Page 21 of The Worst Best Man

“Lady, this is a Zed-R. We stop for everyone.”

A man dressed in all white with a hand carved cane climbed out of the back and over Frankie to the door. The van sat as he shuffled his way across the street toward the bar.

Aiden reached for his money clip. “How much for no more stops?” he demanded, handing twenties to the remaining passengers.

“I can be late,” a woman with a sleeping toddler in her lap said with a smile stuffing the twenty into her bra.

“WooHoo!” A man in an orange and black Hawaiian shirt with a peeling sunburn on his nose and forehead triumphantly held up his twenty. “I love this country! I’m getting’ paid to take public transportation.”

“Whatever you say, mister,” the driver said, accepting his bill and flooring it.

The minivan was well out of sight and Franchesca was practically vibrating beside him. Aiden slid an arm around her shoulder, anchoring her to his side.

The ZR shuffled forward slowly building speed like a freight train. The driver cranked up the volume of a reggae song and merrily swerved around a trio of potholes. Aiden dialed Chip again. Still nothing.

He swore quietly, his brain turning over the problem.Who would take Chip the night before his wedding, and why?

“Franchesca, tell me everything you remember,” he said, squeezing her shoulder.

“Everything I remember? Our friend was just dragged off the sidewalk into a fucking van!” Conversation in the ZR shut down as everyone leaned in to listen.

“I got that part already. Now, walk me through everything that you saw.”

She went over it again and then once more as the van careened north. Her body shifting against his around turns.

“The driver—he looked at me when I called for Chip—he had a gold tooth and a dirty red cap. But he had it pulled low over his face. That’s all I saw. I didn’t see who grabbed Chip, but the drunk dumbass stuck his head right in the van. He made it easy for them.”

They careened around a sharp turn, slipping into a traffic circle six inches in front of a city bus. The driver tooted the horn in either a friendly thank you or a fuck off. Aiden couldn’t tell.

Frankie’s hands were white knuckled on the seatback in front of her.

“Are you sure he didn’t get in willingly?” Aiden asked squeezing her arm.

She shook her head. “I didn’t hear him scream or anything, but he didn’t climb into that van by himself. Everyone he knows here is back at the fish stand. Who would do this?”

It was a question Aiden had been asking himself. Chip Rudolph was squeaky clean. No gambling debts, no secret second lives. Just a trust fund kid amiably enjoying his very privileged world. Aiden scrolled through everything he and Chip had discussed in the past few weeks. Had his friend mentioned any issues? Any squabbles in the family? At work?

“You don’t think Pru’s dad would have done this. Do you?” Frankie asked, eyes wide.

“He hates Chip,” Aiden conceded. “But I don’t see R.L. Stockton plotting an abduction. He’d just stick it to Chip in the prenup.”

“Which he did,” Frankie pointed out.

“That he did,” Aiden agreed. He’d cautioned Chip against signing it, but his friend wouldn’t hear of it.

“Still, maybe something Chip did pissed R.L. off?” Franchesca mused.

There was a loud bang, and the ZR slowed. Smoke rose from its engine. The driver swore over the reggae pouring from the speakers as the dashboard lit up with warning lights. He pulled off to the side of the road and jumped out, a small fire extinguisher in his hand.

“Get out,” Aiden said, nudging Frankie to the door.

“How are we going to catch them?” she demanded, ducking to hop out of the door and the hem of her dress rose indecently high over the curve of her ass. Aiden gripped the material and pulled down as he pushed her out of the vehicle. “We can’t give up.” She slapped at his hand.

“We’re not giving up,” Aiden insisted. “We’re refocusing. Come on.” They left the van and its now ride-less occupants and started walking briskly.

The night air was thick with humidity. He could hear the steady thrum of ocean waves on the beach over a thousand tree frogs chirping.

“Shouldn’t we be heading north?” Frankie asked, trotting in her heels to keep up with him.