Busted Flush

The man turned on the kitchen light. He was old and had more hair in his bushy beard than on his head. He set the flashlight down on the kitchen counter. “Well, son, you can get food at a restaurant or a supermarket. My house isn’t either one.” He kept the gun leveled at Drake.

“I didn’t mean anything. Just let me go and you’ll never see me again.” Drake pointed at the food he’d left on the floor. “Want me to put it away for you?”

The old man shook his head. “You go sit over there.” He nodded toward the breakfast table.

Drake did as he was told.

“I’ll get the county sheriff out here. He’ll give you something to eat. And plenty more besides.” The old man moved to the doorway Drake had come in through and picked up the phone from a handset mounted on the wall.

“Please.” Drake started to feel . . . wrong. He tried to control his fear, push it deep down into his gut. It was going to happen again and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Put down the phone, or I’ll blow your head off.” Drake recognized Niobe’s voice. His panic went away. “Get down on your knees and set the gun down behind you,” she said.

Drake saw that Niobe had only a piece of pipe in her hand, pressed against the back of the old man’s head. If the man turned around it was game over. But he didn’t. He knelt and set the shotgun down.

“Find something to blindfold and tie him up with,” Niobe said, then mouthed “no names.” Drake understood.

Minutes later the man was bound and his eyes covered with a bandana.

“I’m cooperating,” the old guy said shakily. “No need to do anything stupid.”

They carried him into the next room, out of easy earshot.

It was a bedroom. Niobe took care not to brush the man with her tail, and to keep it hidden behind her back in case he could peek under the bandana, while she and Drake half lifted, half pushed him onto the bed. Mostly they pushed; Drake was too short and too weak, and her bad ankle wouldn’t let her take most of the weight.

Drake panted quite a bit from the exertion. The kid needed to eat some vegetables.

The exertion worsened the throbbing in her ankle. She whispered in Drake’s ear. “Check the bathroom. Try to find some painkillers. Aspirin, ibuprofen, whatever,” she said. “But leave any prescription bottles alone.”

He went. Niobe stayed behind, keeping an eye on their prisoner. Thanks to Drake the Feds would have a new lead on their location as soon as this man freed himself.

They needed help. She considered propositioning the man. It would obliterate their attempts at anonymity, but with luck her children could more than make up for that.

And then she realized she was thinking like Pendergast. Children as tools, means to an end. Never. Never.

Then again, Drake didn’t have a chance if she didn’t have another clutch soon.

She argued with herself, hating herself from both sides, until she noticed the computer on the desk in the corner. A beige box and a small monitor, with little brown smudges on the mouse and keyboard from years of use.

“Do you have an Internet connection here?”

The man on the bed was silent for several moments. He realized she was talking to him. “What?”

“Does your computer have Internet?”

“Now why the hell would I want that?”

Niobe slumped against the wall. For a moment, the briefest of moments, it had felt like they actually had hope. With an Internet connection, she could have sent a message to Michelle, could have begged her for help.

She roused herself, fearing what it would do to Drake if he witnessed her despair. She went through the closet. This, more than anything else, made her feel like a true burglar. But until Niobe had another clutch, they needed better disguises.

The man on the bed heard her rummaging through his things. “Take anything,” he said. “Just don’t kill me.”

Niobe said, “We won’t hurt you. I promise.” She rummaged through the closet. “We’re not here for your money or valuables, either.”

She found a skirt that fit. It was sized for a full-figured woman, which was perfect for hiding Niobe’s tail. She wondered where the man’s wife was. Then she saw the jewelery atop the dresser, one gold band and one diamond ring, next to a wedding photo of a smiling couple. The groom was a younger version of the man trussed up on the bed; the bride was a zaftig brunette. One corner of the photo was draped with a black velvet band.

“I’m truly sorry for your loss,” said Niobe.

“Gather up whatever food you want to take and put it in a garbage bag, then wipe down everything else you touched with this.” Niobe gave him a handkerchief. “Hurry.”

Drake quickly grabbed bread, cold cuts, cheese, some bananas, and a few other items like matches and the flashlight. After putting his loot into the bag, he dutifully wiped down the fridge door and chair for prints.

Niobe gave him a stern look and jerked her head toward the back door.

“What in the world did you do that for?” she asked, once they were safely outside. She was limping noticeably.