WANTED: Love of my Life

49. WANTED

He strode to the door while I tried my best to hold him back by clinging on to him – and failed miserably.

“You want us alive?” he called. “Excuse me for saying so, but you have a funny way of showing that.”

Raucous laughter answered his remark.

“Well,” the rough voice called, “we had to show you we mean business, didn't we? So are you gonna come out?”

“Depends. Who are you, and what do you want?”

“We are the people with the guns. And we want you.”

“Us both?”

“What? No, we don't want no hooker. We've got enough of them already. We want you.”

Giacomo simply nodded, as if that had just confirmed what he already knew. He turned to me.

“Angela.” His voice was so soft. Softer than ever before. “I'm so sorry for what I'm about to do.”

“What...” Before I could get another word out, he had grabbed me. “Let go!” I screamed. “Let go, Giacomo, I'm not going in that elevator. I'm not-”

I broke off, when I saw that he wasn't heading for the elevator. Instead, he opened a small but sturdy-looking metal side door I hadn't noticed before, and shoved me into the tiny room beyond.

“Giacomo, what are you doing?”

“I'm locking you in,” he responded, fishing a key out of his pocket. “Once the door is locked, I'll throw the key into the water, so they won't be able to get the door open.”

“But then I won't be able to get out! I'll suffocate! Please, Giacomo, don't...”

“No, you won't suffocate, Angela.” Again, he plunged his hand into his pocket. This time, it came out holding a tiny black object that at first I didn't recognize. Even when I did, I couldn't bring myself to accept the knowledge. After all, how could it be that all of a sudden, Giacomo had a cellphone? But when he threw it to me, I touched a button and the screen came to life, I believed it.

“When I'm gone,” Giacomo continued, “call the police on the cellphone and tell them where you are. If they don't believe you, call your parents. Tell them to come with blowtorches and get you out of here.”

“Tell my dad to come with a blowtorch to the Golden gate bridge and get me out of there, because I've accidentally wandered off in the middle of the night and locked myself into San Francisco's most important architectural masterpiece?”

“Something along those lines, yes.”

“Right.”

I stared at the cellphone in my hand again.

A cellphone. A cellphone?!

My breath caught.

“Giacomo, but that's it! You don't have to lock me in. You don't have to go with them. You don't have to do anything but let me call the police! Now! They'll take care of those men out there, and everything will be fine!”

In my sudden happiness, I didn't even bother to wonder where Giacomo had gotten a cellphone from – and an expensive-looking one, at that. My happiness crushed every other thought. Yet it didn't last very long. Just a few seconds of bliss, shattered by Giacomo's next words.

“No, Angela,” he said, sadness in his voice. “You cannot call the police. At least, not while I'm here.”

“Why not?” I demanded, fresh tears welling up in my eyes.