Paul stared at his friend in stunned silence as the implications of what he had said began to make themselves felt. He knew that Josh was telling the truth; he had known him long enough to know. “Then who...” he began.

  "What about you, for starters?” Josh interrupted him, still chuckling and coughing uncomfortably.

  Paul turned away for a moment before speaking, then drew a deep breath. “Can't ... we tried for a long time, but nothing. We both went to the doctor and had a few tests run. It was me ... I can't.” He lapsed into a shamed silence.

  "Well, who's the lucky man?” Josh said.

  Paul's head sank onto his drawn-up knees. “Shut up, Josh. Just shut up."

  "Maybe we can ask her ourselves before long; she knows where we are."

  Paul's head snapped around. “She does? I didn't tell her ... under the circumstances,” he finished lamely.

  "No ... but I did. She called me last night, said you were acting strange and for me to keep an eye on you. So when you showed up this morning wanting to go caving, I gave her a call while you were loading the car. She knows this area as well as we do now, and I pinpointed it pretty well, based on what you had told me. She'll come looking soon and see the equipment up top."

  "Will she?” Both men glanced uneasily at the dwindling patch of sunlight that now had climbed the wall of the cave and threatened to vanish altogether in the greater shadows of the distant ceiling. Sundown was upon them and they could feel the temperature dropping perceptibly.

  Josh switched off his lamp to conserve the batteries and the two men sat in shivering silence staring up at the hole they had descended through. As they watched, the sky dimmed and grayed, leached of color by the retreating sun, until the small opening faded into the surrounding blackness of their subterranean prison and vanished altogether. Paul and Josh shifted ever closer until they were sitting back to back in the darkness to ward off the dank cold.

  "Just divorce her, Paul. She's not worth all this,” Josh spoke into the silence.

  "No, I can't; you know that ... and so does she,” he finished in a whisper.

  Josh mulled this over, thinking how he had never been as serious as his friend in religious-studies class. In fact, he had never been as serious as Paul about anything. “For crying out loud, exceptions can be made; even by the almighty Church. She's pregnant with somebody else's baby, for Christ's sake!” He regretted the harsh choice of words as soon as they were uttered.

  "No, it's not just that, Josh. I just can't ... or won't, I guess. I love her."

  "I feel sorry for you, Paul,” Josh said gently. “And you don't even know who she's been seeing."

  "No,” Paul agreed. “Now I don't have the slightest clue. Nothing's changed, you see. That's why I figured it had to be you; you're always around. We've gone along in the same pattern for years—she goes to work; I go to work; two nights a week she drives back up to college for her graduate studies. And before you ask, I pay the tuition bills and I've helped her do research work for Professor Rais, so, yes, she really is...” He left the sentence unfinished; remembering the first words Vanda had ever spoken to him. A rush of familiar scenes swirled through his mind; memories now made unwholesome by the poison of unwelcome revelation. While above them, somewhere in the distance, arose the faint growl and grind of an approaching four-wheel-drive vehicle.

  "Listen,” Josh whispered. “You hear that?"

  They both stood silently in expectation. The motor coughed and was extinguished. Paul guessed that the vehicle had arrived at the spot where he and Josh had parked, what seemed like a lifetime ago. Whoever they were, they would have to make the rest of the way on foot.

  Josh hastily switched on his helmet lamp and aimed its failing beam at the cave's entrance; then both men waited, listening intently for the scrabble of loose stone that must accompany their rescuer's arrival. As they stared upward, Paul became aware of the cold, winking stars that were now visible in the distant firmament, while at the very limit of their portal to the living world, a slice of the moon peeked over the edge like the eye of a mischievous giant. From above, the rattle of stone and scree announced the arrival of their salvation.

  Josh began to hop up and down and shout, “Hey, we're down here! We're down in the cave!” The cracked rib pressing into his lung prevented him from continuing and he lapsed into a fit of painful coughing that silenced his pleas. Paul said nothing and waited.

  Far above, he could just make out the hiss and murmur of voices in subdued debate. The softer, higher voice appeared to be demanding something of the other. Then, after a pause, the rope that led to the surface was released and fell to join Paul and Josh in the pit.

  Even as Josh struggled once more to his feet to cry out in consternation, Paul could just make out the silhouette of someone peering down into their tomb. The cold glow of the moon framed the long hair of their executioner, making it shimmer with silver streaks, even as Josh's lamp captured the flushed face. With a cry, Professor Rais vanished from their sight, and shortly thereafter, the clanking of the metal tripod could be heard as its wreckage was dragged down the slope, and the last evidence of Paul and Josh's plight was removed.

  Josh began to weep, and Paul sat down next to him and placed his arm over his friend's shoulder, but said nothing. He had hoped to see Vanda one last time, and was dumb with sorrow that she had deprived him of even this final consolation.

  Drawn to the only heat remaining in the cave, the serpents washed up against the foot of the boulder upon which the two friends waited in a restless sea of scales, and the largest amongst them reared up from the press of the others questing for purchase. Paul leaned back and closed his eyes, instantly conjuring the familiar vision of Vanda dancing naked but for her Gypsy jewelry beneath a bright, pitiless moon, though this time there lay at her feet the prostrate victims of foreign and merciless gods.

  (c)2008 by David Dean

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Fiction: SAFE AND LOFT by John Lutz

  An Edgar Allan Poe Award winner, a multiple Shamus Award winner, and a recipient of the PWA's Lifetime Achievement Award, John Lutz is one of the most esteemed writers in the field. He's the author of dozens of novels and some two hundred published short stories. His latest thriller, In for the Kill, was published as a paperback original by Pinnacle Books in ‘07.

  Rose had mud on her nose.

  Not a lot, but enough to arouse suspicion. Laker considered telling her about it, but that would be foolish. Instead he pretended to admire the green and yellow tie with the staring-eye pattern.

  "Nice,” he said, fondling the tie.

  Rose was alarmed. This customer was in his thirties, handsome, with blue eyes and wavy dark hair, and a sort of amused grin that was probably always on his face. His suit was okay, a kind of wrinkled gray blend with a fair amount of wool in it, that had never been touched by a tailor. What alarmed Rose was that he couldn't really like the tie. And that he seemed so confident, as if he had some big secret.

  Rose told herself, so what, everybody has a big secret. Rose was like that.

  "Have I got it right,” asked the customer, “all you sell here are ties?"

  Together, he and Rose glanced around the tiny downtown shop with its claustrophobically low ceiling and crowded racks of ties. “Not much room to sell anything else,” she said.

  She waited, but he didn't mention that they were the ugliest ties imaginable. Massed as they were, they were a visual assault. Some of them actually hurt the eye

  "You want the tie?” Rose asked from behind the counter.

  "Sure."

  He dug five ten-dollar bills from his wallet and paid her, watching her tuck the money into the register.

  "No change?” he asked.

  "Fifty even,” Rose said. “Tax included."

  "A bargain,” said the guy, through his amused smile.

  Rose carefully folded the hideous thing and placed it in a bag.

  "No receipt?"

  "You've got the tie,” she told him with her own smile.

  "Good point.” He thanked her before she could thank him, then went to the door and opened it, causing the tiny bell above it to tinkle as if sounding a faint alarm. “I'll tell my friends,” he said, before going back out onto the busy sidewalk.

  Rose said for him to be sure to do that, then went behind the curtain to the back room and down the crude wooden steps to where the digging was being done. “I sold a tie,” she said dejectedly.

  Donna and Corrine stopped digging. Even dirty, Donna, with her lush, long red hair and big green eyes, looked like a beauty-pageant contestant. Corinne had blond hair, a heart-shaped face, and was attractive, but looked too delicate to be in any kind of contest. Her shovel was smaller than Donna's. Somehow she hadn't gotten dirty. All three women were the same age—twenty-one—and attended Pierpont University, but the semester had ended and they weren't going to classes, so they were working on a summer project. They were robbing a bank.

  Specifically, the one directly across the street from the Tie One On Shop, which they'd bought six weeks ago from an eager owner who'd retired to Florida. It had been a small jewelry shop, but the bank robbers had converted it to a tie shop and stocked it with the least appealing merchandise possible, and generally did what they could to discourage customers. They wanted to concentrate on their digging.

  The tunnel, which had progressed to about halfway, would run beneath Ninth Avenue, and then beneath the vault of Sixth National Bank, where the plan was for it to make an abrupt upward turn.

  "It was bound to happen,” Donna said, removing a work glove and fluffing her hair, done just yesterday by Evander, who wasn't cheap, “that someone would buy a tie."

  "There was something about the guy who bought it, though,” Rose said. She didn't look like any kind of beauty contestant. She was short, wiry, had mouse-colored, naturally spiky hair and fierce brown eyes above a turned-up nose. If she'd been born a dog, she'd have been one of those small breeds that strain to wriggle into tunnels to fight and kill burrowing vermin. A good ratter.

  "Did he look like a cop?” Corrine asked, her eyes pie-plate wide.

  Rose thought about it. “Not honest enough. He looked like he secretly hated the tie, which is something to be said for him."

  "He was cute,” Donna said. “I can tell by the way you describe him."

  "Cute and dangerous,” Rose said.

  "Your type,” Donna said.

  Rose didn't argue.

  "Selling ties is part of the plan,” Corrine said. “We are in business."

  That was a laugh, because the three of them were from incredibly wealthy families, which was why they could afford a snooty school like Pierpont. They were of an age and nature to resent their wealth and hate their dependence on those families. To rebel. Not uncommon. There were all sorts of ways for young women such as they to revolt and act out; anti-this, anti-that. It seemed to Rose that most of it had all been done. So she'd convinced Donna and Corrine to set aside their causes (No World Dominion, and Alternatives to Eggs) and, with her, rob a bank. It had nothing to do with money. It was exactly the sort of thing people without money did. That was the point. Also, who would suspect them, since their families were fabulously wealthy?

  No one, that's who.

  All three agreed that it was a neat thing to do, so here they were, tunneling beneath Ninth Avenue. Each evening Rose would take the subway to where their innocuous-looking gray truck was parked, drive it to the tie shop, then back the vehicle in tight to the rear door for deliveries. Only the truck wasn't there to make deliveries; it was there to pick up dirt, which was later dumped in New Jersey, which, being the Garden State, could always use dirt.

  "It's not a catastrophe that we sold a tie,” Corrine said brightly.

  "That tie,” Rose said, “is a catastrophe."

  "So what're we gonna do?” Donna asked, leaning fetchingly on her pickax.

  Rose worked her hands into her gloves and picked up a shovel.

  "We're gonna dig."

  * * * *

  It was hard work, digging. No one here had ever before developed a callus, though Corrine had once had a humongous blister after a strenuous tennis session. Now all three young women had hardened calluses on their hands, even though they wore gloves. They'd been digging for almost a month.

  Easy to imagine their disappointment and near panic when they stopped digging for the day, switched off the lights they'd strung in the tunnel, and climbed back up into the tie shop to wash up in the half-bath and leave—and encountered three uniformed cops.

  Rose was as alarmed as the others, but she sensed immediately that there was something out of kilter here. Something not right with what was wrong.

  These cops were lounging around where they were bound to be seen when the diggers emerged, because they'd opened the curtain to the back room. One was seated on the counter near the register, another slouched on the floor, and the third was leaning against a wall near a tie display with the casual but watchful attitude of someone waiting for a bus. The leaning one was the man who'd earlier that day purchased the yellow and green tie with the staring-eye pattern.

  Scary, Rose thought. Lots of blue uniform, glistening black leather, shiny silver badges. And they were pointing their guns at the bank robbers.

  "Holy smokes!” Donna said.

  "Oh, wow, no!” cried Corrine.

  "I didn't think you looked honest enough to be a cop,” Rose said to the one who'd bought the tie.

  "Well, you've got me there,” he said, with his irritating smile. He straightened up away from the wall in a way that made him appear to have been stuck to it. “My name's Laker.” He motioned backhanded toward the cop on the counter. “Officer Fink."

  Fink smiled and nodded. He was a pink-eyed, skinny guy with hair redder than Donna's.

  "And Officer Andrepinino."

  Andrepinino had classic Latin good looks, only his nose was way too long and had a bump in it. He also smiled and nodded.

  "Are you going to read us our rights?” Donna asked Fink, since he was the only other natural redhead.

  The three cops glanced at each other, then returned their guns to their holsters.

  Oh-oh, Rose thought. Here we go.

  "We're with the Six-Ten Precinct, the Safe and Loft unit,” Laker said.

  "You guys are one unit?” Corrine asked.

  "You wouldn't know it to look at us,” Laker said, “but we are. We've had you ladies under observation for the past several weeks and couldn't help but notice you've set about robbing the bank across the street."

  "Oh,” Donna said, “that one.” She smiled at Fink, who cocked his head sideways and stared mesmerized at her.

  "It's our job,” Laker said, “to arrest you."

  "Our duty,” Fink said.

  "But you're not going to,” Rose said.

  "Bingo,” Fink said, still looking at Donna as if maybe he was going to beg for a treat.

  "We've researched you three ladies,” Laker said. “We know your names and backgrounds."

  "Very wealthy ladies,” Andrepinino said.

  "He speaks,” Rose said.

  "But not to our superior officers or the district attorney,” Laker said. “Not yet. Same goes for Fink and me. Nobody knows about you and your plans except the six of us."

  "Are we going to have to choose between jail or a fate worse than death?” Donna asked, looking at Fink as if she'd already chosen.

  "Don't misunderstand, ladies,” Laker said. “This isn't about choosing. We're here to kidnap you."

  "Grand,” Rose said.

  "Think about it,” Laker said. “It's not a bad idea. You aren't about to rob Sixth National for the money; you are what we on the force call rebellious youth—among other things. So what you're going to do, instead of fifteen to twenty for attempted bank robbery, is cooperate in your kidnapping and help us hold up your wealthy parents. Assuming they'll pay the ransoms, which we'll split with you. Rich people like you surely have abduction insurance, so your folks will be reimbursed for the ransom money, which means nobody gets hurt even financially."

  "I never heard of abduction insurance,” Rose said.

  "You don't attend Pierpont University without it,” Laker told her.

  "Oh."

  "We're going to take you from here to a nice place out in the country, where one of us will stay with you all the time. We know you ladies are used to luxuries. You'll have TV and magazines to read, good food and drink—everything but a phone. You'll play along with the ransom demands and provide proof that you're still alive, and you'll talk your families into not contacting the authorities. I suspect all three of you are good at talking people into things."

  "And out of,” Donna said.

  Andrepinino shook his head. “Not us, though."

  No one said anything for a long time.

  "That's it?” Rose finally asked.

  Laker nodded. “It. And miles safer than robbing a bank."

  Rose looked at Corrine, who looked at Donna, who looked at Fink.

  "I like it,” Rose said. Donna nodded. Corrine looked prettily concerned, then also nodded.

  Laker smiled. This was going nicely. “You will now accompany us to our SUV parked outside. It seats eight, six comfortably, and the windows and locks are controlled from the driver's seat."

  "You're not arresting us,” Donna said, “but we're still your prisoners."

  "Definitely,” Fink said.

  "Um,” Donna said.

  "What about clothes?” Corrine asked. “And cosmetics?"

  "You can give us a shopping list,” Laker said.

  The three hostages smiled at the word shopping.

  "You boys have thought of everything,” Rose said.