The Ninth Caller Ch. 07

"I'm not saying you did," Phil said. "But it is very weird for a person just to fall of the face of the earth like this, especially in the last 20 years. We have records for everything now. Everybody leaves a fairly clear electronic trail. I mean, look," he said as he pointed at the screen. "I can see where she was last employed, and her last residence, but then all of a sudden, nothing."

"Well," Jane said, "she is dead. Wouldn't being dead bring a halt to —"

"Yes, Jane," Phil sighed, barely able to hide his irritation. "It would, of course. And, I know she is dead, but see, therein lies the deeper mystery. There is no record of her death, no death certificate — nothing. There is also absolutely no record she died, or even went missing for that matter. I scanned all of the newspapers and police reports from around that time and there was not even a missing person report filled out on this girl. It is like one minute she was alive and walking around and then the next ... POOF, gone. Someone always reports a death..., always!"

"What were you able to find out before the trail ran cold?" Phil said.

"I know she was working at someplace called 'The Dollhouse'. That employer showed up on her last social security contribution."

"The Dollhouse," Jane said, "what the hell is that — a toy store?"

Frank blushed and looked down at his hands. "I know the place, and it is not a toy store. It is a..., or was a..., gentlemen's club. In fact, that is where I met her."

"A gentlemen's club?" Jane snorted. "Has there ever been a bigger misnomer than that?"

"Well..., it is still open," Phil said. "I tracked it down."

"Do you think someone might still remember her from that place?" Sofia asked.

Jane smiled and interjected, "It is doubtful. One missing stripper from twenty years ago? There have probably been hundreds of girls that have worked at that place since then."

"Well, it's a starting point, at least," Frank said. He stood up and said, "Tomorrow we leave for McKee. I guess a little footwork is going to be necessary to solve this mystery after all, eh Phil?"

"Yeah," Phil said as he nodded his head. "This is not going to be solved over the internet." He smiled as he added, "but hey, there isn't a missing persons case yet I have not cracked. I am sure this will all get sorted out very quickly once we get to Kentucky."

*****

Ricky sat on one of the lounge chairs around the green, filthy, algae infested pool at the Clover Hill apartment complex. It, like everything else, had seen its better days and that day was quite some time ago. Only the cool mentholated goodness of his third Newport allowed him the ability to stand the acrid, moldering stench of the still, mosquito infested pool. The smoke masked the stench quite effectively. He smirked at his good fortune at not being given the assignment to clean the pool. That job would definitely suck, especially on a scorcher of a day like today.

His thin, threadbare white T-shirt clung tightly to his chest as he was drenched in sweat. It had been a hell of a job packing up Tammy's belongings up in the truck, and the fact that the electricity had been shut off in her apartment, which meant no air conditioning, it was like working in an oven. Now, however, the truck was packed up, and all he had to do was deliver the goods to his boss.

His stomach fluttered at the thought, as this was in itself, highly unusual. Stubbing out his cigarette on his left boot, he got up, walked over to his truck and started the engine. Tim Jones lived way the fuck out in the middle of nowhere, so, essentially, this would be the last task of the day. It would be too long a trip to go out, unload and get back. It also was going to be quite the effort just to find the place. No address or map would help find this remote estate, so he typed in the coordinates on the GPS and headed out.

Forty-five minutes later, and with his knuckles aching from tightly gripping his steering wheel as he struggled to navigate his large vehicle up the tiny, rough, unpaved mountain road, Ricky stopped his truck. The Garmin announced his arrival, "Arriving at destination, on the right."

Ricky got out of the truck, and was relieved to see the rusty padlock was open. He would be able to open the gate and since he had never been here before, if it had been locked, he didn't know what he would have done. He didn't even have a number to call. Tim Jones was like a lot of wealthy people, and craved his privacy so even employees that had worked for him for decades knew little details about his home or life.

As he swung the gate open wide, the grinding screech of rusty metal rubbing on metal shattered the silence of the secluded mountain road. Obviously, this gate did not get a lot of action, and the screech sent a corkscrew up Ricky's spine, like he was opening up a doorway to someplace he shouldn't.

He squelched such odd thoughts and breathed in deeply as he walked back to the truck. The air went down his lungs hard, like he was trying to breathe in a bowl of oatmeal. It was thick with humidity, and hot as blazes and he certainly was not going to be sad to see this day end. Getting back into his truck, he had to turn his headlights on, despite it being still fully daylight outside. Tall pines and oaks stood like sentinels over the road, and everything was dim in a dark green canopy. This was about as far off the grid as you could get. The silence was shattered again as his truck roared to life.

He started down the overgrown driveway, and drove through the increasingly gloomy canopy of trees. It was as if he was piloting his way through a living, green tunnel. When the forest choked road ended, and opened up onto a breathtaking vista, he slammed on his brakes and took in a deep breath.

"Holy Fuck!" Ricky said as he looked out over the valley. It was beautiful. For as far as he could see, nothing but endless rolling hills of full green trees spread out to the horizon. Besides the enormous house, larger and more magnificent than any he had seen, no other manmade structure was in view. It was as if he was now starring in one of those post-apocalyptic movies he enjoyed watching, where all humans were extinct and nature had reclaimed the tired, worn-out earth.

As he drove down towards the barn to the left, where he assumed he would be leaving the furniture, he felt his stomach churn when he saw Tim walk out the front door and wave to him. Although he had worked for Tim for years, ever since the incident at Addicts Anonymous the other night, he had been uneasy. He needed this job and he didn't want anything to fuck it up. Having your boss find out you are some kind of drunk, or perhaps worse, might lead to trouble down the road, even if meant he knew that Tim was an addict himself.

"Ricky, my boy," Tim said as he walked over to the truck, a big smile plastered on his thin, skeletal face. "You made good time."

"Thanks, boss," Ricky said as he rolled down the window. "It wasn't that bad a job, actually. The girl left the apartment in fairly good condition."

"That's good," Tim said as his face dropped. "Such a shame..., I thought she would be a good tenant. So much going for her. Such a shame."

"Yeah...," Ricky said. "Well..., I don't want to keep you. Should I put her stuff in the barn? Shelia said you —"

"Come inside first, Ricky," Tim said. "I want to talk to you for a bit."

"Sure thing, Boss," Ricky said as the gurgling in his gut went from low simmer to full rolling boil. This was not how he wanted the day to go. He just wanted to get his job done and leave before the subject of his attendance at the AA meeting came up.

Ricky's angst let up a bit as he walked into the living room of Tim's house and he felt an audible gasp leap out of his throat.

"You like?" Tim asked as he turned back and smiled. "You struck me as a man of good taste. Your reaction confirms my opinion."

"It's incredible, boss," Ricky said. "It is like you have your own private lodge up here. Man..., I bet the hunting is fantastic."

"Oh yes, it is!" Tim said as his thin lips curled up. "Deer season especially is fantastic. Hell..., I can bag a 12 pointer from my back porch while still in my skivvies."

Now in the kitchen, Tim opened one of the cabinets and pulled out a fifth of Wild Turkey. He placed two glasses down on the counter, and, turning back to Ricky, said, "care for a drink?"

"Ah..., well, I would love to, but...," Ricky said. "You know..., the uh..."

"Ah," Tim said. "Liquor must be your particular cross to bear, right? I should have guessed from..., well, you know."

"Yeah," Ricky said. "I done swore off the stuff." As he spoke, Ricky felt his jaw muscles tighten and that odd metallic taste start to coat the back of his throat. He knew it well, and as he was refusing his boss' offer, his eyes did not once leave their laser beam like focus on the bottle.

"That's too bad," Tim said as he sat down on the stool, poured himself a shot and downed it in one gulp. With a loud wet smacking sigh, he said, "Ahhhh. That fucking hits the spot. You know, those clicks can get pretty loud."

Ricky, his right arm shaking, felt his mouth go dry as he nodded. "They sure can." His heart raced and he started to back away. "Thanks again for the offer, boss, but, I really should go load the —"

"Sit down," Tim said as he kicked a stool over to Ricky. "I hate to drink alone. And shit, boy, stop looking like a turkey on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. I know you are trying to dry up. I ain't stupid! I did see you at the meeting, you know. I was there too."

Ricky said nothing but looked down at the floor. His spirits, as well as his chin, rose when Tim added, "And the fact we share this little secret together, means you are a man I can trust. And I always like to drink with people I trust, even if they don't drink themselves."

"Thanks Boss, that means a lot to—"

"—And you are trustworthy, aren't you, Ricky?"

"Of course! I always keep my word and never would betray a —"

"—And if I wanted you to perform some special duties for me, you would help me out, wouldn't you?" He raised his glass and said, "after all, we have something in common now."

"Certainly boss, I am more than willing to help you out with anything you want. I am a team player."

"Good," Tim said as his face twisted into a smile. "I like a team player. So, let me show you where I want to put the furniture."

"Not out in the barn?"

"No, I have someplace a lot more..., appropriate."

Ricky nodded and followed Tim to the other side of the house. As he walked, his brain bubbled in a swirl of thoughts. His palms already itched, as he knew this task had the potential for a big windfall. Helping out the owner of his company, especially with a private matter, could fatten his wallet quite a bit and his mind already wandered at the potential infusion of cash into his always low bank account.

He also paused his imaginations of riches as his thoughts turned conspiratorial. He was very intrigued by this odd situation. What could a powerful and wealthy man like Tim possibly need his help with? Ricky was just a nobody. No one ever asked his assistance on anything, so this alone was unique. He knew, like F. Scott Fitzgerald said, that the Rich were different, but just how different? Time would tell, but as his eyes passed over the enormity of Tim's house, pristine and huge beyond any home he had ever been in before, he found it hard to concentrate. Tim obviously had even more money than Ricky suspected and his being there seemed out of whack.

As Ricky followed Tim through the long hallways and giant sitting rooms of the mansion, an unease started to grow in his gut. It was all too clean and contrived, like a perpetually polished trophy sitting on the mantle of a fading athlete, meant for looking and admiring, but not touching. What is this all about? When they reached Tim's bedroom, Ricky stopped cold as Tim lifted a picture from the wall, and uncovered an electrical control panel. He hope this wasn't going to get freaky. That, he was not prepared for.

"Now you know I trust you, Ricky..., right?" Tim said as he typed in a code onto the key panel.

Ricky meekly nodded and said "Yes sir." It was weird and he hoped this wasn't some sort of bizarre sex thing. He knew some of these rich mother fuckers were freaks, and his dreams of riches might go up in a flash if he suddenly had to fend off some unwanted same-sex advance from his boss. Cash was always good, but, he wasn't willing to suck a cock to get it. Even Ricky had a price.

Tim grinned, and said, "Good! Just so you know, no one knows about this secret of mine but you, or I."

"I am honored, sir, but..., what is it exactly?" Ricky asked as his curiosity struggled to break free of his consciousness and run amok like a rabid squirrel. He froze when the enormous bed in the center of the room started to lift up off of the floor and fold up against the back wall. As the bed rose higher and higher, he felt his legs start to weaken. He thought to himself 'What in the fuck is this freaky shit?"

"It is a panic room," Tim said. "Have you ever heard of a panic room before?"

"I saw that movie a few years ago, you know, the one with Jodie Foster."

"Yeah, that movie had the basic idea, although my..., refuge, is a lot bigger," Tim said as he reached down to the floor and folded back the rug. Underneath the carpet was a heavy metal door. Tim lifted the latch and opened the door, revealing a staircase leading down into the dark.

"I keep a lot of cash here, sometimes," Tim said. "And you never can be too careful, you know."

"No, you can't," Ricky said as he stared into the darkness.

Tim turned to Ricky and said, "So, that is where I want the furniture."

"Sure thing, Boss."

"But...," Tim said as he grinned. "Before that, I need you to do me a big favor, one I will not forget. You want to do me a favor, don't you?"

"Of course," Ricky answered, his voice nearly breaking in nervousness.

"It is not too big of an ask," Tim said, his nostrils flaring as he smelled Ricky's concern. "I want you to go down into the panic room and check it out for me. I just got it completed last week, and, I need to see if it can be accessed from the inside once the door is closed." Tim grinned, and added, "I would have done it myself, but, I would surely look like an idiot if I got trapped into my own panic room, now wouldn't I?"

"Yeah, that would not be good."

"So, go downstairs, and I will shut the door and you can tell me if you can get out."

"OK," Ricky said as paused at the top of the stairs. "Uh..., are you—"

"Ricky," Tim said with a sigh. "You just need to be down there for a few minutes, that's all, I swear." He frowned, and added, "Look, if you don't want to help me out, then just—"

"No, it's OK, boss," Ricky said as he forced a nervous laugh. "It's just..., well, exactly what am I checking for? I would have thought that the—"

"—I need to see how secure the facility is. As I said, I just had the construction completed last week, and, I haven't been able to fully check it out. It is all hush hush, you know."

"Yeah, I suppose that is the point of a panic room." Ricky turned, and added, "but, didn't the contractors test out the room?"

"No. I gave them the blueprints, but they were purposefully kept in the dark about the true purpose of the space. They thought it was just another guest room, albeit, with an odd entrance."

Ricky smiled weakly as he stared down into the dark chasm below him. The stairs descended at least twenty feet, and the light from the bedroom did not illuminate anything past the first three steps. It was all a chilly, black void and sent a shudder into his gut. Given the remote nature of the house, and the fact he was completely alone, and with a man he really did not know that well, a tiny flicker of dread stirred in his spine. If Tim really were some sort of whack job, well..., there would be no way to stop him once he went down those stairs into the dark. Maybe this was some sort of strange game this guy was playing. Just fucking with his head, getting his jollies off of tormenting his employee. Tim seemed like a normal, if not sickly, guy, but who knows. Who knows what lurks in the dark recesses of man's soul. And when you are a rich MOFO living out in the middle of nowhere, well..., that is ripe for extra weird covered with psycho sprinkles. Still..., there wasn't anything really to worry about, was there?

A small bead of sweat rolled down his back as he took his first step down into the darkness. A tiny voice, that one that often warns of hidden dangers, spoke. It whispered caution, but, Ricky pushed down such concerns and continued. He really did need the money, and he walked down into the darkness.

"I really appreciate you helping me out, Ricky," Tim called out from the top stair. "I will make sure you are handsomely compensated for this favor."

"Uh..., thanks," Ricky said as he continued further down the stairs, his throat dry as even the prospect of a big payday did not squelch his trepidation. Slowly, but relentlessly, he walked into the inky blackness, the dark enveloping him like a cold blanket.

When he reached the bottom, he opened his eyes wide in order to attempt to see. It was pointless. There was nothing before him; nothing but a dark, foreboding void.

"Is there a light switch down here?" Ricky asked.

"Yes, on your left, right on the wall," Tim said.

Ricky fumbled his fingers across the cool concrete and found the switch. After he flipped the lights on, he took a sharp intake of air. He was surprised by what he saw. The space was enormous, much bigger than his two-bedroom apartment back in town and not the tiny panic room as he imagined. This was more like an apartment. To his left he saw the door to a small bathroom, and in the corners of the ceiling he saw video cameras. What the hell is all of this?

"I wonder what that is for?" Ricky said under his breath.

"Did you say something?" Tim said.

"No, I was just admiring your space here. Now, what am I supposed to...," Ricky continued until he froze. Something caught his eye. There, in the corner of the empty room was a chain and collar bolted to the concrete floor. The chain was enormous, at least twenty feet, and the links appeared to be very heavy. It was the sort of thing you would see restraining a junk yard dog.

"Do you have a dog, sir?" Ricky called up, that dread starting to gurgle back up his gullet.

"No," Tim said. "Now, I am going to close the door and lock it. Let me know if you can get out."

"Sure thing," Ricky said as the lump in his throat doubled in size. This seemed so bizarre, and a sinister tone hung in the air, like an odor of burned toast, but, money was money. When the steel door clanged shut, and the hollow metallic ring echoed through the giant empty space, he felt his stomach drop. He was trapped, like being buried alive. He started back up the stairs, and, reaching the top, pushed against the door. It wouldn't budge. He walked back down into the room and started to look for any other way out. There was none.

"So, pretty secure, eh?" came Tim's voice over a hidden loudspeaker.

"Can you see me?" Ricky said as he stared up at one of the camera and waved.

"Yes," Tim said. "I have this tied into my security cameras." As he spoke, the lock released on the door and Ricky heard it open. He could not help but breathe in deeply in relief.

He walked back upstairs and saw Tim grinning from ear to ear as he stood on the other side of the bedroom.

"So, what do you think?" Tim asked.

"It is like a nuclear bunker down there. Seems very secure."

"Perfect!" Tim said. "I really appreciate your help with this. I know it is a bit sparse down there, but, I am sure once all of the furniture is in place, it will be a lot homier."