Page 77 of The Night Belongs To Fireman

Fred’s mind raced, trying to figure out where this man could have seen him and Rachel together. “You’ve got it all wrong, dude. I’m working for her, that’s all.”

They’d only gone out that one wild night, and to Cindy’s wedding; other than that they’d only been to the Refuge and … no. The Refuge?

“Wait … you work for her too, don’t you?”

Shocked silence followed. Fred braced himself for some kind of retribution, but instead he heard a long expulsion of breath. “It’s okay,” the guy muttered to himself. “It’s just a lucky guess. He hasn’t seen my face. He’s still blindfolded.”

The guy was rattled. Fred decided to take advantage. “Look, dude, I’m not out to cause trouble. Like I said, I’m just working for Rachel, so maybe we can help each other out here. Rachel’s probably already gone to the cops, or maybe Mr. Kessler has.”

“They won’t do that. We already left messages for both Mr. Kessler and Rachel. One of them should be calling any minute now. They’re probably trying to figure a way out of this, but there is no other way. Not if they give a flying fuck about you.”

Fred jumped on that. “That, my friend, is a big fucking ‘if’ you have there. I’m just an employee. I knew the risks of taking on the job. If you think Kessler’s going to pay some sort of ransom for me, you might want to come up with a backup plan. I’d like to think I matter to them, but I sure wouldn’t count on it. Like you said, I’m a plain old fireman. Just a working guy. No one will be coughing up any millions to get me back.” Since he believed this to be completely true, his voice rang with sincerity.

“This isn’t about money, fool. That, right there, is what’s wrong with the world today. Doesn’t anyone care about what matters anymore?”

The man—Fred had no doubt now that he was on the young side—was circling around the room. It must be a smallish space, because it didn’t take him long to return to where he’d started. The sudden blare of a woman’s voice made him jump. The television.

Some reality show was playing. Why did he want to watch TV at a time like this? Fred wondered if he had some sort of mental disorder. In fact, he was pretty much convinced of it. Hopefully he wouldn’t go into any kind of psychotic meltdown. Fred twisted his wrists back and forth, as he’d been doing for a while, as surreptitiously as he could manage. He couldn’t see his kidnapper, but his kidnapper could see him, and that was an unsettling imbalance.

The guy strode toward the TV and began quickly skimming from one channel to another. Fred took advantage and began working his wrist bindings even harder. If he could loosen them enough, he could probably slide them off.

“Fuck it,” the guy fumed from near the television set. “She hasn’t done it yet. How long could it take?”

“Hasn’t done what? Maybe if you explain what you’re after, I can help.”

“It shouldn’t be that hard. She’s Rachel Kessler. Protector of freaking animals. This should be a no-brainer.”

“What do animals have to do with it? If you work at the Refuge, you know how much Rachel cares about them. She’s dedicated her life to helping animals. It sounds like you both agree about that.”

“The difference between us is, I’m willing to put my money where my mouth is. I’m willing to go all out. Risk everything. What does she do but stay closed up in her penthouse apartment and her little … Popemobile? Rachel Allen Kessler is chickenshit. She pretends to love animals but she doesn’t put it all on the line. We’re going to make her. Maybe she’ll even thank us for it. She’ll kiss my fucking goat-crap-covered Timberlands.” He cackled.

Goat crap? Of course. This guy was one of the techs who cleaned out the corrals and the various outbuildings. He took a stab in the dark, remembering the kid with the ponytail.

“Dale?”

A blow across the cheek made his ears ring. “That’s not my name, fireman. But you can call me Kale.”

Fred wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “Kyle?”

“No. Kale.”

“Like the vegetable, kale?”

“It’s a leafy green, jerkoff. It’s packed with iron. Tough and strong. Like me.”

Oh yes, he’d definitely tumbled into a weird sort of rabbit hole.

“So what, your parents named you after kale?”

“My parents are carnivores, so of course not. I named myself.” He turned back to the TV, manically switching channels. “Come on, Rachel, get a move on.”

Fred still had no idea what he was expecting from Rachel, but the fact that Kale worked at the Refuge seemed to provide an opening. “You know, Kale, if you do something to hurt Rachel, the Refuge might have to shut down. That could mean a lot of people out of work, and a lot of animals with no place to go.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. The Refuge won’t close. It’s going to be famous.”

“That’s an across-the-board no.” Her father scowled at Rachel from her flat-screen TV. He was in his private jet, on his way back from D.C. after dinner with a few senators, and had just gotten Fred’s kidnapper’s message. “The money’s one thing. It’s peanuts to me. The fact that he asked for so little proves what a dope the guy is. I already arranged the ransom. But for the rest of it, he can go fuck himself. We’ll offer him more money, that’ll have to be enough.”

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