V Is for Vengeance

Len the envelope wasn’t in my possession.
    I put my hands in the air, as though at gunpoint. “I don’t have it. Honest. You’ve already searched my file cabinets and the desk drawers, so you know it’s not there. Check my shoulder bag if you want.”
    I set my bag on the desk. He didn’t want to appear too interested, so he took his time, casually pawing through the miscellany. Wallet, makeup bag, a few over-the-counter meds, keys, spiral-bound notebook, which he stopped and leafed through before tossing it aside. I was fearful he’d spot the index cards and confiscate the lot of them, but he was focused on the image of an eight-by-ten envelope and disregarded anything that didn’t match that description. I could feel the tension seep into my bones. I was reacting to Len the way I’d react to a street thug or a belligerent drunk, someone capable of violence if provoked. I didn’t believe he’d attack me because an assault would leave him vulnerable to charges. There were no wants and warrants out against me, and he had no way to justify getting physical.
    “Where’s the safe?” he asked.
    I pointed at the floor to one side of the room. My safe was concealed under a section of my bubble-gum-pink wall-to-wall carpeting. He gestured impatiently, indicating I was to hop to, and I complied. I knew there was no manila envelope, so what was it to me? He crossed the room and stood over me while I pulled the carpet back and exposed the safe to view. I hated his knowing where it was, but it was better to appear cooperative. I got down on one knee and dialed in the combination. When the door swung open, he was forced to assume the same kneeling posture so he could empty the contents. I glanced at the door, realizing if I intended to bolt, this would be the time to do it. I kept the impulse in check, believing it was wiser to let the situation play out. The safe held nothing of interest: insurance policies, bank information, and the modest amount of cash I like to keep on hand.
    That’s when I noticed he’d ripped the phone cord out of the wall and smashed the housing until it cracked in half. There was something about the savagery that scared me senseless. Too late, I realized I’d adopted the mind-set of a kidnap victim, thinking everything would be all right as long as I did as I was told. This notion was foolish on the face of it. It’s always better to scream, run, or fight back. No one knew he was here. My bungalow is the only occupied structure on this side of the street. If he decided I was holding out on him, whether it was true or not, he could handcuff me, throw me in the trunk of his car, and pound the shit out of me in private until I gave him what he wanted. The fact that I didn’t have the photographs wasn’t relevant and would only net me more punishment.
    He was still pulling papers out of my safe when I made a break for the outside door. The problem was I’d been standing stiffly at attention and I couldn’t move fast enough. Even as I took the first two steps, I felt like I was weighted in place. He was on me before I’d gone six feet. I couldn’t believe a man his size could act so quickly. He grabbed me by the shirt and hauled me backward off my feet, hooking an arm around my neck before I could marshal a defense. I knew the choke hold from my days as a rookie. This was called a lateral vascular neck restraint, or blood choke. With the crook of his elbow over the midpoint of my neck, all he had to do was increase the pressure, using his free hand for leverage. If I tried to turn around, it would only escalate the force of the hold. The pressure on my carotid arteries and jugular veins would result in hypoxia that would render me unconscious in seconds. Most police departments prohibit the use of the carotid hold unless an officer is threatened with death or serious injury. Len Priddy was from the old school, coming up through the ranks while the blood choke was still considered fair play. He was a full head taller and weighed a good hundred pounds more than I did.
    I couldn’t make a sound. I clung to his arm, holding on with both hands as though I might actually ease his grip when I knew the effort would be futile. The pain was excruciating and I was starved for oxygen.
    Len had his mouth up against my ear, his voice low. “I know how to finish you off without leaving a mark on you. Complain about me and I’ll hurt you so bad it’ll put you out of commission for the rest of