by Owen Parr
“That’s all we got. Maybe he doesn’t have your phone and couldn’t text you,” Tony suggested.
“Huh, maybe you’re right. Why did you guys come in today? You didn’t see his text?”
“Yes, but we called each other and James. We have personal stuff here and wanted to see what’s going on.”
Made sense. “I see. Well, nothing to do here, so we might as well cut out. I would take your personal stuff, I think you’re right about moving to New York.”
“Shit, are we going to get paid?” Mel asked suddenly.
I wanted to check for hidden microphones and cameras, but if they were still operational, they would see me. So, I decided to just walk out. Whatever was here was now gone. No files, no clues, and nothing to follow up on. Was it a coincidence that James was murdered last night and now Bobal was gone?
I took the elevator to the lobby and went to the security person in charge of checking in guests. “Was Mr. Bobal here last night packing things?”
“I wouldn’t know, sir. I started working at seven am today,” a uniformed attendant said, with a name tag that read Ryland.
I gave him my most reassuring smile. “Ryland, it's important. Can you call the security person who was here last night?”
“He might be sleeping, but let’s try it anyway.” He dialed a number on his cell phone. After what seemed forever, someone answered. “Pierre, Ryland here. Did Mr. Bobal move things from his office last night?”
After a few moments, Ryland disconnected the call. “Pierre says two men who he knows work for Mr. Bobal moved boxes and computers out of the office. They had a signed note from Mr. Bobal authorizing them to do so.”
“Did he say at what time they did that?”
“Eleven at night, he said, during his break. He helped push chairs out with boxes on them.”
“Thank you, Ryland.”
So presumably they took everything to Bobal’s plane to load up. Which meant it was after midnight before Bobal flew out of Miami. If he did at all.
I took the elevator in the parking building to the fourth floor, and as I approached my car, two rather large men walked up to me. The one on my right, about six-three, had a dark blue suit, no tie, and a large square face with a flattened nose, probably broken in prison.
“Mr. Hastings, we need you to come with us,” he said in a European accent.
I looked to my left and did a double take. An even larger dude wore a wifebeater shirt, with a nineteen-sixties crewcut, deep dark eyes, bushy eyebrows, and biceps bigger than my head. He smiled, showing two missing teeth.
“Sorry, guys, I have an appointment with Special Agent Max of the FBI.”
“Don’t make hard on yourself. Please sit in the backseat,” Square Face said, glowering at me.
I didn’t know what to make of this. Who were these guys and where were they taking me? At least they didn’t know my real identity.
Thinking fast, maybe too fast, I replied, “Look, Agent Max is downstairs, he’ll see us driving out. Maybe later we can meet up for a beer here on Lincoln Road. I’ll buy.”
Square Face glanced at Bushy Eyebrow and nodded. I waited for a reaction, but I wasn’t seeing favorable moves on their part. Where was this going? I tried taking a couple of steps back.
Bushy Eyebrow reared back and slapped me hard in the face. As my jaw sang in pain, Square Face opened the trunk of their car that was parked next to mine. I looked around for someone, anyone to help, but I was alone with these two gorillas. Alarm shot through me. They were going to take me right here in broad daylight?
Though I struggled and fought them, their strength outmatched mine, and a second later, Bushy Eyebrow slapped a piece of duct tape over my mouth and practically picked me up and tossed me in the trunk of their car. My face throbbed from the slap.
The car sped out of the parking space and drove down the four stories of the parking lot at a speed that kept me flying from side to side when they made the turns, as if I were a can of soup in the bed of a pickup truck. The car stopped, I assume to pay for parking, and I tried to scream to no avail.
Stupidly or due to the rush, they left my hands untied. I yanked the duct tape off my mouth with a wince, but before I could say anything, the car floored it. No one except them was going to hear my screams, and if so, they would tie my hands and gag me again, so I remained quiet and turned my attention to escaping.
I turned on the flashlight on my phone and, with my left index finger, rubbed my upper and lower teeth. They were all there, thank God, but I was bleeding somewhere in my mouth. I could taste the blood.
Flashing my light around the trunk, looking for a potential weapon, I found nothing, just some dust and crumpled up papers. My breathing came out in short pants, and though I tried to take deeper breaths, my lungs refused to obey. Either from my rising blood pressure or the slap to my face, I was getting a bitch of a headache. I pressed redial, and on the third ring, Joey answered.
“Hey, Jack, I’m at the scene of the crime,” Joey said.
“Listen to me," I whispered urgently. "I’m in the trunk of a car. Two guys that work for Bobal are taking me somewhere.”
“Jack, I couldn’t make out what you said," Joey said, confusion bleeding through his tone. "Why are you in the trunk of a car?”
“I’ve been abducted by two guys,” I said a little louder.
“Two guys what?”
I scowled. “Shit! Kidnapped, kidnapped,” I repeated, whisper-yelling.
Joey paused. “You’ve been kidnapped?”
“Yes,” I replied and spoke slowly. “By two guys that work for Bobal. Did you hear me?”
“Where’re you now?” Joey asked loudly.
I nearly beat my head off the top of the trunk out of frustration. “How the hell do I know, man? I’m in the trunk,” I repeated as if I were talking to a third-grader. “Trunk of a car.”
“Do you have a Waze app?”
“No, I don’t have a Waze app.” Suddenly, I realized what he wanted me to do. “I have Google Map. Hang on. Let me open the app, see if it works.” The stupid app took forever to connect, but finally, the little arrow popped up, and I nearly cheered. “Okay, I’m on I-95 headed north. Wait, wait, we just entered the Turnpike, still headed north. You hear me?”
“What’s north of that?”
“North is north, man," I said impatiently. "New York, Ft. Lauderdale, and so on.” He said something, but I didn't catch it all. “I didn’t get that, repeat.”
Slowly, he repeated, “Any roads to the Everglades? Can you hear me now?”
“Yes. That’s west. There’s I-75, also called State Road 84 or Alligator Alley.”
“Alligator Alley? Ouch, that’s where you’re headed. But, that’s good news,” Joey said excitedly.
“Yeah, for who, the crocs?” I asked dryly. How the hell could Joey be thinking this was good news? How was I getting out of this? Was I going to be the next victim? Alligators? Fuck!
“I just learned there’s a difference between the alligators and the crocs. I’ll tell you later. Listen, I have my app opened. I can take State Road 29 north. That runs into Alligator Alley. Will intercept the car you’re in.”
“How do you know where I’ll be? You sound as if you’re going to meet up with the ice cream man.”
“Text me your Apple ID and password. I’ll locate you. I’m bringing the sheriff with me, lights on. Turn your phone off, save the battery. I’ll call as we meet up. Wait, wait, don’t turn your phone off, we won’t find you then.”
“What’d you mean, you won’t find me?” I repeated, not liking the sound of that.
“Keep your phone on,” he repeated slowly.
“I hope so, otherwise call me gone and please take care of Max.”
“One more thing, Jack," Joey said quickly before I could hang up. "What’s the make and color of the car?”
I thought back. I honestly hadn't been paying attention to the car. The big brutes had captured most of my attention. “I
know it’s a sedan, dark blue. No clue on make and model.”
“See you soon, buddy,” Joey said and disconnected.
My heart pounded in my chest, matching the headache at my temples. I could hear the pounding of my blood pressure in my ears. Was this my end? I hoped he had a plan, but I still couldn’t phantom a way out of this mess. All I could envision was these two gorillas opening the trunk in the middle of the Everglades, pounding me to a pulp, then feeding me to the gators. This wasn't the way I would write my ending.
Then, like a hunted deer that couldn't flee, I turned upon my thoughts and stood at bay, wounded, weak, and panting.
16
Joey Mancuso ~
Explaining what was going on to Deputy Wayne, I jumped in my red Mustang GT350 that I rented when I arrived in Miami. The promised 546 horsepower that this V8 engine generated was going to be tested today.
Three Miami-Dade sheriff cars led the way. The menacing storm that threatened the area was moving north and east according to one of the deputies at the scene. I just hoped the storm would move south rather than north, so as not to interfere with our chase.
Turning north from US 41 to State Road 29, I was doing one hundred and twenty miles per hour and still had plenty of juice to go faster. All the sheriffs had Jack’s location on their systems, including a helicopter that had been dispatched to Alligator Alley. Occasionally, I glanced at my phone and clearly saw that my moving blue dot on the map was getting closer to Jack’s phone. So far, so good.
Hang on, Jack.
My phone rang and I picked up. “This is Mancuso.”
“Mr. Mancuso, this is Deputy Wayne in the lead car. The helicopter has located the vehicle your friend is in. Unfortunately, the storm moved in at his location and the rain is making it impossible for them to continue the chase. We’re ten miles from Alligator Alley. The vehicle in question has just crossed US 29 and is continuing west. We’ll be making a left turn momentarily.”
“So, basically we’ll be behind them and have to catch up. Right?”
“Indeed, but we have alerted the highway patrol, and they’ll be setting up a roadblock about ten miles from their present location. Once we get to the scene, please stay in your car.”
While I didn't like that order, I understood the need for it. I was technically a civilian now. “I don’t have to remind you that these guys are more than likely armed. Does everyone know the victim is in the trunk of the car? I don’t want anyone shooting at the vehicle.”
“Everyone is aware. Not to worry.” His voice remained calm and even.
“Okay, thank you,” I said.
But I was worried. These goons more than likely murdered James just yesterday. And likely were also the ones who killed Gene Wells. So, what did they have to lose? Wanted for murder, these idiots might want to make a run for it and shoot their way out. Besides, if they worked for the people we suspected were behind these murders, their life expectancy was very short if they were caught.
Everyone made a left turn on Alligator Alley with me behind them. From my calculations, at one hundred miles per hour, it would take us a little more than five minutes to arrive at the roadblock. Would that be quick enough? Would we get there in time to save Jack?
The rain began to batter my windshield hard, coming down horizontally, with zero visibility. All I could see were blurry flashing lights in front of me. I pressed on but slowed down considerably.
Suddenly, all the lights in front of me stopped and scattered right and left on the side of the road.
We were here.
I got out of the car under a downpour of wind and rain and ran toward the front. The front of two highway patrol cars that had jackknifed on the road were heavily damaged. Headlights sprawled on the road with a clear passage in between them.
“What the hell just happened here?” I asked to no one in particular.
A deputy who was standing next to me briefly glanced over. “They either didn’t see the roadblock or they ran through it.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. No shit, Sherlock.
Running back to my car fully soaked, I jumped in and drove through the maze of official vehicles. I could hear banging on my car from deputies probably telling me to stop. Ignoring their attempts, I proceeded until I had a clear path west.
The engine roared as I stepped on the gas and chased after the dark blue sedan. I prayed there were no other cars on the road because I wasn't stopping for anything. Keeping a tight hold on the wheel with my left hand, I reached for my phone to dial Jack and put the phone on speaker. From my rearview mirror, I could see flashing lights behind me, a too familiar scene when I drive my Mustang at home.
“Jack,” I screamed.
"Joey?" came a faint voice.
I nearly slumped in relief. “Are you all right?”
“What the hell just happened?” Jack asked, his voice cracking at the end.
“Your guys just ran a police roadblock. Listen to me, I’m trying to catch up to you. Is the car still moving?”
“Yeah, but I hear some clatter. Something is loose on the car. We’re not going as fast. Are the police coming?”
“They’re behind me. I’m going to try a PIT maneuver as soon as I reach your car. You know what that is?” It was honestly the only option I could think of. Despite the risk, I had to try it.
“A PIT maneuver? Are you crazy? I’m in the trunk, buddy!” Jack replied tightly.
“Yes. I want you to brace yourself. Wait, I see your car. Great, the rain is abating. Get ready.”
“You’re going to kill me!” His voice took on a high-pitched, panicked tone, and I heard shuffling, as if he were moving in the trunk.
“If I don’t, they will. So, what’s the difference?” I was quickly approaching the car, maybe twenty feet behind. My body tensed at what I was about to do. “Jack, count to twenty.”
“Did you say twenty?”
“Brace yourself!”
Seconds later, I plowed into the right side of the car with my left bumper. Metal on metal crunched, and a loud crashing sound drowned out everything else. My Mustang veered left, with the rear of my car skidding right past the front of theirs. It came to a stop feet away, mostly intact.
The blue sedan, however, wasn't so lucky. It slid left and then rolled once, twice, and crashed into the left embankment off the side of the road.
I staggered out of my car and ran toward the sedan. It was on its left side in three feet of water. Reaching the car, I tried to open the trunk to no avail. I banged on it and heard nothing. Banged again, and no response again. My stomach dropped. Was Jack okay?
From the corner of my eye, I saw a hand extended a gun out the broken window. A man was attempting to crawl out the right passenger window. With half his body out of the car, he pointed the gun at me.
“Drop it,“ a steely voice commanded.
The man turned away from me, still pointing the gun forward. Two shots echoed out. Pop, pop. The man’s body jerked backward and then forward, and just lay there without moving, still half in and half out of the window.
“I need the key, I need the key,” I cried out.
A deputy helped me pull the other half of the body out the window. I let go of the dead body and crawled in through the open window, careful to avoid the broken glass.
Before I knew what was happening, two shots rang out from inside the car, and the deputy yanked me back, out of the line of fire.
“Throw the gun out and come out hands first,” the deputy barked.
No surprise, the man ignored the command and fired off two more shots.
Squatting just below the window, I spotted the dead man’s Glock in the mud. With a surge of adrenaline, I didn't hesitate and lunged for it. Picking it up, I pointed the barrel inside the car and fired three shots in rapid succession.
Without waiting to see if I'd hit my target, I forced myself through the window. My legs dangled outside. I spotted the key still in the ignition, but the son of a bitch dri
ver wasn't dead. With a snarl, he grabbed my arm and yanked me in. But he failed. The deputy held my legs tightly, keeping me in place.
With my left elbow, I rammed his head against the cracked window. A sickening crunch echoed in the small, confined space as his skull splintered the glass even more. The dude didn't even have a chance of defending himself. There was no space to get any leverage, so I rammed his head again and again, until a crimson tide ran down his face. Only when he lost consciousness did I stop.
I pulled the key out of the ignition. “Pull me back!”
The deputy did as requested. As soon as my feet hit the ground, I ran to the back of the car, opened the trunk, and there was Jack. There was a little blood, but he looked okay overall. No reaction. He lay there without moving.
Shit, did I kill him?
Heart pounding, I pulled him out of the trunk. The slippery mud made my footing precarious. Combinate that with Jack's weight, and it wasn't long before I fell on my back in the ditch, submerged in the three feet of water.
Two deputies immediately pulled us up and out of the embankment. One began working on Jack, checking for a pulse.
The son of a bitch inside the car popped up, firing his Glock wildly. Immediately, he was met with a barrage of shots from the deputies and was killed instantly. I paid him little mind. My focus was on my friend.
I knelt beside Jack. “Jack, Jack, can you hear me? Is he dead?”
17
Joey Mancuso ~
The deputy glanced up from what he was doing to Jack. “No, no, he’s breathing. More than likely he suffered a concussion. We have EMTs coming, they’ll take care of him.”
Deputy Wayne approached me, a grave look on his face. “How is he?”
“He’s alive, but not responding. I’m worried,” I replied tightly, watching for any sign of responsiveness. And then it happened. Jack moaned and opened his eyes slightly. A strong wave of relief rushed through me. Thank God he was okay.
“He’s back,” the other deputy said. “Don’t move,” he told Jack.
