“Shut up.” Benson’s voice was harsh. “I’m in control, not you.”
“I don’t want to argue with you,” Malone said. “Tell me why you are you doing this.”
Benson waved the knife around. “My life is screwed up.”
Malone couldn’t believe this was happening. He had to try to find a way calm him down. “Then think about what you’re doing. Don’t do anything to screw it up permanently.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“I’m here to help you. So, let’s try to work something out.”
“I’m going to kill this old man.” Benson eye’s blazed. “He’s been screwing my wife.”
“Are you sure you’ve got the right guy?”
“There’s no doubt about it.”
Malone knew had to think fast on his feet. He didn’t want Benson to kill his dad. “Come on. He’s just and old man. Think it through, will you?”
“If I can’t have my wife, no one else can have her, either.”
Malone could see a woman on the ground, next to Benson’s feet. Moaning, she curled into a fetal position. Blood was pouring from her nose and mouth. Malone wanted to get closer to them, so he could end this mess. “She needs medical attention. I’m coming over there.”
“Stay where you are.” Benson raised his voice. “Or the old man gets it.”
Malone felt a shock go through him. “Take it easy, will you?”
“Shut up. I’m calling the shots, not you.”
“At least let me have the paramedics take a look at her.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, pig.”
Malone realized he couldn’t get through to him. He knew he had to take him out. “Think it through, will you? Things aren’t going to end well for you.”
“Shut up. Both of you toss your guns over here, nice and easy. Or the old man dies.”
“No problem.” Malone removed his Glock 17 from his holster and tossed it onto the ground—a few feet in front of Benson’s feet. Jones tossed his sidearm onto the ground, right next to his. In an ideal situation, Malone would have preferred to arrest Benson, handcuff him, and take him in. However, this was a different situation all together. He knew things were about to get messy.
“Thanks for giving me your guns.” Benson grinned. “I love it when people listen to me.”
“You got what you wanted. Now, put the knife down.”
Benson smirked. “No, I don’t think so. Now, get ready to watch the old man die.”
Malone had reached the end of his rope. He wasn’t going to play it safe anymore. “Release the hostage. Or I’m going to kill you.”
“Watch this, pig.” Benson tightened his grip on the knife. “Watch him bleed.”
In a split second, Malone drew a .38 Special from the small of his back and shot Benson once through the middle of the forehead. It made a small, round, dark hole. He collapsed to the ground, twitched a few times, and then laid still.
Chapter 33
Early in the morning, before he had his coffee, Malone walked into Lieutenant Harper’s glassed-in office. It wasn’t a good sign to be summoned by him, especially first thing in the morning. Still hung over, he felt his head pounding with a vengeance, sending shock waves of pain down into his jaws. He sat down in one of the visitor’s chairs in front of his desk. Crossing his legs, he stared at his boss, who was sitting behind a mound of paperwork that was stacked on his desk. His face was red and his fists were clenched.
“It took you long enough to get here,” Harper said. “I’ve been waiting for a long time.”
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Malone said. “But I’m here now.”
“You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago.”
Malone sat back in his chair. He didn’t like to be late to an appointment, but sometimes life got in the way. “I got stuck in traffic.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
Malone didn’t like his attitude. “For starters, I haven’t had my morning coffee.”
“Knock it off.”
“What’s on your mind, Lieutenant?”
Harper raked his thick white hair back with his fingers. He unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them to his elbows, displaying his massive forearms. On the inside of his right forearm was a black and white tattoo of a skull with crossbones. Shaking his head, he picked up his phone and punched all five lines so no calls could come through. His cell phone rang. He slipped it off his belt, turned it off, and shoved it into the top drawer of his desk. He picked up a copy of the morning paper, the Miami Herald, and tossed it across the desk. “Look at the front page,” he said, shaking his head. “Read the headlines.”
“I’m not a big fan of this publication.”
Harper rolled his eyes. “I don’t care about that, Sergeant. Look at it anyway.”
“My name’s plastered all over the front page.”
“You’re damn right it is. That’s exactly the type of publicity we don’t want anymore.”
“Bad things happen all the time, I suppose.”
“In a crowded park, amongst children and families, you shot a man to death.”
Malone felt a swirl of anger. Faced with a dangerous situation, he had to make a judgment call. “Don’t forget who the hostage was, Lieutenant.”
Harper’s face hardened. “But we have a special department for crimes like this.”
“I was just doing my job, that’s all.”
“No, you weren’t, Sergeant. You’ve made things ten times worse.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible, Lieutenant. Perhaps you could explain it to me.” Malone was irritated they were having this discussion. He had been forced to kill Benson, one shot through the head. If he hadn’t taken aggressive action, Benson would have slit his father’s throat. So, he had it coming to him. In all the confusion, he could have shot an innocent bystander in the process. But after the smoke cleared, no one was harmed, except for the perpetrator.
“The press is having a field day, Sergeant. The Miami PD screws up again.”
“That’s garbage, Lieutenant. You know that.”
“We have the Special Threat and Response Unit to handle crimes like this.”
Malone waved his hand. “Whatever.”
“They would have made sure all the children and their families were out of harm’s way.”
“It was urgent, Lieutenant. I didn’t want to gamble with my dad’s life.”
“So, you put other peoples’ lives at risk?”
“There wasn’t enough time to wait for anyone else. I made a split second decision, and I stand by it.” Malone felt himself getting upset. He was aware of the proper police procedures. Whenever there was a hostage situation, the Miami Police Department called in its trained negotiators to communicate with the captor. Utilizing proven crisis management techniques, the hostage negotiation team was committed to ensuring a peaceful resolution to the situation. During a hostage crisis, the police department worked closely with the S.W.A.T. Team to provide the negotiators with tactical protection and explosive manpower to diffuse threats.
“Our units have a ninety-five percent success rate. No harm to the captor or the hostage.”
“Spare me the lecture, will you?”
Harper looked incredulous. “Innocent people could have been killed.”
Malone fought hard to keep his temper under control. He had saved his dad’s life and that was far more important than what was written in the rule book. “I know what the manual says, Lieutenant. I’ve read it, cover to cover.”
“Well, you’re going to hear it again.”
“Don’t waste your breath, Lieutenant. I all ready know what you’re going to say.”
“Hostage negotiators handle all cases the same. Isolate, contain, evaluate, and report.”
“Like I said before, it’s not my first day at camp.”
“Don’t ever interfere with their jobs again.”
Malone didn’t care how much his boss chewed him out. Given t
he same set of circumstance, he would do exactly the same thing over again. “Are we done here, Lieutenant?”
“I’ll cut you some slack this time, only because your father’s life was at stake.”
Malone shook his head. “Well, I’m all choked up.”
“No more chances, Sergeant. Now, get the hell out of here. And get back to work.”
Given a tongue lashing, Malone stormed out of the lieutenant’s office. Aware some of his fellow detectives were staring at him, he crossed the squad room. He sat down behind his desk, logged on to the Internet, and into his online brokerage account. He purchased more shares of his favorite oil stocks—Exxon Mobile, Chevron, and Hess. These stocks were about forty percent below their fifty-two week highs. Well, at least something is going good in my life, he thought. Not a short-term investor, he intended to hold onto these stocks for years to come. He logged off the Internet and stared out the window. Still upset over his conversation with the lieutenant, he wanted some Jack Daniel’s, just enough to get rid of his pounding headache.
Chapter 34
Using his laptop computer, Malone sat on the couch, reading about the economy on the Internet. He scanned through several articles from his favorite sites—The Motley Fool, Forbes, Bloomberg. One of the oldest scams in the book was sweeping across the country like wildfire. In a current pump and dump scheme, dishonest investors were purchasing tons of shares of several worthless penny stocks. Through a campaign of false and misleading advertisements, they were being touted as the next big thing on social networking sites, bulletin board postings, and e-mail newsletters. Misled investors were buying the stocks like hotcakes, driving them up in value, and the crooked businessmen were getting ready to dump them onto the open market for huge capital gains, all the while laughing their way to the bank. The penny stocks were guaranteed to crash and the vast majority of shareholders would be forced to take it on the chin, somewhere in the neighborhood of an eighty to ninety percent loss. Malone’s cell phone rang. It was his wife, Karen.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” Malone said. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“I’d like to come over and pick up a few things.”
Malone’s hopes soared. “Sure, that’s not a problem. I’d love to see you, too.”
“What’s the best time for me to come over?”
“Anytime is fine with me. I really want to see you.”
“I’m in a hurry.” Karen’s tone was cold. “I just want to get some personal items.”
Malone’s breath caught in his throat. It seemed like her heart had turned to stone. “You can come over anytime you want to. You know that. This is still your home, isn’t it?”
There was a long pause on the line. “I don’t want you to be there.”
Malone felt like he got kicked in the stomach. “Oh, that’s really nice of you.”
“You’re drinking right now, aren’t you?”
“Not much. You know, just enough to take the edge off.” Malone held the glass of whiskey in his right hand, looking at the Jack Daniel’s, admiring how silky it looked covering the ice cubes. He took a drink from his glass, feeling it burned the back of his throat as it slid down his windpipe.
“That’s the problem,” Karen said. “It takes so much booze to make you feel better.”
Malone considered this. “I’m a big guy. You know, I weigh over two hundred pounds.”
“Stop making excuses for your bad behavior.”
“I know I’m in the wrong. But I can’t stop doing it right now.”
“That’s what my father used to tell me growing up.”
Malone swallowed some booze. He didn’t want to get into another argument with her. “Look, I’m not trying to be rude. But I’ve heard this a million times.”
“If he didn’t get help, he would have died of alcoholism. Cirrhosis of the liver.”
Malone polished off his drink. “That’s great he got help. I really respect him for that.”
“You can do the same thing.”
Malone could feel the alcohol traveling through his system, calming his emotions and dulling his pounding headache. “I have too much on my mind right now—the job, the stress, the pressure. Everything is getting to me.”
“Quit that damn job. It’s killing you.”
“That’s not going to happen.” Malone leaned over, grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniel’s, and poured a few shots over ice. “This job means everything to me.”
“There’s other ways to deal with stress, besides hitting the bottle.”
“I’m trying to bring this guy to justice. He’s a rotten person.” Malone took a drink from his glass. “He’s hurting a lot of people, and I’ve got to stop him.”
“You should see a therapist.”
Malone drained the booze from his glass. “Huh?”
“You should talk to someone about everything that’s bothering you.”
Malone felt beads of sweat break out on his forehead. Ever since she had left him, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. “I love talking to you. You’re the only person I need.”
“I left you, remember?” Karen’s tone was harsh. “And I’m not coming back.”
Malone was frustrated. “How long are you going to keep this up?”
“Until you get some help for your drinking problem.”
Malone grabbed the bottle of whiskey, opened the back sliding glass door, and walked outside. On the patio, he stood in front of a waist high railing. There was barely enough light to see the boats in the Biscayne Bay. In some of the boats, the captains had their lights on as they headed out to sea. A strong gust of wind roared out of the east, racing across the Atlantic Ocean, and stirred up the waves. The surf has to be rough tonight, he thought. He figured three or four foot waves were pounding the shoreline, over and over again.
Malone reeled his thoughts back in. “I’ll think it over. I’ll seriously consider it.”
“Stop putting it off.”
“First, I have to solve this case. Then I’ll deal with the monkey on my back.”
“I’ve heard this before.”
Malone could understand how she felt. Over the years, he’d promised her he would quit drinking, only to pick it back up again. “I’m not ready to stop drinking right now. I don’t want to make promises to you that I can’t keep.”
“That’s never stopped you before.”
“Look, I’m sorry for hurting you. I’ll quit drinking soon, right after I solve this case.”
“You’re selfish and self-centered.”
Malone closed his eyes. He couldn’t stop thinking about what happened at Lemon City Park. “Look, I’m having a hard time right now. This is too much for me to deal with.”
“If it’s not one thing, it’s the other.”
Malone’s eyes snapped open. “I had to kill someone the other day.”
“Huh?”
“I shot a man to death in the park. He was going to kill my dad.”
“I … I didn’t know that.”
Malone hung up his cell phone. He raised the bottle of Jack Daniel’s to the boats in the Biscayne Bay. Things never get easier, do they? Here’s to living in a hard world. Roaring inside, wound up tight, he tilted his head back and took a long pull off the bottle to settle his mind.
Chapter 35
Malone and Peterson stood inside Kemp’s office at Black Capital Investments. Five police officers stood behind them, all with stern looks on their faces. On the office walls were pictures of Kemp from places around the world—Europe, China, Russia. Straight ahead of them was a large window, overlooking the Biscayne Bay. Kemp was sitting behind a large mahogany desk, surrounded by three twenty-two-inch LCD monitors. The screens were lit up, displaying colorful charts, graphs, and streaming stock quotes. In the back of the room was a large fifty-two-inch flat-screen television, tuned to the business channel. Hunched over his desk, Kemp was reviewing a thick stack of corporate financial statements.
“I’ll be with you in a few
minutes,” Kemp said. He was punching data into his computer. “I’m working on something important.”
“No, we need to talk now,” Malone said. “Stand up and back away from the computer.”
“Take it easy, Sergeant. You’re breaking my train of thought.”
“You’ve got bigger problems.”
“No kidding, Sergeant. It looks like you’ve brought an army with you.”
Malone felt his anger stir a bit. He wanted to get even with him for setting off the bomb at Tucker & Sutton Associates. “Put those papers aside.”
“No, I have an important deadline to meet.”
“Turn off that computer. Or I’ll shut it down myself.”
“Come back later, when I’m not busy.”
Malone shoved the stack of corporate financial statements onto the floor. He grabbed Kemp by the shirt collar, yanked him to his feet, and shook him several times. “You set off a bomb. And it killed a lot of people.”
“Take your hands off me, Sergeant.” Kemp’s voice hardened. “This is police brutality.”
“Tucker & Sutton Associates was blown to pieces. Everyone who worked there is dead.”
Kemps’ cheeks reddened. “Who gives a shit?”
“I saw you there, parked in a black stretch limousine. You were across the street.”
“You’d better let me go.”
Malone tightened his grip. His anger level went through the roof. “I almost died in that explosion.” He shook him harder. “You’re going to pay for it.”
“Make me, Sergeant.”
“You’re done. Do you hear me? Black Capital Investments is finished.”
“That’s enough of your crap, Sergeant.” Kemp shoved Malone, knocking him back a few feet. Kemp pulled his white shirt down, smoothed out the wrinkles, and straightened his blue and yellow tie. “What gives you the right to barge in here, making accusations like that?”
“Mr. Sutton had incriminating evidence against you.”
Kemp looked disgusted. “No, he didn’t, Sergeant. You’re just saying that.”
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