The Loveable Resident Chapter Fifteen

"MIKE TOOK OFF HIS tie and hung it on his locker hook. He pulled his white lab coat off and draped it on the opposite hook with a short oath. He was late. Lauren would be waiting at the lobby of her hotel by now. He had his cell phone out, but his call went to her voice mail. He quickly sprinted to the parking lot, his eyes focused on where his Maserati was parked. The weather was chilly, and an east wind was blowing across the lot. “Mike Oates?” a voice from behind him called. Mike had the instinct to ignore it. Something about the voice made his spine crawl. It was too late to ignore it, though, because the nose of a pistol dug into his side. “Who wants to know?” Mike tried to turn and see his assailant. “You’re wanted.” The man was swarthy, with a Brooklyn accent. His face was fair, but he sported a small mustache. “I am not—” “Do you really want this to blow your belly out?” the man asked smoothly, stabbing again at his side. “OK, OK. Just try to be gentler, will you?” “Keep walking toward the front gate. There’s a black SUV that’s waiting. We are getting into it.” Mike reluctantly stepped forward and slowly walked, and the man with the gun was still holding it against his side. The SUV was waiting. The door opened, and the man inside took
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Mary Faderan Mike’s arm and pulled him in. “Inside, please.” He was a better specimen of crook, Mike decided. Mike was roughly thrown to the floor of the SUV. “Hell! Watch it!” Mike said, losing his temper. “I will watch you, Dr. Oates. Just put this on, will you?” He handed him a blindfold. “You expect me to put this on?” “You want your lady friend to be happy today?” The question was rhetorical. Mike’s blood ran cold. This was not going to be a good day, he decided. “OK, OK. I’m putting it on.” “Good boy,” the second man said with a mocking tone. The drive was long, and nobody spoke. They both said nothing to each other, and they assumed Mike was comfortable enough. Even if he tried to shift his position in the crouch he had, he was quickly destabilized. Mike tried to remember the sounds of the road as they traveled. He tried to talk. “So where are we headed to?” “Don’t need to know,” the first man said. They did several turns, and Mike decided to give up tracking where they might be going. He knew, however, once the sounds of traffic receded, that they were headed out of the city. It sounded right when they went on an on-ramp and the SUV breezed into the parkway. Mike’s mind worked overtime. He felt sick; he was worried about Lauren. Did they also have her under surveillance? Who were these people? It wasn’t making sense to him. Why? Then, suddenly, he decided he had a suspicion. This abduction was about the second man who killed Levy. Mike sat back, and his heart calmed down. It was clear that somebody wanted to do something. Somebody wanted to make Mike do something. All the questions he asked subsequently turned no leads. He was still out of clues. It seemed he dozed off as they traveled along the highway. Then, suddenly, there was a sharp swerve and then the SUV’s speed lessened. There were stops, sometimes long stops. Then the usual swerves to turn and run smoothly. Mike wished he knew what the hell the time was. He began to get that sick feeling again. His stomach was churning again. He knew it was close to when he would find out who was behind this abduction. This someone, whoever he was, knew about him, his stabbing Levy, and Lauren. He hated being in the position of defense. It was clear to him, once the SUV slowed to a crawl, that he might not see Lauren for a while. He wanted to call her. He realized his cell was still in his coat pocket. He tried to reach it, but a shod foot kicked his hand away. “Damn!” Mike sputtered. “You son of a bitch!” “Compliments won’t make this easier on you, Oates.” The man pulled out his cell phone and kept it in his possession. The SUV moved more fluidly once again and then, within a span of minutes, made a full stop. Mike struggled between the two men as they half dragged him into a building. He was still wearing the blindfold. “Shit!” Mike uttered as they took him without regard to his feelings through what seemed like a hallway. There was a sharp rap on a door. Mike finally stood on his own two feet before he was pulled into a room. “Great work, fellas,” the voice of a man spoke. “Take off the blindfold. Let’s meet Dr. Michael Oates, shall we?” Mike blinked once the blindfold was taken off his face. The evening light wasn’t good in the room. It looked like a well-decorated library or office—dark paneling on the walls, a small fire in the fireplace, a leather divan, and a few leather chairs facing it. There was a large mahogany desk on the left of Mike, and there behind it sat a man. Mike blinked again and tried to focus on his face. “Who are you?” Mike asked angrily. “I’m someone you might have met years ago. Your father and I”—he paused—“we used to be friends.” “My father?” Mike was confused. “What the hell does that mean? Who are you?” The man motioned for the two hoods to leave. He then stood up, and Mike saw his face more clearly. “I’m Mark Henderson, Mike. I was a good friend of George, your dad.” Mike tried to figure out how he might be able to escape. Henderson saw his face and quickly said, “Don’t try to make stunts out of here, Mike. This place is like Fort Knox.” “I don’t know why you took me by force. I want to leave now.” “Not yet.”
“What do you want from me?” Henderson seemed intent on keeping him in the dark, for the time being. “What do you want to drink? We had to take you here to discuss a proposal, Mike. I . . . uh . . . apologize for the rough manner.” “The hell you apologize.” “I’m going to try to make up for the rough treatment. You will be here for a while. I want to propose something to you, Dr. Oates, something that will get you off the hook for Levy’s death.” This perked up Mike’s ears. It was as though he had fallen into a pit, physically; the downdraft made him react. But he was standing up still and yet became shaken to the core. This man knows, he thought. Henderson’s face became benevolent. “Now, what about something to drink? Or maybe food?” Mike couldn’t speak. “OK, maybe later. Let’s sit down. You take that chair, and I’ll sit across from you. Feeling chilly? I can lend you a sweater. Or a throw. Something to make you recover from the shock?” Mike found himself sitting down in one of the leather chairs. The cushioning of his body made him feel like he was cocooned. But his mind was whirling again. “I don’t know what you are talking about,” Mike said coolly. Henderson gave a groan as he sat down on the chair opposite. He steepled his hands and smiled. “You know that you do. You have been seen delivering the fatal blow to Dr. James Levy. Now, why don’t you just admit it? We want to help you, Mike. Really, we do.” Mike didn’t reply. His captor went on. “What we want to do, Mike, is two things. The first is that in exchange for your freedom, you need to turn over the Bank of Columbus holdings over to me.” “What? Hell with that! That is my family’s bank. It’s not for sale.” “No? Well, that might be a problem, Mike. We—my company and your father—we had a deal way back in the days when you were in high school, making eyes and pinching girls’ bottoms.” Mike stared at him with disgust. “No way.”
Henderson sighed. “The second thing we want you to do, Mike, is that we want you to marry Missy Wright.” This made Mike angrier. It made him sick to his stomach. It was revolting. “You are crazy. I won’t do either one. I’d rather go to jail.” Something in his memory jogged at him. He decided not to think of it lest it might show in his face. Mike sat back and became calm. “Hell, Mike, you don’t mean that at all. Look, I want you to join our team. You can take some responsibilities in the bank, nothing major, just sign documents for us. And Missy, well”—Henderson spread his hands—“she’s a beauty, isn’t she? She loves you. She has always been the woman you wanted.” He tried not to think of Lauren, the way she looked in the morning light. Mike shook his head. “No. I won’t go with this. Take me back. I refuse to make a deal with you. My dad must have been nuts to be a . . . a . . .” “Friend and colleague,” Henderson finished for him shortly. “OK, Mike. I will not take your answer as final.” “It won’t change,” Mike said firmly. “I think it will,” Henderson said silkily. Mike’s mind flew to his memory of Lauren again. Did these people know Lauren was in New Haven? he asked himself. He felt sick once again. “OK, why don’t you go and rest some, and we will talk again in the morning? Food will be served in a few hours. It’s still early. You need to rest and think. That’s what you need, Mike. Just relax.” He stood up and went to the intercom on his desk. “Sal, bring Oates to the green room now.” The two men looked at each other, Mike with loathing and Henderson with a fixed smile on his face. They were at odds, and Mike felt sure he could outlast his captor. Sal, who was the man who pulled a gun on Mike, entered and took Mike’s arm. “Come on, Mike,” he said with a familiarity that irked Mike. He was taken to a basement room, which was a modified bedroom, containing a twin bed with a green quilt. There was a desk and chair and a small radio. It was a pathetic place to spend the night, Mike thought. He stood and felt the cold glom into his bones."

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