Think Twice

The old woman turned the screen toward him, so Myron could see. There, on FaceTime or whatever video app she was using, was Dad’s new pickleball/trivia pal, Allen Castner.

“Hey, Myron!”

Myron just sat there. He felt a rushing in his ears.

Allen Castner moved his face very close to the screen. He had AirPods in his ears. “Your father invited me over after our pickleball outing for a little pinochle. He’s just in the bathroom, taking a piss. Something’s up with his prostate. It’s like the fourth time he’s been in there.”

Myron swallowed. “What the hell is going on?”

“Oh, I think you know, Myron.”

The screen jerked as though Allen Castner had dropped the phone. When it came back into view again, he was holding a Beretta M9A3 with a silencer screwed on the end of the barrel.

“Talk to us, Myron.”

It was Ellen who said that. He understood, of course, that it wasn’t her real name. And that this guy’s name wasn’t really Allen. They’d used his parents’ names to mess with his head. Like he needed that.

“By the way,” the old woman said, “Allen is wearing headphones.”

“Ear pods,” Allen said, correcting her.

“I stand corrected, ear pods, thank you. The point is, Allen can hear you. Your father won’t be able to.”

And then Myron heard his father’s voice. “Who are you talking to?”

Allen Castner said, “Sit down here, Al.”

“What the hell? Is that a gun?”

“Dad!”

“Don’t shout,” Ellen said. “Your receptionist will hear and that will be a problem. Where is Bo Storm?”

Myron’s eyes were glued to the screen, to his father. “I told you. I don’t—”

And then, on the screen, Myron saw Allen Castner whip his father in the face with the gun. His father grunted in pain and fell back.

“Dad!”

“I told you,” the old woman said in a calm, almost soothing voice. “He can’t hear you.”

Myron’s father crumpled to the floor, his hands covering his face. Blood seeped through his fingers. Myron looked across at the old woman. She just smiled.

“I asked you, didn’t I? I asked you nicely.”

Myron almost jumped across the desk — almost throttled her right then and there. Forget that she was an old woman. Damn the consequences.

But she just gave him a simple shake of her head.

“That would be Daddy’s death warrant.”

On the screen, Myron heard his father moan.

“Tell us where Bo Storm is,” the old woman said.

“He’s in Montana.”

Myron could hear the panic in his own voice.

“That much we know already. Where in Montana? Be very specific.”

Through the phone, Myron’s father stubbornly shouted, “You bastard! You broke my nose!”

Ellen met Myron’s eyes. Myron tried to regain some kind of leverage here or at least slow things down a beat, give everyone a chance to breathe. “Let’s just talk about this a second.”

Ellen sighed and leaned forward closer to the phone’s speaker. “Allen?”

“Yes, Ellen.”

“Shoot him in the head and wait for the mother to come home.”

“No!” Myron shouted.

“Just do it, Allen.”

Then Allen Castner said, “Ellen, turn off the video.”

The old woman hesitated a moment before pulling her hand back across the desk, taking the phone off speaker mode, removing one earring, and putting the phone up to that ear so Myron couldn’t hear. She listened a moment, nodded, and said, “Understood.”

Then she disconnected the call.

“What happened?” Myron asked.

He could still hear the panic in his own voice.

“We sit and wait.”

“For?”

“It won’t take long.”

The hell with that. Myron took out his own phone.

“Put it down,” she said. “If you contact anyone...” The old woman shook her head. “Do I really have to make the threat? I thought you’d be smarter than that.”

Myron’s leg started shaking. “I don’t know who you are,” he said, “but if anything happens to my father—”

“Wait, let me guess.” She stroked her chin. “You’ll go to the ends of the earth to find me and make me pay. Please. Look at me, Myron. Do you think this is the first time I’ve done this? Do you really think I don’t have all the bases covered?”

Myron had never felt so helpless in his entire life. “So what do we do now?”

“We wait.”

“For?”

“For as long as it takes.”

“Don’t hurt him. Please. I’ll tell you—”

She put her index finger to her lip. “Shh.”

They sat there. Myron had never imagined time could move so slowly.

“This would have been easier if you’d just cooperated.”

“What does that mean? What’s going on right now?”

Her phone finally buzzed. She picked it up. “Hello?” She listened for a moment and then said, “Okay.” She hung up and put the phone back in her purse. Using both hands for leverage, the old woman pushed herself into a standing position.

“I’m leaving now.”

“What’s going on? Is my father okay?”

“If I don’t get down to my car in the next ten minutes, it will get worse for you. Much worse. Sit there. Don’t move. Don’t call anyone. Ten minutes.”

And then she was gone.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Myron hit full panic mode.

He called his father’s phone. No answer. He called his mother’s. No answer.