Snagged Read online

  “Thanks.”

  Nadine looked at Joey. “I wonder who the lucky one is tonight.”

  “Who knows.”

  After he was safely gone, Nadine volunteered, “His family used to be really wealthy, but then they lost it.”

  “Nadiiiine,” Joey whined.

  “That’s what you told me, Joseph.”

  “You’re not supposed to go telling people that.”

  “Regan’s not going to say anything.”

  “Don’t worry, Joey,” Regan said. “Does he have any interest in modeling himself? He would probably do well.”

  “Nah,” Joey said. “He just wants to learn the business end of it.”

  Through the garage door Joey’s two other roommates appeared, fresh beers in hand.

  “Back so soon?” Nadine asked.

  Matt and Dennis were introduced to Regan.

  “We couldn’t get a parking space, so we figured forget it,” Dennis explained. “I’m tired anyway.”

  “Well, sit down and talk to us,” Nadine urged.

  Regan drained her can of club soda.

  “Would you like something else?” Nadine asked as Matt and Dennis made themselves comfortable.

  “I must be thirsty. But I’ll get it.” Regan went back out to the garage, careful not to trip over anything this time. She pulled out another can of club soda and noticed that the red gas can was not where she had left it. I don’t give these guys enough credit, she thought. One of them must have an anal personality.

  RICHIE LET HIMSELF into the factory with the key he always carried with him. He turned on the one dim light that was still working. With a sense of relief he shut the door behind him and stood there in the absolute silence, staring at his machines. It was comforting just to be here, alone, away from everything.

  On the cab ride over he had done nothing but go over and over in his mind the possibility that something could go wrong tomorrow. Was Elmer right? Was he a fool to try and pull this off? Would they have been smarter to have taken the incentive money and run with it?

  No, Richie decided as he stood there, gaining back his sense of self. I worked too hard on this to let the good that it could bring slip away. Birdie and he had always stuck to the projects they started together, however disastrous the results. “It ain’t over till it’s over, right Richie?” he could hear her saying.

  Richie walked over to his workbench. A couple of pairs of panty hose were draped over the side. I sure did make a lot of these, didn’t I? he thought. He gathered them in his arms and held them against his cheek. A vast aching swept through him and he felt as empty and isolated as the factory. Tears stung his eyes and he made no attempt to stop them as they ran down his face. Birdie, he thought, I feel overwhelmed. He sat down and gently sobbed, feeling a release from all the pressure buildup and worry. All the work he’d done, and it would all be decided tomorrow. Even if everything turned out well, he knew it would be a letdown of sorts.

  Listening to Lucille talk about getting home to her boyfriend had been especially poignant for him. I have a lot of friends, he thought as his chest heaved up and down, but I wish I had someone special who would be there all the time for me. Someone who I could take turns with getting out of bed in the morning to make the coffee, like I used to do with Birdie. Someone who would listen to my stories, however boring they got. Someone I could take care of.

  Finally Richie wiped his eyes. Boy, am I a sad sack, he thought. I’ve come this far, I shouldn’t fall down right before the finish line. I’ll go over the list of names of the companies I wrote to. I want to recognize the people’s names if they come to the cocktail party. He stood up and felt better. Maybe it was one of the big companies testing the panty hose. That would be great.

  But as he walked over to the picnic table with his paperwork, he frowned, deep in thought. What was it that he hadn’t tested these things for?

  BARNEY FREIZE WAS back in his den, smoking his cigar, too excited to try to sleep. Ruth’s secretary had finally called back and promised him he’d get the check tomorrow if everything worked out. Barney puffed. Tomorrow night I’ll go out for a nice dinner, he thought. An occasional splurge was good for the soul. And if I get the big money, then it’ll be time to make an appointment with my trusty travel agent. Europe, make room for Barney Freize.

  I feel antsy, he thought. I can’t just sit here, no matter how good this cigar is. He laughed aloud. If I’m going out for a big dinner tomorrow night, then I’d better work up my appetite. He went into the bedroom and got out his jogging suit. As he kicked off his Hush Puppies, he decided he’d run down by the beach. It would be soothing. After that he’d come home and sleep like a baby.

  Judd Green watched Richie enter the front door of the factory. He pulled his car over to the side of the road where there were no streetlights. The area was deserted, which was a real bonus. He got out his phone and made a call.

  Richie felt he had gone over his list long enough. We’re going to have name tags anyway, he thought, but people like it when you know who they are.

  As he gathered up the papers, the bench creaked. Boy, this place sure is making funny noises tonight, he thought. Either that or I have some imagination. But a few seconds later the sickening reality that he had not been imagining the noises hit him when the smell of smoke hit his nostrils and the sound of timber crackling filled his ears.

  Out in the night air, Barney felt good. He ran along the beach and enjoyed the sounds of the waves breaking against the shore. When he looped around and started to head back toward his house, he decided he wasn’t ready to go in yet. But what about a nice bath? he thought. These muscles are going to ache.

  Wavering for a few minutes, he decided to stay out. It was a beautiful night. The bathtub would always be there. Before he knew it, his feet were taking him on the route he’d chosen that night, the route that led past the panty-hose factory. How appropriate, he thought. Maybe it’ll be good luck. This is what started the whole adventure.

  Barney turned down the long winding road that led to the factory. He thought he saw an orange glow in the distance, so he picked up his pace. What the hell is going on? he wondered.

  With frightening speed, smoke filled the factory. Flames leapt up the walls and Richie ran with his panty hose to the front door. He tried to push it open but it wouldn’t budge. This doesn’t make sense, he thought frantically, there should be nothing blocking the door. He tried to run to the back, but flames had overtaken the rear of the building. Richie looked up and all the windows were barred.

  I’m going to be fried, Richie thought. This is it. The smoke was getting thicker. He started to cough and ran for the front door again. It’s my only chance, he thought. Through the barred window next to the door he could see out onto the dark street. I’ve got to get there. He screamed as he pounded and pushed on the door, “HELP ME! HELP!” But it was no use. The smoke was beginning to overcome him. He started to feel weak and thought that maybe he should just lie down.

  With the panty hose in his hand, he started to slide down the door. Birdie’s face filled his mind. “Get up, Richie,” she seemed to be yelling. “It ain’t over till it’s over.”

  “But . . .”

  “No buts, you’ve got a job to finish. Get up!”

  Richie struggled to his feet and moved in front of the barred window. The flames leapt up behind him. He saw a lone figure standing out in the street watching the building. When the figure saw Richie, it ran up. To Richie, it was the most beautiful sight since he had first laid eyes on Birdie.

  “Richie!” Barney Freize yelled. “What the hell are you doing in there?”

  “Roasting marshmallows. What the hell do you think I’m doing? I can’t get the front door open!”

  Barney looked at the door. A Dumpster had been moved in front to block it. “Jesus Christ!” he yelled. “There’s a Dumpster here. You push on the door and I’ll try to pull it out of the way.”

  With all the strength Richie could muster,
he threw his weight against the door, time after time, as Barney moved the Dumpster, inch by inch.

  “Keep going, Richie,” he could hear Barney yell through the roar of the fire behind him. Finally making enough progress to pry open the door a crack, Richie squeezed himself through and fell into the waiting arms of his former fellow maintenance worker, Barnard Thomas Freize.

  “That’s the punch line?” Joey asked Nadine incredulously.

  “Wait a minute,” she said. “I think I might have told it wrong.”

  “Helllllo, Nadine,” he teased.

  Regan laughed and looked at her watch. It was getting late. “I hate to leave, but I’d better. I’ve got to get up early in the morning.”

  “You’re not going on the stereo-shopping spree, are you?” Joey asked.

  “No, I can’t. We’re leaving Nadine in charge of that one.”

  “I hope this guy has unlimited credit,” Joey mumbled.

  “Stop,” Nadine protested. “Don’t you worry, Regan. We’ll get him the best buy in the Miami area.”

  “Nadine picked out the CD player for my car,” Dennis said. “She did a great job.”

  “Thank you, Dennis.”

  “She fixed the one in my bedroom just this afternoon,” Matt offered. “It took her about two minutes, and it had been broken for weeks. She stuck a wad of gum back there to keep the wire from coming out.”

  Joey looked at her. “Where’d you get the gum?”

  “Found it.”

  He winked at Regan. “I wish they made a patch for gum chewers.”

  “I’ll get Richie working on it,” Regan said as she got up.

  “We’ll walk you home,” Nadine said.

  “That’s okay,” Regan replied.

  “We insist,” Joey pronounced. “This area is not the safest at night.”

  “Besides,” Nadine said, “it’s romantic to take a stroll in the evening, right, Joe?”

  “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

  Regan climbed the stairs to her hotel room. Nadine and Joey are really nice, she thought. And they definitely belong together.

  Inside the room Regan turned on the television. A long movie was just ending and the local news was coming up. She peeled off her clothes and threw them over the chair. Pulling an oversized T-shirt over her head, she went into the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth.

  Five minutes later, she turned out the lights and got into bed. The sheets were crisp white cotton and felt fresh. She pushed the “sleep” button on the remote control so the television would automatically go off in thirty minutes. I just know I’ll fall asleep with it on, she thought.

  The news came on and there was the usual flurry of stories about local happenings. But when the announcer who looked like a surfer boy started to say, “There was a fire tonight at a former panty-hose factory,” Regan leaned forward and quickly turned up the volume.

  Footage of the smoldering factory flashed on the screen as he reported, “Arson is strongly suspected. It may even be a case of attempted murder, as a Dumpster had been used to block the front exit. Luckily no one was killed in the blaze, but a former factory worker, a Richard Blossom, is being treated at Miami General Hospital for smoke inhalation. Back to you, Barbara.”

  “Richie!” Regan wailed. She jumped out of bed and grabbed a pair of jeans. She stuffed her feet into her sneakers and pulled a light windbreaker off the hanger. Within seconds she was out the door, hailing a cab, on her way to Miami General Hospital.

  Richie lay stretched out on a bed in the emergency room of Miami General. Barney Freize was at his side.

  “I feel much better now, Doctor,” Richie was saying, “I really think you should let me go home.”

  Suddenly the doors swung open as a nurse tried to stop someone from charging in.

  “Regan!” Richie called out happily. “I’m over here. It’s all right,” he said to the doctor, “she’s my niece.”

  The doctor gave the nurse the signal to let her in.

  “Richie, are you okay?” Regan said as she hurried over and bent down to kiss him.

  “Good as new. Good as new. If this doctor would release me, I’d be even better.”

  “You shouldn’t be alone tonight,” the serious, young-looking doctor warned.

  “I’ll stay with him,” Regan said.

  “Isn’t she a good niece?” Richie joked.

  “He should be fine, but he needs to get some rest.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Regan promised.

  As Richie got out of bed he said, “By the way, Regan, meet Barney Freize. He saved my life tonight.”

  Regan and Richie had their taxi stop at Barney’s house to drop him off.

  “When I went out for a jog tonight,” Barney joked, “I didn’t know I was in for such an adventure.”

  “Thank God you like to exercise,” Regan said. “Thank you so much.”

  “Yeah, thanks, Barn. I owe you one.” Richie patted him on the back. “I’ve got a big weekend, but I’ll call you and we’ll have dinner next week.” Barney started to get out of the cab. “Barn,” Richie said.

  Barney turned back. “Yeah, Rich.”

  Awkwardly Richie hugged him. “Thanks.”

  “You’d have done the same for me.”

  “That’s true.”

  When they pulled away, Richie offered to stop at Regan’s hotel to pick up a few things for her to spend the night.

  “No way,” Regan said. “I’m not letting you out of my sight tonight, not even to leave you waiting in the cab. I just want to get you home.”

  “Okay,” Richie agreed. It was nice to be taken care of.

  Barney Freize checked his answering machine. No messages. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. Sitting down at his kitchen table, the full effect of what had happened this evening began to dawn on him. Someone had tried to kill Richie. No two ways about it. But why? Did it have something to do with that panty hose? Am I responsible? he thought.

  It was well after midnight, but he decided to call Danny. He needed to talk to him. As usual, he got his machine. But when the beep went off, Danny’s tape must have started rewinding at high speed. It sounded like chipmunks on amphetamines.

  Nothing could have prepared Barney for what he heard when Danny’s messages started to play back. He knew he should have hung up, but it was as if the phone were Krazy-Glued to his ear.

  “How’s my Danny Wanny?” the familiar voice started to say in a juvenile tone. “Oh, Danny Boy, my scootchie-ootchie, we’ll be together soon.” Barney’s face whitened. The last line of the message confirmed his worst fears. “Call back your wuving Ruthy Wu-thy.”

  His nephew was involved with the Calla-Lily woman. How deeply involved . . . ?

  Back at the Fourth Quarter, Richie leaned on Regan as they walked up the steps to the second floor. It was late and everyone else had obviously gone to bed.

  Inside the apartment, Regan asked, “Do you think a cup of tea would be good before you went to sleep?”

  “Great idea. I guess nobody knows what happened yet, huh, Regan. There are no messages on the answering machine.”

  “I caught it on the Late News. I think everybody must have already been in bed.”

  “Boy, are they going to be surprised.”

  “To say the least,” Regan said as she filled the kettle and turned on the gas.

  “Someone’s out to get me, do you think, Regan?”

  “Unless that Dumpster moved itself in front of the door.”

  “You know what this means, don’t you?” Richie asked happily. “Somebody must like my panty hose! They think it’s good enough to kill me for.”

  “Don’t even joke about it, Richie,” Regan said as she brought the teacups, milk and sugar out to the coffee table in front of the couch, where Richie was sitting. The kettle started whistling angrily, a piercing, shrill sound that instantly set Regan’s teeth on edge.

  “That kettle would wake the dead,” R
ichie remarked.

  “Kettle? What kettle?” Regan asked as she hurried into the kitchen and yanked it off the stove.

  “I like your sense of humor, Regan. It’s important to have one.”

  “I agree, Richie,” Regan said as she poured the hot water into the cups. “Life would be pretty tough without it.”

  Companionably they sat and sipped their tea. Regan noticed Richie’s eyes grow heavy.

  “We’d better get some rest. It’s late. I’ll just stretch out on the couch here.”

  “It pulls out,” Richie enthused.

  “It does?”

  “It’s a Castro Convertible. Birdie and I used to get such a kick watching that little Bernadette Castro pull apart those couches on the TV commercials. Come to think of it, we could have used her help tonight getting that Dumpster to budge.”

  “She’s running the company now,” Regan informed him. “And she does her own radio commercials on ’Imus in the Morning’ in New York. Last time I was home I heard Imus yelling at her for dragging him to some boring luncheon.”

  Richie shook his head. “It’s still hard to think of her as all grown up. Boy, time does fly, huh, Regan?” he asked as he got up and yawned.

  “It sure does,” Regan agreed. ctAnd before you know it, it’s going to be morning and that phone’s going to start ringing, with everyone calling to make sure you’re okay.”

  ’That’s nice,” Richie said as he started for the bedroom.

  Regan pulled the cushions off the couch. C4Yes, it is,” she said quietly.

  AT DAYBREAK, A sliver of orange sun peeked over the horizon in the mountains of Colorado. The campsite of the Wild West Tour group was peaceful. All eight members of the posse, as they liked to call themselves, snuggled in their sleeping bags around the embers from last night’s campfire. Preston Landers pulled his special-issue sleeping bag around his slight frame as he dreamed about the storytelling session that had taken place around the campfire just hours before.

  As was their ritual each evening, one person led the group with stories about his boyhood. Last night had been Preston’s turn.