CHAPTER Twelve
Zip waited for Nate Cramer to stop screaming. They’d learned the guy’s name, but not a lot that would be extremely helpful to the problem at hand.
Zipper’s voice was colder than ice when he leaned down into Nate Cramer’s bloody face, eyes already swollen almost shut. “Nothin’ on the human body hurts worse than a shattered knee.” Cramer let out a hiccupping sob at that. “I guess you don’t like this. Bein’ held against your will. Somebody else havin’ complete discretion and dominion over you and your body. Kinda like the women you sell, huh?”
Cramer cried quietly. “Please.”
“Please?” Zip repeated. “You mean please stop and let you go home? Well, we’re at a crossroads. You tell me what I want to know, I’m gonna drop you off at home and you can get some medical attention. You may have to use a crutch, but you’ll be able to get around.
“Or, you don’t tell me what I want to know, I’ll have to take my satisfaction where I can get it. That means smashin’ your other knee. Know what happens then? You never walk again. Wheelchair time.”
Cramer cried. “I can’t. Dredge’ll…”
“Dredge a scary fucker, is he? He scary enough to cut your dick off in front of your face and make you eat it bit by bit?”
Cramer fell silent. He tipped his head back, trying to see out of the one tiny slit of an eye that remained partially open.
Zipper suddenly stood up. “Forget the knee. Get his pants open.”
Cowpie didn’t hesitate. He lunged toward Cramer’s belt and started pulling. Cramer reacted by screaming. “NO!” over and over.
“No’s not the word I’m lookin’ for,” Zipper said. “What I’m lookin’ for is an address where we can find the girls.”
Cramer said nothing. Even the pleading had stopped. His flaccid penis was flopped onto his thigh. When Zipper picked up a knife and started walking toward him, Cramer flailed, struggling against the handcuffs that held him bound to the chair that was bolted to the floor. When Zipper stood directly in front of him, Cramer began hyperventilating. That was punctuated by involuntary urination which made Zipper jump back.
It delayed the process, but not by more than a few seconds.
By that time, most of the club members were witnessing the Q&A, standing in a semicircle of shadows just outside the bright light showcasing Mr. Cramer.
When Zipper lifted the knife and bent forward, Cramer screamed, “DON’T! STOP! FOR GOD’S SAKE I’LL TELL YOU WHAT YOU WANT TO KNOW.”
“You got five seconds,” Zip said, lifting Cramer’s dick up like a sausage about to be sliced.
“Farmhouse south of town. Bought it when we came to town. Keep girls there until we’re ready for shipment.”
The word ‘shipment’ made Zipper see red. He nicked Cramer’s dick just to make a point. Cramer jumped, screamed, and started bleeding in a way that made the nick look much worse than it was.
“You’re not talkin’ fast enough,” Zip said calmly, holding up the bloody knife so Cramer could see it.
“Farney Road between Golinda and the Methodist Church.”
“What’s it look like?”
“Old white farmhouse. Barn that’s fallin’ down.”
“How many guys will be there?”
“I don’t know. Two or three.”
“Vehicles?”
“In the barn.”
“So it looks deserted from the road?”
“Yeah. Deserted.”
“All right. You’re gonna show us. I’m gonna ride with you, makin’ sure my knife is always real close to your dick.”
Boss figured there was a chance that S&B knew Marauders had one of theirs. On that note, he decided to take everybody he could spare. Armed. Just in case.
He left Bo, Win, Catcher, and Cue at the clubhouse. Win and Catcher both volunteered to go, but he thought one mission a night was enough stress.
Win was glad R.C. didn’t know about Robin. If all went well, she’d sleep through the whole thing and there’d be a happy ending. If not, the bad news could wait until she’d had enough rest to face it.
Thirty-five minutes later, the club pulled to a stop on a small rise a hundred yards from the gate to the property and killed the lights. They’d left the bikes behind and ridden in nice quiet vehicles. Zip tied a bandanna around Cramer’s mouth just in case the man decided to sacrifice his own cock to the cause at the last minute. Cramer was handcuffed to the front passenger ceiling handle and couldn’t go anywhere, but Zip left Cowpie holding a knife on him anyway.
The Marauders fanned out across the front of the property, moving slowly enough to be sure nobody stepped in a hole. It would be an inopportune time to break an ankle. Just four days from a full moon, the light helped them see enough to advance on the farmhouse without causing a stir.
No dogs.
No alarm system.
Not even an electric fence.
Cramer had told them they’d find the girls in a room with the windows boarded over. Walking around the house, Zipper found a room that fit that description. It was a typical Texas shotgun-style house, which meant that if some of them came in the back at the same time others came in the front, they’d be facing each other.
They waited for Zip’s signal, which was basically kick in the back door.
Cramer was right. There were three guys there who all, apparently, felt comfortable enough to be sound asleep. In beds.
Marauders had all three at gunpoint before they were so much as fully awake. While Zipper tore down the door to the room with the boarded windows, Boss made sure all three S&B were handcuffed to the old World War II iron army cots they’d been sleeping on.
Zip had gotten the door open to the room where girls were reportedly held. There was no sound from inside the darkness. It was quiet as a tomb. He felt around on the wall near the door and tried to switch on the light, but the bulb was either burned out or missing. He stood there framed by the light from another room, shouting, “Somebody bring me a light”, when he heard a small tentative voice say, “Daddy?”
The relief of hearing Robin’s voice was so sharp and so keen that it hit Zipper like a physical force. He stumbled back two steps reflexively trying to grab something that wasn’t there and sat down hard.
Roar stepped around Zip and into the room with a flashlight. The girls were bound and to columns of mortared concrete blocks without enough freedom of movement to lie down . They were filthy, and dehydrated. Some seemed to have checked out mentally. But they were alive.
“Got nine! Robin’s here.” Roar shouted. “Bring those vans around here.”
For a while Zipper couldn’t move from the floor. He just sat there staring straight ahead with tears running down his face. In a moment of grace that was stunning in its purity, he was helped to his feet by his own daughter.
When the vans left to take the girls to the hospital, Boss stayed behind and called the Sheriff’s office. He gave them a brief overview. Said they’d gotten a tip from an anonymous phone call and drove over to check it out. He told them his friends had left to take eight girls to the hospital and that those girls would, undoubtedly, have stories to tell. No mention was made of Robin.
Boss called Catcher to give him the news. Win took the phone from Catcher and explained to Boss that he might have anonymously given law enforcement a reason to look for Robin’s car.
“Nothin’ anonymous about it, recruit. I called ‘em myself.”
“Oh,” Win said.
“You’re gonna learn I’m always a step ahead.”
“I just thought you were focused on Cramer.”
“And you thought I can only do one thing at a time.”
“Well… emotions were runnin’ high.”
“Your head and heart were in the right place, recruit. Next time you’re tryin’ to make sure we’ve got the bases covered, ask me if I’ve already taken care of it.”
Win nodded. “Respect, Boss.”
“Got stuff to do.”
“Yep.”
Robin’s car was discovered in the barn. They hadn’t disposed of it yet.
Boss called his contacts to let them know the car had been found and to request that they end the search.
Zipper recovered enough to drive Robin home in her own car. Home meant Zipper’s house. Robin was an only child whose parents treated her like an adult and didn’t mind her staying. So she stayed.
She hadn’t been captured long enough to need medical attention. She’d been drugged, but it was already wearing off and she was home before her mother ever knew there’d been a problem. And, although Zipper wasn’t a praying man, he said a couple of silent words when, standing in the kitchen telling the story to Carla, Robin put her head on her dad’s chest and squeezed him around the waist like he was a lifeline.