Baksheesh (Bribes)

by D S Kane

  He shook his head. “Dunno, but we’ve gotta try some-thing. The longer we wait, the more bad things can happen.”

  She knew this was true. In fact, it was something she’d taught him. “Okay, then. The one at the side entrance looks bored to death. I’ll flag a cab. You take this.” She handed him the attacker’s gun. “Shove it into his back good and hard. Take him to the cab. We’ll take him somewhere and get to the bottom of this. Did you leave Ann and Gizmo at the bookstore?”

  He nodded. She thought for a second. “Okay. While you get him ready to go, I’ll call her and tell her to wait there until we’re done with the hitter.”

  Lee nodded and crossed the street. Cassie waved to a passing taxi and it stopped at the curb. She got in the shotgun seat and faced the cabbie: “Cross around and come up behind the bus terminal. There are two more passengers to pick up, and we’re all traveling together.” The cabbie nodded and the taxi pulled away from the curb. As the cab came around the block, she called Ann’s cell and told her what to expect.

  When the cab arrived at the side entrance, the assassin opened the door and dropped into the back seat. Lee got in and sat next to him, holding the handgun within his jacket. Cassie pointed down the street. “Take us to the Best Western at the north edge of town.”

  She turned to the man who was their target, and whispered in his ear. “Silence, if you want to keep breathing. My partner’s jacket will act as a silencer if he needs to ‘do’ you.” The man looked uncomfortable, and she assumed it indicated he understood her.

  Within five minutes they were at the motel. Cassie exited the cab and entered the lobby. She got them a hotel room, paying cash for two nights.

  * * *

  Ann had read the first hundred pages of the newest and most popular young adult novel in the bookstore and continued looking around to see if she’d been discovered. No, not yet. She started the next chapter, with Gizmo sitting silently within the cat carrier next to her.

  She prayed silently for her mom and dad. And wondered why nothing ever went right for them. Would California be better? She shook her head. Not likely. Tears formed in her eyes and dropped onto the pages.

  One of the bookstore’s employees approached her. “Are you okay?”

  Ann nodded. “Yeah. But the story’s making me cry. I’m meeting my mom and dad here in an hour. When they get here, I’m gonna have ’em buy this book for me.”

  The employee looked mollified. Then saw the cat carrier. “What’s the cat’s name?”

  “Gizmo. I took her to the vet today. She wasn’t feeling well. Lots of kittie barf. The vet gave me meds for her. Mom and Dad both have jobs so I had to bring her myself.”

  The employee nodded, smiled, and turned back to the cash register.

  * * *

  Lee perp-marched the man into their motel room, the gun pushed up against the man’s back. Cassie held the door open and then closed it. She took the rope they’d bought and tied him into a chair.

  In the back of her mind, a scene replayed: The dream she’d had when she was in Judy Hernandez’s apartment almost two years ago, when she’d been hunted by terrorists. In the dream she’d been sliced open, her eyeball and both nipples removed with a knife before they’d done far worse. Remembering the nightmare made her gulp. She smiled at the man. “I assume you were going to kill us. Right?”

  He said nothing.

  She shook her head. “Okay. I know you aren’t interested in telling us anything. But, if you know anything about me, you know I was trained in interrogation techniques and torture by one of Mossad’s experts. And since I have to assume my family’s lives as well as mine are on the line, you can guess just how motivated I am to get you to talk.”

  She hefted the gun and grabbed it by its barrel. “Unfortunately, I have no drugs to induce you. So it’ll just be pain. Doesn’t work well, so I’ll have to use liberal doses of it. Talk now and you might live through this. Fail to tell me what I need to know, and you’ll wish you’re dead before I’m five minutes into this. And it’ll go on for hours. Many hours. I promise. Talk?”

  He said nothing.

  “Right then.” She pushed a gag into his struggling, bobbing head, with Lee helping to hold the man steady. “We’ll give you the appetizer and see if that changes your mind.” She had Lee hold the man’s hand hard against the dresser’s top while she hammered on the man’s fingers with the butt of the handgun until they were flat, smashing a few of them until they were wafer-thin. Then she exchanged the gun for the man’s Benchmade knife and sliced off his pants leg, starting at his ankle and ripping it to his crotch. “Lee, go make us a pot of coffee. You don’t want to see this.” She pulled on latex surgical gloves they’d purchased at the store.

  Lee nodded and walked away. She grabbed her captive’s right hand and laid the blade across his broken fingers just below the knuckle joint. “Wanna talk? Nod your head.”

  He didn’t move.

  So fast she knew he wouldn’t feel the pain for seconds, she slammed knife down on his right hand, and the fingers flew off the hand, landing on the rug. She heard him gasp through the gag. “That’s the Muslim punishment for stealing. Thought you might not know. What I’ll do to you next will be much worse. Wanna talk now?”

  She waited, staring into his eyes. His face had gone rigid with pain. But no movement from him to indicate he wanted her to stop. She pulled the ripped pants leg off and sliced off his jockeys. “I guess it’s true what they say about fear causing peripheral circulation to slow. Look what my opening act did to the blood flow to your penis. Sheesh, I’ve seen parakeets with bigger genitalia. But fear not. You won’t have to worry about your inadequacy much longer.”

  As she reached to grasp the man’s penis, his head began to bob furiously. Lee returned holding two cups of coffee. He handed one to her. Looking at the severed fingers lying across the carpet, his eyes bugged. “Cass, you’re really making a mess. It’ll cost the motel lots to clean this up.”

  She nodded to him. “We can stop it if he talks.” She removed the gag. “What’s it to be?”

  The man’s face bobbed. “Okay! Ask away.”

  She smiled maliciously. “Your name?”

  He closed his eyes. “William Peterson.”

  She nodded. “Good. Bill, uh, you don’t mind if I call you Bill, do you?”

  His eyes remained clenched shut. “No!”

  She slapped the side of his head, boxing one ear. “Who do you work for? The man’s name and your ultimate client.”

  He kept his eyes closed and began to sob. “My contact’s name is Bert Friend. I don’t know who the ultimate client is.”

  She picked up the knife. “Let’s try that again.” She held the blade tight against his penis, sliced slightly until a scarlet stream formed at the spot where its eye was, and it dripped onto the chair.

  He tried squirming but all that did was rip his flesh more. “No! It’s true.”

  She nodded solemnly. “Okay. How many of you are there?”

  “Six. We lost track of one. Bob Tuzinkowitz. Hasn’t reported in since the afternoon began.”

  She remembered the other man’s face. “Okay. Who’s the leader of your operation and what’s the list of objectives?”

  “I am. I spoke with you when you took down Bob. Bert told me to kill you, your daughter and husband, and bring back a piece of vital flesh with each one of your DNA to prove we’d succeeded.”

  Lee had been facing away since he’d handed her the coffee. Without facing them, he asked, “Who is Bert Friend?”

  The captive’s face showed his panic. “I dunno! I dunno!”

  Lee tried again. “Description.”

  “We never met. Just on the phone.” Their captive was in a near panic.

  Cassie still held his penis in her hand with the knife blade sliced partway through. She stared into his face. “How’d you find us?”

  “The bills you’re using. They’re counterfeit. We backtraced your bank account from your travel
records. Now we have someone in deep at your bank posing as a part-time teller. We’ve been tracing them as you move west.”

  She grimaced. “Shit. Hadn’t thought of that.” She squeezed his penis with the gripping hand. “How do you get paid?”

  “Oh God, oh God, oh—”

  “Giving up? Want me to finish you now?”

  “No, no!”

  She nodded. “Right. Tell me how you get paid.”

  He opened his eyes and looked into hers. “Direct deposit into our bank accounts. The description of the line item reads ‘US Army Payroll.’ I swear, it does.”

  She looked at Lee and silently mouthed the words, “Project SafePay.”

  Lee shook his head. “Damn.”

  She took the blade away from their captive’s genitalia. “Wanna live? Wanna get put in a cab to go to the hospital so you can get those fingers reattached?”

  He nodded furiously.

  “Yeah, thought so. I need you to call off your dogs. Can you do that?”

  He nodded again. She handed him the first assassin’s cellphone. “Do it now. I’ll watch. What’s the number?” He told her. Again, it was a 202 area code. Washington DC. She keyed the number and held the phone to his ear, placing the knife blade against his throat. “Say anything to alert them and you won’t live to finish the sentence.”

  He gulped, nodding. “This is Peacemaker. I’ve found them and killed them. I collected an eyeball from each. We’re done. See you in DC. Any questions?”

  Cassie heard one of them reply. “Yeah, Bill. When do we get paid the rest of our money?”

  “Give me a week. I’ll tell our sponsor and as soon as he pays me, I’ll get each of you your cash. Okay?”

  “Yeah. Okay. Slice and Dice out.” There was silence on the line.

  She smiled at him. “Omaha has a decent hospital with a working emergency room. But I don’t think you’ll collect from Bert.” She tied a pillowcase around his bare leg, tucked it into his pants belt and took a dry cleaning bag from the motel room’s closet. She placed his ripped-off fingers inside the bag and dropped it in his lap. “Lee, call a cab.”

  Lee nodded and they waited while he watched outside the window for five minutes. He nodded. “Incoming now.” Lee whispered into her ear. “What do we do now for money?”

  She took their captive’s wallet and found five hundred dollars in twenties. “This’ll do until we figure out what to do next.” She picked up the gun she’d gotten from the first attacker and slammed it against their captive’s skull, rendering him unconscious. Then she pocketed his cellphone, and cut the rope binding him into the chair. In seconds they were in the cab. “He’ll be out for at least five minutes. Let’s get Ann and then bolt from town.”

  * * *

  There was a small bank across the street from the bookstore where Ann stood reading another book. Cassie realized the counterfeit bills were good enough to pass, since she’d used them everywhere they traveled until now. This was a place their attackers had already found them in and was therefore the last time she could use the bills. She stood on line until it was her turn. “I’m going on a business trip and need travelers cheques. American Express, of course.”

  The teller completed the transaction within five minutes and they hurried across the street. With Ann in tow, they headed to Hertz. No more overnight stops. It might take thirty hours to drive, but between her and Lee, it shouldn’t be a problem.

  Cassie’s forged driver license worked. They rented a black Buick so commonplace she was positive it wouldn’t draw attention. Lee suggested they travel south and west until they hit California and she agreed.

  But she worried she might not have thought this all through. Was this the last they’d seen of their killers?

  * * *

  The three days had left them frazzled and exhausted. After dropping them off at Kiril’s, Lee parked the car near the San Francisco Airport at the rental office. He pulled the unlocked cellphone from his pocket. “I’ve just dropped the car and I’m on my way back.”

  From twenty miles away, he heard Cassie’s voice. “Gotcha. See you in an hour.”

  He found a bus stop a block away and waited for almost a half-hour. Her instructions had been quite specific and he intended to follow them to the letter. That is, unless something had gone wrong. He shifted his gaze and found nothing unusual. Just jumpy, he thought.

  When the bus finally arrived, he scooted in and sat near the back. The bus made several stops, and no one else got on until it reached El Camino Real in San Mateo. He got off at 25th Avenue and waited for the bus to Half Moon Bay. He waited another half-hour and got on the bus that took him “over the hill” to the coastside. Still, no one followed him.

  He smiled. The men who’d tried had missed on their last chance to find them. He prayed that now his family was going to be safe.

  But would they ever get over the scar of being hunted? He could see the effect it had taken on Cassie. And he could imagine the effect it had taken on Ann. But for some reason, he seemed unaffected, as if this was some great adventure. He wondered if there was something wrong with him.

  * * *

  Over two months passed since Shimmel read the draft of Cassie’s email, telling him where they’d moved. He felt happy for her. And that made what he was about to do a nasty trick. But it had to be done. There was too much at stake.

  He sealed the envelope. “Take this and give it to her. She’ll know what to do.

  Private Pascal nodded. “Oui.” He walked to his cubicle, removed his Burberry raincoat from its hanger and left the building, heading to Reagan International.

  CHAPTER 24

  May 19, 4:04 p.m.

  Abdul’s Revenge, A Middle Eastern Eatery,

  just off Highway 1, Devil’s Slide, California

  The man was stout, but underneath the fat was muscle. He wore an expensive Burberry raincoat, walked from his rental car through the tiny parking lot, constantly swiveling his gaze from side to side, as if he expected someone or something to close in on him. According to the notes he’d been given, the town was too new to be known for anything. Too small, too insignificant.

  He turned and faced the Pacific Ocean. Fog shrouded the narrow two-lane highway. The only road leading in and out meandered along the cliffside above the ocean, with mountains rising along the roadside, less than a hundred yards from the fringed beach far below the bluff. So close to San Francisco, yet so remote.

  A jumpy sort, he checked the name and address listed on the door against the piece of paper in his left hand. The building he faced was ancient and poorly maintained, moss growing on its walls. He smelled the musty aroma of mold and his nose twitched. He turned and saw the dense fog that would keep the diners from having a magnificent view of the Pacific Ocean from their tables. It was almost two hours before the restaurant would open. Maybe the fog would dissipate.

  He shook his head and knocked at the door. It released and swung for him, squeaking on its hinges from rust.

  The restaurant was in obvious need of repair, but the aromas of lamb tagine and honey-coated halvah wafted from the open-air kitchen. He looked at the wall opposite the door and grinned. A large moose head mounted on the wall held a sign between its jaws proclaiming “Abdul’s Revenge, A Middle Eastern Eatery.”

  A woman looked up, smiled, and shuffled toward him. He judged her as gone to fat. Her face remained partially hidden under the hood of her sweatshirt. She bore a dull expression and carried a black-handled chef’s knife, in no obvious rush to reach him. He tried to guess her age but she strolled like someone middle-aged. As she approached he saw that her swollen belly wasn’t fat. She carried a child within. If not for the baby she carried, he’d have guessed forty, maybe fifty.

  He noticed a young blonde teenager in the back, seated at one of the tables, working away on a notebook computer. A sleek black cat slept on one of the tables with its head against the girl’s notebook, its purr loud and strong as it napped. A steel-body guitar was prop
ped against a stool by the cash register, and another acoustic guitar stood behind it. He saw a small sound system and microphones, speakers around the room.

  The sound of stealthy movement startled him. His head turned slightly and he saw the men, six of them. Five were alert and following his movements closely, and he could see their hands move inside their jacket pockets toward what he’d been told would be automatic weapons. The sixth man, thin with long blond hair and a short-cropped beard of the same color, rummaged among the ingredients in the refrigerator door at the back of the kitchen, holding a measuring cup.

  The visitor in the raincoat sniffed the air: New aromas: cinnamon, lemons, cumin. He was a former chef, so he strode to the register and looked at the menu. Nothing here he wanted to eat.

  Before she could greet him, he said, “Please, a friend told me you could help me.”

  He examined her, wondering why she was thought to be so important. As she approached in the dim light, he could see dark scarring on her right cheek. When she spoke the red splotch moved with her words. “What are you looking for?”

  He passed her the paper. She read aloud the single word printed on its top: “Swiftshadow.” Her head snapped back as if she’d been struck. The hood of her sweatshirt fell back showing short stringy brown hair and a pretty face. He said, “General Shimmel sent me.”

  Her posture changed completely, suddenly, like a cat whose prey appeared. She looked at least ten years younger, maybe thirty, and alert. She carefully placed the knife on the counter and examined his face for the first time.

  He could tell she was considering the implications of this choice now offered. He watched her jaw open, exposing her teeth. Andrea Selman, formerly Chrissie Card, and before that Denise Hardcastle, Susan Blumenthal, and originally Cassandra Sashakovich, made her choice. Her voice was just above a whisper. “Okay, then. Tell me who you are. Tell me everything.”

  The fog lifted and light from the sun danced through the windows. He turned and saw the bluff that the restaurant was perched on, less than a hundred feet away. Cassie—now calling herself Andrea—approached him warily, her hands ready to defend herself should it become necessary. He’d read her file. Over three years ago, someone who knew her old call sign had raped her and tried to murder her.