Chapter Nine

Marlow took the Metro downtown and got off in the seedier part of Baltimore. Although she’d never been here before, she knew she had been deposited in slum city. In the short expanse of two blocks, numerous drug dealers approached her, hoping for a quick sell. She’d been offered a variant of illicit street drugs: crystal meth, smack, cocaine, marijuana, ecstasy, heroin, diluted steroids, and even inhalants.

It wasn’t even dark yet, but the hookers streamed out in droves, strutting their stuff on the litter-infested street corners. She spied a trio of teens mulling about a newsstand. The Goths smiled as she approached.

She tried to disguise her apprehension, keeping her voice level. "Hey, how’s it going?"

"Cool, what’s up?" The lone girl in the trio asked. "You lost?"

"Lost? I don’t think so, but I am looking for a billiard hall."

The tall, lean kid with a well-used guitar draped over his shoulder lifted his chin. "You’ve come to the right neighborhood then. Got a name for the place?"

"Paddy’s, or Paddy’s Place."

The girl pointed north and Marlow followed her finger. "Two blocks on your left, which means you’ll have to cross the street."

"Yeah, ya can’t miss it," added Guitar Man. "The bricks are painted black in front and there’s a big yellow neon sign. Says ‘Paddy’s Place’, of course."

"Thanks." Marlow gave a timid smile and walked past them.

"Hey," one called out. "See that setting sun? You best finish your business and get out of here."

Marlow stopped and turned to face them. "Why, will I turn into a pumpkin at dusk?"

"Might be something much worse than a little ol’ pumpkin. It’s not safe, girl, not unless you know your way around."

Marlow tipped her index finger toward them and scurried down the street. "Right, thanks."

She found Paddy’s Place two blocks later. The neon sign flashed in sync with the broken streetlight. Marlow pushed the walk signal and waited for it to turn green. She hustled across the street and stood at a large entrance door. Pulling it open, she stepped inside. A full minute passed before her eyes adjusted to the dark haze engulfing the room.

Several customers sat on high stools at the bar nursing drinks, but other than that, a bartender seemed to be the only one around. He raised his head and looked at her, eliciting a ripple of warning down her spine. For the first time since leaving home, she questioned the soundness of her plan.

She hadn’t heard everything her mother and Frank said through the six-panel door of the den, but she heard the name of the place where Rand worked, and that’s all she needed. Here she stood, shivering all the way down to her toes, but she wasn’t leaving without Rand. She squared her shoulders and walked toward the bar.

"Your friends don’t show up till ten at night." The bartender kept one eye on her and one on the mahogany bar he polished with concentrated vigor.

"Oh, by friends, you mean those dressed like me. Well I’m not meeting friends. I’m looking for my brother."

He paused in his task and looked into her eyes. "Brother, huh? What makes you think your brother is here?"

"He works here."

Her announcement seemed to give him greater pause. "Your brother got a name?"

"Rand, Rand Brennan."

Quicker than a chameleon, his somber expression changed to a smile. "I can see the resemblance now. Rand, yes, he works here."

"Great." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I’m in the right place."

The woman sitting at the bar in the tight red dress eyed her suspiciously and the man next to her looked over his glasses to get a better view. Neither spoke, but their long stares caused her to sink lower into the cloak of dread enveloping her.

"So, where is he?" Marlow pressed, praying he’d come bouncing into the room any second.

"Stacking liquor in the cellar." His gaze burned right through her. "Come on, I’ll take you to him."

Alarm bells went off in her head. "Why don’t you go get him, tell him I’m here."

"Why should I? Do you want to see your brother or not?" Her desire to find Rand far outweighed the uneasiness settling like a heavy rock in her stomach. "Okay, lead the way."

She followed him down a long, dark hallway. At the end, he opened a door. A moldering smell assailed her senses, a damp, musty scent that left her cold. The stairs were steep; the walls close together. Meager light from below lit the groaning steps.

"Isn’t there a light switch?" she asked.

His arm extended with a flourish. "I’m right behind you, and the light is at the end of these stairs."

With her heart in her throat, she hesitated. His lusty sneer and piercing dark eyes reminded her of a hawk about to swoop down on its prey. A muffled noise drifted up the stairwell as though someone moved about in the dark confines of the dungeon below. God, let it be Rand.

"Rand! Is that you?" she called out.

"He can’t hear ya, miss, but he’s down there. Go on," the man said with a push to her shoulder. "I ain’t got all day."

She took the second step and then the next, finding herself at the bottom of the stairs in a matter of seconds. The bartender followed so closely, even if she changed her mind now, she had no chance of sneaking past him. A sliver of light from a block window at the edge of the ceiling danced across the floor.

The man walked around her and led her down yet another long hallway. He pointed to a door at the end of the tunnel. "He’s in there. That’s where we store our liquor."

She narrowed her eyes and focused on the murky shadows as they advanced.

He grasped the door handle, his pale, thin fingers stark white against the dark knob. The door creaked and he stepped inside, waving her onward. She walked into the room and gasped. Rand wasn’t in the room, and neither was anything resembling liquor crates. The walls and ceiling were padded with a fabric resembling gymnastic mats. A metal, folding chair sat in one corner of the room and in another corner sat a cot. Even in the dim light Marlow saw the grime on the bare mattress and the splattered dark reddish-brown stains. Someone stirred in the far corner of the room and moments later, the man stepped into the meager light.

Her own voice sounded foreign and stressed. "Rand?"

“No," said the voice. "It’s not Rand. Welcome to the dungeon, honey."

Marlow turned on her heels and fled, but too late. The wiry bartender clutched her wrist and spun her around. Something solid met her skull. Her body pitched forward and the concrete rose up to meet her. White lights danced behind her eyelids. She struggled to remain conscious as someone dragged her by her hair and plopped her into the metal chair.

He yanked her arms behind her back and handcuffed them to the arms, and then did the same with her feet. Something warm and sticky ran down her forehead and trickled into her eyes. Blood. Good God. Mine?

Dark forms dipped and twisted before her, their faces muted by shadows and her befuddled brain.

Although she tried to stay focused, all went black in her world.

* * *

Marlow awoke in a cold, dark room. The one meager light originated from a narrow shaft from the block glass window near the ceiling. Her head pounded and her ankles and wrists ached. She squirmed in the chair, trying to free them.

An icy voice drifted toward her from a corner of the room. "No sense struggling. You’re trussed up tighter than a goose on Thanksgiving.”

The man inched his way forward, reminding her of a panther on the prowl. Tall, and powerfully built, his features were coarse, the eyes penetrating, the bulbous nose anchored by a large handlebar mustache. In his left hand he carried some type of gun, in his right, a notched knife.

"Who are you?" Marlow asked. "And what do you want with me?"

"You don’t know? You haven’t figured it out? Oh, honey, let me introduce my partner."

A chair scraped against the concrete floor, setting her already frayed nerves on edge. A fluorescent pink robe with yards and yards of silk billowed around the woman as she sauntered forth from the shadows. Her face garishly painted, thick, blue eye shadow canopied a set of beady, blue eyes set deep into her skull. Her lips were outlined in blood-red lipstick, her brows in thick, black liner. Fake eyelashes blinked in perfect sync with her every step, but the long, white cord in her hand sent shivers of dread through Marlow. The person twisted the garrote and then snapped the length of rope like a cobra strike.

The burly man cleared his throat and laughed, the raw, primitive cackle bouncing off the padded walls. Her heart plunged.

He offered a dramatic bow from the waist. "Allow me to present The Black Rail."

The woman curtsied and hovered over her. She stood so close Marlow nearly vomited from the sweet, sickening perfume emanating from the woman. "You and I are going to be good friends before this is over."

Marlow sucked in a deep breath. It wasn’t a woman’s voice, but a man’s. She screamed. "Oh, God, no! Please no!"

The thick-built man put the gun to her arm and pulled the trigger. An electric current shot through her, so powerful, every beleaguered ligament and muscle in her body yowled in protest. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. She tried to form a scream, but the sound stuck in her throat.

She sent a silent prayer skyward. Please, let it be quick.

The transvestite slipped the cord over her head and tightened it around her throat, cutting off her airway. Blood rushed to her brain and she gasped for breath. He tightened it and then released it, affording her a little air. Dread and fear set in. Now she understood. This choking game would be played out for a long, tormenting time. Again he tightened the cord only to release it before she lost consciousness. When they tired of this wicked game, they’d kill her. Tears ran down her cheeks. Oh, please, God, let Rand find me.