The Kidnap Victim

by Michael P. King

Bell smiled. “You could root for the Marlins, instead.”

  “Fat chance.”

  She picked up the vegetable tray to carry it back into the kitchen. Denison followed her. “I’ve got something I want to talk to you about.”

  She set the tray on the granite island. “What’s up?”

  “Nicole asked me not to bring this up, but she told me you had a talk with her while I was out golfing.”

  “We both talked.”

  “I’m not trying to make you out to be the bad guy.”

  “Okay.”

  “I just want to clear things up. Nobody is going to replace your mom. She’ll always be at the center of my heart. Thirty-five years of memories; your mother, for Christ’s sakes. I can’t imagine loving anyone more than her.”

  Bell’s eyes teared up.

  “Do you think I cheated on your mom?”

  “You were with Nicole in Nohamay City before Mom died.”

  “Is that what this is about? Really, Bell? I never had sex with Nicole in Nohamay City. I was complete faithful to your mother, always, until after the funeral. Do you believe me?”

  Bell nodded.

  “You don’t have to be jealous for your mom. Do you think she’d want that?”

  Bell bit her lips and shook her head.

  “And you don’t have to worry about me. Your trust fund is doing fine. There will be more money when we settle your mom’s estate. And I’ve got more money than I could ever possibly spend. Nothing bad is going to happen.”

  “Your behavior is different, Dad.”

  “Of course it’s different. So is yours. So is Skip’s. Your mother was taken from us. We have to figure out how to live without her.”

  She sighed. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this. Skip is afraid, maybe, that you had a brain bleed or something from all the pressure of taking care of Mom.”

  Denison shook his head. “Your brother. I never should have let him go to medical school. He hasn’t stopped trying to diagnose me since his second year. Remember when he was sure you were pregnant?”

  Bell laughed. “When I was bingeing on junk food freshman year? First Mom was yelling at me. Then she was yelling at him.”

  Denison put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “I’m not crazy, so stop making me crazy. I enjoy being with Nicole, and I’m going to be with her. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  She put her arms around him. “I love you, Daddy.”

  “I love you too.”

  6

  The New Job

  Spanish Mike, dressed in golf clothes, was riding in the front seat passenger’s side of a Cadillac Escalade. “Pull over there.” He pointed to a gravel lot on the side of the road where a red Ford Bronco was parked. Frankie pulled in. Spanish Mike climbed out and walked over to Knife Tattoo, who was standing under the shade of a large oak tree next to a concrete picnic table. Down the hill was the Golden Oaks Country Club. Across the fairway, they could see the clubhouse. The parking lot was full, and the noise from the children at the swimming pool carried on the breeze. “What have you got for me?”

  “It’s not so good, Spanish. We staked out his place, but he never came back. His car is still in the lot, loaded up just like it was when we picked him up on Thursday.”

  “But he’s alive?”

  “We combed both banks of the creek all the way down to the shallows. We never found his body. Showed his picture around town. Thursday night and Friday day receptionists at the Sunrise Motel both IDed him. So, yeah, he’s alive. After that, we don’t know. He probably left town.”

  Spanish Mike’s face flushed red. “Probably? We don’t know what this guy knows. You and your people are going to be knocking on doors like Jehovah’s Witnesses trying to make a quota. You’re going to find this guy wherever he’s gone, and you’re going to make him dead.”

  “Where do we start?”

  “Reach out to our friends statewide. Motels and restaurants on the freeway. Pawn shops. Car lots. Gun sellers. He’s got to get a gun, doesn’t he? How much thinking have I got to do for you? Get it done.”

  Later in the afternoon, Rudy Grissom, Kevin Johnson, and Chris Billings sat in their work clothes at a small table near the bar in the Goldminer’s Club. It was thirty minutes before opening. The lights were turned down, and the stage was already lit up for the first dancer. The bartender, a heavyset man in his sixties who wore a two-tone cowboy shirt and suspenders, was behind the bar checking over his stock.

  “It’s going to be slow tonight,” Grissom said. “Too many people went to the shore.”

  “Good,” Johnson said. “I’d like a nice quiet evening.”

  “Not too quiet,” Billings said. “Don’t want to be bored.”

  “Well, how about not beating anybody up tonight?”

  Billings shrugged. “That’s up to them. They follow the rules, I leave them alone.”

  Grissom’s phone rang. It was Fred Stein. “Hey, Fred. I was wondering when I was going to hear from you.”

  “Those guys still willing to help?”

  “Definitely. You find out what’s she’s up to?”

  “No, but I’ve had a chance to think about what you said.”

  “Good for you.”

  “I’m going to find a place for us to set up at,” Stein said. “That’ll take a couple of days.”

  “So when do you need us?”

  “Maybe a week.”

  “We’ll be ready.”

  “We’re just going to get the money. We’re not going to hurt anybody.”

  “That’s why we’re going to be ready. They see we’re serious, they cooperate, nobody gets hurt.”

  “I’ll be in touch.”

  “Looking forward to it.”

  Grissom ended the call. A hundred thousand dollars. It wasn’t surprising that Sally could con Fred. He’d fall for anything. “We’re in business, guys. Don’t make any plans for next weekend.”

  “Still going to stiff Stein?” Johnson asked.

  Grissom nodded.

  “How we going to split the money?” Billings asked.

  “I set it up, so I take fifty thousand. You two take twenty-five apiece.”

  “How about forty–thirty?” Billings asked.

  “This isn’t a negotiation. You’re either in or out. Plenty of guys will come on board for twenty-five.”

  “Jesus, Rudy,” Billings said. “Don’t get your feelings hurt. I’m in.”

  That evening, Bell, Denison, and Nicole were on the sidewalk in front of the Sea Lane Chophouse. All of the outdoor seating was full, servers moving among the white-clothed, candle-lit tables, and the entry to the restaurant was crowded with walk-ins.

  “Told you this place was popular,” Denison said. “Let me check on our reservation.” He squeezed his way through the crowd.

  “Have you eaten here before?” Bell asked.

  “First week I was here,” Nicole said. “The pork is excellent. And they know how to mix a drink. We sat over there.” She pointed to a table with a good view of the water.

  “I can’t remember what this place used to be.”

  “Your dad said it used to be Italian.”

  Denison reappeared. “They’re ready for us.”

  Bell’s phone rang. It was Skip. “You go ahead. I’ll just be a minute.”

  “Should we order you a drink?” Nicole asked.

  “Get me whatever you’re having,” Bell replied.

  She stepped away from the entrance and answered her phone. “Hey, Skip. Can’t talk long. I’m on the sidewalk in front of a restaurant.”

  “Okay. Just wanted to see how you’re holding up.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “How’s it going with Dad?”

  “Really? It’s kind of surreal. We’re doing all the silly stuff we usually do at the beach, but instead of me, Dad, and Mom, it’s me, Dad, the ghost of Mom, and Nicole.”

  “But she hasn’t done anything that shows bad intent?”
r />   “No.”

  “So you’re telling me…”

  “If Dad had met Nicole a year after Mom passed, instead of while Mom was still in the hospital, I’d be happy for them.”

  “Even though she’s a criminal?”

  “This may sound crazy, but the more I’m around her, the harder it is to remember that.”

  “So how long do you think they’ve been sleeping together?”

  “Dad insists he was faithful to Mom until after the funeral, and I believe him.”

  “You asked him?”

  “He offered it up.”

  “I still don’t trust her.”

  “I know. I’m still a little angry. But there’s no way we can break them up. They’ll either break up themselves, or we’ll have to make our peace.”

  “I’m not ready.”

  “I know it’s hard. But I’m not going to blame her for stuff that’s not her fault. If Dad didn’t want her here, she wouldn’t be here.”

  “Sounds like you’re changing your mind.”

  “Look, Skip, Dad’s going to do what he wants to do.”

  “That’s what worries me.”

  “I’ve got to go. They’re waiting for me at the table.”

  “Okay. Just keep me in the loop.”

  The inside of the restaurant was dimly lit and loud, with the noise of dozens of conversations. The surfaces were polished brass and dark wood. Pictures of sailing ships hung on the walls. It took Bell a few moments to spot her dad and Nicole. She weaved her way through the tables. There was a martini waiting at her place.

  “Was that Bobby?” Denison asked.

  “It was Skip.” She took a drink.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “He just wanted to check in.”

  “You mean he was checking up.”

  Bell rolled her eyes. “You’re not putting me in the middle, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “We’ve been having a fun day, and I just want to keep having a fun day.”

  Nicole lifted her martini. “I’ll drink to that.”

  Bell picked up her menu. “Have you decided what you’re going to eat?”

  Six days later, John, now Bryan, sat in a booth in a mom-and-pop diner with an egg-smeared plate in front of him. Across the potholed parking lot was the Family 8, the rundown motel he’d stayed at the night before. He’d spent the last week zigzagging between towns. He’d changed cars twice. Now he was driving a tan Camry he bought from a used car lot. He sipped his second cup of coffee. He was feeling very, very safe. He got out his phone and called Nicole. “I’m in the clear.”

  “You sure?”

  “Baby, you know that getting away is one of my best skills. Zeb reached out. He liked the money he made on that bank job so much that he tipped me to an easy score.”

  “Johnny, so soon? Come on.”

  “It’s Bryan now, honey. I didn’t make any money in Springville and running is expensive. Besides, this is one of Zeb’s jobs. His info is always gold.”

  “I’m at the beach house. The cell reception isn’t so good here. You better call me when you need me.”

  “I won’t need any help on this one. It’s just a little switcheroo. I’ll be fine.”

  “That’s what you said about the fiasco in Springville. I’m not kidding. Call me if you need me.”

  Bryan chuckled. “Are you trying to find a way to get away from there?”

  “No.”

  “Still having trouble with the daughter?”

  “Bell and I aren’t best friends yet, but I’m back in James’s bedroom, and she isn’t fussing about it, so that’s progress.”

  “You’ll win her over. It’s what you do.”

  “We’ll see. I might have to settle for a standoff.”

  “I find that hard to believe. Anyway, I’ll be in Martinsburg later today. That’s where I’m meeting the client. I’ll fill you in as soon as I know the specifics.”

  “You better.”

  “Say, you see the Save-U-Mart guy anymore?”

  “No.”

  “You get that gun?”

  “Haven’t had time.”

  “You need to make time. You only need a gun when you haven’t got one.”

  “Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  Bryan put his phone in his pocket. The heat was already shimmering off the concrete. He signaled his waitress, a teenager in a dirty apron. “Can I get my check and a cup of coffee to go?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said.

  At midnight, Bryan pushed through the door to The Dugout, a strip-mall sports bar. Flat-screen TVs were playing the available games and sports news programs. A few people were seated at the tables with empty pitchers, and a young couple in T-shirts and jeans sat next to each other on one side of a booth holding hands. The man whispered something to the woman. She giggled and covered her mouth with her free hand. No one was seated at the bar. Bryan took a place between two barstools and nodded toward the bartender, a pudgy guy with silver-gray hair and a cauliflower ear.

  “We’re done serving,” the bartender said.

  “I’m looking for Stanley.”

  “That’s me.”

  “You own this bar?”

  “Yep. What’s this about?”

  “We’ve got a mutual friend who told me I should come see you about a project you’re planning. Can you name that friend?”

  Stanley nodded slowly. “Zeb.”

  Bryan stuck out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Stanley.”

  “And what do I call you?”

  “Ernie.” Bryan leaned forward and whispered. “I understand you want to rob a gambling operation—that you’re the inside man.”

  Stanley held up a hand. “Let me get closed.” He stepped out from behind the bar and started walking to the door. “Time to go, folks. Thanks for stopping by.”

  Bryan didn’t turn around. He put his elbows on the bar and waited. He heard chairs scraping the floor, voices making comments that he couldn’t understand, and the door opening and shutting. Then Stanley came back behind the bar.

  “Something to drink?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Okay, then. There’s a backroom game here every Monday. We’re closed. Same people every week. They come in, trade their cash for chips, the cash goes in the safe. When the game is over, everybody cashes out.”

  “How much?”

  “About forty thousand, give or take.”

  “That’s a big game for a Monday night.”

  “Four tables of six if everyone shows.”

  “Twenty-four players? So you want to stage a robbery during the game?”

  “That’s about the size of it.”

  “Any of the players carry guns?”

  “They’re not supposed to.”

  “A lot of risk in a robbery. To believe it, the people have to see it. They don’t see it, and you’re not dead, they think you’re in on it. But if they see it, somebody might do something foolish and get themselves—or us—shot.”

  “Look, Ernie, Zeb told me you were the man for the job. I figured you’d come in here with some masked guys and make it convincing, but if you don’t want to do it…”

  “Relax, Stanley. I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you. I’m just thinking about the best way. How about we replace the money with counterfeit instead of faking a robbery.”

  “Counterfeit?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That hadn’t crossed my mind. It would have to look just like real money.”

  “You won’t be able to tell the difference. Nobody pointing fingers, blaming your security. They’re all back next week. Best of all, nobody’s accidentally killed.”

  “So how would that work?”

  “We buy the counterfeit—It’ll cost five thousand…”

  “Five thousand?”

  “Nothing’s free—which leaves at least thirty-five thousand that we divide in half. You good with that?”

  “I’m ta
king the risk. I’m the one who could get caught. I should get more.”

  “And I’m the one who’s managing your risk almost all the way down to zero. That’s why you pay me.”

  Stanley thought for a minute. “Okay. This counterfeit is going to look like real money?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Then we’re on.”

  7

  Counterfeit

  The next morning Fred Stein stood on Rainy Street in front of a house in the spring break rental zone of Cricket Bay. All of the houses in this neighborhood had missing screens, peeling paint, and sagging porches. The yards were patchy grass and weeds. Crushed beer cans and smashed take-out containers seemed to have crawled under every bush. Since the summer season was almost over, most of the houses in this neighborhood were already empty. This house’s particular virtue was that a previous owner had jacked it up eight feet after a bad storm surge and then enclosed the open space to make what was essentially an above-ground basement.

  Stein put the keys into his front pocket. This place would do nicely. It was a furnished three-bedroom. They could use it as their base of operations before they got the money from Sally, and if they needed to hold one of her people, they could put them down in the faux basement. A toilet, a sink, and no windows. He got into his Corolla and took out his cellphone. “Carrie? It’s Fred.”

  “When are you coming home?”

  “I’ve got a new lead.”

  “Honey, I know you say you’re trying as hard as you can, but it’s getting harder and harder to believe you.”

  “Carrie, honey…”

  “Don’t ‘Carrie, honey’ me. You need to tell me the truth. Getting my hopes up is not an action plan.”

  He took a deep breath. “Okay. This is the way it is: every job I apply for, I get rejected as soon as they find out about my conviction.”

  “I can’t keep shouldering this load alone. I’m exhausted. You need to come home and take any job you can get. Even a fast-food job would help.”

  “I was going to surprise you, but I actually do have a lead on some money.”

  “From where?”

  “You remember how everyone scattered after I was arrested? I tracked down one of those guys.”