The plan was simple in nature, but it wouldn’t be easy to implement, and they only had two weeks to make it happen. It would be a miracle if it worked in time, but two weeks was all he had, so he and Chantrel Jones would have to work a miracle.
The plan he had outlined in his letter involved a full media blitz to publicize her plight and bring enough public pressure on the powers-that-be to shame them into changing their ruling. Xavier recalled a particularly tenacious local reporter who had railed against his proposed gun control measures back when he was running for the city council. His articles had been so effective, Xavier’s poll numbers had dropped several percentage points over the course of the campaign. He asked Chantrel to reach out to him with her story, feeling almost certain he would pick it up and run with it.
The second prong of his campaign involved local radio. Chesterton had a conservative talk radio program called Common Sense that aired daily and had a companion podcast on the internet. He wasn’t convinced they were actually dispensing common sense, but they were always looking for local stories with a conservative angle, and this would be right up their alley. He told Chantrel the name of the program manager at the radio station – a name he remembered well from his campaign days.
The last part of the plan was to flood local social media with information about Chantrel’s plight to stir up public outcry for justice on her behalf. Did he really think an injustice had been done here? Even though he had helped write the local gun control legislation, in this case, he definitely believed that Chantrel’s well-being was endangered and that she should have the right to protect herself with a firearm. In the back of his mind, he was already formulating some changes to the appeals process that he was going to suggest if he ever made it out of this predicament. There really should be some additional review guidelines so that something like this wouldn’t happen so easily in a case he believed was justifiably self-preservation.
He had provided several short statements highlighting different points in Chantrel’s favor, which he had included in the letter. She was instructed to contact her friends and have them post the comments to their social media accounts. Each statement was to have a link to the firearm appeals review board public comment page, where anyone who read about it could instantly provide feedback directly to the board.
Chantrel would write back each day on their progress. The plan had worked beautifully. She had a spot on the radio within a week, with a companion piece on the show’s podcast two days later. The reporter had gone all-in on the story, and the first in a series of articles on the “failed local gun control policies” was scheduled to be released by the end of the following week. The publication date would be only a few days before Xavier’s own personal deadline, but every bit helped. It was a strange feeling to be hopeful that the articles would stir up public outcry against the very gun control policies that he had helped enact – but his daughter’s life was on the line, and right now, that was all that mattered.
But the coup de grâce had been the social media campaign. Chantrel’s friends in the community had flooded the review board’s website comment section with arguments in support of her cause. The story had gone viral, and so many comments in support of Chantrel were posted from around the country that the review board website crashed. There was even a GoFundMe campaign to raise money for legal fees to help her fight the ruling in court if need be.
On the morning of August 15th, the voice he had become so familiar with broke the silence in his cell once more.
“I must congratulate you, Senator. You’ve done better than expected. It appears that Ms. Jones may end up with her concealed carry permit after all. Unfortunately for you, unless that happens before midnight tonight, your daughter will die.”
“Please! Just give me more time. We’re making progress. Two more weeks. Just give me two more weeks.”
“The timeline won’t be adjusted… but I do have an alternative that could save your daughter’s life.”
“Anything… I’ll do anything.”
“That’s good. Because the alternative is for you to steal a gun by midnight. Do that, and your daughter will be allowed to live.”
“Okay. Just tell me what to do.” There had to be a catch. He couldn’t believe his captors would be so naïve as to release him from this place on his own recognizance and think he wouldn’t go straight to the police.
“At approximately nine p.m. tonight, you will be escorted to a pawn shop by two of my associates. You will be given a briefing on where the weapon is located and the tools you will need to break into the store will be provided to you. Break in and steal the gun, then bring it outside the shop to the waiting vehicle. If you succeed in doing that before midnight, then your daughter will be spared.”
Images of his daughter being beaten, and of that man smiling for the camera inside of her bedroom, ran through his mind. He couldn’t let that happen. And this might provide a chance for him to escape. He was in better shape than he had been for years, and he might find an opening to run away during the break-in. All in all, it was an opportunity he couldn’t afford to pass up.
“I’ll do it.”
At precisely 8:45 p.m., according to the clock on the video screen, the door to Senator Xavier Sanford’s cell opened, and in walked two very large men, both of whom were wearing gray jumpsuits with black ski masks and gloves. One of the men had what appeared to be a stun gun. The other was carrying a toolbox.
“It’s time to get ready,” came the voice from the video screen. “My associate is going to put an ankle bracelet on you that will allow us to locate you should you attempt to escape.”
The man with the toolbox put it down on the floor and opened it up, withdrawing the aforementioned tracking device and kneeling down to put it on the Senator’s ankle, while the other man looked on attentively, holding the stun gun at the ready.
“Should you attempt to escape, the plan to kill your daughter will be put into action immediately, and you will be returned to this cell indefinitely. Is that understood?”
“Yes,” he responded. So much for his window of opportunity for an escape. Whatever chance he might have had was just eliminated.
“You’ll be handcuffed, and a bag will be placed over your head while you are transported to the store. You will be given further instructions once you arrive.”
Henchman number one withdrew a black plastic zip-tie from the toolbox and thrust his hands out in front of himself, wrists close together, indicating that Xavier should do likewise. He complied. Once the zip-tie was secured, a black cloth bag was put over his head, and he was led out the door of his cell.
Xavier was guided by one of the men for about twenty steps before he was pulled to a stop. When the man spoke, his voice sounded modified, similar to the one that spoke to him from the monitor in his cell. He could hear traces of the man’s actual voice underneath the deep, modified version.
“You’re going to step down three steps, then walk about ten feet to a van. When I tell you to step up, get into the van and feel your way into the seat. Don’t attempt to remove your head covering, or the deal is off.”
He went down the steps, forward ten feet, and into the van. Once he was secured by a seatbelt inside the vehicle, the van began to move. If they were as smart as they seemed, he assumed they would drive him around for a while, taking turns that weren’t necessary and delaying their arrival in order to confuse him and prevent him from ascertaining where they had been keeping him captive. If that was their plan, it worked. By the time they arrived, he had no clue where they had started from, only that the journey had taken about twenty minutes. He was removed from the van and guided about fifteen feet away before he was stopped.
“I’m going to remove the restraint and the head covering. My associate will lead us down the alley, where you and I will wait while he takes care of the owner of the shop. Once he gives us the signal, you go inside the Good Deal Pawn Shop. There will be a glass counter on the far side of the room. Smash the glass countertop and take one of the guns, then come back here.”
Are they going to kill the shop owner? Who are these people? Why are they doing this?
The questions kept coming, one after the other, rolling in like the waves of the sea. He felt a snap, and the plastic zip-tie fell away from his wrists, then the bag was removed from his head.
“I’ll be behind you the whole time with this.” The speaker in front of him waved the stun gun in the air. “Don’t try to be a hero. Do this, and your daughter lives.”
The man handed him a small, heavy hammer and backed away. It was a three-pounder from the feel of it – he had one in his toolbox at home. Larger than a typical construction hammer, but not a full-sized sledgehammer, it would undoubtedly do the job of breaking even a thick piece of tempered glass.
The larger of the two men walked past him and led the way down the alley. The other man motioned for Xavier to follow. As they progressed, Xavier could see what appeared to be a park across the street, but he didn’t recognize the area. He noticed the nose of a car pulled up next to the curb, just to the left of the alley’s entrance. The man in front paused at the end of the alley and peered around the corner. After a few seconds, he shot forward with a speed that belied his size, after which Xavier heard a loud pop and a groan. Several seconds later, the big man re-appeared and nodded to his partner, who pushed Xavier in the back to get him moving.
As he rounded the corner, he could see a man lying face-down on the ground towards the rear of the car. His hands were drawn behind his back, secured with a zip-tie.
Thank God. At least they didn’t kill him.
Immediately to Xavier’s left was a glass door emblazoned with the words “Good Deal Pawn Shop,” with a diamond icon painted below, all in gold-colored paint. He tried the door, which immediately came open, and went inside.
With all the questions still rumbling around in his head, two things were clear in Xavier’s mind. First, that it was no use trying to escape now, and secondly, that hanging around this shop any longer than necessary was a very bad idea. If the police showed up, there might be a shoot-out, and he might end up dead, not to mention the poor store owner currently tied up in front of the store. It was better to do what he was told for now.
As he crossed the room toward the glass case running along the back wall, he spied a video camera protruding from the ceiling in one corner of the room. His face would no doubt be caught prominently on the tape—which was apparently what his captors wanted. Better get out as fast as possible.
In two more steps, he was standing in front of the glass case. A row of guns was displayed, each with a price tag attached to the finger guard. He shielded his face with his left arm, turning his head to the side to minimize the chance of any glass shards spraying him in the face, then brought the hammer down hard on top of the glass. An alarm began going off immediately.
Xavier looked down at the mess he had made. Most of the guns were covered in copious amounts of broken glass. The glass apparently wasn’t tempered, so the shards were sharp and jagged. Bigger pieces were mixed in with thousands of smaller bits that would easily cut him if he simply reached in to grab one of the guns. He spied a revolver far enough away from the main concentration of debris that he could still reach it, but that didn’t appear to have as much broken glass on top of it.
Quickly grabbing his handkerchief out of his jacket pocket, he used it as a mitt to protect his fingers as he reached in and picked up the gun by the barrel. He slowly brought it out of the case to avoid snagging himself on any of the jagged glass that was still clinging to the edges of the countertop.
“Let’s go,” one of the men said from behind him.
The three men hurried down the alleyway back to the waiting van. One of the men grabbed the gun from Xavier, while the other placed the cloth bag back over his head. Moments later, his hands were zip-tied, and the van was moving again.