Rebels and Thieves

by Russell Williams

  Missy’s cell phone rang. She opened her purse, fished through her things, and grabbed her phone. She looked at the number, her face chalk-white, shaking her head. Upset, she put her cell phone back into her purse and set in on the ground, right next to her feet. She leaned back on the park bench and took a deep breath. “That was my husband again. He’s called me at least twenty-five times today.”

  “He’s persistent.”

  “He’s such a control freak—jealous, possessive, and controlling.”

  “Your husband sounds like he’s a very sick man.”

  Missy’s face paled. “Now, he says that he’s going to track me down and kill me.”

  Dean felt a shock go through him. He knew he had to talk some sense into her. “Listen, you need to do stand up for yourself. You need to contact the police.”

  “I’d rather not get them involved right now. It will only complicate things for me.”

  “It’s the only way to ensure your safety.” Dean knew that women who told the authorities about their partner’s ill intentions toward them stood a much better chance of getting away from them for good. No longer was the battered woman alone and isolated, rather she was backed by a legal system that had her best interest at heart. The authorities were sending a strong message to her abuser—either stop your violence against her or be prepared to spend time behind bars.

  “I’ll think it over.” Missy bit her bottom lip. “I hate having to deal with this.”

  “Don’t keep putting it off. Or you’re going to be sorry.”

  “My husband just needs a little time to cool down, that’s all.”

  Dean realized she was in over her head. He had read about men who had killed their wives for having affairs. “At least get a restraining order. Or a protection order against him.”

  “I’ll be all right.”

  Dean gave her a serious look. “You can’t be so sure. Not in a position like yours.”

  “Don’t worry about me.” Missy pointed at her purse. “I have a can of mace.”

  Missy’s cell phone rang again, this time she didn’t get it out of her purse. It rang and rang and rang. Finally, fed up, she got her purse, fished through her things, and grabbed her phone. As she was looking at the incoming number, the caller hung up. Just as she was about to put her cell phone back into her purse, she noticed something—an incoming text message. “That’s my rotten husband again. Now, he’s sending me a nasty text message.”

  “Oh, that’s no good.”

  “He said I’m not going to get away with it. That he’s going to get even with me.”

  “You can’t take that lightly.”

  “If he can’t have me, he said no one else can, either.”

  Dean laid a hand on her shoulder and stared down at her. He was upset she wasn’t taking steps to ensure her safety. “Whatever you do, don’t erase that message.”

  “He said it’s going to be over soon. That I don’t have much longer to live.”

  Taking a few deep breaths, Missy leaned back on the park bench. She slid closer to Dean, put her head on his shoulder, and burst into tears. Concerned for her safety, he threw his arm around her. He hoped she would use better judgment, that she would come to her senses and notify the authorities. If she didn’t take steps to protect herself, he feared she would become another statistic.

  Chapter 31

  Not wanting to be seen, Benson pulled his car off the main road, parking it right behind a bunch of palm trees. He opened the glove compartment, grabbed the binoculars, and searched the crowd for his wife. It wasn’t long before he spotted her, sitting on a park bench, right next to her lover. Realizing she was having an affair with another man, he felt his breath get caught in his throat. Everything began to spin around him—the street, the cars, the trees. Blood pounded in his ears. Taking a deep breath, he leaned back in the car seat and tried to pull himself together. His wife was betraying him right before his eyes—an act that deserved severe punishment. He wouldn’t let anyone take advantage of him like this and get away with it. As if time stood still, he continued to watch his wife with her lover, her head resting on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around her waist. Finally, his cell phone rang. It was his best friend, Chris Allen.

  “She’s with him again,” Benson said, shaking his head. “She’s cheating on me in public.”

  There was a long pause on the line. “Huh?”

  “Missy is at Lemon City Park again. This time she looks even more in love with him.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, bro. But things like this happen all the time.”

  Benson never thought this would happen to him, not in a million years. He considered himself to be the perfect lover. “No, it doesn’t. Not to me, that is.”

  “It’s not your fault, bro. Some women can’t help themselves. It’s their nature to cheat.”

  “I’m going to get even with her.”

  There was another long pause on the line. “Huh?”

  “If I can’t have her, no one else can, either.”

  “You’re obsessed with her, bro.” Chris sounded concerned. “You’ve got to let her go.”

  “I have to go. I have some unfinished business to take care of.” Benson leaned back in the car seat, feeling a wave of hot anger pulsating through him. The damn lump in the back of his throat made it hard for him to swallow. He had given her everything—his love, his devotion, his trust. Without the slightest bit of regard for him, she had chosen to throw it away. Gritting his teeth, he closed his eyes and shook his head.

  “Don’t hold back on me.” Chris sounded worried. “Tell me what you’re going to do.”

  “I’m going to kill them. And no one is going to stop me.”

  “No chic is worth going to prison for.”

  Benson felt a surge of hot anger. Determined to get even with her, he didn’t care what happened to him. “So, I’ll rot to death behind bars. I don’t care anymore. It’s no big deal.”

  “You don’t mean that, bro.”

  “Trust me, I mean every damn word of it.”

  Benson hung up the cell phone and shoved the binoculars into the glove compartment. He got out of the car, walked across the grass, and headed toward his wife and her lover. He could see them sitting on the park bench, her head resting on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around her waist. Moving through the crowd, he removed a switchblade from his back pocket, pressed his finger on the button, and heard the knife spring open. Oh, how I love to hear that sound, he thought. Standing right behind them, he grabbed his wife by the hair, yanked her off the park bench, and threw her onto the ground. Shocked, she managed to get back to her feet. Overcome with rage, he backhanded her across the face, knocking her back to the ground. She lay completely still, unconscious. Moving fast, he grabbed her lover from behind and held the switchblade beneath his chin. A thin line of blood ran down his neck, onto the collar of his white button-down shirt.

  “Stand up,” Benson said. “Or I’ll slit your throat.”

  “Settle down,” Dean said, rising to his feet. “You have things mixed up in your head.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do. Not after what you’ve done to me.”

  Dean’s hands were shaking. “You’re making a big mistake.”

  Benson got a sick sense of pleasure out of scaring him. He was going to enjoy every second of making him suffer. “You’ve been screwing my wife. And you’re going to pay for it.”

  “Hold on a second.” Dean sounded terrified. “Please hear me out.”

  “I’ll give you a minute, that’s all. So, you’d better make it fast.”

  “I was just giving your wife some friendly advice.”

  Benson felt a wave of anger wash over him. He hated people lying to him. “I saw her head on your shoulder. Your arm around her. Both of you snuggling.”

  “No, it wasn’t like that.” Dean’s face turned white. “Trust me. Looks can be deceiving.”

  “That’s bullshit. And you know it.”

  A hard-bo
iled, unshaven punk rocker ran up to them. He had brown hair, shoulder length, and his bangs hung in his eyes. His jeans were ripped at the knees, and his black T-shirt had a picture of a guitarist with spiked hair. He stood in a fighting stance, with his hands up, fists clenched. Benson let go of his wife’s lover. The punk rocker threw a left hook. Benson ducked just in the nick of time and returned a spinning back kick. It landed on the punk rocker’s jaw, knocking him to the ground. He got to his feet, rubbing his head, and staggered away.

  “I’ve run out of patience,” Benson grabbed his wife’s lover again and held the knife beneath his chin again. “Stop lying to me.”

  “I’m not,” Dean said, his voice trembling. “I swear. You’ve got to believe me.”

  “I’ve been spying on you.”

  Dean sounded desperate. “Your wife was upset, crying about her marital problems.”

  Benson had a hard time controlling his anger. He wasn’t going to let anyone play him for a fool anymore. “And you’re her knight in shining armor, aren’t you?”

  “No, I put my arm around her, telling her everything would be all right.”

  “You’ve been encouraging her to divorce me, haven’t you?”

  “No, we never discussed that.”

  Benson was enraged. “Stop lying to me. Or I’ll make your death more painful.”

  “It’s not like that. I’m telling you the truth, I swear.”

  “Except for the times you’ve screwed her brains out, right?”

  “No, that never happened. You have the wrong man.”

  Benson didn’t believe him for a second. He looked forward to getting even with him. “You would say anything to save your sorry ass, wouldn’t you?”

  Missy opened her eyes, moaning, and slowly sat up. Eventually, she got to her feet and stood in front of them. She looked like she had seen a ghost, like a deer caught in the headlights. Rubbing her head, she stared at her husband, obviously shocked to see him. “It’s not him.” She looked terrified. “That’s not the man I’m having an affair with.”

  “Oh, so now, you admit it? Benson asked. “That you’ve been unfaithful?”

  Missy’s lips trembled. “Uh-huh.”

  “You’d say anything to save your lover, wouldn’t you?”

  “No, that’s not him.” Missy’s voice sounded desperate. “I swear to you.”

  “You had sex with him every Saturday afternoon. That’s when you were supposed to be at the mall with your girlfriends.”

  “He’s not the guy I’m sleeping with.”

  Benson could feel tears sting his eyes. He couldn’t believe their marriage vows mean nothing to her. “You’re a dirty, rotten liar.”

  “That’s not him.” Missy shook her head. “That’s not the man I’m in love with.”

  “You’re such a tramp.” Benson backhanded across the face again. She collapsed to the ground, right next to his feet. “Now, look up, so you can watch him die.”

  “Please don’t do it.” Missy pleaded with him. “Please let him go.”

  Benson held the knife tighter beneath her lovers’ chin. A large crowd had gathered around them. Some of them were yelling to call the police; others were yelling at him to let the hostage go. Determined to settle the score, he wasn’t about to back down. Nothing mattered to Benson anymore, except for killing his wife and her lover for causing him so much pain.

  Chapter 32

  Malone pulled his unmarked police car off the road, parking behind several police cars—all of them with their lights flashing. In front of him, several police officers were standing in a circle, all talking to each other. Sirens sounded in the distance. People on the busy sidewalk were pointing across the park, at a man holding a knife to someone’s throat. Unfastening his seat belt, Malone looked over at Peterson, who was sitting in the passenger seat.

  “I hate situations like this,” Malone said. “Sometimes, they don’t end well.”

  Peterson puffed out her cheeks. “Tell me about it.”

  Malone decided to put his best foot forward. Sometimes, that’s all you could do in a situation like this. “All right, give me the details again.”

  “Chris Allen called 911. He’s best friends with the perpetrator. Todd. Todd Benson.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Benson caught his wife cheating on him, and he’s holding a knife to the man’s throat.”

  Malone felt a sense of déjà vu. He racked his brains but came up empty-handed. “The name sounds familiar, but I can’t place him.”

  “Benson was arrested for public intoxication, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s right. He roughed up two cops.”

  “You set him straight in the holding cell. Made sure he kept his big, fat mouth shut.”

  “Guilty as charged.” Malone never liked anyone who got off on pushing other people around. Over the years, he had confronted many bullies. Not as tough as they pretended to be, they never picked a fight with anyone their own size. Today was no different. It was the same old song and dance. Eventually, all bullies got what was coming to them—an ass whipping. “Don’t worry about it,” Malone said. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “He probably hates your guts. Maybe you’re not the right person to confront him.”

  Malone winked at her. “I’m the perfect man for the job.”

  “You’ve just been released from the hospital, for crying out loud.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ve never felt better in my life. But I want you to stay here, all right? If something goes wrong, I want you to keep investigating Black Capital Investments.”

  Peterson blinked. “We should let the Special Threat and Response Unit deal with this.”

  Malone shifted his weight in his seat. He wouldn’t even entertain the idea. “That’s over kill, to say the least. So, don’t give it another thought, all right?”

  “They’ll send in the SWAT Team and the hostage negotiators.”

  “That’s crazy. All that muscle for one big, fat guy, holding a knife?”

  Malone grabbed a bullhorn, got out of the car, and walked to a group of police officers. He noticed Jones standing among them, still acting like he was a big shot. He was pointing across the park, trying to explain what was happening to veteran officers. Someone has to show this rookie cop the ropes, he thought. Today seemed like the perfect day to get some on-the- job training. Around him, onlookers were standing in the grass, talking to each other and pointing at the spectacle that was unfolding before their eyes. Some police officers were instructing them to get into their vehicles and go home. An ambulance whipped into the parking lot, sirens blaring. Two EMT’s got out and rushed toward them. Malone thought there were way too many officials on the scene to handle this situation.

  “Give me the facts, Jones,” Malone said, walking up to him. “The clock is ticking.”

  Jones pointed at the perpetrator. “A guy named Benson is holding an old man hostage.”

  “He’s working alone, I presume.”

  “That’s right. No partners. No back up. No co-conspirators.”

  Malone initial assessment of the situation was correct. Taking down a lone perpetrator still didn’t sound dangerous to him. “Did anyone try to make contact with him?”

  “A guy tried to stop him,” Jones said. “But Benson kicked him in the head.”

  “Did anyone get a statement from him?”

  Jones nodded. “Yes, he said Benson has a knife, that’s all.”

  “Come with me, Jones. We have our work cut out for us.”

  “Huh?”

  “You’ve got to learn the tricks of the trade, kid. So, it might as well be today.”

  Malone walked through Lemon City Park, heading toward Benson and the hostage. He walked by groups of people, some having picnic lunches under the palm trees, others walking their dogs. A young woman ran up to them, waving her arms, screaming. “You need to do something,” she said, out of breath. “There’s a madman in the park.”

  �
��Please step aside,” Malone said. His tone was serious. “We’re going to take care of it.”

  The woman grimaced. “He’s been here for at least twenty minutes, for Pete’s sake.”

  “We got here as fast as we could. This isn’t the only crime happening today.”

  “Listen, I have a ten year old son. And he shouldn’t be subjected to a situation like this.”

  “Please go home.” Malone’s voice was firm. “You’re interfering in a police matter.”

  “Whatever.” The woman stormed off, grabbed her son’s hand, and marched toward the parking lot. Two older women who were in her party followed her, both looking over their shoulders, shaking their heads.

  Straight in front of them, surrounding Benson and the hostage, was a crowd. It was growing larger by the second, fueled by angry people who were picking up rocks and sticks from the ground. Some of the people were shouting let the hostage go, while others were hurling insults at the perpetrator. Malone knew he had to intervene or mob justice would prevail.

  “Miami PD,” Malone said, using the Bullhorn. “Everyone needs to step back.”

  Benson screamed at the top of his lungs, “Don’t come any closer. Or I’ll slit his throat.”

  “This is Detective Sergeant Malone, Miami PD.” Malone was happy the crowd had parted. He picked up his pace, marching closer to the perpetrator. “I’m here to work things out.”

  “Oh, you’re the idiot, who beat me up in jail.”

  “You deserved it.” Malone knew he had his work cut out for him. Obviously, Benson hadn’t learned his lesson. He wished he’d done a lot more than just rough him up.

  “Having that badge doesn’t make you right.”

  Malone kept moving closer to him. “But it does have its advantages, don’t you think?”

  “I’m going to kill this old man. His blood’s going to be on your hands, not mine.”

  “There’s no reason for you to hurt anyone.” Malone stopped dead in his tracks, realizing his father was the hostage. How in the hell did this happen? Trying to figure out how to proceed, he took a deep breath, his stomach twisting in knots. He had to keep a cool head.