The Spirit Survives

by Gary Williams Ramsey

  Macy took a few minutes and made some notes to prepare for her call to Ben Harris. She was determined to stoke up a firestorm. She picked up her secure cell phone and dialed the number that Bill had given her.

  “Hello, this is Ben Harris.”

  “Mr. Harris, I have some information for you about your girlfriend. Don’t interrupt me and listen carefully. I will only say this one time. You may need to write down some of the names, so get a pen and paper.”

  “Got it. Who is this?”

  “Don’t worry who this is, just listen. A man named Bo Lopez kidnapped Ms. Hamilton because you saw him kill Veronika Ivanova. He wanted to silence you. He’s probably dead now, if not now, soon. He’s the man who shot you. An Italian Mafia figure named Bastone came to that room in the Residence Inn. We thought you were dead. He took Lopez and your girlfriend to Chicago and left them with Sergey Inanova, Veronika’s father, who is Russian Mafia. I heard talk that Ms. Hamilton was going to be sent to Houston to be sold to the Arabs as a sex slave. Bastone is still in Green Bay but will return to Chicago soon. He’s the man you want to talk to, but if you don’t get to him soon he’ll be gone and so will your girlfriend. Bastone takes his orders from a man known as the Benefactor.”

  “Where in Chicago and where in Houston?” Macy heard him yell as she hung up.

  Macy knew that Bastone would not be taken alive and, if Harris found him, one of the men would not leave alive. She hoped Harris would take care of Bastone for her, but if he didn’t she would finish the job herself.

  Her principal goal now was to find out who the Benefactor was and work a deal with him.

  Chapter 67

  Rex and I were waiting to hear about our delayed flight from Green Bay to Chicago when the strange phone call came in on my cell. The calling number was blocked so I couldn’t call back for more information. Rex saw the stricken look on my face and said, “What’s the problem?”

  I related the entire conversation to him and read him the names I had written on the back of my ticket envelope.

  He took the envelope and studied the names. “I know most of these names,” he said. “Lopez has a record and is alleged to be a hit man for the Mexican drug cartels in Chicago and Houston.”

  “Describe him, Rex,” I asked.

  “He’s in his fifties, short grey hair, about six-feet-eight inches.”

  “That’s the man who shot me,” I said. “That adds credibility to the girl on the phone’s story. She must have been the female voice I overheard when I was semi-conscious. What’s the lowdown on Bastone?”

  “He’s high level Italian Mafia,” Rex replied.

  “What about Inanova?”

  “It was his daughter you saw murdered by Lopez. He’s a well respected businessman in Chicago and is married to an influential politician’s daughter. It doesn’t make sense that he’s involved.”

  “Well most of her story pans out,” I said.

  Rex nodded. “I’ll call the office and get them working on procuring all the information we have on Lopez, Bastone, and Inanova. Then we can plan a course of action.”

  “What about this guy, the Benefactor?” I asked.

  “Don’t know a thing about him,” Rex replied..

  “Listen Rex, I’m really worried about Leah. If they send her to the underground sex slave market in Houston, we may never find her. I’ve got a friend there in the FBI I’m going to phone. I want him to put out the word on the street that the full force of the FBI and the Houston police department will come down on anyone trying to deal Leah.”

  “Good idea. I’ll make my calls now, and you make yours. We should cancel our flight to Chicago for a day and try to locate Bastone, if he’s still in Green Bay.” Rex said.

  I nodded my agreement and we made our calls.

  I went to a quiet area of the airport to make my calls when an overpowering feeling of despair subdued me. My head was dizzy and I nearly blacked out. I had been through so much and the extremities of the emotions were playing with my sanity again. I felt nauseated and rushed to the bathroom. I moved to the nearest stall, closed the door, locked it, and vomited. I sat down on the floor and attempted to pull myself together. Throughout my entire adult life, I had accomplished so much to separate myself from my childhood of abuse and neglect. I had become a totally different person. Now the wall I had built to separate myself from that confused kid was crumbling. I honestly thought that I could withstand anything. Maybe not. If I became again what I was as a child I might as well kill myself. And if I lost the only thing in the world I loved, I didn’t know how I could live.

  I forced myself up from the floor, flushed the toilet and went to the sink. The only other person in the bathroom at that time was a kid who looked to be about twelve years old. He was washing his hands but when he saw me, he quickly turned off the water and left. I must look like hell. I looked in the mirror and understood why the boy was afraid. My face was pale and my eyes were wild. I turned on the cold water and splashed a handful on my face. I grabbed a handful of paper towels and cleaned myself up. I stood there for a minute with my hands bracing myself on the sink looking in the mirror. “Get out of this hell where your mind is now and get back to work. Leah needs you,” I said aloud to myself. This is no time to break down. Not now.

  I went to the food court and purchased a large Diet Coke. I took the drink and went back to the quiet area and took out my phone again. I had to call my friend in Houston. I knew he could help me.

  I looked up office number in my cell phone book and pushed it into the phone pad.

  “This is Special Agent Gerry Stewart’s office,” a professional female voice answered, “Nancy speaking.”

  “Nancy, it’s nice to talk to you again. This is Ben Harris.”

  “Hi Mr. Harris, we haven’t heard from you in a long time. Are you still in Chicago on special assignment?”

  “No, I left the police department and moved to Green Bay with my fiancée, Leah Hamilton,” I replied.

  “Okay,” she said, “I hope you two are happy. Did you want to talk to Gerry? He’s in his office now, and I’m sure he would love to speak to you.”

  “Thanks Nancy, I would.”

  Almost immediately the familiar voice of my friend Gerry came on the phone, “Well Ben I’m so happy to hear from you, it’s been awhile.”

  “Thanks Gerry, my friend, I’m in trouble, and I need your help. I don’t have much time, so I’ll be brief and get to the point. Just trust me. I’ll give you the basic facts and fill you in on the details later.” I briefly updated him. “I realize that this sounds insane, but that’s the story in as brief a form as I can tell it. I need you to put the word on the street that anyone implicated with selling Leah will have the full force of the FBI and the Houston police department on their back for anything from drug possession, to traffic tickets, to petty prostitution. With your reputation and mine and the web of informants we both have, we may be able to scare them. I know this is asking a lot without you knowing all the details, but it’s the only way I know to save Leah’s life.” I finished my story almost breathless.

  There was a brief silence on the other end of the phone before Gerry replied, “You can count on me, my friend.”

  I hung up the phone knowing that Gerry could move mountains.

  My next call was to James F. Hammond, Chief of Police of the Houston Police department. I worked for him for several years and two years ago had put my life on the line for him.

  He was working at a crime scene on Westheimer street in downtown Houston alongside me, when an illegal Mexican, whose wife was deported for being without papers, tried to kill him. The guy got off two shots, one hitting the Chief in the shoulder before I tackled the attacker. A left uppercut to the stomach and a hard right to the groin put him down for good. The Chief credited me with saving his life.

  I phoned the Chief and reached him with no problem. I related to him the story just like I told Agent Stewart and he agreed to help me. I thanked him and
told him I would fax him a picture of Leah later today.

  Finished with my calls, I returned to the waiting area where I had left Rex. He was still on the phone, so I sat down and waited. When he eventually hung up, he told me that Chicago was covered and that he had put out a virtual dragnet for Leah. The pressure was on in both Chicago and Houston.

  Now it was time to attempt to find this bastard Bastone. We canceled the flights and booked new flights for the next evening. That would give us the full day to search for Bastone. Rex called the Green Bay police and related to them the problem and instructed them to start a search of all local hotels to see if the Italian was registered. Furthermore, all flights going out of Green Bay were to be checked, along with all rental car agencies. The Green Bay police agreed to make this a top priority. These activities would take time so Rex and I decided to do the only thing available to us, start going to every hotel and motel to see if Bastone was registered. It was a long shot, but we had to try.

  Chapter 68

  The Benefactor had meticulously set his scheme in place, and it was working flawlessly. The Mexican cartels were at war with the Russian Mafia and Sergey Inanova was determined to avenge his daughter’s murder. At this point, with the exceptions of Inavova and Macy, all the people he wished eliminated were dead. However, he had second thoughts about Macy. She had survived Bastone and the Russians. Maybe she could be a lot more use to him before he arranged for her to be killed. At present, she was certainly worth more to him than Bastone.

  Even though his plans were working perfectly, the Benefactor wanted desperately to get back to his condo in Chicago. He needed to see his collection of beautiful eyes, but the out-of town business had taken some unanticipated turns.

  He cherished his collection and needed to view it for his sexual gratification, and the pressure for release obsessed him.

  Since childhood, he had been fascinated with women’s eyes. To him, the eyes were the sexiest part of any woman. His deceased mother had radiant big brown eyes, and he loved her with all his heart. He remembered her kissing him and holding him close, telling him that he was her reason for living. His complete world centered on his mother and her world on him. His unusual feelings for her went beyond the love of a boy for his mother.

  This wonderful relationship with his mother ended on his sixth birthday. On that sunny hot day in August in the suburbs of Chicago, she had surprised him with a party at McDonald’s and had invited all his friends. He had a marvelous time. He thought it was the best day of his life, with his loving mother and his friends showering him with attention and gifts. She presented him with a big chocolate cake with six candles burning brightly. He blew them out, all in one breath. His secret wish was that this day could last forever. He was sorry when the party ended, but he felt loved, and it made him very happy. He grinned from ear to ear during the entire party, His mother hugged him as he said goodbye to his little friends. Full of cake and punch, he went to sleep on the drive home.

  When they arrived, she kissed him awake, and they joyfully went into the house. He heard a grunt and the sound of glass breaking as they walked toward the kitchen. His father was there, glassy eyed and cursing, trying to pick up the pieces of his broken drink glass. The room reeked with the smell of bourbon that had spilled on the floor from the broken glass. In his clumsy attempt to pick up the shivers of glass, his father had cut his finger. He cursed and licked the blood from the wound. Even at six years old, the boy realized that the man was drunk. Nothing good ever happened when the man was in this condition. His father had been intoxicated most of the time since he was laid off from the steel factory.

  His mother walked over to the kitchen table and put her hand on the man’s shoulder, “Don’t worry about the broken glass I’ll clean it up,” she said softly.

  The man brushed her had away and sneered, “Where in the hell have you been?” he screamed at her.

  “Fred, today is your son’s birthday, and I gave him a party.”

  He grunted, “I don’t care about that little piece of shit, What about my damn dinner, you bitch.”

  The boy’s mother began to cry as the boy stood still, trembling with fright.

  “Stop crying, you bitch!” The boy’s father grumbled and slapped her again. She just hung her head, sobbing uncontrollably. The man grabbed her by the hair and jerked her head back. “I said stop crying, bitch!”

  Tears gushed from her lovely brown eyes. Then the drunken angry man performed a violent act that would scar the kid forever. The boy watched as his father grabbed a knife from the kitchen table. The man’s bloodshot eyes were blazing with hatred and anger. He walked to the woman and grabbed her by the hair again. The boy was frozen with fear as he watched. His mother was weeping hysterically. His father gnashed his teeth and his hand, which was holding the knife, shot forward with the force of a hammer. He stabbed the woman in the right eye, yelling, “I told you to stop crying!” Blood spurted all over the kitchen floor as the demented man aimed the knife at the other eye and brought it down hard. He was screaming repeatedly, “Stop crying!”

  The terror-stricken boy darted from the kitchen and out of the house shrieking in horror. The neighbor next door heard him and came running from his home. “He killed her, he killed her!” the boy screamed. 911 was called. When the police arrived, they found that the father had shot himself through the right eye and was dead.

  The boy was placed in a foster home, after spending two years in an orphanage He exhibited above-average intelligence but was oddly introspective and showed little emotion. Something deep within his brain had been damaged beyond repair.

  From that day forward, the boy, later to be called the Benefactor, had a fixation for women with big brown eyes like his mothers. When he reached his teenage years his sexual gratification was taken from women’s eyes.

  He began his collection at age twenty-two after he graduated from college with a degree in Criminal Justice. Her name was Sandra, and her brown eyes twinkled when she looked at him. He met her at a local bar and took her to his apartment after an evening of drinking. They ended up in bed, but he had trouble getting an erection. Every time he looked at her, the image of his mother entered his mind and he teared up.

  The girl laughed at him. Anger flashed and he put his hands around her throat as she laughed. She immediately stopped giggling, but the damage was done. He strangled the life from her body and she lay dead on the bed with a blank stare in her big brown dead eyes. The young man went to the bathroom and filled a glass with rubbing alcohol. He moved back to the bed and gouged out both eyes and placed them in the glass. Sandra’s eyes were still the most prized in his collection. More than any other woman, her eyes looked like his mother’s. Many more brown eyes had been added to his collection over the years, but he never had trouble with an erection after Sandra. He always took his prizes after tough violent sex performed with or without the consent of his partner. That history made the man what he was today, a successful and cunning criminal, successfully hiding his true identity from the world.

  The Benefactor hated the small town of Green Bay but he needed to deal with Bastone. He had the suspicion for a while now that Bastone either knew or thought he knew his true identity. He had to protect that secret at all costs.

  He grabbed his cell phone from the seat of his rented car and pushed in Bastone’s number. The Italian answered on the first ring.

  “Why are you calling me now?” Bastone asked, recognizing the coded number on the caller ID.

  “We need to set up a meeting,” the Benefactor said. “I want to cut you in on the reorganization of the Mexican drug cartels after Sergey and the cartels finish the killing. We’ve worked together long enough that I will trust you to know my true identity, and I want to partner with you and your mob on this. Let’s meet at the Black and Tan Grill in De Pere at seven this evening. Is that acceptable? I’ll recognize you when you arrive.”

  Bastone was surprised at the invitation, but did not hesitate to accept
. He had been waiting on this breakthrough for a long time.

  The Benefactor grinned and pushed in the number of the next call. He used his contacts in the FBI to get Macy’s cell number, and she was the next step in his clean-up.

  “Hello,” Macy answered on the second ring.

  “Macy, I am known to you as the Benefactor. I have some valuable information that may save your life.”

  “How did you get this number?” Macy responded.

  “I’ve got connections everywhere. You should know that by now if you know anything about me,” the Benefactor said. “I know Bastone tried to kill you, and when he finds out that you survived, he’ll try again. You need to take action now.”

  “How do you propose I do that?” Macy inquired.

  “I know you’re familiar with the Black and Tan Restaurant. I’m aware of the deal you and Bastone worked there and the evening you spent with the Fixer. Nothing gets by me, Macy. Bastone will be at the Black and Tan at seven tonight. You’re smart enough to use that information to protect yourself. I’ll call you tomorrow to set up a face- to-face meeting. I want to work a deal with you. I promise it will be rewarding.”

  With that said, he hung up the phone.

  * * *

  Macy was both astonished and gratified by the call. It was the first direct contact she had ever had with the Benefactor, and she had long wanted to know his identity. That information would be worth a lot of money with criminals, but most of all it could be an invaluable bargaining tool with the FBI. As far as she knew, they still trusted her and believed that she was deep undercover with La Cosa Nostra. Finding and capturing the Benefactor would make her a legend and would put the FBI in a position to forgive any illegal acts that may be uncovered.