Authors: Ashley Williams
Broken Identity (21 page)
Wooziness. A throbbing pain. He couldn’t move…wait, yes he could, but barely. Andrew raised an eyelid. A thousand thoughts flashed through his mind but not one of them made sense. Something rough was scratching against his wrists, keeping them locked in place behind him.
Then it hit him.
Drake
.
Andrew lifted his head weakly and discovered he was tied to a chair with his hands fastened behind him. The room was dark. Drake was sitting in a chair across from him. He struggled against the ropes tying his hands and said, “Drake, what is this?” His voice sounded as weak as he felt.
“Don’t talk.”
Then Andrew realized Drake was holding a gun. He held his breath and said slowly, “I thought you were hurt.”
“Yeah, and I thought a lot of things about you, too,” Drake said, his voice betraying his bottled rage.
“What is this all about?”
“Quit acting like you don’t know!” Drake exploded.
“But I don’t! You—” Andrew stopped, wincing at the sudden pain in his head. He wished his hands were free so he could make sure his head wasn’t bleeding from the blow he had received earlier. “Drake, I don’t know what’s going on, whether you believe that or not. All I know is that I got a phone call from you saying you were hurt, and then I come to find you had arranged some kind of ambush. Why, Drake?”
“Better your tail than mine.”
“What?”
“Just shut up, OK!”
Andrew squirmed in his rickety chair. “Do you have to point that gun at me? It’s not like I’m going to try to hop my way out of here on this chair.”
Drake looked at Andrew, noticing for the first time the tiny beads of sweat that formed in the deep lines of his face. He bit his lip and set the semiautomatic high on the shelf beside him.
Andrew seemed to relax a little. “Thanks, though I suppose I really shouldn’t be thanking you for much of anything right now.”
“I plan to keep it that way.”
“Mind telling me who tied me up like this?”
“I did.”
Andrew let his head fall back. “Yeah, I might have expected it from you,” he murmured.
Drake raised his hand to him and shouted, “I told you to shut your mouth!”
“Who do you think you are talking to me like this?” Andrew yelled back, strengthening what little energy he had left in him. “I welcome you into my home and—”
“Don’t start giving me that. You never cared about anyone but yourself. I shoulda known you were up to something all along.”
“Drake, I honestly have no idea what you’re talking—”
“Just stop, OK? Just stop the stupid game!”
“I can’t help it if you don’t believe—”
“Quit playing the innocent victim and own up to what you did! You brought this on yourself.”
Andrew suppressed his anger and said calmly, “Can I at least finish my sentences?”
Drake huffed and looked away.
Andrew peered around the small room, realizing that pursuing his viewpoint on this issue would never amount to anything but more shouting. Instead, he said simply, “Where are the others?”
“The others?”
“Look, I may be nothing more than an old man to you, but I’m not blind. I saw the others before I was knocked out.”
“They’re in the other room.”
Andrew relaxed in his chair and swallowed. “Plotting my murder, I suppose. Why aren’t you in there helping them? You’ve pretty much done everything else there is to do against me.”
“I wouldn’t be making jokes if I was you,” Drake warned. “Remarks like that could get you killed around here.”
Andrew sighed and studied the room again. “Where exactly
am
I?”
Drake squinted at him. “You think I’d tell you that?”
“OK, then.
Why
am I here?”
The door opened. Ivan poked his head inside and nodded toward Drake. “The boys and I need to talk to you.”
Drake looked at Andrew, then back at Ivan. “You want me to leave him here alone?”
“I doubt I’m going anywhere,” Andrew said.
Drake left Andrew and locked the door on his way out.
Ivan had the contents of Andrew’s wallet spread out on a small table. All the men were gathered around it as Drake entered the room.
“How much cash he have on him?” Drake said.
“Not enough.” Ivan replied. “And he must be anti-credit cards, ’cause he ain’t carrying any.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Isn’t that what I just said?”
Drake took the clue and shut up.
“All I found were a bunch of dumb pictures, a gas card, and…” Ivan glared at Drake. “A gun permit. Little detail you forgot to mention to us.”
The stares from all the men felt like heat to Drake’s body. “How could I have known he—”
“Don’t let it happen again, Drake. Lucky for you, he wasn’t armed tonight. Otherwise, you would have taken the bullet.”
Drake looked at the floor.
It feels like I’ve already taken a bullet.
Ivan smiled and said, “But that doesn’t really matter, considering what I have planned. I need you to do one more thing for me, Drake.”
Drake knew the look on his face was one of shock, but this time, he didn’t try to hide it. “I thought you said that that was it,” he said, his voice on edge. “I already did my part of the deal, Ivan. You got your money.”
“Two hundred and somethin’ odd dollars ain’t enough,” Ivan said, matching his stare.
“I can’t control how much he decides to carry. Tough luck.”
Ivan’s eyes turned evil. “You’re forgetting your place, Drake. I don’t like people who step out of line. Or haven’t I made that clear enough?”
The others crowded around closer. Behind him, a man with a stained, white tank top stepped up and wrapped his bulging arm around Drake’s neck with lightning speed.
Drake inhaled and gripped the man’s arm. It felt like steel.
Lomas, the one Drake had met earlier at the door, stepped out from among the others and stood before Drake. Without warning, he gave a martial arts-style kick to Drake’s midsection.
Drake clamped his mouth shut as burning waves of pain coursed through his body. No sound of broken bones, but his stomach would almost certainly go into permanent shutdown after that ruthless blow. But he wouldn’t scream. No way was he going to give Ivan the satisfaction of hearing him in pain.
Another kick. Same place. Worse pain.
It felt like his internal organs were exploding.
Drake clawed and kicked in a desperate attempt to break free from the man’s unyielding grip around his neck, but his efforts were useless. For a fleeting moment during his turning and bucking, he thought he saw Ivan’s derisive grin.
You snake.
More pain was inflicted—this blow landed severely close to his ribs. His abdomen throbbed in incessant agony. He tried to move, to escape somehow, but his body felt feeble and numb, and the biting sting inside him remained a lingering sensation. He clenched his teeth and closed his eyes, expecting another attack. Instead, the man behind him loosened his hold. Drake crumpled to the ground, heaving up blood and vomit all over the floor. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, nearly throwing up again at the bitter stench the vomit left on his clothing.
A hand clamped onto Drake’s shoulder and squeezed hard enough to make Drake’s pulse race. “You better do as Ivan tells you, boy, unless you want that mug of yours rearranged,” Lomas warned.
Drake stopped breathing to keep from inhaling the man’s putrid breath. It was then he realized what breed of humans he was dealing with. “Just tell me what you want me to do,” he said weakly.
Andrew’s eyes were fixed on the top shelf. Specifically on the gun. Drake had left it there without realizing, but it was too high for him to reach while strapped down to his chair. He struggled and tugged against his ropes, causing him to sweat more profusely.
God, get me out of here. You can’t leave me here like this.
He closed his eyes and thought of Ronnie smiling up at him. He thought of his mother and what she would do if something awful happened to him.
Then he thought of Drake.
Oh, God, what’s happened to Drake? I was so sure this was what You wanted. Was I wrong? Did I slip up somewhere? Was church the trigger to all his resentment and anger? God, You have to help him. Help me too. If I make even the slightest noise, they’ll come charging through here and do who knows what. I have to reach that gun before Drake or one of the others comes back. Please help me. If I could just somehow get free…
Ivan laughed and broke a smile that sent shivers down Drake’s spine. “I figured you would reconsider. Know where the bank’s at?”
Drake nodded. Words didn’t seem possible at the moment.
“Ever use one before?”
“No,” Drake said, having trouble pronouncing a one-syllable word.
“Well, there’s a first time for everything.”
There sure is,
Drake thought.
Like now.
“I want you to drive to the bank I pointed out to you on the way back here.”
Drake wanted to argue, but his bruised insides begged him to keep his trap shut. “How do you know that’s the one he uses?”
“Says so on his ATM card,” Ivan said, shoving Andrew’s wallet into Drake’s hand.
Drake swallowed and tried to force the lump down his throat.
“Take Andrew there and have him withdraw twenty grand.”
Drake’s mouth fell open. “Twenty?” he said, trying to catch his breath. “What if he don’t have that much?”
“I’m goin’ by what you told me, Drake,” Ivan said, his voice thin and detached. “He’s a rich man. Twenty thousand won’t break him.”
Drake’s mind was spinning. “Why do I have to take him there? Can’t you do it? I mean, you’re the one who’s pulled off an armed robbery before, not me.”
Ivan stared at him dumbly. “Do I look stupid to you? There’s cameras out there, genius. My face is already broadcasted all over the cops’ wanted list, but not yours. ’Sides, you wouldn’t back out on us now, would you? Not after you’ve already tasted a dose of our treatment.”
Treatment. He had tasted it all right—blood, acid, and anything that happened to be in the middle of digestion when he had puked it up. Thanks, but no thanks. “I didn’t say that,” Drake mumbled, hating every minute he was forced to endure this humiliation.
“I thought not. Now remember, keep the Glock in your pocket at all times, even when you enter the bank. Trust me, the old man won’t try anything if he’s convinced you’ll really use it.”
“But I won’t have to use it, right?” Drake said it as more of a statement than a question.
Ivan chuckled and said coldly, “Wouldn’t you?”
Drake took a step back and collapsed in a chair. “The way you say it makes it sound so evil.”
“That’s my language.”
“I don’t wanna kill him.”
“Aw, the murderer has a heart. You’ll get over it.”
Get over it? He couldn’t get over an accidental murder. How could he possibly go through with intentionally firing a gun on someone like Andrew? He pressed his hands against the sides of his head. “This is crazy. What if we get caught, Ivan? What if it doesn’t work? This plan isn’t foolproof, ya know. If something goes wrong—”
“Nothing will go wrong, will it?”
Drake didn’t know why everything had to be a question with Ivan. Ivan felt safe—and for a good reason. He wasn’t the one about to risk his neck. What kind of a deal was that?
“You’d be safer if you crouched down in the backseat most of the ride. Can’t twist the gun out of your hand that way while he’s driving. Just have your gun on him at all times and he won’t budge.”
No, duh. Give yourself a pat on the back, Ivan. Really had to brainstorm that one, didn’t you?
Drake could feel the anger heating up inside him. “And after that?”
“Make him get the money and slide over to the passenger seat, then you take the wheel. Drive him a good distance away from any pay phones or stores…a nice quiet area. Then drop him off.”
Drake wasn’t about to ask what “drop him off” really meant in Ivan’s so-called language. He knew the man standing before him was the type who would put someone to death without the slightest hesitation.
