Pursued by vicious thugs and wanted by the police, Abel Still Finds Alice

31 Oct Pursued by vicious thugs and wanted by the police, Abel Still Finds Alice

At about ten that night, Abel made his way to the posh Mayflower Hotel where Elliot told him Congressman Schroeder would be.

He slipped in through the service entrance with an unsuspecting member of the laundry crew. Abel realised his professional clothing wouldn’t allow him to pass for a hotel employee, so he had conjured up an alternate identity all by himself, without Lola.

“How busy is the shift this evening?” Abel asked the crew member as they approached the service entrance.

The woman, dressed in a housekeeping uniform, looked at him oddly. “It’s normal, I guess”, she said.

He smiled at her. “I’m with the Department of Health and Safety”, he told her. “I’m just doing a routine inspection.”

The woman nodded indifferently. She was a maid earning minimum wage. If the hotel got dinged for health violations, that wasn’t her problem.

“I bet you find lots of shit. The pigs who run this sty oughta be in jail.”

Abel knew that was sour grapes from an employee who felt ill-used. He had read in the Library that the Mayflower had an excellent reputation and had it for decades.

She opened the entrance door and disappeared inside. Abel followed her. The woman, totally indifferent to him, had vanished, leaving Abel alone.

He found himself at the head of a staircase with only one option: down. Abel took the stairs into the bowels of the building. A few hotel employees were scattered about, folding linens and filling service carts with cleaning agents, sponges, rubber gloves and fresh towels.

Abel wandered down the corridor, trying to appear casual as he glanced around. He reached another metal staircase, which clearly suggested a passage from the workers’ area up to the “other” world, the place with the heritage, high ceilings, wall-to-wall carpeting, and sparkling chandeliers for the guests to enjoy.

Abel took a moment to reflect on his surroundings. This was, after all, the hotel where the legendary FBI director, J. Edgar Hoover, ate lunch every day in the dining room. He wondered if Hoover’s table had a sign over it, or a nameplate on the surface. Washington liked that sort of thing.

But Abel had work to do. He wanted to scout out all entrances and exits, as well as the placement of the security cameras. If he had to run with Alice, he had to know the lay of the land.

He passed quickly through the lobby and moved toward the rear of the building. He saw exits which led to the main thoroughfares around the hotel, but that wasn’t what he was looking for.

He searched farther, peering through doorways into offices and meeting rooms. Finally, he approached a large double door. He pushed it open cautiously and found exactly what he wanted: a warehouse area. It stored furniture in various stages of repair, large drapery rods and rows of service carts. At the far end, Abel saw his escape hatch, a large rolling door already halfway up, a rope handle dangling from a hook at the centre. Abel made a mental note of it and walked back down the corridor, counting exactly how many steps it was between the warehouse and the edge of the lobby.

As he approached the lobby area, Abel noticed a uniformed security guard patrolling the corridor. The man was not looking in his direction, but just the sight of him reminded Abel once again that he was a fugitive. He paused for a moment and adjusted his suit jacket before nonchalantly walking into the lobby.

Abel started worrying that Alice would not be the Congressman’s date. It was just too easy. But if it turned out to be another girl, Abel wanted to create an opportunity to ask her where Alice was. Getting information from a hooker would be infinitely easier than hunting down the elusive Dennis.

As Abel considered this option, he made his way down to the floor where several banquet rooms were located. Elliot had told him that Schroeder was speaking in the Oak Room. Abel saw it dead ahead of him. A man in a tuxedo was just exiting, talking on a cell phone. Abel managed to get a peek through the open doorway. He saw Schroeder on the dais eating dinner. Probably rubbery chicken, overcooked broccoli, cold potatoes and gooey cherry cobbler. Classic banquet fare. If there was any justice in the world, Schroeder would get ptomaine poisoning from the chicken and die a painful and horrible death. Preferably while he watched Abel waltz away with Alice on his arm.

Now that he had located Schroeder, he needed to find a place where he could watch the Oak Room’s entrance. Abel chose one of the comfortable chairs scattered at random around the open areas of the hotel. Usually, they were placed by columns and hidden behind large potted tropical trees. It struck Able as ridiculous. Some plant that belonged in the West Indies stuck in a climate where it snowed. At any rate, the out-of-place trees provided Abel with some cover. At that moment he was grateful for the stupidity of American excess.

A half an hour after taking up his spot, the banquet apparently broke up because people began streaming out of the Oak Room.

Finally, Abel caught close sight of his target. Congressman Jason Schroeder, a short, balding, portly man in a tuxedo, exited the room and headed up the stairs toward the lobby. Abel followed at a discrete distance.

Schroeder nodded a weary but friendly greeting to the bellman and then shook hands with a man who was passing by. Abel wondered if that man was connected to Dennis and if he would be delivering the girl-for-hire to Schroeder’s room.

As Schroeder moved toward the bank of elevators, Abel walked up beside him and looked at the numbers on the elevator display. This was the patented elevator passenger’s posture. Schroeder didn’t even look over, which relieved Abel.

When one of the elevators finally reached the lobby, the doors slid open and a few passengers spilled out. Schroeder, along with three others, stepped inside. Abel casually joined them. At the last second, a man wearing a tailored business suit slipped inside. The timing of his arrival put Abel on edge.

Using his peripheral vision, Abel watched Schroeder push the button for the ninth floor. Another man pushed seven.

“Push eight please”, a woman in the back requested.

Schroeder nodded and obliged. Now it was Abel’s turn. He reached over and pushed number ten. The man in the business suit twisted his neck to get a look at the panel, but he did not press a button. This didn’t make Abel feel any more secure. He tried to study the man’s expression, but he was giving away nothing. Not a guy you wanted to play poker with.

The elevator stopped at the seventh floor, then the eighth. That left Schroeder, Abel, and the poker player.

When the bell rang signalling they had arrived at the ninth floor, Schroeder sighed and waited patiently for the doors to open. When they finally did, he exited and took a right turn down the hall.

With the presence of the mystery man, Abel couldn’t exit behind Schroeder and was prevented from holding the elevator until he could see which room he entered.

Abel felt an involuntary chill. The other man was standing much too close to him. The ride to the next floor seemed as if it took forever. When the doors finally opened, Abel decided to wait and let the man in the business suit exit first. But he didn’t move. Abel looked at his profile, trying to read his face. Something wasn’t right.

They stood with the elevator doors opened onto the tenth floor for a few seconds, neither one of them moving. Finally, Abel took the initiative and stepped out into the hallway. The other man followed.

Abel was not sure where to go. His plan had been to take the stairs down one flight to tail Schroeder on the ninth floor, but his unwelcome companion’s presence prevented that.

Finally, Abel turned and headed for the far end of the corridor. He expected to be followed, but instead he heard the man speaking in a low voice. Abel reached the end of the corridor and turned, but the man had disappeared. This shook Abel. Was he talking to some compatriot on a cell phone or two-way radio? Was he relaying Abel’s position? Or was Abel being paranoid again?

Abel stood at the end of the hall and looked out a window that provided a ten-storey high view of the city. The night was dotted with lights from shops, offices and monuments. Abel wasn’t sure what he should do next. He wanted to run down the stairs and catch up with Congressman Schroeder, but he was afraid that would present too much of a risk.

The man who had ridden the elevator with him was not with the police. If he had been, he simply would’ve arrested Abel on the spot. He considered that he might have been a private bodyguard for Jason Schroeder, but he quickly dismissed that possibility. Schroeder had no way of knowing Abel was tailing him. The only person who knew that was Maxwell Elliot. For a moment, Abel wondered if Elliot had ratted him out. Not likely. Elliot was too much of a hardcore journalist to cave in to pressure from a political figure. Then again, maybe he had no choice. Elliot had been pursuing Schroeder for more than a year. Perhaps someone had turned on Elliot.

Finally, Abel admitted he was avoiding the obvious, perhaps because it was too terrifying. The mystery man had to be a member of the syndicate. They were the ones who knew Abel was hunting for Alice.

If this were the case, though, why wasn’t Abel dead?

Of course. Too many witnesses around. There were other people who’d seen Abel standing with the mystery man. He could be identified. Which meant they must be waiting for him to leave the hotel to make their move. They were watching him. And apparently, they wanted Abel to know they were watching.

Why? Again, the answer seemed obvious. If Abel knew he’d been spotted, he’d have to make a run for it. And that’s when they’d have him.

Abel found the stairwell and walked down one flight. His teeth were grinding as he fought off the unrelenting desire to burst onto the ninth floor and bang on every door until he found Jason Schroeder. Dennis’s girl, be it Alice or someone else, would arrive soon. The more Abel thought about it, the less likely it seemed that Schroeder would be having a dalliance with Alice. It might have been in the cards earlier, but if the syndicate knew where he was, then word would have been sent back to Dennis to keep Alice away from the hotel.

Once he reached the lobby, Abel checked out every major exit. Strange men, men who might or might not be part of this, seemed to be everywhere.

Abel was glad he had done his due diligence. He manoeuvred his way down the rear corridor until he reached the warehouse. He then weaved his way around the errant pieces of furniture until he reached the roll up door.

“Hey!” a deep male voice shouted. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Abel glanced back to see a man wearing coveralls and a tool belt snarling at him. Abel ignored the carpenter’s grumblings and continued toward the door. It was still only rolled up halfway, but Abel managed to exit the building by crouching underneath it.

The cool air smacked him in the face so harshly he had to catch his breath. He wasn’t quite sure where he was in relation to the main hotel entrance. There was very little light shining in the area, and Abel bumped his knee on something he couldn’t identify as he tried to get his bearings.

He shuffled up against the building until rounded the corner and found himself in a parking lot. He saw a large sign prominently displayed: LOT C: PARKING FOR HOTEL EMPLOYEES ONLY. GUESTS PLEASE USE LOT B.

The lot was half-full, and there were no signs of people coming or going. He was about to take a step away from the building into the light when he saw something that was curiously out of place.

Most of the hotel’s employees were housekeepers, bellmen, waiters, busboys, and other service people who drove modest cars as befitted their low economic state. The cars parked in the lot reserved for employees reflected this. Among the compacts, hatchbacks, old-model vehicles, and practical pick-up trucks, Abel observed one vehicle that didn’t fit the mould. A long, black, four-door Lincoln Town Car. This didn’t belong to a dishwasher or maid.

Abel’s heart pounded. He heard sirens in the distance. He was sure the syndicate had alerted the D.C. Police to his whereabouts at the hotel. And if he tried to run, he was certain they had men stationed all around it, hiding somewhere in the dark, silencers and scopes at the ready. He’d be taken out with one shot. Another Washington casualty in a city with an astronomical crime rate. Who’d care? Who’d even notice?

All this made Abel determined to make his move now. What did he have to lose?

He pressed his back against the wall of the building and shuffled toward the opposite end of the parking lot. He then slipped behind one of the parked cars and crouched. Moving between them, Abel made his way toward the Lincoln. He stopped in his tracks when he heard voices coming from the hotel’s service entrance.

“Goodnight, Maggie!” a man’s voice called out.

“Goodnight, Tony”, Maggie responded. “See you tomorrow, bright and early.”

Abel turned toward the door and saw a woman walking into the lot. A male silhouette, probably belonging to Tony, appeared in the lighted doorway. He seemed to be watching Maggie carefully, as if to ensure that she reached her car safely. Abel cursed silently and crouched lower, praying to the fates that he wasn’t hovering behind Maggie’s car.

To his great relief, Maggie stopped beside an old banger, a Toyota. A moment later, the headlights were aglow and the car pulled out of its space.

Abel’s eyes widened. Although he had been startled by Maggie’s initial appearance, he was now pleased that she had come by. The headlights of her Toyota swept across the Lincoln. In doing so, they revealed the silhouettes of two figures. One was in the driver’s seat and one in the back.

Abel cautiously worked his way across the lot, making sure he kept out of sight. When he was still two cars away, the driver’s side door opened and a man threw his legs out onto the pavement. The light inside the vehicle revealed that he was talking on a cell phone.

“How much longer?” he growled, irritated.

Abel moved in closer in an effort to hear more clearly.

“Damn!” the man muttered. “Should I bring her back?”

Abel listened intently for the response. He squinted and stretched his neck, desperately trying to get a better look at the person in the back seat. He could tell it was a woman, perhaps a young girl, but she was positioned just far enough out of the light to remain anonymous. Then she turned her head slightly and Abel swallowed hard. He’d know that profile anywhere. The girl in the car was Alice.

“Why not?” the driver barked into the phone. “Can’t someone else take care of this guy? How hard can it be?”

Abel cupped his hand around his ear to channel the conversation more clearly. A moment later, that was unnecessary. The driver had bounced to his feet and was pacing from one end of the car to the other.

“So, what the hell am I supposed to do now?” he growled. “I can’t sit out here all night! This isn’t good for business either. The Congressman’s gonna be pissed. So is Dennis. Fine, you can explain it to him.”

Abel held his position behind the parked car. When the aggravated driver took a few steps toward the Lincoln’s front grill, Abel quietly moved in closer, edging around to the trunk.

The driver’s pacing became more erratic as he muttered into his cell phone. Abel felt his heart racing. He had a plan, but he would have to move quickly, and any hesitation or misstep would be fatal.

“Well, how’d he lose the guy? He was right there! Okay. Okay. Let me know. But I’m not waiting all fucking night.”

With that, the driver snapped his cell phone shut and muttered a string of profanities.

“What’s going on?” Alice said. If there was any doubt before, now Abel was sure. It was her voice.

“Shut the hell up!” the driver snapped. “I’m dealing with enough shit.”

The man’s aggravation had gotten the better of him, and that gave Abel the upper hand. Abel made his move.

He lunged out from behind the Lincoln’s trunk and caught hold of the driver’s his ankle, sending his large body crashing to the ground. The back of the man’s head smacked hard against the pavement. It hit with a sickening thud.

As the dazed man tried to sit up, Abel snapped his head into the pavement again. When he felt the driver slump, unconscious, Abel got up and jumped through the open car door into the driver’s seat. He reached for the key and started the car. Alice screamed from the back seat.

“What the fuck’s going on? Who are you?”

“Sit back and hold on. It’s Peter Abel!”

“Oh, Jesus”, Abel heard her exclaim.

But before he responded, the driver regained consciousness. His head wound was bleeding heavily but he managed to reach inside and grab the collar of Abel’s jacket.

Abel jerked his body sideways, struggling to break free of the man’s solid grip. With one violent pull, the driver inadvertently tore part of the collar off. The momentum sent the thug falling backward. Abel used this split-second opportunity to shove the car into drive. The car lurched forward, the driver’s door still open. The thug, determined to reclaim his vehicle, shoved his right arm through the door and attempted to grab anything that was within reach.

Abel steered with his right hand and swatted at the driver’s arm with his left. He cranked the steering wheel hard counter-clockwise, making a sharp enough turn to snap the car door back toward him. The door slammed the driver in the shoulder and he cried out in pain, but he still held on.

Alice continued to shriek in the back seat. Abel ignored her. He grabbed the door handle and yanked it toward him, but the driver’s arm prevented the door from closing. Abel pulled and released the door several times, violently cracking it against the driver’s forearm. When the thug was holding on only by his hand, Abel saw his opening. He yanked the door one more time as hard as he could, catching the driver’s fingers in the door jam.

The driver screamed in pain as the bones in his fingers splintered. Abel released the door, and the driver fell backward in anguish onto the pavement. Finally free of the man, Abel slammed his foot on the accelerator and the tyres screeched as the car bolted out of the parking lot.

“Oh my God!” Alice screamed. “What are you doing? Where are you taking me?”

“I’m getting you the hell away from those people.”

Alice whimpered, clearly distraught. Abel was having trouble manoeuvring the large car through a city with which he was completely unfamiliar. He had no idea where he should go, and had he been able to identify a safe place, he wouldn’t have known how to find it. He wanted to get out of the main city to some quiet spot. He turned off whatever main artery they were on and found his way to a deserted side street. They parked in front of a badly kept house. It struck Abel that they had wound up in one of Washington’s famous dangerous drug-infested neighbourhoods. Only moments before they had been in a district with bright streetlights and high-end restaurants.

Abel turned off the car’s headlights and concentrated on catching his breath. Behind him, Alice continued to whimper. Abel knew the driver was probably screaming on his cell phone at that very moment, and that everyone from the cops to the syndicate killers would be hunting the Lincoln. He would have to ditch it then take Alice to safety on foot.

Abel got out and opened the rear door. He grabbed Alice’s arm.

“Hurry”, he ordered. “We’ve no time to waste.”

“No!” Alice cried, sounding more like a wounded animal than a young girl.

“Alice, you must come!” Abel pleaded. “We need to get away from the car before they discover it!”

“I’m not coming with you!”

“Alice, you’ve got—”

“Leave me alone!”

Totally desperate, Abel leaned inside the car, grabbed Alice’s body with both hands, and wrenched her out of the vehicle. He carried her in his arms, as she kicked and cried. Eventually, he found what he believed to be a safe hiding place behind a gas station dumpster.

Abel carefully lowered Alice’s feet to the ground, but he still held her close to his chest. She started to yell, but he quickly put his hand over her mouth to stifle the noise.

“Shush, Alice!” he whispered. “Someone will hear you and think I’m kidnapping you.”

“You are!” she hissed back at him. “I don’t want to go with you. Let go of me!”

Through the dim light of a distant street lamp, Abel caught sight of Alice’s face. It was worn and haggard, like that of a person who had been through more than she could handle.

“Alice, look at me”, Abel said quietly.

Alice turned to face him, but their eyes did not meet. Abel tried to match his gaze with hers, but she was unable to focus. He could see by the streetlights that her pupils were dilated, and her head shook with unnatural ticks. She was clearly under the influence of some kind of drug, maybe multiple drugs, though Abel was at a loss to identify which ones.

“Alice, I’ve come to take you home”, Abel said, keeping the message simple for her fried brain. “I will take you back to your mother.”

Alice thrashed in his arms. “No!” she yelped. “I know you killed Marcy!”

Abel felt his heart breaking, but he had to maintain his composure. The influence of the drugs was evident in both her face and her voice. She had been completely brainwashed, robbed of her free will. She seemed to have lost all signs of the vulnerability and compassion that had made her so special, so unique. Abel could only pray they were still inside her somewhere.

“No, Alice”, he insisted. “I did not kill Marcy. Yes, I did meet with her, but I wasn’t the one who killed her. Men from the syndicate killed her because she agreed to help me find and protect you.”

“Then they will kill me too”, Alice said, a growl in her voice. “If they find me with you, they will kill me for sure.”

“Alice, I’ll take you away from here, to a place where you’ll be safe”, Abel said. “Just come with me. I promise I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“You’re a liar!” Alice said.

Abel was ready to make one more plea, to say whatever it took to convince Alice that he wanted to save her from all this grief. She didn’t give him a chance. Suddenly, with one hard push, she freed herself from his grip and bolted down the street. Abel instinctively chased her, but the darkness served as his enemy. Running as hard as he could, he tripped over a discarded object on the sidewalk and went crashing face down to the concrete.

He could taste the blood from his split lip seeping into his mouth and his shin burned. Despite that, he struggled back to his feet and continued running, but then staggered to a halt.

Alice had disappeared, and he had no clue which direction she had gone. He listened carefully for a moment, hoping to catch the sound of running footsteps, but the only sound to be heard was that of the cars rushing down the avenue on the other side of the building.

Abel leaned against a chain link fence and wiped the blood from his lip onto the cuff of his sleeve. His torn jacket hung in shreds from his shoulders. He rubbed his eyes and choked back tears. He could not remember feeling so utterly devastated. He had lost Alice, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally as well. The darkness and evil had devoured her. She was merely another stolen soul added to their long list of conquests.

As Abel dabbed again at his bloody lip, he wondered what he should do next. He was in a strange city, being pursued by a powerful syndicate of vicious thugs and wanted by the police. His instincts told him to run, that he had done all that he could do, and now Alice’s fate was no longer in his hands. All he had to do was to call Maxwell Elliot, who could set up a connection that would get him safely out of the United States and back to Africa.

But the haunted look on Alice’s face, the vacancy of her eyes, gnawed at Peter Abel’s soul. He had come so far and endured so much. He was in this way too deep.