To Part 24
Back to Story Menu
Peter's face paled slightly as he hastened to his desk and sat down. Glancing up at the clock on the wall, he saw that it was nearly five p.m. His hand shook as he clicked the mouse to check his inbox.
I'M READY TO PLAY. YOU READY TO HEAR THE RULES? GO TO URL: www.geouniversecatchmeifyoucan.com
"Cute. Very cute," Kermit sneered. "I can't wait to meet you in person. I'm gonna love introducing myself to you."
Peter's monitor lit up, and after a few fuzzy moments, the familiar ski-masked face appeared again and the garbled voice grated against Peter's ears.
"Detective Caine, thought you might have cleaned up by now. You look like hell."
Peter reached for the pack of cigarettes on his desk and tapped one out. "So when does the game start?"
"Patience was never your virtue, was it, Detective Caine? All in good time." Ski Mask held a tawse with a wooden handle that had leather straps split into strips at one end. Rubbing the handle under his chin, he lovingly fingered the straps. "You ever use one of these, Detective?"
Inhaling deeply from his cigarette, Peter blew out the smoke leisurely and rested his chin in his hands. "I've seen 'em."
"No, Detective. I asked if you have ever USED one of these."
Reddening in embarrassment and barely controlled anger, Peter bit out, "No."
"You should try it sometime. There are so many…creative things…one can do with something like this."
Peter didn't respond, but sat quietly waiting and taking nervous, jerky puffs at the cigarette that he held with shaking fingers.
"You're awfully quiet this afternoon. Long day at work?" Black-gloved fingers braided and unbraided the leather strips.
"You might say that. I hate to bother you, but you wouldn't happen to know if my wife's headache has gotten any better?"
"Everything always goes back to her, doesn't it? Why is that, Detective? I'm curious here. What is so special about her?"
"Everything."
Ski Mask snorted. "Stop it. You're making me sick." Brief laughter. "Is Kermit having fun trying to trace me? Hard to believe that technology these days anywhere in the world can be as backward as it is in the Ukraine, isn't it?" The fingers kept braiding and unbraiding the thongs.
Peter studied the figure. The pupils of the black eyes were dilated nearly to the edges of the irises, and the breathing was so rapid, Ski Mask sounded as if he had just finished running several flights of stairs. Peter thought he could detect the hands trembling, but couldn't be sure if it was his imagination. He kept on smoking, hoping he could maintain the calm facade.
"How come you're so quiet today, Detective? What? You and your exclusive little club suddenly find you're not as smart as you thought you were?"
Kermit's flying fingers halted in mid-strike as the comment briefly snagged his attention. {Why did that sound so familiar?}
"Yeah, well, I guess we all have our off days." Peter crushed out his half-smoked cigarette and promptly lit up another.
The gloved fingers mechanically and meaninglessly worked the leather straps. "How come you haven't asked to see your wife yet? I thought she was so special?"
Flicking ashes in the ashtray, he returned the cigarette to his mouth. "OK. May I see my wife, please?"
"I'll see if she's receiving visitors this afternoon." Ski Mask flipped the switch on a box near the computer and arose, moving off screen.
Peter squeezed the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes against the throbbing at his temples. "Tell me something, Kermit. I don't care what it is, but tell me something."
"Wish I could, Kid. I've tracked them right back to the Ukraine." Kermit grunted. "We can only hope that Rykker and his…"
"Rykker?" Peter sat up straight and asked incredulously, "Rykker is involved?"
"Oh, yeah-h-h. You'd be surprised at who all is working on this case, Peter." Griffin focused back on his keyboard.
Peter's head jerked back to his computer, and he froze in place with the cigarette dangling from his mouth as he intently watched his monitor.
Ski Mask was prodding Kacie along with the leather tawse. His wife's wrists were tied together in front of her, but her feet and legs were free. She was shoved roughly into the seat in front of the computer. Her face was nearly colorless, and the dark circles under her eyes gave her the look of a starving child.
She looked at Peter's face on the screen, and with a flicker of her usual spirit, scolded in a voice that broke frequently, "I leave you on your own for one day and you start sticking those filthy things in your mouth?"
Tears sprang to Peter's eyes. "I promise to quit when you come home."
Answering tears swam in the bright blue eyes. "Damn right you will." She blinked once and two tears fell. "I love you."
"I love you, too, Hon." He scanned her face anxiously. "Are-are you all right?"
"As all right as we can be without you." She attempted to joke. "You trying to grow a beard? You know how I hate whisker burn, PC."
"I'll lose the beard when-when you come home, too." He opened his mouth to say more, but Kacie was abruptly yanked aside before he could speak to her again.
"Time's up."
Peter jerked in his chair and stared at the temporarily blank screen. Ski Mask had forgotten to switch the voice scrambler back on after Kacie was pulled away. The voice was female, and vaguely familiar. {I know that voice, but from where?}
The camera hadn't moved, but voices could still be heard. "You stay put and keep your mouth shut, or I'll truss you up like before."
The figure in black reappeared in the monitor, idly flicking the leather straps into the palm of one gloved hand and pulling them through her fingers. "Are you ready to discuss game rules?"
{I know that voice!} Peter's mind was working feverishly. "I'm ready to play, and when I do, my wife is returned unharmed, right?" He lifted the cigarette to his mouth and drew in the smoke.
"She'll eventually be returned."
Peter stiffened in alarm. "You said you wanted me. Let her go. She's not a part of this."
"You trying to tell me what to do again?" The tawse began to slap into her palm more forcefully.
"Look, I'm yours, any time, anywhere. Name the place and I'll be there, but let her go."
"I told you that I would decide. Stop telling me what to do!" The whip cracked harder in the palm.
Peter felt his scalp begin to crawl. "Take it easy. Take it easy. I'm just worried about my wife. I don't want to see her hurt."
"You don't want to see her hurt, huh? It's always about her, isn't it? It's always about her!" The dark eyes bulged and the voice grew shrill. "I am sick of everybody always being so worried about HER!"
The woman in black suddenly began twitching uncontrollably and her lips curled back in a snarl. Rising to her feet, she kicked over her chair and moved out of camera range, where her voice could be heard howling with rage, "Why is it always about YOU?"
Peter could only sit and listen as something whistled through the air and a woman screamed in pain. He flinched, gasping himself each of the next three times the sounds were repeated. The camera abruptly tilted and landed with a thump, causing the picture to jar out of focus.