Read Online The Wrangler: The only thing standing between the beautiful kidnapped heiress and death was -- The Wrangler. by Pat Powers - Free Book Online
Authors: Pat Powers
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money," said the Agent.
"Me, too," said the Wrangler. "So, you think we're gonna catch him by surprise?"
"Yep," said the Agent. "We're dead, he's sitting in that condo waiting for the money. We pop in, blow him away, get the money, and go on our merry way. What's not to like?"
"Nothing," said the Wrangler. "But the Man still might be worried about the cops."
"True," said the Agent. "He's not gonna answer any knocks on the door without his gun drawn, And he's gonna be watching the causeway with those binoculars."
"We'll need to ditch this car," said the Cleaner. "He sees it, he'll know we're still around."
"Good point," said the Wrangler.
"I'll rent another," said the Cleaner. Like the Wrangler, the Cleaner had three different sets of ID cards with him, each with its own credit cards and driver's licenses. Top of the line stuff, too, not like the kind of stuff they sold people just across the border from Mexico. The drivers' licenses would last indefinitely and the credit cards were good for about two weeks from their initial use. But the Cleaner never used them for more than a week.
The Wrangler dropped off the Cleaner for the rental, then drove off to a secluded spot they'd spotted on the way to the rental agency. The Cleaner came back and they made the switch, helping the Agent into the back seat and putting the bag with Christine in it into the trunk of the new car.
Christine mmphed a few times during the transfer. She was in a lot of pain. The circular container she was trapped in and the straps that confined her made all but the tiniest of movements impossible. Her body had stared a new round of cramping and once again she found herself screaming into her gag, alone and in darkness, in pain and fear and misery, writhing helplessly as her muscles contracted painfully, unable to relieve the pain in any way.
Yet strangely enough, all the pain and so forth was a considerable improvement over her state of mind when she had been convinced not so long ago that she was going to be killed.
She wasn't a fool. She understood very well that she still might be killed. She knew that they might just be toying with her, giving her hope and despair just for the fun of it. But being a plaything of people who might or might not kill you beat the hell out of thinking you would be killed, period.
She was of course deeply miserable, she just wasn't at the bottom of the black hole she'd been trapped in earlier. And anything, anything was better than that. Even all this pain and darkness and fear was better than that.
Still, Christine was deeply disappointed to hear an engine come to life and feel herself moving. She was in another damn car trunk. She hated being tied up and locked in the trunk of a car. She hated being kidnapped. She hated being raped. She hated being afraid she was going to die at any moment. She hated that most of all.
The car moved through the beautiful roads of St. Simon's Island, at times almost completely canopied by oaks with long beards of Spanish moss hanging from their branches, and the spiky green of palmettos lining the road. The condo they were heading for was just off the main drag, perched on a tiny spit of sand that had almost certainly been constructed into the marsh back before environmental rules made that difficult.
They pulled into the parking area underneath the condo next to the one they were headed for. The two condos were just 5 meters apart, built on stilts in case of flooding and also to take advantage of the tiny space available.
The three of them had decided that there wasn't much point in doing anything fancy. The best plan would have been to have one of them sneak onto the condo's balcony overlooking the marsh and then break into the apartment at the same time as the other two broke into the front door. But in the early afternoon sun anyone climbing about on the outside of the condo balconies would have been visible to anyone on the causeway that crossed the marsh, and anyone
"Me, too," said the Wrangler. "So, you think we're gonna catch him by surprise?"
"Yep," said the Agent. "We're dead, he's sitting in that condo waiting for the money. We pop in, blow him away, get the money, and go on our merry way. What's not to like?"
"Nothing," said the Wrangler. "But the Man still might be worried about the cops."
"True," said the Agent. "He's not gonna answer any knocks on the door without his gun drawn, And he's gonna be watching the causeway with those binoculars."
"We'll need to ditch this car," said the Cleaner. "He sees it, he'll know we're still around."
"Good point," said the Wrangler.
"I'll rent another," said the Cleaner. Like the Wrangler, the Cleaner had three different sets of ID cards with him, each with its own credit cards and driver's licenses. Top of the line stuff, too, not like the kind of stuff they sold people just across the border from Mexico. The drivers' licenses would last indefinitely and the credit cards were good for about two weeks from their initial use. But the Cleaner never used them for more than a week.
The Wrangler dropped off the Cleaner for the rental, then drove off to a secluded spot they'd spotted on the way to the rental agency. The Cleaner came back and they made the switch, helping the Agent into the back seat and putting the bag with Christine in it into the trunk of the new car.
Christine mmphed a few times during the transfer. She was in a lot of pain. The circular container she was trapped in and the straps that confined her made all but the tiniest of movements impossible. Her body had stared a new round of cramping and once again she found herself screaming into her gag, alone and in darkness, in pain and fear and misery, writhing helplessly as her muscles contracted painfully, unable to relieve the pain in any way.
Yet strangely enough, all the pain and so forth was a considerable improvement over her state of mind when she had been convinced not so long ago that she was going to be killed.
She wasn't a fool. She understood very well that she still might be killed. She knew that they might just be toying with her, giving her hope and despair just for the fun of it. But being a plaything of people who might or might not kill you beat the hell out of thinking you would be killed, period.
She was of course deeply miserable, she just wasn't at the bottom of the black hole she'd been trapped in earlier. And anything, anything was better than that. Even all this pain and darkness and fear was better than that.
Still, Christine was deeply disappointed to hear an engine come to life and feel herself moving. She was in another damn car trunk. She hated being tied up and locked in the trunk of a car. She hated being kidnapped. She hated being raped. She hated being afraid she was going to die at any moment. She hated that most of all.
The car moved through the beautiful roads of St. Simon's Island, at times almost completely canopied by oaks with long beards of Spanish moss hanging from their branches, and the spiky green of palmettos lining the road. The condo they were heading for was just off the main drag, perched on a tiny spit of sand that had almost certainly been constructed into the marsh back before environmental rules made that difficult.
They pulled into the parking area underneath the condo next to the one they were headed for. The two condos were just 5 meters apart, built on stilts in case of flooding and also to take advantage of the tiny space available.
The three of them had decided that there wasn't much point in doing anything fancy. The best plan would have been to have one of them sneak onto the condo's balcony overlooking the marsh and then break into the apartment at the same time as the other two broke into the front door. But in the early afternoon sun anyone climbing about on the outside of the condo balconies would have been visible to anyone on the causeway that crossed the marsh, and anyone
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