by Owen Parr
Patrick waved the Kimber revolver, and said, “Our problem is, our guns are not going to be accurate at any distance. This two-inch barrel is great nearby, but, if we’re more than a few feet away, forget it.”
I opened the door a smidgen, putting my right eye to the small opening, I started out, so I could see if Belford stepped out. Without moving, I said, “Let me make a call,” I said, softly to Mr. Pat. I dialed Jote, “Can you have this kid, the night clerk, tell you how to turn off the hallway lights on the seventh floor?”
“Hang on, I’ll ask him,” replied Jote.
A minute, or so later Jote came back on the phone, “Joey, the kid says, the only way is to pull the fuse on the entire seventh floor. Both hallway and rooms are on the same circuit. Do you want to do that?”
“Shit,” I said, “No if Belford realizes the lights went out, he’ll know something is going on.”
“What do you want to do?” Jote asked.
“For one thing, I don’t want him in the room with Marcy as a hostage, and all the weapons he has. I was hoping he was leaving, as he said on the phone to me.”
“Man, maybe he has already, and Marcy is there by herself,” Jote said.
“Look, the kid said only two rooms were occupied on this floor. Find out from him, if Room 717, connects to a room on either side of it. If so, we can enter it and listen.”
“Okay, hang on,” Jote replied.
“Joey, the kid says no one has come down in the last hour, or two. So, if this is the place, Belford and Marcy are up there. Secondly, yes, Room 715 connects to 717. I’ll bring the key up to you.”
I kept a tiny slice of the door opened so that I could see of Belford stepped out. In the meantime, Angela brought the key to Room 715. Fortunately, she had a long firearm, A Remington 7615 Pump Action Patrol Rifle, which she had taken from Jote and Tico’s stash in the van.
Angela asked, “Are we going in, to Room 715?”
I was still looking at the hallway, without taking my eyes away from the door, I replied, “Yes, let’s walk over. Angela, be ready to shoot if Belford walks out of the room. Pat and I will lead, but, we’ll drop down if Belford appears,” I said, turning to Mr. Pat, as he nodded in understanding.
We began our stealthy walk over, finally reaching the front door of Room 715. We entered the room, immediately locating the connecting door to 717. I put my ear to the door, nothing. I motioned to both Angela and Mr. Pat, touching my right ear and then, waving with my index finger; nothing.
Angela pulled out a thin cable from a small backpack she was wearing. I saw her attach the wire to her phone and open an application. Without saying a word, she pointed the cable at Mr. Pat, and at the same time showed me the image on her phone. The ‘big red dude’ was shown clearly on her phone’s screen. I smiled, as she handed me the phone and the attached cable.
Moving back to the connecting door, I slid the cable below a minuscule gap between the door and the tiled floor. I had Angela hold the phone so that I could maneuver the tiny camera in the front of the cable.
Room 717, was illuminated by a futuristic chrome lamp that was fastened to the headboard. Very similar to the place we were in. It had a queen size bed, a small desk, and a large modern recliner. In front of the bed, a flat screen television attached to the wall. And there they were. Marcy laid sideways on the bed, facing the wall opposite the recliner. Special Agent Belford’s left leg and knee, were the only visible part of his body. The recliner was very close to the connecting door; thus, our tiny camera could only capture his partial image. However, right above his knee, we could see the butt of a rifle or shotgun, that seemingly rested on his legs.
I slid the cable out. We all looked at each other, and almost in unison sighed. Marcy was alive and here, and so was Belford. No one said a word. Both Angela and Patrick were waiting for me to communicate my plan. I felt enthused knowing Marcy was safe and next to me, but, as far as a plan, I had none. The fluidity of the moment called for spontaneity, albeit with maximum caution. Preferably, we could capture Belford alive so that he could answer for all his murders, and perhaps a few more we didn’t know about. But, frankly, all I wanted was Marcy alive. As far as Belford, I didn’t give a shit, whether he lived or died. It was going to be his call.
Moving very cautiously, I motioned to Angela and Patrick to join me in the bathroom. I closed the door, giving us some privacy. Whispering, I said, “We need to get Belford out of the room.”
Patrick in a whisper asked, “Wasn’t he supposed to be leaving? Isn’t that what he told you?”
“Yeah,” I replied, “I think that was bullshit, that’s what he wanted us to believe. I don’t think he has the plan to escape yet. He can’t just go to the airport and fly out of here. He knows everyone is looking for him. And, he must think we have reported his whereabouts to the FBI and others.”
Angela asked, “So, what’s the plan?”
I looked at my watch. It was four in the morning. I didn’t remember that last time I slept in a bed. Was it a day, two, or more? Thank God for adrenaline. Otherwise, I would be passed out somewhere. “The plan, yes. Call Jote, and ask him, to ask the kid, if Belford had ordered breakfast for anytime in the morning.”
Angela looked surprised, and retorted, “You think Belford is ordering room service ahead of time?”
“I don’t know. But, there was a sign on the desk at the entrance, which said; complimentary continental breakfast is served in your room. He’s going to take advantage of that. Find out.”
Angela called Jote while we were all still in the bathroom. It was a little crowded in here for the three of us. Mr. Patrick sat on a tiled bench inside a large opened shower, while Angela sat on the seat cover of the toilet. I decided to pass on the bidet, so, I stood. After a few moments, she said, “You were right, bagels, croissants, orange juice, and coffee, are scheduled for delivery at six in the morning, for Room 717.”
I smiled, glanced at both and said, “That’s when we take him down.”
33
Patrick and I shared the queen size bed, while we took a one-hour cat–nap, fully dressed. Of course, and on top of the sheets, while Angela sat in the recliner. Angela’s phone vibrated at five-forty-five in the morning, and she woke us up.
“Get ready,” she whispered, “fifteen minutes ‘til six.”
I jumped out of bed and swiftly walked into the bathroom. After taking care of number one, I splashed cold water on my face. Seconds later, I felt these large hands grab my shoulders and prodded me out of the bathroom. I guess Patrick felt the urge too.
We had our plan, and we waited for breakfast to be served in room 717.
Precisely at six in the morning, we heard the squeak of the wooden floors, and the wheels of a cart pass by our room. Miami vice squad, Sergeant Jote, wearing a chef’s long sleeve white coat, to cover his tats, should be knocking on Room 717.
Angela had inserted the cable with the camera, under the door, and we were watching as the door knock would come from Jote. Marcy was awake. When the knock came, she sat on the edge of the bed. We heard Belford say, “Don’t do anything stupid.” We then saw Belford, as get got up, holding a shotgun with his left hand. He had a Glock 26, or what is called; a Baby Glock, on the small of his back. He placed the shotgun on the wall behind the front door and opened the door.
This was the cue for Patrick and me, to open the connecting door. Patrick was to rush Belford from behind, Jote was to pull his gun and aim it at Belford’s face, and I was to cover Marcy. Except, no one told Marcy the plan. As we opened the connecting door, Marcy was on her way rushing into Belford from behind, driving him into Jote. In so doing, Belford fell over the coffee cart and knocked Jote down at the same time. Marcy retreated into the room to grab the shotgun. Patrick and I found ourselves frozen amidst the action as we entered the room.
Two shots rang out in the hallway, as we saw Belford get off the floor holding the Baby Glock in his hand. Fuck, I said to myself. “Jote, are you alright?” I shouted.
Belford reached for the room’s door and closed it. Leaving him outside, and the rest of us inside the room. There was no response from Jote.
Marcy was startled and looked back at us, realizing for the first time what was happening. She had the shotgun in hand and without giving it, a second thought pumped the gun, opened the door and went out unto the hallway after Belford.
“Marcy wait,” I shouted, as I saw her look both ways, to see which way Belford had gone.
“I got this asshole,” Marcy said, without looking back. With that, she stepped out of the room and slowly walked to her right, crouching down.
As I stepped out of the room, I saw Jote on the floor, bleeding from his arm. “Are you alright?” I asked.
“Dude, he hit me on the arm, I’ll be fine, get his ass,” Jote replied.
Angela and Patrick were now next to Jote. I followed Marcy down the hallway. Belford was on his way down and to the left of the hall. Neither Marcy, who was ahead of me about ten paces nor I could see Belford. He had made the ninety-degree left turn in the hallway. But, he was headed to the cargo elevator, thinking he could escape that way. Except, we had disabled the elevator, and the stairs down, where opposite the elevator, behind us.
“Marcy wait,” I said, again.
“He’s taking the elevator. I’m not waiting,” she replied.
“No, wait. The elevator is disabled. He’s trapped.”
Marcy got to the turn on the hallway and stopped, raised the barrel of the shotgun, smiling at me, said, “What the fuck have you been doing for the last few days, Mancuso?”
“Are you alright?” I asked.
She nodded.
“Did he,” I paused, “did he, hurt you?”
“No, he hasn’t touched me. I think I intimidate this asshole,” she replied. “Did you say he’s trapped?” she asked, as she peeked around the corner of the hallway.
“He has nowhere to go.”
Two shots rang out from where Belford was, not aimed at anyone. More like warning shots.
“Any idea how long this hallway is to the cargo elevator?” she asked.
“I ran it downstairs; from here to the elevator is about thirty yards to the end.”
She looked at my right hand, “What are you holding there, a toy gun?”
“It’s a Magnum 357 caliber,” I replied, glancing at it.
“Two-inch barrel?” she asked.
“Well, yes. Short, but powerful,” I said.
She smiled, “Are you still talking about the gun?” She raised the shotgun, and in a flash, turned into the hallway.
“Marcy, what are you doing?” I asked, in desperation.
“Stay there Mancuso.”
I turned into the hallway, behind her. We could both see Belford all the way down the end of the hall. He was desperately pushing the elevator’s button. I shouted from behind Marcy, “Give it up Belford. You’re trapped!”
Marcy lowered the barrel and aimed at the floor, “Mancuso, go back. This is my fight.”
Belford took a shot at us, missing us by a wide margin. He’s short three plus inch barrel was not accurate at thirty yards. He took a second shot. This one hit the wall in front of us.
Marcy raised the barrel towards the ceiling, a few yards ahead of her, and pulled the trigger. The sound of the shotgun resonated the entire floor.
“Marcy, we can bring this guy in. He needs to pay for what he’s done,” I said, still behind her a few steps.
“Oh, he’s going to pay alright. As far as bringing him in,” she paused, “we’ll bring him in.”
“Alive?” I asked.
“You ask too many questions, Joey.”
Before I could answer that, two more shots came our way. This time, one hit the floor right in front of Marcy, and the other whisked by our heads.
I said to her, “I’ve never seen you like this.”
“No, you’ve never seen me like this. Try abducting me, drugging me, holding me captive for three days, naked and afraid of being raped any minute. Joey, go back around the corner, I said, this is my fight.”
“Marcy, how many rounds do you have in that shotgun?”
Again, maintaining her gaze forward towards Belford, she replied, “Four total. I have two left.”
Belford took two more shots at us. He was desperate, firing for the sake of firing. Hoping to hit us, but with little chance.”
“Marcy, Belford just took his last shot.”
Continuing her slow march forward she asked, “You’ve been counting, Joey?”
“The Glock 26 has ten rounds. He’s taken ten shots.”
“Joey, I’m pleading with you. Go back around the corner. If you’re right, then there’s no more danger.”
I dropped my head and acquiesced to her request. She was going to do, what she was going to do. I walked back to the ninety-degree turn in the hallway. I listened.
“Marcy, we could have been the happiest couple ever,” shouted Belford. “Don’t kill me, please.”
“How many women have you murdered, Belford?”
“What?” Belford asked.
“How many?” Marcy asked, again.
“I don’t know, twenty, maybe,” Belford replied.
“And your mother and your father?” Marcy inquired.
I walked back into the hallway. I had to see what was going to happen, but, I remained at the turn. Belford had not replied, when Marcy took her third shot, aiming right above Belford’s head, into the ceiling. Pieces of cement, from the ceiling, rained on Belford’s head as he crouched from the shot. He sat on the floor, his knees up almost covering his face, resting his back against the metal elevator’s door. Marcy was now right in front of Belford, no more than three feet in front.
I began walking towards them. It was over. I took out my phone to call for Tico, or anyone on the team downstairs, to let them know we had Belford. Suddenly, a sonic boom went off in front of me. I dropped to the floor. Marcy had fired her last round, right into Belford’s face.
As I looked up, I could see brain matter and blood spattered on the metal elevator’s door, all the way to the ceiling. Blood was still gushing from a headless body that quivered in front of the elevator. Marcy just stood there, looking at what was left of Belford.
I walked next to her, “Marcy, what have you done?”
“I said, this was my fight, didn’t I.”
“Yes, but,” I didn’t want to finish the sentence.
She glanced at me. I could see she had this distant look in her eyes, that I had never seen on her, “I told you to stay back, you did not need to see me do this,” she said.
“You didn’t need to do this.”
“It had to be done,” she said, as she dropped the shotgun, she was still holding, on the floor, and began walking back.
I saw her begin to walk away, I looked at Belford’s body, now still, and back at Marcy, “He was out of bullets.”
“Yeah? Take a look at his right hand under his right leg,” she said, as she continued to walk away, without looking at me, or back at the scene.
I stood there looking at her walk away. When she reached the corner of the hallway, she disappeared from my view. I walked over to Belford’s body. Using my handkerchief, I pulled up his right leg up slightly. Underneath his leg, his right hand was grabbing a snub-nose, hammerless, thirty-eight caliber revolver. The holster was attached to his right ankle.
34
My phone rang. It was Tico, “What’s going on there, Mancuso?”
“Hey Tico, how’s Jote?”
“He’s fine, a little embarrassed, but, just fine. What’s going on?” Tico asked again.
“Marcy is on her way down. Belford is dead,” I said, without any more details.
“Did you kill him?”
I thought for a second, “No, Marcy did, in self-defense.”
“Joey, Miami Beach homicide detectives are here, as well as the Crime Scene Unit. FBI is on their way.”
“Send the detectives and the CSU up.
Don’t use the cargo elevator. Have them come up the other elevator, and keep the cargo one disabled, until they’re done. I’ll stay up here to make a statement.”
“Roger that, Joey.”
The MBPD homicide guys and the CSU came up. I introduced myself, and began a short version of the days happening, starting at Marcy’s condo a few blocks away. I was ready to take the heat for keeping the whole thing a secret, I mean shit, MBPD was going to be pissed that we had an operation going under their noses and they had no clue. The FBI, what can I say? They have been on Marcy’s track for three days now, nonstop. They had probably been all the way to British Columbia looking for Belford and Marcy, to no avail. They too were going to be ticked off.
I finally went downstairs to the lobby. The entire hotel was cordoned off as a crime scene. Marcy was sitting with Angela and Patrick off to a corner of the lobby. I looked around, and for the first-time paid attention to the hotel’s lobby. Lots of green plants everywhere, white walls, with white terrazzo floors, very 1950’s, I thought. The furniture looked very Jetsons styled, from the animated television series; The Jetsons, a futuristic view of a family. The lobby was a mix of cottage décor, with a throwback to the fifties, and modern design. I guessed it all worked together.
I sat next to Marcy. She seemed to be still in a daze. She glanced at me, we embraced, and she started crying. For a few minutes, I held her tight while she cried. I could only imagine the stress she had been under. She needed to unwind and to realize the nightmare was over.
Two suits walked over to us, flashed creds and introduced themselves as Miami FBI, Special Agents. They asked to speak to Marcy. I stayed seated next to her, as Angela and Patrick got up and walked away.
The suits sat down. They remained quiet. I guess waiting for me to take a walk. Still, next to Marcy, I sat back, crossed my legs, and just said, “Guys, I ain’t going anywhere, so, you might as well start doing whatever it is you came to do.”
“We need to talk to Special Agent Martinez privately if you don’t mind,” said gray suit. While blue suit gave me a nasty look.
