River: A Bad Boy Romance (7 page)

Inside the bank, Frank finds two dead bodies, one in much better shape than the other. He turns Alex over with his foot, careful not to get it stained by his blood, and then rolls the balaclava up.

“Well I'll be damned”, he says.

“You know him?” Garland says, crouching over the two men.

“Alex Gottleib. That stupid son of a bitch”, Frank says.

Maddy's back is sore. Riding in the trunk of a car, although she's never done it previously, is about as uncomfortable as you can get - more so when your hands are handcuffed behind your back. It's a million miles away from the orthopaedic mattress that she woke up on this morning. She has, over the course of the last fifteen minutes resigned herself to what may come. She has screamed, cried, begged to be released and tried to escape, but nothing has come of it, apart from being forcibly shut in the boot of a car, with a gun in her back. Maddy is an intelligent girl. She knows the only way out of this situation is to comply, and then with any luck, the police will turn up unannounced, fill her captor with enough bullets that stop his body from functioning properly (without spilling his blood on her dress of course), and she can get back to finishing her spreadsheets.

It is with that in mind, that she doesn't try to run away, or fight, when River opens the trunk of the car again, gun pointed at her just in case.

“How are you doing in there Maddy?” he says. His balaclava has been rolled up, and he's wearing it on the top of his head as though it were a hat. It's the first time Maddy has seen his face, and she's a little surprised by how attractive he is. If anything it just makes it all that more annoying for her. Not only has she been kidnapped, she's been kidnapped by someone who has the temerity to be young, strong and very, very good looking. He's also smirking, which pisses Maddy off even more.

“Where are we going?” Maddy says, grumpily.

River helps her upright. They're in an underground car park. A low level light fizzes and blinks, illuminating puddles of water on the ground, giving them a greenish haze.

“Where do you want to go?” River says, excitedly.

“Back to my office”, Maddy says. Her head is beginning to hurt. It's about time for her morning coffee, and she always gets more cranky than usual if she misses it.

“Well I don't reckon that's going to happen”, River says. “I'm sorry about that, but I just can't let you go yet. Not until I'm safe. You're just too important.”

“What about my safety?”

“I'll get onto that, but now just isn't the right time. Do you prefer Mercedes or Fords? Or is a station wagon more your style?”

“I don't care”, Maddy says, tired of his chirpiness.

“You know, for this to work”, River says, “we're going to have to start getting along.”

“You want us to get along? After what you've done to me?”

“That isn't too much of a stretch, Princess”, River says. “You'll see when we know each other a little better. Now, I reckon the Mercedes is more your style, but the trunk is going to be a lot smaller than the Ford.”

“Please don't make me ride in the trunk again”, Maddy says. “I promise I won't say anything. I'll do whatever you want me to do.”

“Well that's good to know, Maddy, but for now, until I get you a whole new look, I've got to put you back in the trunk.”

Maddy has run out of energy. When River lifts her out of the trunk and puts her across his strong shoulders like a fireman, she kicks a little, but barely resists. She has a vague memory of being held in this way before, but it's so distant, she can do nothing but recall the sensation, which to her, feels like déjà vu. River has chosen neither a Ford, nor a station wagon, nor a Mercedes. He's opted for a Lexus, two floors below them, and with the trunk already open, he sits her inside. Before he shuts the lid for the second time that day, he wraps his arm around her back, in a motion that feels to Maddy like he's hugging her.

“What the hell are you doing?” Maddy says, immediately before she realises what he is doing.

“Any more tense, you'll snap, Princess”, River says to her, and undoes her handcuffs.

“Why do you keep calling me Princess?” Maddy says, rubbing her hands together to bring the blood back into them.

“Well that's what you are aintcha?” River says. “You sure do act like it.”

Maddy isn't sure how to respond, but she feels the hollow in her gut like a punch. If there is anything she would say she is not, it's a princess. Princesses had princes, for a start.

“Come on now, time to go, Madeleine Parker”, River says, and helps her get comfortable in the trunk of the new car, before closing the lid.

On the way out of the underground parking lot, River pauses for a moment, to let a pedestrian pass. She smiles at him and he smiles back. He puts on the sunglasses he's found in the glove compartment, lights up another cigarette, and drives back through the city he's just come from, past the bank that only that morning he helped to rob, slowing, as everyone else would, to take a look, and finally out onto interstate eighteen, and as far away from the police as he can.

Frank Giamatti absent mindedly watches the Lexus roll past, before returning to his own vehicle, and assisting in the search for the now abandoned Oldsmobile.

T
he afternoon disappears much more quickly than Frank would like, and despite their attempts to do so, they find neither the lime green Oldsmobile, nor the robber and his hostage. Frank, more grizzly than usual, decides to return to base, have some pasta for lunch and approach the situation in a different way. He always thinks better with his stomach full, and besides which, he knows that if they haven't found the car yet, when they do so, they're only going to find it empty.

The Oldsmobile would turn up eventually - hopefully during the course of the day - even if it didn't tell them anything useful, but until then, police attention could be diverted to much more pressing issues, like running searches on all known business associates of Alex Gottleib, and the two henchman he happened to be working with. But that was for Frank's officers to take care of. Frank himself would be enjoying a large glass of wine and a penne arrabiata.

The story has continued to unfold on the news channels, taking precedence in the schedule. A reporter has turned up at Maddy's office, in order to take statements about the missing woman, (initially believed to be forty two, later corrected to twenty six) and is horrified to find that a) everyone seems to be having a party, champagne included, and b) no-one has anything at all positive to say about her. In fact, although not broadcast on the now twenty four hour news feed, the general consensus amongst her work force is that it is better if she doesn't return at all.

After a hearty lunch, Frank returns to the office for a debrief. A statement has been released by Garland in Frank's absence, that tells the listening press and public almost nothing more than they already know from what has been filmed. Garland informs them that they have identified the hostage as Madeleine Parker, something everyone already knows, and that they are in the process of trying to contact her family, and work out the identities of the robbers involved. They have leads on the ring leader, but as of this moment, his whereabouts are unknown. This is considered, by the press and the public alike, as typical police incompetence. Garland takes great pains to point out that police involvement, despite the minor hiccup on interstate five, which led to the suspect evading capture, ensured that no lives were lost, no money was taken, and the incident was dealt with swiftly. He assures his audience that he is confident the case will be swiftly brought to a close, and without further loss of civilian life.

Back in Frank Giamatti's office, the two men mull it over. Actually, it would be more accurate to say that Garland mulls, while Frank chews like a dog with a mouthful of bad meat.

“Who the fuck is it?” Frank says.

“We don't know yet sir”, Garland tells him.

“I hope you've got something for me Garland”, he says.

“We are working on contacting all known business associates of Alex Gottleib”, Garland says, almost verbatim from the press conference, hoping to instil confidence in his senior.

“Don't let him make us look stupid”, Frank growls. “I want a name by the end of the day. Find out who the fuck he is, and more importantly where he's going.”

“I'll do my best”, Garland says.

“You'll do better than that”, Frank says.

“Yes”, Garland agrees. It was best to agree with Frank, even if you didn't really mean it. He's on the way out of the door when Frank remembers something else.

'And the girl?' Frank says, not interested in her by a long way, but aware that an appeal might bring the robber in by himself, and save him yet another ulcer.

“Nothing yet, sir.”

“Nothing?”

“No, sir.”

Her face has been on every single news channel all afternoon, and not one person has rung in to ask what we are doing about finding her?'

“Not a single call”, Garland says.

“Jesus Christ”, Frank says, and holds his head in his hands. “He's kidnapped a nobody, that nobody cares about. We don't get this sorted soon, they'll pull it away from us.”

“I'm trying to find her family, sir”, Garland says.

“Good. If that doesn't work, get an actress in here, and make sure you talk to the press about it, but off-line. No doubt they'll be having the same idea. And Garland, I want reports of every stolen car in a fifty mile radius of Albuquerque, as soon as they come in.”

“Done”, Garland says, and quickly makes it out of the door, before Frank asks him yet another question.

River is overjoyed to find that the stereo on his new car is working. It takes him a while to tune into something that he's happy to listen to, but he eventually finds some motown, and enjoys it so much, he turns it up so Maddy can hear. It is, of course, not the kind of thing Maddy would choose to listen to, even if listening to music was something she did. She tries to block it out with her hands over her ears, and when that doesn't work, she tries to get River's attention by slapping the back seat with her palm. Eventually, she gives in, grits her teeth and bears it. Before too long, she finds herself lost in the rhythm, and barely notices it's there. For the first time in a long time, and without her actually realising it, she begins to relax. River taps out the beat on the steering wheel. Hidden underneath the passenger seat is a recently stolen bag full of enough money to keep him going for a long time, and on his face is a smile that goes from ear to ear. He hasn't seen a police officer for the last four hours, and he's on the way to the state line. There is nothing that can stop him now.

Maddy tries as best as she can to get comfortable. She's hungry, thirsty, tense, crankier than normal and desperately needs a pee. Her dress is so dirty she's going to have to throw it away, and it horrifies her to think what state her hair will be in. She needs a shower, a coffee, something to eat, a clean bathroom, and somewhere to rest. With those things she might even feel a little bit more inclined to 'get along' with her captor, as he so eloquently put it.

As the car rolls along, and the motown changes into country, and then to rock and roll, Maddy thinks about her office. She knows it'll have crumbled into a state of chaotic disorganisation in the short time she's been away, but she wonders whether anyone will be wondering where she's got to. In short, she wonders whether anyone cares. The weird thing is, the crazy, stupid, fucked up thing, is that the man that's taken her hostage and stolen her company's money, is the man who probably cares more about her than anyone else in the world, even if it's only to ensure his own survival. He's probably the closest thing she's had to a friend since, well, for as long as she can remember. Perhaps it's best if she does try and get along with him, it might make him less inclined to kill her. Maddy wishes it could be as easy as that though. She's been trying to get along with people for her whole life, but has never been able to do it right.

It's a good job Maddy doesn't know how her colleagues are reacting to the news of her kidnapping, because if she did, it would only make her cry again.

T
here are faded Christmas decorations that run along the back wall, perhaps too high up for the large lady on reception to take down without calling for help, so she's never bothered. Either that, or every time she remembers she has to do it, it's already July, and they are closer again to Christmas than they are away from it. Reindeer pull Santas, and sleighs move along stacked full of presents. Peeling snowmen look sad and forgotten.

“You can't smoke in here, it's against the regulations”, the woman says without taking her eyes off the badly dubbed martial arts film showing on her box television. Without River asking for it, she puts an ashtray on the counter for him to stub his cigarette out in, slurps a decent swallow of gin and tonic through a curly plastic straw buried in a polka dot designed glass, pauses her film, sighs heavily and turns around to look at him. Thick glasses and heavy eye-liner compose a face that sits on top of a wobbly neck, like a rock on top of cow dung, frozen solid over a harsh winter. It's not the best look River has ever seen.

“You know it's a long way to Christmas”, River says.

The woman lowers her glasses and gives him the once over.

“You're much more attractive than anyone we usually get in here”, she says. “I'll let you put the star on the top of the tree if you fancy staying that long.”

“I reckon that'd be very nice”, River says. “Just so long as the gin doesn't run out.”

“I can't promise that”, the woman says, and delivers herself another good swallow, trapped air bubbling in both the bottom of her glass and the bottom of her stomach. “How long are you looking to stay?”

“Well that all depends on the quality of the furnishings”, River says.

“It's the best in America”, the receptionist says, “didn't you see the sign outside. We've had all sorts of famous people staying here. Movie stars, rock stars, rock climbers, social climbers, even ex-American presidents.”