Missing: A Mason Gray Case

by William Markham

  Ryley reported immediately, humbling himself before Elijah. “It was him. The detective.” Ryley had a hard time not choking on the word. “Their description fits.”

  “Wonderful,” hissed Elijah.

  Ryley could feel the rage building around him. This was his fault. If he hadn't botched the hit, this never would have happened. He needed to make amends now, or he might not survive the next five minutes.

  “Sire,” he began. “I know this can't be fixed at the moment, but if revenge would be a suitable alternative, I have an idea.”

  Elijah's eyes flashed dangerously.

  “Tell me.”

  So he did.

  25

  Outside the hospital, I'd retrieved what passed for coffee from a vending machine and was halfway through another cigarette when I heard footsteps behind me. I glanced over my shoulder. It was Juarez.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “What's the prognosis?” I asked between drags.

  “It’s unclear at this time. She's still unconscious, but the doctors are confident she'll come around.”

  “Good. That's good.”

  There was a brief pause.

  “I'm afraid to ask, but I need to know. Where did you find her?”

  “In a warehouse in West Town. She was being held, sedated. You were on to something with the human trafficking thing, but I think there's more to it than that.” I intentionally left out the working theory I'd developed over my first smoke. It involved vampires and regular bloodletting. It fit with everything I'd learned the last few days, but I didn't think Juarez would take it well.

  “Any idea who was behind it?”

  “Maybe.” I took another drag. “I've got a line on some intel from the management company that owns the warehouse. Nothing solid yet, but I'll keep you in the loop.”

  Juarez nodded. “I'd appreciate that.” He offered his hand, and I shook it. “Thank you again.” He turned and walked back into the hospital, no doubt to wait by Ellie's side until she woke.

  I sighed. That kind of love seemed so foreign to me. I'd had my share of relationships, though nothing recently, and one or two had gotten pretty serious, but I’d never felt a connection like the one Juarez seemed to have with Ellie. I envied them. Maybe one day I'd be lucky enough to experience something like that.

  I dropped the cigarette, crushed it, and made my way to the closest bus stop. I debated going to the hotel to check on Brenda, but I was tired and needed a good night's sleep. The question was, did I make the trek all the way back home, or did I crash at the office? The office was pretty appealing. I made a mental map of the quickest route and then stood there. Waiting.

  That’s the biggest problem with public transportation: the waiting. Normally, it doesn’t bother me much. I read a lot. I daydream. I ponder the meaning of the universe. But sometimes it gets really tedious, like now. I wanted nothing more than to roll up in front of the building within a matter of minutes, let myself in, and pass out with my face scrunched into a couch cushion. Sure, I could hail a cab, but they were expensive. I wasn’t on a schedule at the moment, so there was no reason not to take the bus.

  I checked my phone. No new messages or emails. I Googled vampires for the hell of it and found lots of urban fantasy and romance novels. Finally, the bus pulled up, and I climbed aboard. Two transfers and thirty minutes later, I reached the office, let myself in, and flopped onto the couch.

  It seemed like only minutes had gone by when my phone rang. I seriously considered flinging it against the wall, but changed my mind at the last second. Instead, I checked the caller ID: it was Frank. I thumbed the phone on and mumbled something. Probably hello.

  Frank’s ragged voice filled my ear. “Stay where you are,” he croaked. “Don't play their game.”

  I sat up, fully awake now.

  “Frank, what's going on?”

  A silky voice with a British accent spoke next. “Mr. Gray, you’ve been a thorn in my side for long enough. If you wish to see your partner alive again, I strongly suggest you meet me in the Grand Ballroom at Navy Pier... alone. You have one hour. If you do not arrive within that time, Frank will be dead, and you will receive another phone call from his wife. Do I make myself clear?” I knew that voice. I couldn’t place it, but it was familiar.

  “Crystal,” I growled through clenched teeth, on my feet now. “Let me make something clear, you limey bastard. If anything happens to Frank, you better kill me when I get there, because I won’t stop until I take you apart.” Crimson clouded the edge of my vision.

  “I am a man of my word, Mr. Gray. Don’t ever doubt that.”

  The line went dead.

  I tried calling back, but it went straight to voicemail.

  Son of a bitch. They had Frank, whoever they were. I had no doubt that if I didn’t show up, they’d kill him and then go after his family. I clenched my fists… and felt the phone crunch in my grip. Looking down, I saw that it was shattered. Shit. That wasn’t good. Or normal. I needed to calm down. I needed to think. I had to go—I couldn’t let anything happen to Frank or his family—but going alone was insane. It was clearly a setup. I would likely be outnumbered and outgunned. If these people really were vampires, or something, and had the strength and speed of the last one I’d run into, they’d turn me into meat paste. I needed a plan.

  I sat on the edge of the couch and thought. Okay, cover your ass, Gray. First, make sure Nancy and the kids are okay. I’d just hulk-smashed my phone to death, so I picked up the landline on my desk and dialed their number. It rang seven times before the answering machine picked up. I glanced at my watch: one o’clock in the morning. Hopefully, Nancy was asleep and not kidnapped or worse.

  “Nancy, if you’re there, pick up the phone! It’s Earl.” She was the only one who got to call me that. I waited a few seconds, then hung up and dialed again. This time, she picked up on the fourth ring.

  “Nancy, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, Earl. What in heaven’s name is going on? Is something wrong with Frank?” Her volume rose with her fear. Scaring her like this felt like a knife twisting in my chest.

  “I’m sorry Nancy. I don’t have time to explain everything right now, but I think you and the kids may be in danger. I need you to gather them up and get out of the house. Take the car, and go to the police station. Stay there until Frank or I come to get you. Understand?”

  “You’re scaring me, Earl,” she said, her voice wavering.

  “I know, and I’m sorry. This is important. Can you do it?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. I could hear her tears starting to fall.

  “Good. I’ll talk to you soon,” I said, trying to stay positive. I truly hoped it would be Frank coming to get them.

  I needed backup. I wanted to call in the cavalry and swoop down on these assholes, raining death and mayhem upon them like a hurricane for threatening the closest thing to family I had.

  But there was no backup. The cops were already stretched thin, and I wasn’t sure I could trust them, anyway. Calling them in could turn out to be just a couple of more guns pointed my way. Plus, Rowe was convinced I was a murderer, so I really didn’t want him around if I did end up killing a few folks tonight. Mac also wasn’t an option. What would he do, ping them to death? That assassin, Harrison, would be nice to have in my corner right about now. I wondered if he’d be willing to help out a former mark. Not that it mattered; it’s not like he’d left a business card. I had no idea how to get in contact with him. No, it looked like I was on my own for this. Unless...

  What was it Harrison had said? Are you a reader? I am. So many connections can be made that way. The man spoke in riddles, could this have been one of them? Was he referring to a missed-connection classified page? There used to be a section in the Chicago Reader, but Craigslist had replaced it. Well, it couldn’t hurt to give it a shot.

  I booted up my office computer and went to the appropriate page. It only took a minute or two to write what I wanted, something that
I hoped would catch his eye: Harrison—going fishing at Navy Pier. Could use a good netter. Gray. I had no idea if he’d get the message, but I had nothing to lose.

  I got up, checked that my .45 was loaded and that I had a spare clip—I might just get to try out my new handloads—and retrieved my trenchcoat from the closet. There was no point in hiding anymore. If I was going out, I was going out in style. Well, my style, anyway.

  26

  Most people know Navy Pier as a giant tourist attraction, which it is, with lots of overpriced entertainments and souvenir shops, which it has. Its iconic Ferris wheel looms overhead, inducing vertigo even in those with feet firmly planted on the ground. Less well known are the structures and locations farther out on the pier, such as the beer garden and, my destination, the Aon Grand Ballroom.

  At night, the pier is off limits: the walkways are gated and the buildings locked up tight. You can still go down there if you want—Grand Avenue runs almost the entire length of the pier—but after hours, there’s nothing to see.

  I had the cab drop me off about three quarters of the way down. It was still a short walk to the ballroom, but I didn't want to give away my arrival by pulling directly up to the entrance. I got out, gave him a nice tip with a note saying to call 911 wrapped up in it, and told him to leave. Hopefully, he wouldn’t see it for a while.

  A light breeze blew off the lake. The water-purification plant next door hummed at its never-ending work. A multi-level parking garage obscured most of the skyscrapers from my sight. There were several streetlights spaced along the road, and a few pleasure craft twinkled out on the lake, but for the most part, it was dark.

  There are few truly quiet places in a town as big as Chicago, but at two o’clock in the morning, this was one of them. A place that’s usually alive and vibrating with the energy of tens of thousands of people during the day is super creepy when it’s completely deserted.

  By my watch, I still had twenty minutes before the hour was up, which gave me a few minutes to scope things out, but not nearly enough time for a thorough recon.

  I hurried down the sidewalk beneath the newly-installed windows of the ballroom. I'd have loved to take a peek inside and get a feel for what awaited me, but they were eighty feet up with no easy access.

  The Grand Ballroom was an excellent place for an ambush. Though there were multiple entrances on three different levels, all of them funneled down to two points on the ground floor before entering the ballroom proper. It would be easy to let me slip inside, then seal off the exits. Even so, I didn't like the idea of waltzing in by the first open door I came to.

  Even though I couldn’t get up to the new windows, the second floor had a wrap-around enclosed balcony that could give me a sneak peek, assuming I could get up there without drawing attention.

  I ducked into a service entrance bay. All of the exterior doors would be locked up for the night, but I was pretty sure I could get past one of them. I quickly found the entrance closest to the stairs and, after a few minutes, let myself inside. This lock was easier to work than the one at the warehouse: it was used a lot more, and it didn’t stick.

  Once inside, I listened for movement, for any sign that I had been detected. Hearing nothing, I ran up the stairwell to the second floor, the Festival Hall, a giant exhibit hall used for conventions and the like. I poked my head into a long corridor that ran the length of the hall. I didn’t see or hear any patrols, so I stepped out and took a left toward the Lakeview Terrace. Brick pillars supported this stretch of building that connected the exhibit hall to the ballroom. It was set up for a function, with a bunch of tables covered in white linen lined up neatly in the center. I wove my way between them to the wall of glass doors that led to the upper ballroom lobby.

  I crouched low as I approached, minimizing my bulk, then peered through the windows. The lobby looked empty. A pair of bathrooms were set into the far wall. The safety lights above them had a minimal glow, casting shadows on the carpeted floor below. I waited a moment longer, then saw a flash of movement. Sure enough, a lone figure was half-hidden behind a brick pillar. He didn’t look to be on high alert, but was casually scanning the lobby. As he swung his head to the left, I saw some sort of apparatus strapped to his head—night vision, maybe? Then he shifted on his feet, and the tip of an MP something-or-other swung into view. Despite my fondness for sidearms, I’m not really a gun expert; all I could tell was that it was a compact submachine gun of some kind.

  Huh. Night vision and firepower didn’t scream vampire to me. Regular humans, I knew how to deal with.

  I drew my .45 and held it at my chest, glancing at my watch as I did so. Only ten minutes left. Damn it, I was cutting this close.

  There was no way I was getting through the door without drawing the hired goon’s attention. If I did, the game was over. I also didn’t want to shoot him right here; that would no doubt draw the attention of everyone else in the building. Also game over. I needed him to come to me.

  I crawled back to the closest table, keeping as low a profile as possible. The henchman wasn’t looking in my direction at the moment, but there was no sense in being careless. I grabbed a spoon off the table, then crawled back and crouched behind a pillar. I chucked the spoon at one of the doors kitty-corner from me—not hard enough to break anything, just enough to make a noise.

  The hireling whipped around, gun leading the way. He honed right in on the spot the spoon had hit, then approached the doors, sweeping his goggles left and right.

  Come on out, I thought. You know you want to investigate. He stood there for a tense thirty seconds, scouring the darkness for the source of the mysterious sound. Then he turned and walked back to his spot by the pillar, though he kept glancing back over his shoulder.

  Crap.

  I didn’t want to risk crawling across open space now that he was paying attention, so no more spoons. I should have thought to grab a few. What to use now?

  I pulled the spare clip from my pocket and thumbed out a shell. I didn’t like wasting ammo, but if it got the job done, it was worth it. I lobbed the shell at the glass. It made a satisfying clack: not as solid as the spoon, but good enough. This time, the guard hustled over to the sound and walked the length of the doors. Seeing nothing, he pushed one open and stepped onto the terrace with me, leaving one foot propped against the door.

  I had to time this perfectly; otherwise, I’d get shot. I waited until he angled his body to his left, away from me, then slipped around my pillar and leapt to him. He sensed me coming and swung back to get a bead on me, but I was too close. With my right hand, I slammed my knuckles into his Adam’s apple to cut off his windpipe, so he couldn’t shout for help. Then I crunched his left knee. As he dropped, I finished him off with a left cross.

  I had no way to tie him up, so I just had to hope he’d stay night-night long enough for me to do what I needed. I stripped the clip and chambered round from his automatic and stuffed them in my coat pocket, then slid the rifle across the floor and under a table. I yanked the night-vision goggles off his head and strapped them onto my own. While I was doing that, I noticed he had a radio connected to an earpiece, and took that too. I figured it might be good to listen in on enemy chatter.

  Once I had everything on and adjusted, I stepped into the lobby and crept to the balcony entrance. I didn’t need to go far: the first window was about ten feet in. I sidled up next to it and tried to peer down into the ballroom. I wasn’t used to night-vision, and my brain was having a hard time interpreting what I was seeing, plus the goggles were uncomfortable and awkward to wear. I decided I was better off without them, so I stripped them off and placed them on the floor. It was pretty dark, but there was a little light coming from somewhere—probably bulbs above that never turned off completely for safety reasons.

  In the center of the room was a man strapped to a metal folding chair. I couldn’t make out any details, but I assumed it was Frank. Several other figures paced around the center of the room. They didn’t appear to be
armed.

  I turned my attention to the rest of the balcony and scanned the windows, checking if any other cronies were covering things from the higher vantage point. I didn’t see anything, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

  I didn’t like this setup at all. There was no way I could get to Frank without completely exposing myself. I wanted another half an hour to clear the balcony before going out there, but my time was almost up.

  As if on cue, a voice began to speak, resonating through the chamber below. It was loud enough that I could easily hear it through the glass. “Mr. Gray, if you are hiding somewhere in the shadows, you have precisely two minutes to show yourself.” I finally placed the voice: the Brit from the nightclub who’d sworn he knew nothing about Ellie.

  I had to choose: call his bluff and wait for an opportunity to present itself, or offer myself up and hope for the best. Something told me he wasn’t bluffing, so I made the only choice I could.

  I backed out of the balcony and walked down the stairs. In my head I heard the whistle from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. I might die tonight, but I wasn’t going without a fight.

  27

  The Aon Grand Ballroom is huge: 18,000 square feet of tiled floor beneath a soaring domed ceiling that reaches eighty feet at its apex. The east wall is filled with windows overlooking Lake Michigan.

  I walked through the entryway and immediately felt dwarfed by the cavernous space. Frank was out there in the middle; the distance between us seemed to stretch out forever. If Fangs decided to do something, I’d never be able to reach him in time.

  As I strode passed the stage on my left, I announced, “Don’t get your knickers in a bunch. I’m here.” Maybe not the wittiest thing to say, but that’s what came out.