Mortal Fear

CHAPTER 17

“Mr. Diaz,” Shirley said.

“Yes,” Juan answered without taking his eyes off Jason.

“Don’t shoot him unless he forces you to. It will be better to deal with him the way we did with Mr. Hayes. I’ll bring you the material from the clinic tomorrow.”

Jason breathed out. He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath.

The smile vanished from Juan’s face. His nostrils flared; he was disappointed and angry. “I think it would be much safer if I killed him right now, Miss Montgomery.”

“I don’t care what you think — and I’m paying you. Now let’s get him into the cellar. And no rough stuff — I know what I’m doing.”

Juan moved the pistol so the cold metal touched Jason’s temple. Jason knew the man was hoping for the slightest excuse to shoot; he remained perfectly still, petrified by fear.

“Come on!” called Shirley from the front hall.

“Go!” said Juan, pulling the gun back from Jason’s head.

Jason walked stiffly, his arms pressed against his sides. Juan fell in behind, occasionally touching Jason’s back with the gun.

Shirley opened a door under the staircase across from the front entrance. Jason could see a flight of steps leading to the basement.

As Jason approached, he tried to catch Shirley’s eye, but she turned away. He stepped through the door and started down, Juan directly behind him.

“Doctors amaze me,” said Shirley, turning on the cellar light and closing the door behind her. “They think medicine is just a question of helping the sick. The truth is unless something is done about the chronically unhealthy, there won’t be money or manpower to help those who can actually recover.”

Looking at her calm, pretty face, the perfect clothes, Jason couldn’t believe it was the same woman he’d always admired.

She interrupted herself to direct Juan down a long narrow hallway to a heavy oak door. Squeezing by Juan and Jason, she unlocked it and flicked on the light, illuminating a large square room. Jason was pushed inside, where he saw an open doorway to the left, a workbench, and another heavy closed door to the right. Then the light went out, the door slammed, and total darkness surrounded him.

For a few minutes, Jason stood still, immobilized by shock and lack of vision. He could hear small sounds; water coursing through pipes, the heating system kicking on, and footsteps above his head. The darkness remained absolute: he could not even tell if his eyes were open or closed.

When Jason was finally able to move, he stepped back to the door through which he’d entered. He grabbed the door knob and tried to turn it. He pulled on the door. There was no doubt it was secure. Running his hands around the jamb, he felt for hinges. He gave that up when he remembered the door opened into the hall.

Leaving the door, Jason worked his way laterally, taking baby steps and gingerly sliding his hands along the wall. He came to the corner and turned ninety degrees. He continued moving step by miniature step until he felt the doorway of the open door. Carefully reaching inside, he felt for a wall switch. On the left side, about chest height, he found one. He threw the switch. Nothing happened.

Advancing into the side room, he began to feel the walls, trying to ascertain the dimensions. His fingers hit on a metal object on the wall whose front was glass. Feeling down at waist height he touched a sink. Over to the right was a toilet. The room was only about five by seven.

Returning to the main room, Jason continued his slow circuit. He encountered a second small room with a closed door just beyond the bathroom. When he opened the door, his nose told him it was a cedar closet. Inside he felt several garment bags filled with clothes.

Back in the main room, Jason came to another comer, and he turned again. Within a dozen small steps, he gently hit against the workbench, which stuck out about three feet into the room. Skirting the end of the bench, he felt beneath it, finding cabinets. The workbench, he estimated, was about ten to fifteen feet long. Beyond the workbench, he returned to the wall, encountering shelving with what felt like paint cans. Beyond the shelving was another corner.

In the middle of the fourth wall, Jason came to another heavy door that was tightly closed and secured. He could feel a lock, but it needed a key. There were no hinges. Continuing his circuit, Jason came to the fourth corner. After a few minutes, he was back at the entrance.

Getting down on his hands and knees, Jason felt the floor. It was poured concrete. Standing up again, he tried to think of what else he could do. He had no good ideas. Suddenly, he felt an overwhelming sense of mortal fear like he was being smothered. He’d never suffered from claustrophobia, but it descended on him with crushing severity. “HELP!” he shouted, only to have his voice echo back to his ears. Losing control, he groped madly for the entrance door and pounded on it with closed fists. “PLEASE!” he shouted. He pounded until he became aware of pain in his hands. He stopped abruptly with a wince and clutched his bruised hands to his chest. Leaning forward, Jason touched the door with his forehead. Then the tears came.

Jason could not remember crying since he’d been a child. Even after Danielle’s death. And all those years of denying that emotion came out as he crouched in the blackness of Shirley’s basement. He lost complete control and slowly sank to the floor, where he curled up in front of the door like an imprisoned dog, choking on his own tears.

The ferocity of Jason’s emotional reaction surprised him. And after ten minutes of sobbing, he began to regain his composure. He was embarrassed at himself, having always believed he had more self-control. Finally, he sat up with his back against the door. In the darkness, he wiped his tears from his damp cheeks.

Instead of surrendering to utter despair, he thought about the room he was in. He tried to guess the dimensions and picture the location of things he’d encountered on his exploratory circuit. He began to wonder if there were any other light switches. Getting to his feet, he slowly returned to the second locked door that was to his right. When he got there, he felt along the walls on both sides, but there was no light switch.

Striking out across the room, he returned to the bathroom. He tried the switch in there several more times. Then he felt for the fixture, thinking he could exchange the bulb provided he could locate the lights in the ceiling of the main room. But there was no fixture, either as part of the medicine cabinet or as part of the ceiling. Discouraged, Jason returned to the large room.

“Ahhh!” cried Jason, as he walked directly into a lolly column, hitting his nose against the six-inch diameter metal surface. Momentarily off balance, he felt his nose already beginning to swell. There was a bony ridge along the right side: he’d broken it. Once more, tears involuntarily filled his eyes, but this time it was from reflex, not emotion. When he recovered enough to proceed, Jason had become disoriented. Reverting to baby steps, he moved until he encountered a wall. Only then was he able to find the workbench.

Bending down, Jason began opening the cabinets, then carefully exploring each with his hands. Each cabinet was about four feet wide and contained a single removable shelf. He found more cans of what he thought was paint, but no tools whatsoever. Standing up, Jason leaned over the workbench and felt the wall above it. There was some narrow shelving to the right with small jars and boxes. Moving to the central part, Jason felt the wall again, hoping to encounter a pegboard or the like with screwdrivers, hammers and chisels. Instead, his hand encountered a glass bowl facing away from him. Curious as to what it was, Jason felt around it, ascertaining that the glass bowl was secured to a metal box. Pipes entered the metal box. Jason realized it was the electric meter.

Moving down to the left end of the workbench, Jason again felt the wall. There was more shelving containing plastic and ceramic flower pots, but there were no tools.

Discouraged, Jason wondered what else he could do. He thought about finding something to stand on so that he could explore the walls close to the ceiling in case there was a blacked-out window. Then his mind went back to the electric meter. Climbing up on the workbench, he located the meter and traced the wires to a second rectangular metal box. Feeling the surface, Jason immediately encountered a hinged metal ring. Giving it a slight tug, Jason opened the box.

Inside was the service panel for the house. Slowly he reached inside, hoping he was not about to touch a live wire. Instead, his fingers touched the low row of circuit breaker switches.

For the next five minutes Jason thought about how to make use of his discovery. Getting off the bench, he opened the door to the cabinet underneath and removed its contents, storing the cans in the two side cabinets. Then he removed the single shelf, which luckily was not nailed down, and climbed in. He had plenty of room.

He got out, climbed back on the workbench and, one by one, threw all the circuit breakers. Then he closed the service panel, scrambled into the empty cabinet, pulled the door shut behind him, and prayed. If they’d already gone to bed, the lack of power wouldn’t bother them.

After what Jason guessed was another five minutes, he heard a door opening. Then he heard voices, and through a crack in the cabinet door saw a line of flickering light. Then there was the sound of a key in the entrance door and it swung open. His eye to the crack, he could plainly see two figures. One was holding a flashlight which slowly swung around the room.

“He’s hiding,” said Juan.

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” said Shirley with irritation.

“Where is your fuse box?” asked Juan.

The flashlight swung around above the workbench.

“You stay here,” said Juan. He started into the room, coming between Jason and the light which Shirley must have been holding. Jason suspected Juan’s hands were busy with his gun.

Jason leaned against the back wall of the cabinet and lifted his feet. As soon as he heard the circuit breakers being turned back on, Jason kicked the cabinet doors with all the force and power his runner’s legs could muster. The doors caught Juan Diaz entirely by surprise, hitting him in the groin. He gasped with pain and staggered back against the cedar closet.

Jason lost no time. He crawled out and raced across the room, catching the door before Shirley had a chance to close it. He hit it with full force, running directly into Shirley and knocking the two of them onto the floor. Shirley cried as her head hit the concrete. The flashlight rolled out of her hand.

Scrambling to his feet, Jason raced down the hallway toward the stairs, thankful that this area of the house again had lights. He grabbed the banister and used it to catapult himself up the first steps. That was when he heard the dull pop. Simultaneously he felt a pain in his thigh and his right leg crumbled beneath him. Pulling himself upright, he hopped up the rest of the stairs. He was almost at the foyer; he could not give up.

His right leg dragging, Jason struggled over to the front door. Below, he heard someone start up the stairs.

The dead bolt opened and Jason stumbled out into the raw November night. He knew he’d been shot. He could feel the blood from his bullet wound running down his leg into his shoe.

Jason only got as far as the center of the driveway when Juan caught up to him and knocked him to the cobblestones with the butt of his pistol. Jason fell to his hands and knees. Before he could rise, Juan kicked him over onto his back. Once again, the pistol was pointed directly at Jason’s head.

Suddenly, both men were bathed in brilliant light. Keeping the gun on Jason, Juan tried to shield his eyes from the glare of two high-beam headlights. A second later, there was the sound of car doors opening, followed by the ominous sound of shotguns being cocked. Juan backed up several steps like a cornered animal.

“Hold it, Diaz,” called a voice unfamiliar to Jason. It was thick with a South Boston accent. “Don’t do anything stupid. We don’t want trouble with you or Miami. All we want you to do is walk to your car nice and easy and leave. Can you do that?”

Juan nodded. His left hand was still vainly trying to shield his eyes from the light.

“Then do it!” commanded the voice.

After taking two or three uncertain steps backward, Juan turned and fled to his car. He started the engine, gunned it, then roared out of the driveway.

Jason rolled onto his stomach. As soon as Juan left, Carol Donner ran out of the circle of light and dropped to her knees in front of him.

“My God, you’re hurt!” A large bloodstain had formed on Jason’s thigh.

“I suppose,” said Jason vaguely. Too much had happened too quickly. “But it doesn’t hurt too much,” he added.

Another figure emerged from the glare; Bruno came up hefting a pump-action Winchester shotgun.

“Oh, no!” said Jason, trying to sit up.

“Don’t worry,” said Carol. “He knows you’re a friend now.”

At that moment, Shirley appeared on her front porch. Her clothing was disheveled and her hair spiked up like a punk rocker. For a second, she took in the scene. Then she stepped back and slammed the door. Locks were heard being engaged.

“We have to get him to a hospital,” said Carol, pointing to Jason.

A second body-builder appeared. Gingerly they picked Jason up.

“I don’t believe this,” said Jason.

Jason found himself carried behind the glare of the lights. The vehicle turned out to be a white stretch Lincoln with a “V”-shaped TV antenna on the rear deck. The two muscle men eased Jason into the back seat where a man with dark glasses, slicked-back hair, and an unlit cigar was waiting. It was Arthur Koehler, Carol’s boss. Carol jumped in after Jason and introduced him to Arthur. The muscle men got in the front seat and started the limo.

“Am I glad to see you two,” said Jason. “But what in God’s name brought you here?” Jason winced as the car bumped out of the driveway.

“Your voice,” explained Carol. “That last time you called, I knew you were in trouble again.”

“But how did you know I was here in Brookline?”

“Bruno followed you,” said Carol. “After you called, I called my lovable boss here.” Carol slapped Arthur’s leg.

Arthur said, “Cut it out!” It had been his voice that had terrified Juan Diaz.

“I asked Arthur if he would protect you and he said he would under one condition. I have to dance for at least another two months or until he finds a replacement.”

“Yeah, but she got me down to one month,” complained Arthur.

“I’m very grateful,” said Jason. “Are you really going to stop dancing, Carol?”

“She’s a goddamn brat,” said Arthur.

“I’m amazed,” said Jason. “I didn’t think girls like you could stop whenever you wanted.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Carol indignantly.

“I’ll tell you what he means,” laughed Arthur, reaching forward and returning Carol’s slap on the thigh. “He thinks you’re a goddamn hooker.” Arthur collapsed into paroxysms of laughter that changed to coughing. Carol had to pound him on the back several times before he got control of himself. “I used to have more fits like that when I lit these things,” said Arthur, holding up his cigar. Then he looked at Jason in the half-light of the car. “You think I would have let her go to Seattle if she were a prostitute? Be reasonable, man.”

“I’m sorry,” Jason said. “I just thought…”

“You thought because I was dancing at the club I was a hooker,” said Carol with somewhat less indignation. “Well, I suppose that’s not entirely unfair. A couple of them are. But most aren’t. For me, it was a great opportunity. My family name isn’t Donner. It’s Kikonen. We’re Finnish and we’ve always had a healthier attitude to nudity than you Americans.”

“And she’s my wife’s sister’s kid,” said Arthur. “So I gave her a job.”

“You two are related?” asked Jason, amazed.

“We don’t like to admit it,” said Arthur, starting to laugh again.

“Come on,” Carol said.

But Arthur continued, saying, “We hate the idea of any of our people going to Harvard. It hurts our image.”

“You’re going to Harvard?” asked Jason, turning to Carol.

“For my doctorate. The dancing covers my tuition.”

“I guess I should have known Alvin would never have lived with your average exotic dancer,” said Jason. “In any case, I’m grateful to you both. God knows what would have happened if you hadn’t come along. I know the police will take care of Shirley Montgomery, but I wish you hadn’t let Juan go.”

“Don’t worry,” said Arthur with a wave of his cigar. “Carol told me what happened in Seattle. He won’t be around for long. But I don’t want trouble with my people in Miami. We’ll deal with Juan through channels or I can give you enough information for the Miami police to pick him up. They’ll have enough stuff on him down there to put him away. Believe me.”

Jason looked at Carol. “I don’t know how I can make it up to you.”

“I have a few ideas,” she said brightly:

Arthur had another laughing fit. When he was finally under control, Bruno lowered the glass to the front compartment.

“Hey, pervert,” he called with a chuckle. “Where do you want us to take you? GHP emergency?”

“Hell, no,” said Jason. “For the moment, I’m a little down on prepaid health care. Take me to Mass General.”