The Other Brother (28 page)

Chapter 53

• fter Isaiah had stolen the van last night, he'd cleared all the technician's tools and junk out of the cargo area and remade it into a work space to suit his purposes. There were no rear or side windows, but he'd suspended a heavy, dark blanket from the ceiling, behind the front seats, to keep his work and captive hidden from anyone who might peer through the windshield. Then he stored his own tools on the floor: a coil of rope, duct tape, a utility knife, and fishing gear.

With his father lying unconscious on the cold metal floor, the first thing Isaiah did was remove his father's gold Rolex. He laid it beside him. The watch, much like Gabriel's pen, would prove useful.

Moving quickly, Isaiah knotted a length of rope around his father's wrists. He tied his ankles together, too.

As he was bending over his father, preparing to slap a piece of duct tape on his mouth, Pops's eyes fluttered open.

"Isaiah," he said in a garbled voice. He blinked, groggily. "What're you doing?"

"I'll tell you in a minute. We've gotta roll."

Driving the heating-and-air-conditioning van offered him a reasonable amount of cover. Nevertheless, being parked so close to the Reids' crib made him antsy. The cops were still on the prowl for him.

"Help," Pops said. He rocked back and forth, struggling to break free from the ropes. "Someone, help me!"

Isaiah dug into the tackle box beside him and extracted a large barbed fishhook. He waved it in front of his father's eyes.

"I'll thread this through your lips like a catfish if you don't shut up and stay still," he said. "You want me to do that?"

A fat drop of sweat rolled down his father's temple.

"Please don't do this," Pops said. "This isn't the way, son-"

"Shut the fuck up!"

Flinching as if struck, Pops fell silent.

Isaiah pressed the duct tape across his father's mouth. Pops's chest rose and fell rapidly as he breathed through his nostrils in a petrified wheeze.

"Now, to answer your question: we're going fishing," Isaiah said. "You told me that you and Gabe would always take a father-son fishing trip on Father's Day at your cabin in the Blue Ridge mountains. I decided it was my turn to enjoy the tradition with you. That's only fair, right?"

Pops said something unintelligible. He shook his head wildly.

Check out the big-time CEO now. He looked like a frightened old man. He'd probably pissed on himself. If he hadn't yet, he would soon.

Isaiah picked up his father's Rolex. He rubbed his thumb across the fine Oyster band and sapphire crystal face. His father wore this watch, a Yacht-Master model that listed for something like twenty grand, all the time. It was perfect for Isaiah's purposes.

This was going to become more fun very soon. He was just warming up.

Isaiah had abducted Pops. The vision in the mirror had told Gabriel as much, but he'd needed to go to the terrace to confirm with his real eyes his physical eyes-that it was true.

"Wasn't your father down here?" Dana asked. "Where'd he go?"

Gabriel didn't answer. He hurried to the far corner of the recreation room. A large closet was set in the wall, the double doors made of sturdy oak, a keyhole in the center. Gabriel dug out his key ring, found the right key, and jammed it into the slot.

"Damn it, Gabe," Dana said. "Tell me what's going on!"

"Isaiah was here. He took Pops" He pulled open the closet doors; they were so wide it was almost like opening a bank vault.

A tall gun cabinet stood within. Several rifles and shotguns gleamed darkly behind the tempered glass.

Dana looked from the firearms to Gabriel, shock and worry taking turns on her face. "How do you know? Did you see him?"

"I saw it in a mirror." He inserted another key into the gun-cabinet lock. "Isaiah was pulling him into a van. He's taking Pops to the cabin."

"How do you know that?"

Gabriel opened the cabinet doors. The bracing yet oddly comforting smell of well-oiled steel and gunpowder penetrated his nostrils. The guns, comprising his and his father's hunting collection, stood like soldiers at attention.

"I saw fishing poles and tackle boxes in the van," he said. "Isaiah knows Pops and I would normally have a Father's Day fishing trip, so he's taking him up there himself. He never got to go on a fishing trip with Pops, you know. That's how the crazy bastard thinks."

"So what're you doing?" she asked. "Don't tell me you're going after him."

"That's exactly what I'm doing. I promise you Isaiah isn't taking Pops there to drink beer and catch perch he's got something else in mind. I'm not gonna let it happen"

Gabriel selected a Mossberg 500, twelve-gauge, pumpaction shotgun outfitted with a scope and a nylon sling. He'd purchased the gun well, Pops had purchased it for him the previous year. The shotgun was ideal for hunting and home defense, and he was about to embark upon a little of both.

"Please, Gabe, don't go," Dana said. "I'll call the police."

Gabriel pulled open one of the cabinet's lower storage areas. Boxes of ammo lay inside. He ripped open a box of shot shells and began to load the gun.

"Don't call anyone," he said. "This is family business."

She crossed her arms over her bosom, shuddering. "Are you sure about this?"

"As sure as I've ever been sure of anything." He rose, touched her arm. "Dana, you've got to trust me on this. Okay?"

Trust. The same principle that, only a week ago, had knocked them flat on their backs and left their relationship in tatters.

Dana hesitated for a beat, gnawing her lip. Then she nodded.

"All right," she said. "I'm scared but I'm going to trust that you know what you're doing."

"Thank you" He turned back to the closet. A camouflage hunting vest hung on a hook beside the gun cabinet, along with a few jackets. Gabriel grabbed the vest and slipped it on. He loaded the front pockets with extra rounds of ammo.

Mom, trailed by Nicole, appeared at the rec room doorway.

"What's all this commotion?" Mom asked. "What are you doing with that gun?"

"I'm going to save Pops" He strapped the Mossberg by its sling over his shoulder. "I don't have time to explain everything else. Dana will fill you in."

As they gaped at him, Gabriel moved past them, and mounted the staircase. He halted on the steps, struck by an idea.

"Dana, can you give me your makeup compact, please?"

Dana gave him a puzzled look, but she rushed upstairs to get her purse. He followed her. She dug out the compact and handed it to him.

He snapped it open. He examined the small rectangular mirror.

He saw Isaiah behind the wheel of the van, eyes squinted in concentration as he navigated through the rain. Windshield wipers ticked back and forth. A dark curtain fluttered behind Isaiah, separating the cabin from the cargo space.

Gabriel was willing to bet that Pops was imprisoned on the floor behind that sheet. Pops might be safe, for the time being.

"How about your pepper spray, too?" Gabriel asked. A gift from Gabriel, Dana carried the weapon on her key ring. It could be useful in tight quarters.

Nodding, Dana removed the small canister of pepper spray from her key ring and handed it to him.

Gabriel stuffed the items in his vest pocket. He quickly kissed Dana, and then Nicole and Mom, ignoring their protests and pleadings.

"I promise, I'll bring back Pops," he said. "Alive"

He opened the front door and ran into the storm.

Chapter 54

7y son's gone crazy and it's my fault.

Theo lay on the floor, bound at the wrists and ankles. The ropes were so tight that, after a halfhearted effort to break free, he had given up. His hands and feet had grown as numb as bricks from his constricted blood flow.

Beneath him the cold floor thrummed; rain hammered the walls and ceiling. It was like being trapped in a tin drum; it was so loud he could scarcely hear himself breathe.

Fishing rods and the contents of a tackle box clinked and rustled around him. The sight of outdoor gear, and its promise of tranquil days spent on a sun-spangled mountain lake, usually had the unfailing ability to relax him. Now he viewed the stuff as potential torture equipment. The fishing line could be looped into a garrote around his neck; a hook, as Isaiah had already threatened, could be used to puncture his flesh; a casting rod could be used to beat him. There were dozens more painful uses for the implements, and Theo could not stop thinking about them.

And you deserve it, Theo. You deserve every lick of pain and suffering he gives you.

Theo could not argue with that soft voice; it was his conscience. The same conscience that, over the decades, had counseled him to do the right thing by his son.

He should have moved Isaiah and his mother out of their crime-ridden neighborhood and into a more peaceful community. He should have communicated with Isaiah on a regular basis, invited the boy to Atlanta during the summers and introduced him to a different side of life. He should have sent Isaiah to college, should've prepared a job for him in the company.

He knew he should have done those things. His conscience had told him so.

But he'd ignored the voice, as he ignored most advice when it was something he didn't want to hear. He'd been too concerned with what his colleagues might think. Worried about what people in church would whisper behind his back. Fearful of earning the scorn of his friends, and eavesdropping on conversations in which they would say, "Yeah, T.L. has a kid out of wedlock. Negro cheated on his wife, uh-huh. He's no different than any of the sorry brothers out there-he just looks better on the surface"

He'd hoped Isaiah would eventually go away. Even after the chaos of a week ago, during which he had foolishly opened up himself and the family to the boy, he had hoped that the madness at the hospital would be the end of it, that he'd never see Isaiah again.

Denial had protected him in the past, but it was, ultimately, merely a comforting fiction. Gabriel had warned him that Isaiah would return. Gabe had an unerring sense of what Isaiah would do.

He wondered if Gabriel realized Isaiah had abducted him.

He wondered if Gabriel would come to save him.

He wondered if, after all the wrongs he had done to his wife and children and so many others, he deserved to be saved.

Chapter 55

F lowing through the rain, Isaiah took I-285 North, looping around the northwest side of metro Atlanta, and connected with 1-75 North at the top of the Perimeter. 1-75 North would take him to 1-575, which turned into the Georgia Mountain Parkway. The Georgia Mountain Parkway would carry him into the Blue Ridge Mountains, where his father kept his cabin, and where they would get down to serious father-son business.

Isaiah had slipped the old picture of Mama and Pops out of his wallet. He imagined that Mama had to be proud of him just then. He had promised her he would get his father for how he'd treated them, and he was keeping his vow. If there was one thing Mama had always held sacred, it was the importance of being true to your word.

Don't be one of them sorry-ass Negroes, baby, promising folks the sky and the moon. Keep your word and God 71 keep you.

Admittedly, Isaiah hadn't been concerned much about God lately, but it seemed Mama was right. A week ago his plan appeared to have fallen apart. But he'd gotten away. He'd found a safe refuge. He'd pulled himself together.

And he'd gotten in his father's shit for real this time, no more fucking around with Gabriel. He despised the golden boy and had wanted to make his life miserable, but his real beef was with Pops, and he couldn't get sidetracked anymore.

Although the curtain hanging behind Isaiah's seat had made the rearview mirror useless, Isaiah glanced at it out of habit and almost swerved and hit a car in the next lane when he saw who was staring at him.

Gabriel.

The weird psychic connection of theirs that had been dormant for the past week had returned.

Gabriel was driving, too. Worry spun through Isaiah's mind. Was Gabriel following him? Did Gabriel know where he was going? How could he know?

Isaiah checked the side mirrors but he didn't see a Corvette the last vehicle he'd seen Gabriel driving-on his tail.

He returned his attention to the rearview. Gabriel looked upward, presumably into his own mirror, and spotted Isaiah. His eyes glared hatefully.

Isaiah flipped him the bird.

Gabriel looked away at something out of sight. A few seconds later he put a cell phone against his ear.

Isaiah's cell phone beeped. He answered it.

"I see you, little brother," Isaiah said. "I'd say you were ugly if we didn't look so much alike."

"You'd better not hurt Pops," Gabriel said. "If you lay a hand on him, I'll kill you"

"Pops and I have some personal business to discuss. It has nothing to do with you. Stay home with your girlfriend and mind your business."

In the mirror, Gabriel's jaws bulged with anger. "I'm warning you"

"You're warning me? What? You spoiled motherfucker . . ."

Isaiah veered off the highway onto the shoulder of the road, the tires spitting up gravel and mud. Holding his cell phone in one hand, he grabbed the rearview mirror with his other. He ripped the mirror away from its base, plastic snapping.

He flung aside the makeshift curtain. Pops lay on the floor, eyes panicked. Sweat glistened on his face.

Isaiah flipped open a tackle box. He removed a hook and a pair of pliers.

Pops watched him, terrified. Gabriel was shouting at him, tinny voice barking from the phone. His face swam crazily in the mirror.

Isaiah knelt over his father. Pops screamed against the tape gag, attempted to roll away. Isaiah braced him between his knees. He threw the cell on the floor nearby.

"I know you can see me," Isaiah shouted in the direction of the phone. "Watch this."

He yanked away the duct tape from his father's lips.

"Please," Pops said. "Don't hurt me, I'm sorry, please. .

He clamped the pliers over Pops's bottom lip. Pops emitted a distorted shriek, his tongue squirming like an earthworm, his teeth clacking together.

Peeling down Pops's lip, Isaiah sank the hook deep into the flesh, driving the metal all the way through until the tip broke the skin on the other side.

Pops was screaming, beating his legs against the floor. Warm blood flowed.

Carefully-almost tenderly-Isaiah taped his lips shut again.

Pops's eyes had rolled back to reveal the whites. A pinkish mixture of saliva and blood dripped from the edges of the duct tape.

Isaiah looked in the rearview mirror. The color appeared to have drained from Gabriel's face, and he had fallen quiet.

Isaiah picked up the phone.

"Warn me again, all right?" Isaiah said. "Go ahead. I'm listening."

Gabriel was silent.

"That's what I thought," Isaiah said. "Stay the fuck out of my business. And you better not call the cops. If I so much as smell a cop on my ass, Pops is gonna be cruisin' in that big Cadillac in the sky. Hear me?"