Free The Evil That Men Do by Steve Rollins

the floor.
    “Oh man, you wouldn’t believe. You have no idea how hard it is to get a taxi in this town! I had to walk most of the way back from Old Man Cavanaugh’s—he’s dead, by the way, and then when I could get a taxi, it took three of them to go past before one stopped. Ricki should have beaten me back here from Madeline Frome’s place; that’s weird.”
    Riley tossed the envelope on the desk at which Ricki usually sat, and slumped in her reclining chair heavily.
    “Wait, back up,” Roberta said, “did you really just say Cavanaugh is dead? How? That’s too weird. He seemed healthy enough, but I guess he was pretty old, right?”
    “Nah, it was a suicide apparently. Hung himself with a belt, pretty messed up, right? Seems like his son is a bit of a sucker too, according to a local, but with his old man dead, it looks like the trail is dead there. Hope Ricki got something out of Frome or we’re going to have to pull round the clock shifts to make Dumont’s money back for him.”
    Riley picked up the envelope. Roberta couldn’t quite believe her ears. Sure, Cavanaugh seemed down on his luck, but was there really no way for him to improve his lot than to end it all? It didn’t bear thinking about, the tightening of the belt around his frail old neck, the kick of the chair. Roberta visualized the belt buckle jammed in the doorway, braced against the wooden door in a run-down house in Savannah.
    “Hey, this envelope has no address on it. It’s not sealed either!” Riley said. “Shouldn’t we open it?”
    Roberta looked at her sister groggily. Best get the next drama over with, see how much more screwed R3 Recovery’s financial accounts were about to become. She took the envelope from her sister, and shook out a small note written on a torn page from a red margined piece of legal paper. The paper itself was a pale yellow. Upon it, in neat, block capital letters written in black ink there was a message:
     
    RETRIEVE THE ROCK OR YOUR SISTER DIES.
    FROME HAS THE ROCK. TELL NO-ONE.
    YOU HAVE THREE DAYS.
     
    Roberta dropped the note, letting it tumble onto the desk. Her fingers went numb, and fresh, cold sweat beaded on the back of her neck, her forehead and between her shoulder blades. Riley looked alarmed, but Roberta barely registered a response. Riley picked up the note.
    “Oh my God, Ricki! Roberta, what do we do? I’m calling the cops, no wait, he’ll kill her! Christ, what are we gonna do?” Riley had tears in her eyes.
    Roberta’s mind was torn between multiple possible outcomes. If Frome had the necklace, why did she report it stolen, and who knew about the jewel anyway? If only it had been her who had been taken, she could have handled any punishment she was sure, and Ricki would be smart enough to work out the clues, even from this scant evidence. What could they do with this note, other than obey it and hope to rescue Ricki from the clutches of… who? A murderer? A thief? She guessed it was a fairly straight case of kidnapping, but that’s not what it felt like. It felt more personal. Could it be one of the people that R3 Recovery had returned to jail, or repossessed the property of, or had their sordid affairs investigated?
    Roberta picked up the phone and dialed, ignoring Riley’s confused, grief stricken expression. When the phone was answered, Roberta found her voice choked and cracked.
    “This is Roberta Vaughan, Terry’s girlfriend. I need to speak to him, please.” The operator put her on hold, and after what seemed like an eternity, Terry’s deep voice came on the other end of the line.
    “Hey babe, what’s new?” he said.
    “I need you. I need you right now, and come alone.” Roberta’s voice was deadpan, but Terry totally missed the point.
    “Woah, not that I don’t need you too, but I’m still on shift and, well…”
    “Shut up and get here Terry!” Roberta snapped. “I need you as a cop, not my boyfriend. I’ll tell you when you get here. This is really