’s enough,” Adam said. “Let’s just calm down.” Unconsciously he called Marissa again, reached her voice mail, and clicked off, then said, “The problem is we’re too caught up in this, okay? Chances are none of this has anything to do with Xan and we’re getting hysterical for-”
Adam’s cell started ringing, and he nearly jumped. He checked the display and said to his mother, “Clements.” Then into the phone he said, “Hello?”
“How many times did you call me?” Clements asked.
“A few,” Adam said. “Did you find out-”
“There’s no reason for you to call me more than once,” he said. “You just have to leave one message and I’ll get back to you. Leaving more than one message just wastes my time and yours.”
Adam resented the lecture. He asked, “So did you find out where Xan lives or not?”
“He doesn’t seem to be listed anywhere in Brooklyn,” Clements said. “We checked out the Alexander Evonov from Brighton Beach, but he died three weeks ago. What about you? Did you reach your daughter?”
“I’ve been trying. I’m pretty sure her phone’s off.”
“Why’s it off?”
Adam didn’t feel like explaining the whole thing, so he said, “I don’t know, maybe it ran out of charge or something.”
Adam’s mother was saying, “Give him her number. Give him her number.”
“Do you want her number?” Adam asked Clements.
“Yeah, okay,” Clements said. Adam gave it to him, and then Clements added, “But you keep trying her, too, and when you get through, call me back. But don’t call me just to leave messages, because that only wastes time on my end, okay?”
During the next few hours, Adam tried to watch TV with his mother, but every five minutes or so he called Marissa. He kept getting her voice mail, and his mother’s nervous agitation was driving him crazy. He had to get away from her, so he went upstairs to the PC in his office and did more searches, trying to find Xan’s address or any information about him, but he couldn’t find anything. Then his phone started vibrating, and he saw that he’d received a text message from marissa cell.
“Thank God,” Adam said.
Then he read the message: if you wannna see the little bitch again call me in one minute clocks ticking For several seconds he was confused, unable to compute the words’ meaning. Then it set in that Marissa hadn’t sent the message, that the message was about Marissa. He read it a few more times but couldn’t focus. Finally he realized that someone was threatening to kill his daughter, but Adam, still scattered, didn’t know how he was supposed to call back when there was no number to call. Was he supposed to call back on Marissa’s phone? Adam frantically clicked send, knowing the minute was probably already up.
“Barely made it,” Xan said.
Jesus Christ, they’d been right about him.
“Where the hell’s my daughter?” Adam nearly shouted.
“Hey, take it easy, Doc. You don’t want me to do something I’d regret, do you?”
“I want to talk to her.”
“I think we need to talk about what I want.”
“Put her on the phone, damn it.”
“Are the cops there?”
“I said put her on the phone.”
