The Kidnap Victim

by Michael P. King

  “You guys don’t know what you’re doing.”

  Grissom picked up his pistol from the dining room table. “I’ve had enough of your shit. You can get back on the team or you can leave.”

  Billings looked from Grissom to Johnson.

  “Don’t look at Kevin,” Grissom said. “He’s not going to give up a payday just because you won’t settle down.”

  Johnson shrugged. “Sorry, man.”

  Billings held up his hands. “Rudy, I’m not wanting any trouble. I was just making a suggestion.”

  “You’re not helping.”

  “Maybe Denison can get the rest of the money somewhere else. Maybe he’s got something he could sell. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Stein cut in. “We’ve got a plan. We wait ’til tomorrow if we have to.”

  Grissom nodded. “We’re sticking with the plan.”

  “Okay,” Billings said.

  “But if we don’t have the money by then, we’ll have to change our game,” Grissom said.

  “Now you’re talking.”

  Grissom pointed his free hand at Billings. “But until tomorrow, we’re not doing a fucking thing.”

  “Okay.”

  “Does that work for you, Fred?”

  Stein nodded. “That’s fine with me. They’re going to get the money. Denison wants the princess back.”

  “But now we’ve got to babysit her all day,” Johnson said.

  “I promise I won’t touch her,” Billings said.

  “Why should we trust you?” Stein asked.

  “I was drunk. I was willing to pay. I didn’t think she would mind, okay?”

  “You don’t inspire confidence.”

  “Fuck you.” Billings stormed out the front door.

  Johnson shook his head. “We’re going to have to watch him.”

  “He won’t try anything while we’re all awake,” Grissom said.

  “Maybe we’ll get the money before the end of the day,” Stein said.

  Once Nicole got on the ramp to the Jonas Grey Airport the traffic was light. She drove the Explorer past the arrivals gate and the baggage claim entrance and pulled into the short-term parking deck across the street. Only a few people were unloading luggage onto the sidewalk. She walked quickly into the terminal and down the hall to the arrivals passageway next to the security checkpoint. Billy had texted a picture of the gunslinger: red-gray hair, weathered face, two-day beard, jeans and hoody—a hard man going by the name Cohen. A crowd from a just-landed plane passed through the arrivals doorway. Nicole spotted her man and held her hand up. Cohen came over to her, a carryon over his shoulder. He was taller than she thought he would be. She stuck out her hand.

  Cohen frowned. “Where’s your old man?”

  “He gets here later.”

  “I’ve never worked for a woman before.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Billy tells me you’re more than a pretty face, so we’ll see how it goes.”

  They walked out of the terminal and across to the parking deck. “You come well recommended,” Nicole continued.

  “Whatever that means. You don’t get to know anything about me. We’re not at summer camp. We’re just doing some killing together. You got the guns?”

  “We pick them up later.”

  “Targets here?”

  “Yeah. Hoping to deal with them this evening.”

  “Fill me in on the details.”

  Nicole explained what they knew so far.

  “Well, you know my scale. I don’t want any bitching if I kill more than you planned on.”

  “Right now, I’m not concerned about killing too few, I’m concerned about not killing them fast enough.”

  Neither spoke on the way back to the beach house. Denison was standing at the kitchen island drinking a glass of wine when Nicole and Cohen came in. “This is Cohen,” she said. “And this is my boyfriend James. It’s his daughter that’s been kidnapped.”

  Cohen gave Denison an appraising look. “Civilian.”

  “Yeah,” Nicole said. “He’s not in the game. Do you want a drink?”

  “Not now.”

  “Something to eat?”

  “I need a place to sleep.”

  “Let’s put him in the north bedroom,” Denison said.

  Nicole led Cohen down the hall to the bedroom. He dropped his carryon onto the floor by the door. “Wake me when you need me,” he said.

  When she returned to the kitchen, Denison handed her a glass of wine. “That guy looks like a psychopath.”

  “But he’s our psychopath, and he works for ten thousand dollars a gunfight. Which reminds me, you need to get a doctor lined up.”

  “What for?”

  “After we rescue Bell, we can’t take her to the emergency room. Too many questions. She’s going to need to be checked out. She may need a tranquilizer.”

  “She’s going to need a doctor?”

  “Just planning for the worst. Maybe Bell will be fine, and one of us will be shot up.”

  “You aren’t kidding, are you? This is your plan?”

  “You’re going to drive yourself crazy if you think too hard about what might happen. You’ve got a spare tire and a jack in your car, don’t you? It’s there even though you probably won’t need it. When you’re driving, you’re not thinking that you’re going to get a flat, are you? Think about it like that. Can you line up a doctor?”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  Two hours later, Nicole and Cohen pulled out of Denison’s driveway in the Explorer. It was a beautiful afternoon, full sun with a light breeze. Seagulls glided back and forth over the beach, and the noises of the vacationers mixed with the sounds of the waves. Cohen had his hood up. “Where are we going?”

  “Can you Google 2011 Seagull Way?”

  Cohen found the address on his phone. “Looks like it’s by the public docks.”

  Nicole pulled out onto Lighthouse Boulevard. Traffic was light, even though the beaches were crowded. They rode in silence until Nicole turned onto the access road to the Cricket Bay Marina.

  “So there are four guys holding the girl?” Cohen asked.

  “Yeah. And she’s not a kid. She’s a grown woman.”

  “So why not just pay?”

  “We’d be happy to if we thought we could trust them. But maybe they’ve already fucked her up. Best case scenario, they can’t just let us walk. We’ve seen them. If we’re criminals, we want payback. If we’re not, we could go to the police. You know as well as I do that’s what they’re going to be thinking about when we bring them the money. If just one of them is an asshole or has a quick temper…”

  “Yeah, they screwed up from the get-go. Should have worn masks. Kidnapping…that’s real shit work. Take the next left around the sheet-metal warehouse.”

  Nicole followed the asphalt around past a Dumpster. Small motorboats and sailboats on their trailers were parked in rows along the edge of the shore near the boat ramp. A dented red Ford pickup truck with a white camper top was parked behind the warehouse. Nicole stopped twenty feet away and got out of the SUV. A small, dark-skinned man wearing jeans, work boots, and an unbuttoned, long-sleeved shirt got out of the truck. “Why are you here?”

  “Billy sent me.”

  The man waved for Nicole to pull up. Nicole got back in the Explorer. Cohen looked at her. “What you think?”

  “Wish I had a gun.”

  The man was waiting at the tailgate of the truck when Nicole pulled up beside him. “What you got for me?”

  “Full package.” The man lowered the tailgate. Three large cases were in the bed of the truck. He pulled the closest one onto the tailgate and opened it. A Kevlar vest was strapped inside the lid. A Glock pistol, an MP5K submachine gun, boxes of ammunition, and several extra magazines sat in impressions in a foam board.

  Nicole nodded approvingly. “This is the good stuff.”

  “Billy said to hook you up; I hook you up.”

  Nicole reache
d for the Glock. The man pushed her hand away. “What you do once the cases are in your car doesn’t concern me, but not here.”

  “Fair enough. All three the same?”

  The man nodded.

  “What’s the damage?”

  “Your arrangement is with Billy. You pay him.”

  “Okay.”

  They transferred the cases to the back of the Explorer. The truck drove away. “Let’s find a spot to have another look,” Nicole said.

  They left the marina and drove along the shore to a city park access point across the boulevard from the beach. No one was parked in the gravel lot. They pulled into a spot at the far corner away from the restrooms and the path leading to the picnic tables and playground equipment. “See any cameras?” she asked.

  “No.”

  They opened the liftback. The contents of all three cases were the same. They took two of the pistols, filled the magazines and seated them. Cohen felt the weight of the loaded gun in his hand. “The day’s getting better already.”

  A car pulled into the parking lot. A middle-aged woman wearing a straw hat and a long, loose dress got out with her German shepherd and started down the path. Nicole closed the liftback. She and Cohen got back into the front. “When’s Bryan supposed to get here?” Cohen asked.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “But everything else is in place?”

  “Yeah. We just need Bryan to help even up the odds.”

  Back at the beach house they unloaded the cases in the garage and carried them through to the kitchen. Denison came into the room, Bell’s laptop in his hand. “The phone still at the house?” Nicole asked.

  “It’s moving around town,” Denison said. “What you got here?”

  Nicole lifted one of the cases on to the island and opened it.

  “Wow,” Denison said. “Are those automatic weapons? Where did you get them?”

  “Bryan reached out to a friend.” She pointed to the computer. “You’re going to drive yourself crazy.”

  “I know. I just can’t help myself. Can’t focus, and I need something to do.”

  “Did you line up the doctor?”

  “All taken care of.”

  “You want to help?” Cohen asked. “You ever been fingerprinted?”

  “No.”

  “All the extra magazines need to be filled. You know how to do it?” Cohen picked up an MP5K magazine, opened a box of cartridges, and inserted one into the magazine. “See? It’s easy. Just like that.”

  “Okay,” Denison said.

  “Might seem like grunt work, but it’s essential. All the mags in all three cases.”

  “Got you.”

  Bryan stepped off the plane train in the Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport and went up the escalator into his concourse. Even though he’d slept all the way from Chicago in a comfortable first-class seat, he still felt groggy. He turned toward the Caffeination Coffee Shop located just before the moving sidewalk. As he walked, he took out his phone and called Nicole. “Hey, baby.”

  “Bryan? Where are you?”

  “I’m in Atlanta. My flight was delayed three hours. Mechanical problems.”

  “When will you get here?”

  “If there’re no delays, ten or eleven o’clock.”

  “That late?”

  “What’s the gunslinger like?”

  “Billy came through. He’s the real deal. And the gear is top shelf.”

  “Billy’s probably wanting more of our business. And he may get it if it turns out Zeb’s guy was an asshole.”

  “Should we wait for you?”

  “I know waiting’s a bitch, but we’re only going to get one chance to surprise them. We need overwhelming force if we’re going to have any chance at all. Have you got the money yet?”

  “No. Definitely tomorrow.”

  “Denison doing any better?”

  “He’s adjusting.”

  “Good. Don’t let him talk you into giving him a gun.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “I know.”

  “He’ll shoot himself or one of you.”

  “I’m not going to give him a gun.”

  “Good. I’ll be there just a soon as I can, and then we’ll get this sorted out.”

  Spanish Mike’s Atlanta person, a middle-aged woman wearing khaki pants and a zip-up jacket, stood next to a Burrito Time restaurant pretending to read the menu while she watched Bryan at the Caffeination Coffee Shop. She got out her phone. “Found your guy.”

  “You sure?” Jenny asked.

  “It’s definitely him.”

  “Great. Follow him to his gate and call me back.”

  Nicole set her phone down on the counter. She knew that Bryan was right, but she was worried about Bell. It was the second day. Was she bound and gagged in a closet? Locked in a room? Guys like these often lacked impulse control. Bell wasn’t the kind of woman who would submit. If they decided to party her out while they waited, how hard would she fight back? Would they be willing to beat her down to have sex on her?

  Cohen and Denison stopped filling magazines. “Well?” Denison asked.

  “Bryan’s still in Atlanta. Won’t get here until late.”

  Cohen nodded. “So what’s the plan?”

  “Let’s go get Bell,” Denison said. “There’s three of us. We’ve got machine guns and bulletproof vests.”

  Cohen shook his head. “When was the last time you were at the gun range?”

  “I know how to fire a gun.”

  “This isn’t firing a gun. This is hot work that’s got to be done with a cool head. You get yourself killed, shame on you. You get me killed, shame on me.”

  “Cohen’s right,” Nicole said. “You’re no gunfighter. We’re better off without you in the mix.”

  “You’re not leaving me here. She’s my daughter. I need to be there.”

  “If you come, you’ve got to stay in the car. No matter what you hear, no matter what you see, you can’t get out. You’ve got to wait for the all-clear.”

  “I can do that.”

  “You think you can do that,” Cohen said. “You run up in the mix and get shot, you probably won’t live long enough for me to say I told you so.”

  “I promise. I’ll stay in the car. You’ve got my word.”

  Nicole turned to Cohen. “You think we can do it? There’s four of them maximum.”

  “You sure?”

  She nodded. “Fred Stein is no gunman, but Acne Scars looks like a tough guy. And Mr. Black and Mr. White look like they follow orders and don’t back down.”

  “So it’s three and a half?”

  “Yeah,” she said.

  “It’s definitely doable.”

  Nicole heard Bryan’s voice in the back of her mind. He was right. They would only get one chance to surprise Stein’s crew. Waiting for him was the smart move. There was no doubt about it. But how long would they have to wait? What if Bryan’s flight had another delay? What if Bell was hurt and needed medical attention right now? What if they hadn’t raped her yet, but raped her tonight while she and Cohen were still waiting for Bryan? Cohen was a professional. A hard guy. Him and the element of surprise. It was worth the risk.

  “Okay, we hit that house just after dark,” Nicole said. “If we’re lucky, she’s there. If not, we’ll have to get one of those guys to tell us where she is.”

  “What if they won’t talk?” Denison asked.

  “They’ll talk. This isn’t the movie of the week. We’re going to bring Bell home tonight.”

  11

  Rainy Street

  Nicole, Cohen, and Denison sat in the dark in a stolen Suburban on the street one block up from the kidnappers’ safe house on Rainy Street. They were dressed in dark clothing and wearing the Kevlar vests. Nicole and Cohen had the Glocks holstered at their hips and the MP5Ks slung from their shoulders. They wore black ball caps with FBI printed across the front in yellow just in case they attracted the attent
ion of any neighbors. The blue minivan, a Toyota Corolla, and a Jeep crowded the driveway. The street was quiet. There were lights on in about a quarter of the houses, but no one was on the street.

  Nicole turned in her seat to look at both Cohen and Denison. “Okay, we’ve got the front door into the living room, back door into the kitchen, bedrooms and bathroom on the left from the front.”

  Cohen and Denison nodded.

  “There may be as many as four hostiles. Probably are, judging from the number of vehicles. Cohen and I will go in the front and back—”

  “I’ll hit the front,” Cohen said.

  Nicole pointed at Denison. “And you’re going to wait here until we bring Bell out.”

  “Okay.”

  Nicole turned to Cohen. “You ready?”

  “Anyone points a gun, I’m killing everyone.”

  “Except the woman.”

  “Except the woman.”

  “Let’s get this done.”

  They crept up to the house and then split up. Cohen counted to ten, ran up the stairs to the porch, and kicked in the front door. As the door flew open, Mr. White sprang up from the sofa firing a revolver and then dove over the back of the sofa; Stein reached for a pistol on the coffee table. Cohen shot him three times in the chest before he could get to his feet. Mr. White slithered through the doorway into the hall. In the kitchen, Mr. Black scrambled for a shotgun on the counter.

  Just then, Nicole kicked in the back door. She pulled the trigger on the MP5K, and Mr. Black fell in a heap. She looked at Cohen. He nodded. They moved into the hall. There were four doors, all closed. Nicole reached for the nearest doorknob on her right. Locked. Cohen put his right hand on Nicole’s left shoulder. Nicole raised up her machine gun and nodded. Cohen kicked in the door with a martial arts side kick. The door slammed open just as a shotgun blast cut a hole through it. Nicole fired as the door swung back. The MP5K spat slugs through the half-open door. Now everything was silent. Nicole glanced into the room. Acne Scars lay in the bathtub tangled up with the shower curtain. She whispered, “That’s three. And still no Bell. The only one of them left is Mr. White.”

  Cohen tried the door on the left. It was unlocked. He gave it a gentle push. Down the stairs, he saw Mr. White standing behind a tall redhead, his revolver pushed into her neck, his finger on the trigger. “Move down the hall to the bedrooms. You go toward the kitchen, she’s dead.”