by David Stever
“We wait for the call. Did he say anything about a demand?”
“No, nothing.”
We moved to Stan’s Corvette in the alley. There must be a medication available for people like Stan. He would go from panicked about the fear of being caught up in a scandal, to telling one of his tall tales of a fantastic finish of a football game, or one of his stories of meeting some amazing woman at a party, or how he used to trade his game jerseys for sex when in college, and then back to being in a panic about the extortion. I’m not sure I said three words in the entire thirty minutes.
The call came exactly one hour from the first contact. He pressed the phone’s speaker for me to listen in, and I had a notepad to use to coach him. I jotted down the phone number. He answered.
“Smart of you to answer,” the voice said.
“What do you want?”
“We want what you agreed on.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Don’t be stupid. Stick to the deal. I just sent you a routing number and bank account. Twenty-four hours to make the transfer.” The call ended.
His phone beeped with a text of the bank information which I wrote on my pad.
“Johnny, what do I do?”
“What’s the agreement?”
“If I don’t pay, they are going to go public about me hiring girls.”
“He said stick to the deal. Did you make a deal with these people?”
“No, of course not. I’m being blackmailed, isn’t it obvious?” Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, and he yanked at his tie and opened his shirt collar.
“No, he never said an amount. Did you forget to tell me something? How much do they want, and when did they tell you?”
“I told you, one million. The girl told me at the dealership.”
“You never told me. Stan, you need to come clean with me or I’m done.”
“This whole business has me so upset I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m confused about everything. You got to help me. If I didn’t tell you about the money, I forgot. I’m sorry. Can you blame me, though? How do I get out of this without Nikki finding out?”
“Maybe you don’t.”
His face was red, and his eyes teared up.
“You either pay, or we go to the police and fess up. Allow them to intervene,” I said.
“Out of the question. I can’t transfer that much cash without Nikki’s approval. We go to the cops, my name will be in the paper tomorrow.” He stopped, stared out of his window for a minute. “You talk to them. That’s what I want. Tell them I don’t have that kind of money. If anyone can do it, you can. Please talk to them for me.”
My cell buzzed. I held it to make sure Stan could not see it was a text from Dee Dee.
“She’ll meet with you tonight. Details in a bit.”
I slipped the phone into my pocket and sat in silence for a moment.
“What else do I need to know?” I asked.
“Nothing, I swear. Johnny, thank you.”
“If you are holding anything back and sending me in blind, I guarantee your name will be the front-page headline on every paper in the country. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, sure, Johnny, sure.”
“Go home. Stay there until I call you.”
“Will do. I promise.”
I got out of his car and watched as he drove off. If this went sideways because he wasn’t telling me everything, I’d hit him so hard it would make a sack from a three-hundred-pound lineman feel like a kiss on the cheek.
25
The meeting I requested with Miss T—or Talia Thorne, I presume—was set for eleven that night. The instructions for Katie were simple: to work from my condo and monitor the GPS we permanently kept on my car. If I did not contact her within two hours, call Monica Mattson and tell her about the meeting. I also had her monitor the tracker Carmine hid on Stan’s car, just in case, and to make sure he stayed put in his home.
I sent Monica the bank account numbers given to Stan on the phone call. She reported back in less than an hour that the bank was located on Grand Cayman Island and because of the strict banking laws, it would be next to impossible to gain any information on the account owners. It also told me they had some smarts about them.
I made sure my phone was fully charged and my Beretta loaded. I pulled a blazer on over the shoulder holster and headed out to a meeting with the girl/woman who had left a hole in my life many years ago. She was only with me for three days, but I definitely experienced a loss. The worst was not knowing who she was, or where she went, or why she left, or whether she was dead or alive.
The address Dee Dee sent was on Rosewood Avenue, in a part of the city that had seen a more prosperous life. Now an area of low-income housing, convenience stores, little strip malls, and fast-food restaurants. I double-checked my phone because I was in front of an old used car lot that went out of business long ago. My guard went up. Anticipating a neutral location, a bar or restaurant, I drove by twice, doing some quick surveillance of the entrance and exit to the lot before turning in. I faced my BMW toward Rosewood and kept the motor running. I pulled the Beretta from my shoulder holster, clicked off the safety, and then sent Katie a text, telling her I was on site. She replied with a “thumbs-up” emoji.
Two minutes later, a black Jeep Cherokee with black rims turned in and parked near me. Anthony DeRenzo? The front doors opened, and two men walked over to my driver’s side window. They both had their hands in the air to indicate no weapons.
“Delarosa?” one of them said.
Definitely DeRenzo doing the talking.
I lowered my window, the gun in my hand, under my jacket. “Yeah?”
“We are not armed. Here to take you to your meeting. Turn off the car.”
“I can drive.”
“You either come with us or the meeting is off. All there is to it. Nothing to worry about.” He took a few steps back to give me distance and eliminate any threat. The other man did the same. Both still had their hands out to their sides.
“I gotta say I’m not too comfortable with this.”
“Understandable, but this is the only way. She insists.”
They could have killed me by now if they wanted, although Rosewood was a busy thoroughfare and it would not be my choice to kill someone in an area with security cameras on every corner and every storefront.
I turned off the engine and holstered the pistol before I climbed out.
“Got to frisk you sir. Sorry. Hands on the car.”
At least he was polite, and I expected the search. He found my gun and my phone. Took my car keys, too. “Phone and keys? I need to keep in touch with my office.”
“You’ll get them back.”
He yanked my arms back and quickly fastened a zip tie around my wrists.
I spun around. “Hey. What the hell.”
“Only way, sir.”
They shoved me to their vehicle and into the backseat. The second man got in the back with me and pulled a black hood over my head.
“A hood? You guys watch too much TV.”
Being respectable henchmen, they kept their mouths shut. We stopped every minute or so, and I envisioned the traffic lights on Rosewood, a commercial area with plenty of cross streets. I counted four stops before turning on to what I pictured as the highway entrance. The car picked up speed, and the ride smoothed out. We continued on for a good five minutes, as best as I could calculate. I tried to count seconds, minutes, but it was hot under the hood and sweat trickled into my eyes and down the back of my neck, breaking my concentration. We slowed and came to a brief halt, and then went through three more stops and starts before the vehicle tilted downward and came to a final stop. A downtown parking garage?
The doors opened, and one man pulled me out. He took my arm and we walked, pausing for another door.
“Won’t it be suspicious if someone spots you two walking a guy with a hood on his head?”
No answer.
A door hissed�
�an elevator. They moved me in with a bit of a shove. The door closed, a slight jerk, and the sensation of the elevator moving upward. I hoped a bell would chime as we passed each floor so I could count the floors, but it was a silent ride. We stopped; the door opened again and we only took a few steps. An electronic lock clicked, and one of the men opened another door.
They moved me forward about ten paces. We were on a hard surface, maybe hardwood. My guess—in the waiting area of an office in a high-rise?
“Don’t move,” DeRenzo said.
“Can you at least take off the hood?”
They didn’t.
A door opened and closed.
And I waited in silent darkness. Seemed like forever but I’m sure it was less than a minute. Sweat rolled off me. I took a deep breath, making myself remain calm and focus my thoughts. I was alive, only unsure of what to expect next.
The clicking of a woman’s heels on the floor was the first sound. They came closer and stopped. Was the woman in front of me? The scent of a pleasant perfume filtered through the hood. A tug at my wrists as the zip tie came off. My arms swung free, relieved to be in a normal position. A moment later, the hood gently lifted from my head.
It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the light, and when I finally focused, vivid emerald eyes, cat-like eyes, now the eyes of a woman, were mere inches from mine.
“Welcome,” she said.
26
It was not an office but the foyer of an exquisitely decorated apartment. She led me into a living room and offered a seat on a black leather sofa. The entire place was sleek and modern, with tables of chrome and glass, large pieces of abstract art on the walls. Draperies were closed over the windows, preventing me a peek out to get a sense of where I was in the city.
Her sleeveless, straight-line red dress stopped a few inches above her knee, accented with a black necklace and matching earrings. She poured two glasses of red wine from a bar in the corner of the room, handed me one and then sat across from me in a black leather chair, allowing the dress to ride up her bare thigh.
She caught me looking but I didn’t care. There was not a man alive who would not risk a glance.
“Interesting security.”
“Never can be too careful. Plus, I enjoy my privacy.”
“Understandable,” I said.
Her skin was as beautiful as I remembered. A perfect mix of brown and white that naturally complemented her green eyes and black hair.
“Are you as surprised as I am?”
She nodded. “Quite.”
I sipped the wine. Delicious and expensive. I raised the glass. “Nice.” She smiled, not saying anything. I guess waiting for me. “I looked for you for a long time. Why did you leave?”
“I was fifteen. No idea what I was doing. You saw the life I lived.”
“Where did you go?”
“Well, I hitchhiked to somewhere near Philadelphia. Hung out on the street, right back to the only way I knew.”
“And?” I waved my hand around. “Something happened.”
“Child Services pulled me out of the gutter, literally. Weak, tired, malnourished, I had no choice but to allow them to help me. They cleaned me up, fed me, and placed me with a foster family. The people were caring, generous, and I actually went to school. For a while. Once I turned eighteen, I split, headed out on my own. Worked for an escort service, made some money. Had sworn off drugs at that point, unlike a lot of the girls, and realized I had a head for business. Got my GED, took some college classes, came back to Port City and started my own agency.” She waved her hand around. “Now all this is mine.”
“Every police officer has one case that stays with them forever. Usually a child who dies some needless and heartbreaking death. But you were mine. The sight of you when I first found you will never leave me. But now, I am happy. You are alive, beautiful and successful.”
She laughed. “Yes, I am alive.” A nostalgic tone replaced the laugh. “I did look for you.”
“When?”
“After I moved back. All I remembered was your first name. I tried to find the apartment building, but I couldn’t.”
She pointed to a built-in bookcase behind me. I turned around. My heart jumped, and I could not believe my eyes. The pink bunny. In the center of the middle shelf. I set my wine glass on an end table, slowly stood, walked over and picked it up. The material was worn, faded, and had been sewn together in several spots. “You kept it?”
“Reminder of the one person who helped me without wanting anything in return. I always thought the foster parents considered it a job. Your motivation was genuine.”
“My heart ached for you. I broke every rule, bringing you to my place. But something about you…I don’t—” I stood there, holding the bunny. “I guess I can’t explain it.” I placed it back in its spot and sat back down. I downed the wine. “You tug at my heart like this, I’m going to need something stronger.”
“What would you prefer? My bar is stocked.”
“No, I’m fine.”
She shifted around in the chair. Uncrossed and crossed her legs.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She was stunning, mysterious.
“Should we talk business? You requested this meeting.”
“If we must. I have a client who says he was approached by one of your employees. She threatened to expose his personal habits if he did not pay her a sum of money. Blackmail, extortion…call it what you want, but he asked for my help in resolving this dilemma.”
“We can speak freely. Mr. Shelton is your client, and he hires girls through this agency.”
I nodded.
“As far as Kenzie Fitzgerald—terrible what happened, but she was a troubled soul. Obviously got herself mixed up with dangerous people.”
“Are you saying it was a coincidence she was dumped in front of Stan’s building?”
“What else would it be? And now that she’s gone, seems his problem should be over.”
“He received a second call, a man demanding payment for a deal they made.”
She shook her head. Shrugged. “Probably Kenzie’s people.”
“And he has no deal with you? Loan, investment, anything of that sort?”
“None whatsoever. And Johnny, I run a very clean business. Bills, taxes, all paid. Last thing I want is my name in the paper. Same as Mister Shelton.”
I enjoyed being with her but the recent chain of events that brought me here were mind boggling, and my old friend—my instinct, my sixth sense—began to scratch at my brain.
“No doubt. And you should be proud of yourself. How you changed your life.” I stood. “Thank you for seeing me. It was wonderful to learn you are alive and well.”
“Leaving? I thought our reunion could continue for a while. Don’t you think we owe it to each other? After all these years.”
Don’t do it, Delarosa. Something here does not jive. “I do, but I need to go. Another time?”
“Of course, but I am disappointed.” She stood and walked me to the door.
“Is Talia your real name?”
“One of them.” She flashed the brilliant smile again. With her in heels, we were eye to emerald eye. She put her arms around me, and we embraced. Then her hands were on my shoulders.
“I’m still amazed you have the bunny,” I said.
“I had you with me all the time. I did not forget.” She came closer, her hand on the side of my head, going through my hair. “The fifteen-year-old me had such a crush. I thought about you and cried every night, but I couldn’t go back. The system frightened me. I prayed you would show up and rescue me all over again. Now that we found each other, the older me realizes just how smart the fifteen-year old was. You are a handsome man. Any family? Wife?”
“No, one ex-wife who couldn’t handle being married to a cop.” My hands went from her hips to the small of her back. Her eyes were mesmerizing, her perfume intoxicating.
“Her loss.” She came in and pressed close, the side of he
r face against mine. She whispered, “You don’t have to go,” putting a soft kiss on my cheek.
I held her tight. “I’ll regret this in a minute, but I do.”
We parted.
“As you said, another time. Can I ask one favor?”
“Sure,” I said.
She turned her back to me and pulled her long silky hair aside. “The zipper…could you? I always seem to have trouble.”
The ultimate tease. I smiled to myself, then slowly lowered the zipper, the dress opening, revealing nothing underneath except her smooth, flawless light-brown skin. This might go down as the sexiest experience of my life.
She faced me, clutching the dress so it wouldn’t fall. “You can see yourself out. The guys will take you back to your car.”
I watched her walk away down a long hall, heels clicking on the hardwood, the hair partly concealing her naked back as it swished from side to side.
I reassured myself that I made the correct decision.
Someone was lying.
27
DeRenzo and his flunky picked me up as soon as I exited her apartment. The reverse of the way to Talia’s: hood over my head, escorted to the car, up a ramp—which had to be a parking garage exit—through the stops and starts of downtown, out to the highway and back on Rosewood. We came to a stop on the side of the street and the man in the back with me pulled off the hood. The doors opened, we climbed out, and DeRenzo cut the zip ties and handed me back my phone, gun, and keys.
“Your car is four blocks that way.” He pointed.
“Not taking me to my car?”
“End of the line for us. Have a nice night.”
They got back in the Jeep and each leveled a tough-guy stare as they peeled out of the lot.
I slipped the Beretta back into my holster, then checked the phone. There were nine missed calls—and six text messages asking me to call—from Katie in the past hour. She was to notify Monica if I didn’t report within two hours. The total elapsed time of my meeting with Talia, including the travel, was only ninety minutes. Something was wrong.
I called and she answered immediately. “Where are you?”
