Sin City Homicide

26

Stanton hid the slack of the rope underneath his legs. He leaned his head back against the wall to make himself appear weak. The footsteps descended, and he heard a key insert into the lock and twist. Then the door opened.

The man was dressed in jeans and a green jacket. A ski mask covered his face. He was wearing gloves and thick boots. His neck was covered. Stanton knew instantly that this man wasn’t an amateur. He had hidden everything that could’ve indicated his ethnicity. The only thing he couldn’t cover was his eyes, which were dark brown.

The man stood in front of Stanton, staring at him. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a large hunting knife, the type used to gut a deer. Stanton’s heart raced, but he was practiced at hiding his reactions. The man began pacing slowly around the room, his hands behind him. He was tapping the knife gently against a watch, making a metallic clink. His head was down as he paced.

Stanton could see the hesitation in his body language. The nervous tapping, the pacing… he had come down there certain of his choice, but seeing Stanton had changed something. The future was no longer definite. Stanton knew he had only a few moments before the man made up his mind again.

“I was being followed,” Stanton said. The clinking stopped, and the man turned to him. “There was a white van. It was in a classic tailing pattern called the Three-Hook Pattern. There are three cars, one far enough away from the mark that he can still see him without the mark noticing. Then you have a second car behind the first, far away, but close enough to see him. Then you have a third car trailing the other two. The mark can only see the first car, so you switch which car is the first car at regular intervals. They were in a five-minute pattern with me. White van, brown Chrysler, and a black SUV. The Three-Hook is usually used by law enforcement. They were tailing me.”

Stanton saw the man’s chest heaving just a bit more. He was either nervous or building up courage.

“They’ll find me here, eventually. Dead cop will bring the entire force down on this case. Maybe they’ll bring in the feds, too. If I’m alive, it’ll be a kidnapping case. It won’t even go to Robbery-Homicide, where the top detectives are. If you’re playing the numbers, you have the highest probability of getting away with it if I’m alive.”

The man didn’t move, then the knife came out again. He held it up near his face and ran his finger along the edge before he spun around and walked back through the open door. As he heard the door lock, Stanton exhaled loudly. He began to loosen the ropes around his ankles, then he lifted himself onto his hands and into an upright squat. His hands were still bound, but his feet were free.

The cabinet was about twenty feet away. He took one step then paused. Another step then paused. He made his way over to the cabinet and stuck his finger between the doors, opening them only a few centimeters at a time to ensure they wouldn’t creak.

On the bottom shelf, he found coiled cable wire, a pair of pliers, and work gloves. The middle shelves were empty, and the top shelves held screws, nails, a glue gun, and a few other tools. He took the pliers and spun them around so they were facing downward. The cuffs had a little hinge that held the locks in place. He tried putting the pliers’ teeth around the hinge to snap it, but he couldn’t get a good grip. Instead, he sat down and pulled his wrists under his legs, bringing his hands to the front. After cutting his restraints, he put the pliers back and walked up the stairs to the door. The lock was a simple doorknob. This wasn’t a dungeon or part of a premeditated plan. This was a basement, and he’d been brought here on a whim.

Stanton went back to the cabinet and sifting through the nails. He found one that was long and slim like a paperclip. He took it back to the door at the top of the stairs and placed his ear on the frame. The other side was quiet. He didn’t hear footsteps or voices. Gently, he placed the tip of the nail into the lock and pushed.

A little at a time, the nail went in until it hit the metal cylinder and the lock button. There was a click as it unlocked. Stanton didn’t open it right away. Once more, he looked around the basement for a makeshift weapon. He went back to the cabinet, took a six-inch Phillips head screwdriver, and held it against his wrist, concealing it. He went back to the door and opened it.

Roughly twelve more stairs led up to the second floor. He slipped off his shoes and climbed each one as lightly as possible, his eyes fixed above him. If his captor returned with a gun, Stanton would be an immobile target on a downhill slope. He would be dead.

The edges of the stairs nearest the wall were the least likely locations to develop creaks, and he placed his feet there. He was halfway up the stairs when he heard a door slam. His heart jumped into his throat, and he gripped the screwdriver tighter. He could climb the rest of the stairs in maybe three seconds. If he surprised the man, even a little, Stanton might make it up there.

A car roared to life as a garage door opened. The engine noise faded then disappeared as the garage door closed again. Stanton quickly climbed the rest of the stairs. Without searching the home, he found the nearest exit-the front door. He hurried over and unlocked it, glancing back once as he walked out into the darkness of the night.