Page 14 of Room Ten: Praise Times Three

“No, man. I haven’t heard a word from the back bedroom since I got here. Besides, I don’t have a key to get back there—not that I would have if I did—because I’m a good house sitter, and I do what I’m told.”

I shake my head, a recurring dose of disgust for my fellow man making its weekly appearance. We can’t take him with us. Leti is way too fucking traumatized for that shit, and I’m positive Reese is thinking the same thing.

“Where are the keys to your car?”

“They’re in my pocket, man.”

Reese cuts the zip ties around his ankles and hauls him to his feet while I begrudgingly reach into this guy’s pocket and pull out his keys. “Go back into the house. Wait for the owners to come home. Meanwhile, we’re going to take your keys.”

“In other words, don’t fucking leave.” Reese smacks the guy on the back of the head before cutting off the zip ties holding his hands behind his back.

The stoner stumbles forward a couple of steps and then turns to face us. I brace for him to make a move, but as I expected, he doesn’t have the balls to try something. “I just go back inside?”

Reese walks inside and comes out with a cell phone. “Is this the phone you are supposed to call her from?”

“Yeah, man.”

I shake my head. This guy is worthless. “Give me your wallet.”

He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a billfold made of duct tape. I’m sure some stoner girl made it for him one night and the more I look at this guy, the more sorry I feel for him. He has no idea what the fuck he’s involved in. I open the wallet, pull out the thousand dollars and his ID before handing it back to him.

“Hey man, that’s my money.”

“Now you’re more inclined to stay here and wait for the people who hired you so they can pay you.”

We lead him up the rickety steps and shove him into the house, closing the door behind him.

Then Reese pulls out his phone and calls up Victor.

“Yeah?”

“We got her,” he says drily.

“Any casualties?” I can hear Victor scooting his chair across the marble floor, his footsteps on the move.

“There’s no one here except for some house sitter who had no idea what was in the back room.”

I add, “We need you to call the local L.E. to take care of this guy. Meanwhile, we’ve incentivized him by taking all of his shit.”

“I can do that. Hold on, I got the father here.” Victor put us on speaker, which limits what we can say instantly.

“How’s my daughter?” Mr. Krushner asks.

Reese and I exchange a look. This is the hard part because you never know what is going to trigger somebody. Do we tell him the truth and get his permission to do what we know needs to be done? Or do we sugarcoat it, putting the clients conscious at ease?

“She’s traumatized, but to what extent? We don’t know. We think it’s best we take her to a hospital to be examined and have any evidence collected.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line, and I don’t think this guy is stupid in any way whatsoever. His voice is shaky when he comes back. “She won’t go to a hospital. Neither of my girls will. The last time we were in a hospital was when their mother died. However, I do have a private physician that will go wherever I tell him to go. Are you bringing her home?”

“We should discuss that, Mr. Kushner,” Victor says calmly. “The kidnappers are on the loose, and considering they took your daughter within a mile of your home, I am not sure this is the most secure location for either of them. Granted, we could make it secure, but I don’t know if you want to bring that into your home.”

“You’re right. Of course, you’re right. Can I talk to my daughter?”

We’re walking back to the truck. “Yes, sir. Standby one.”

I swing open the passenger door to find Soren red-faced with Leti’s toes tucked underneath his thigh. “Leti, we have your father on the phone.”

Her eyes grow big, and she shakes her head.

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