Illusion of Luck 17

It was just after 1:30 AM on Sunday morning when Larry exited I-45 and pulled over at Bill’s 24-Hour Coffee Shop.

Cynthia noticed the ‘Free Wireless’ neon sign in the win­dow.

“Hungry?” Larry sounded almost human, cordial.

“No.”

“Well, we’re going to be here for a while, so you might want to reconsider.”

When they walked in, Cynthia thought the coffee smelled good. But the cigarette smoke didn’t. She read the limited menu, which was posted on the wall behind the counter. A sin­gle cup of coffee was one dollar. A never-ending cup was $1.99. Looking around at the patrons, Cynthia doubted any of them opted for the single cup.

There was a 300-pound bearded man in an undersized plaid shirt and jeans sitting at a table with a skinny guy in a white T-shirt and a faded Chicago Bulls cap. Truckers, she thought.

On the other side of the room was a very old couple, smok­ing and sipping coffee. They sat in silence, staring at nothing in particular. Their sad, worn faces seemed to know their shriveled bodies would be laid to rest soon.

Larry selected a booth in the rear and they sat down. He took out his laptop and opened it. Then he lit his pipe and began to puff on it.

“I need to go to the ladies room,” said Cynthia.

“Okay.”

She picked up her purse and started to go.

“Wait.” He pointed to her purse. “Dump everything out on the table.”

She frowned, but obeyed him.

He fingered through the pile and picked up her cell phone and said, “Okay. And by the way, the watch has a little mike in it.” He grabbed the small earpiece that had been dangling on a wire running out the top of his shirt. He smiled at her as he put it in his ear.

Cynthia tried to act as if she couldn’t care less. She put the stuff back into her purse and walked to the bathroom.

Larry logged in, and began reading comments from his fans. He didn’t even look up when the waitress arrived for his order. “The never-ending coffee,” he said in a rude voice. “That’s all, for now.”

Cathy didn’t appreciate his attitude. Just because she was a few years past her prime didn’t give him the right to treat her that way. Ten years ago, she thought, or maybe twenty, he would have been drooling all over her tight body. Every day she heard her mother’s voice:

Mark my words, Cathy. You’re gonna to live to regret drop­ping out of college. The tips are great right now, but one day they’ll start to dry up. And then what are you going to do?

Shut up, Mama, she thought. The loss of income didn’t bother her nearly as much as the loss of respect. Or, maybe she never really had gotten any respect. But at least the bozos used to lust for her. These days she got no validation whatsoever.

Larry was elated by all the positive comments. Wait until they read the next chapter, he thought.

Cathy delivered the coffee pot and poured his first cup. He watched her walk away, but was unimpressed by the view.

The next comment was different from the others.

I am a serious student of literature, so please do not think it trivial when I proclaim my adoration for you. Your writing invi­gorates my inner being. With every syllable of every word, I find my soul increasingly engorged by the powerful stroke of your pen. You may find the intensity of my passion inexplica­ble. But I assure you it is quite real.

Your fervent admirer, Chaucey.

Larry didn’t know whether the woman was crazy or just really turned on. But he wasn’t too surprised his writing could have such an affect on a woman.

She had included her picture. Chaucey was a breath­takingly beautiful, sexy young woman.

But his love was only for Cynthia.

What was taking her so long? He rushed to the ladies room and discretely slipped in.

Cynthia was standing at the mirror staring at herself. “This is the ladies room. Do you mind?”

Larry looked around. He checked each stall. Then he checked again—but this time he went inside each one to look at the back of the door. “What’s this?”

Cynthia didn’t answer.

“Did you really think you could get away with this? Wet some paper towels and get in here and clean it off.”

Cynthia had used an eyebrow pencil to write:

Please call the police. I have been abducted by Larry Luzor. Cynthia Blockerman Tenorly.

She had added her Social Security number at the bottom.

He waited while she wiped off her message. Then he checked it. “Now, scribble all over the door.”

She followed his orders, erasing every discernible trace of her cry for help.

“Now, you will go back out there and behave. Right?”

She frowned at him. “Right.”

She’ll come around, he thought. She just needs time.

When they walked out of the ladies room everyone was still in their places. They apparently hadn’t seen or heard anything.

Larry sat down on his side of the table and began typing on his laptop.

Cynthia took her place across from him. After a few sec­onds she decided a little rest might make her feel better. For now, she would give up on getting away. She would think more clearly after a nap.

**********

Greg sat on the edge of the bed with his head bowed, and prayed silently.

Oh, God, please don’t let anything happen to Cynthia. You gave her to me, Lord. You wanted us to be together, didn’t you? I beg you to protect her. Please don’t let him hurt her.

“We’ll find her, Buddy,” said Sandy.

“If anything happens to her I’ll never forgive myself.”

“I know. But it wasn’t your fault.”

Greg stood up. “Maybe it was.”

Rebecca looked up from her laptop.

“What are you talking about,” said Sandy.

“Remember when I got that call on the night of the rehear­sal?”

“Oh, yeah—the prank call.” said Sandy.

“Maybe it wasn’t a prank. And I got another call after that. I missed the second one, but he left a message.”

“You didn’t tell me about that one,” said Sandy.

“What did the guy say?” said Rebecca.

“He said there were things I didn’t know about Cynthia and that she would rip my heart out.”

“Okay, that’s good to know,” said Rebecca.

“Why?” said Greg.

“Because it sounds very much like what’s in the book. And if that’s the guy who took her—and I think it is—then he has a romantic interest in Cynthia.”

Greg looked puzzled.

“Why do you say that?” said Sandy.

“When Greg got those calls, he thought they were a prank. But they were really an attempt by the caller to get Greg to postpone or cancel the wedding,” she said.

Greg and Sandy looked at each other, both waiting for the other to talk first.

Rebecca got up and walked to where they were standing. “Don’t you see, Greg? He wanted you out of her life so he could have her.”

“You really think that’s it?” said Sandy.

“Sure. And when his calls didn’t work and Greg married her anyway, he had to go to Plan B: steal her away before the mar­riage was consummated.”

Sandy grimaced. “How do you know it wasn’t already con­sum—“

“—it wasn’t,” said Greg.

“But, look on the bright side, Greg,” she said. “If he’s in love with her, he won’t want to hurt her.”

Greg tried to perk up. “Yeah…I guess not…”

“Until she rejects him,” said Sandy.

Rebecca slapped Sandy across the shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Greg,” said Sandy.

Rebecca walked back to her laptop. “Hey. He posted a new chapter.”

“What does it say?” said Greg.

“Let’s see…yes, he talks about putting the bug in the vase…and about making the phony call…and the abduction of his beloved redhead. They’re headed south on I-45 toward Hou­ston.”

“But how do we know he’s not feeding us bad informa­tion?” said Greg.

Rebecca grinned. “Because he doesn’t know that we know his pseudonym—Barry Undermine.”

“How do we know that?” said Greg.

Sandy jumped in. “She found it in a trashcan when she broke into his house.”

“What?” Greg didn’t know what to think of Sandy’s new friend.

“It’s okay,” said Sandy. “Rebecca is a lawyer and a private eye.”

Rebecca closed her laptop and jumped up. “Let’s head for Houston, Guys.”

“But we don’t know exactly where he’s going,” said Sandy. “And if he goes to Houston—that’s a big city.”

“Well, at least we know his general direction,” said Greg as he rushed toward the door.

“Yeah,” said Rebecca. “He’s going down.”