The Autobiography of Benjamin Abbott - Chapter 23: The Trade
Fingers and I were returning from Bakers with sacks full of groceries. We had gone there first thing in the morning so we could surprise Angel before she returned from a long night of work. We were each carrying two full paper bags with the Bakers’ chimp mascot on the front, which included a bottle of ketchup that we had purchased after a 20 minute debate where Fingers explained to me that we shouldn’t ever buy ketchup because we can get it for free just as we can get any number of other condiments and sauces for free if we strategize correctly when we go out to eat and order take-out, and then me explaining to him that the amount of money that we save (not to mention the dignity we lose) by employing his ketchup packet hoarding strategy simply isn’t worth it, which was followed by him patronizingly explaining to me, slower this time, the brilliance of his free ketchup (and other condiments) philosophy, which was followed by me once again disagreeing.
Anyway, we ended up with a bottle of ketchup in one of our bags because I was planning to boil hot dogs that night and because I had snuck the ketchup into the cart when Fingers was distracted at the magazine section near the checkout aisle).
We cautiously entered the stairwell, stepping over Phil as he slept in his usual spot, and more cautiously opened the door to my floor, Fingers peering down the hallway to make sure all was clear while we engaged in a vigorous (and somewhat bloody) debate about the name of the Bakers’ chimp, with Fingers insisting his name was Ralph and me insisting he didn’t have a name, he was just a chimp (although one I took as a close personal friend). We stopped the debate as Fingers took a step into the hallway leaving the door open a crack. I felt like a Navy Seal at this point, ready to conduct a raid on an enemy position (although the two grocery bags I was carrying somewhat dispelled the fantasy), I half-expected Fingers’ to come back and do one of those hand signal things to tell me to advance that I think Navy Seals or some kind of elite Delta Force teams do. But Fingers didn’t do the hand signals, instead he opened the door wide and turned back to me and said, “we’re good. Let’s go. I’m hungry.”
We made it into Angel’s apartment safely and were putting the bags down on the counter when the manufacturers default ring of Finger’s cell phone went off, startling us both. I lost some green peppers as I jumped from the unexpectedly loud cell phone ring.
“Jesus, who’s calling you at this time of the day?”
“Don’t know.” Fingers ignored the excessively loud ringing of his phone, unpacking his first grocery bag.
“Aren’t you going to answer it?”
“They can leave a message.”
“It might be important.” Hi blasé attitude towards such an early morning call that could easily be an emergency was bothering me.
The ringing stopped.
“I really think you should have answered that. Doesn’t the curiosity kill you?”
“That’s why I have voicemail.”
I started unpacking my first bag and strategically placing the items into Angel’s mini-fridge to make sure they could all fit, a brain teaser type task of near impossibility, still annoyed that Fingers didn’t answer his phone, almost as annoyed as he was about to be when he found out I had purchased a bottle of ketchup.
“What is that?” Fingers noticed as I tried my best to palm the ketchup from the bag to Angel’s micro-fridge.
“Nothing.” I quickly closed the fridge door.
“That looked like…” Manufacturer’s default ring went off again, even louder than the first time.
“I told you it was important.”
Fingers took his phone out and looked at the number. He didn’t recognize it. “Hello,” he answered. Then he held out the phone to me. “It’s for you.”
“What?”
“They asked for you.”
“You don’t think that’s a little strange.” My spidey sense was tingling.
“Yeah, I guess it is.” I snatched the phone from his hand.
“Hello.” I said flatly.
“Missing someone?” A person with a vaguely familiar voice and a Scottish accent asked. The timbre of the voice sounded different now that it was no longer filtered through my apartment wall but I knew who it was.
“Ben, get the fuck out…” Angel screamed in the background before she was muffled. Harry Maxwell returned to the phone.
“You should be careful about who you involve in your little schemes. It might get some innocent people hurt.” The fucker.
“What do you want?” I forced myself to keep my voice controlled. I wanted to smash Fingers’ phone on the counter, to smash Harry Maxwell’s ugly face.
“Oh, the same as any chap, a sweet bonny lass in my bed every night, a villa on the beach in Tenerife, and Rangers beating Celtic, but for the moment, I’ll settle for you. A simple trade, your life for hers.”
“How do I know you won’t hurt her?”
“You don’t. That why you need to make this trade.”
“Not good enough. What makes you think I care about her?”
“I know you do. She’s a lovely girl. I can’t blame you.”
“I’m a lot more selfish than you think.”
“No, you’re not. We shouldn’t make this any harder than we have to. Why should there be 2 dead bodies instead of one.” Unfortunately, there was a certain logic to his rationale.
“You’re going to kill her anyway.”
“Not if you give yourself up.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Harry laughed a mean laugh. “Look, son, I’m a professional at this and you’re an amateur. We can handle this the way I want, professionally, and your young lady friend can live, or we can handle this your way, like amateurs, and we can torture her for a while for our amusement, maybe a day or 2, before we kill her and then come and find you and kill you. My son’s been dying to make her scream for the last several hours. I told him to cut off a finger but there’s so much more he wants to do. One word from me and he’s going to start doing it.”
I needed more time. Think. Think. Think.
“Hello,” Harry called after me. “We’ll give your best to the young lady. We’ll make sure to send you a couple of body parts in the mail.”
“Wait!” Think. Think. “You say you’re a professional. We should sit down like two professionals in a public place and talk about this over a nice glass of scotch. (The scotch seemed to have worked with Fingers and Humphrey.)
“What the fuck is that?”
He seemed offended somehow. I don’t think I was softening him up.
“There’s nothing to talk about, mate, we’re going to kill you because that’s the job. We always finish the job. Tommy, you can cut off that finger now.”
“No! No. Let’s make the trade. My life for hers. And she keeps all of her body parts.”
Harry smiled through the phone.
“But you don’t set the time and place. I set the time and place to make sure she’s alive before I offer myself up.”
“I can’t do that.”
“If you don’t get me you don’t get the money. You kill her and you’re just a poor murderer instead of a rich hitman. If I’m going to trade I need to make sure she’s safe and the only way I’ll know she’s safe is if I set the meeting place.”
“I’m not a big fan of walking into police traps.”
“No police. I promise.”
“I don’t believe you. You’re promise isn’t good enough for me.”
Silence. I was still trying to think.
“Tommy. Let’s have some fun.”
“You win.” I wasn’t going to let him win. “You win.” I sighed deeply. “Do you know anybody else here?”
“What?”
“Somebody who can act as an intermediary, somebody who can set up the meeting place and assure me that she’s safe, assure me that you’ll let her go. If you can do that, you’ll have your trade. My life for hers.”
Harry thought my offer over. Fingers was uncomfortably close to me, his breath on me, trying to listen in. I pushed him away, my brain still working. “I think we can find someone,” Harry cautiously said.
“Have them give me a call at noon tomorrow at this number. If I trust them when they call, I’m yours. If I don’t trust them I’m going to bury myself in the Mojave desert and you’ll never find me and you’ll never get your money.”
“Sure, mate. It’s been nice doing business with you. You’ll get a call tomorrow with the time and place for the exchange. And remember if you bring any cops with you were not only going to kill this nice young lady but we’re going to find every single member of your family and kill them in front of you and then we’ll…”
“I get it.” I cut him off. “No cops.”
“Oh, and a little piece of friendly advice. It’s never good falling in love with a prostitute. I’ve done it myself before and it never ends well. Somebody always ends up getting hurt in the end.”
I screamed into the phone after he hung up.
“They have her?” Fingers asked.
“Yes.”
“You have a plan, right?”
“Yes.” I bent over in pain, anger.
“What’s the plan?”
“They want to trade; my life for hers.”
“That’s the plan?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not a good plan. They’ll kill you both.”
“I know.”
“What’s the real plan?”
My stomach cramped. I felt ulcerative bleeding through my intestines.
“What’s the plan?” Fingers’ deep voice raised an octave.
“I got them to set up the meeting through an intermediary. That person is going to call your phone at noon tomorrow with the time and place for the exchange.” Through controlled breathing, the cramp started to decramp.
“Who’s going to call you?”
I kept on with the controlled breathing, fighting thru my labor pains.
“Who’s going to call you?”
Fingers’ questions weren’t helping. I looked up at him and with considerable concentration I forced my body to relax in the way you need to force yourself to relax when your calf cramps on you. I closed my eyes and then opened them again and took one last deep breath, “the only other person in this city they know.”