“Strange.” Cassy walked down the driveway and into the street. She looked left and right but saw no sign of him.
She walked to the store where Mrs. Cheeseborough sold the best apple pie in New York State. “Have you seen Michael?” she asked.
“No, Cassy. Not today.”
Cassy walked back to the house and sat down at the dinner table. Perhaps if she relaxed and waited, he would turn up, she thought.
After two hours Cassy was frantic. It would be dark soon. She called Judy.
“Judy, Michael's gone missing. I need to speak to your dad.”
“Okay. Hold on.”
Cassy heard a rumbling sound as Judy's father picked up the phone. “Hi, Cassy. What's up?”
“Joe, Michael's gone missing. What should I do?”
“How long has he been gone?”
“About a couple of hours.”
“Well as a police officer I can tell you that the police won't do anything until he's been missing for twenty-four hours.”
“But you know what he's like. He can't look after himself for that long. Jesus, I'm worried sick.”
A day later Michael still hadn't arrived home, and the police sent an army of officers to look for him.
“Is he given to walking off on his own?” Detective Jordan asked.
“Never. He knows he should stay within the boundaries of the house,” Cassy said.
“Well, my men are looking for him. If he's around the area, we'll find him.”
*****
“What the fuck?” Igor said. “Jesus Christ. Who the fuck would do something like that to a kid?”
“What?” Dima asked.
“Look, here on TV.”
Dima listened as the reporter told his audience that the late Douglas Solomon's autistic son had been kidnapped. A ransom note had been sent to Cassy Solomon, along with a severed ear.
“Albanians,” Dima said. “They're ruthless fuckers. They don't give a shit who they hurt. How much money do they want?”
“Ten million. How do you know they are Albanians?”
“They always cut people's ears off.”
They continued to watch, and after a few minutes there was a press conference with the police and Cassy.
“Is that Cassy Solomon? Jesus, she's hot. I wouldn't mind a night in the sack with her,” Igor said.
“Stop thinking about your dick all the time. Can't you see how upset she is?” Dima said.
“She'd feel a lot better impaled by me. That's for sure.”
Dima laughed. “You're a disgrace.”
“I love women. You know that.”
“Have you ever fucked a woman more than once?” Dima asked.
Igor had to think. “Er...no. I don't think so. Motherfucker, look!” he exclaimed as the camera panned around the room full of journalists. “Murat Hyka. Did you see him?”
“No,” Dima said disappointedly.
“Right under their noses. I'm gonna make a call,” Igor said.
“Not to the cops. No way.”
“But that fat Albanian asshole was sitting among the journalists. I bet he's got something to do with it. I hate that bastard. He's a dog. Have you forgotten what he did to us?”
“No.”
“That woman, what's her name? Cassy. She's in a heap of trouble if Murat Hyka has got anything to do with this.” Igor jumped up from the sofa and stretched his considerable frame. He was well over six feet tall and a solid mass of muscle. “He's got half the police in his pocket. They'll never bring charges.”
“So why do you care?” Dima said.
“She's hot, and she looks upset. I want to help her.”
“You're fucking mad. Would you go to war with Murat Hyka just to get into her panties?”
Igor looked at his brother. “Yes, I think I would. Come on, Dima, he's a jerk, and so are all the guys who work for him. This is a good chance to eradicate him once and for all.”
*****
Cassy badly needed fresh air. She'd been sitting inside with a police liaison officer for four days, and she felt stifled by the atmosphere. Her phone calls were being monitored in case the kidnappers rang.
Outside, she walked past her parked Mercedes and noticed a piece of paper under the wiper. She picked it up.
Call me. It's about your brother. Don't involve the cops.
Te: 0178654218767
Cassy looked around nervously to make sure nobody had seen her. She walked across the lawn, stood behind a tree, and took out her cell phone.
“Cassy Solomon. What do you know about my brother?”
“I think he's being held by a group of Albanians.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Igor Ivanovich. I'm a real estate developer.”
“And what makes you think he's being held by Albanians?”
“I saw the press conference. There was a man I know in the audience. He's an Albanian criminal. Did you know that Albania's are well-known for cutting off the ears of their victims?” Cassy felt nauseous as the image of the severed ear came to mind. “If you put those two things together, I think you're talking about an Albanian gang.”
“So what is this man's name?”
“You don't need to know. All I can tell you is that the cops will never solve this because he's got all the top cops in his pocket. They all get huge sums of money from him to turn a blind eye to his activities.”