The Freeport Robbery

by Michael P. King

  Denison shook his head. “I’m going back to my hotel.”

  Wounded-Bear looked up. “So you’re done here?”

  “I’m done.”

  “It was always a long shot. My guys are combing the city. If the perps are still here, we’ll find them.”

  Denison pushed through the front doors to the city office building, blinked in the bright hot day, and dug his phone out of his pants pocket. He felt not empty, but at a distance from himself, as if his consciousness was separated from his body by some sort of translucent barrier. “Nicole, the Crenshaw guys you wanted me to look for on the security cameras? I think they have Ron.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah,” Denison said. “The image was fuzzy, but I think they took him from the casino complex and toward the airport.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Pretty sure. I’m guessing it was sometime during the last hour. Wounded-Bear was sitting right beside me, so I couldn’t look any closer.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going over there to find him.”

  “That’s crazy. You said these guys are killers. Let me tell Wounded-Bear. He can send a security team.”

  “No. We need to keep the authorities out of the loop, remember? Our priority is to find the casket. Their priority is to hush things up.”

  “My team will be here tomorrow. Wait until then, and my people can go get him.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I can’t wait that long.”

  “You won’t be helping if you get hurt yourself.”

  “That’s a chance I have to take.”

  Denison put his phone back in his pocket. There was no reasoning with her. She was going to do whatever she thought was right whether it made any sense or not. Where had the day gone? He could hear the distant murmur of voices from the boulevard. His stomach growled. He didn’t feel any better now than he had when he left the hospital. He knew he should eat something, but the idea of chewing and swallowing seemed impossible. He needed to call Skip and Bell, tell them what Dr. O’Brian has said, but he just wasn’t ready to face them. They would have questions about the future, and he didn’t have any answers. He wished there was another simple task to occupy his mind.

  He walked down the sidewalk to the street. The sun felt like it was baking his brain. Had he really spoken with Dr. O’Brian that morning? Had she really told him Stacey was going to die? He hoped Nicole would be all right. What made her make the choices she made? He turned right when he reached the street. Had he really admitted to himself that he knew Stacey was going to die? Maybe he should go back to the hotel. He stopped and looked off into the distance, not seeing anything. His mind was blank. No. He was going to the hospital. He had to see Stacey. He didn’t want to. He knew that she would still be a broken, wasted caricature of herself, but he had to go. There was just something about seeing her—he had to see her before he could do anything else. Just seeing her would give him the strength to keep going.

  Nicole rushed out of the Arrowhead Hotel with her Glock in her handbag and turned right to take the most direct route to the private airfield. That’s where the Crenshaw guys would most likely have taken Ron. She hurried around the perimeter of the Rising Rapids Waterpark to get to the boulevard. Children were squealing as they came down the slides and splashed into the pools. Nicole blended in with the crowd in front of the waterpark, crossed the boulevard to the airport side, and jogged through the chain-link gate and down the alley between the painted sheet-metal warehouses adjacent to the airfield tarmac. The Crenshaw guys would want to question Ron before they killed him, so he was probably at the warehouse or at the airplane hangar. She hoped he was still alive. She wasn’t sure what she would do if she found him. She couldn’t take on all five of them. But if there were only one or two…

  Ron sat on a rickety folding chair in the Crenshaw Industries warehouse next to the green locker where he and Nicole had found Rickover. The leader of Philips’s crew, the black guy that the others called Gary, stood in front of him, his hands in the pockets of his black nylon jacket, a scowl on his face. To his left and to his right were Blond Crew Cut and Black Goatee. Black Goatee had Ron’s Smith & Wesson in his hand. Another white guy, with a potbelly and a fresh black eye, stood just behind Gary.

  “You’ve been a pain in my balls,” Gary said, “stirring up the pot and making the natives restless, but I think we’ve finally got a use for you.”

  Ron shook his head. He guessed his chances of leaving alive were fifty-fifty. “It’s going to be a mistake.”

  “You’re made to fit.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, yeah. See, you killed Rickover for the Cellini casket, you disappeared, no one knows what happened. We put you deep in the ground in the desert—which is what somebody on my shit list was supposed to do with Rickover.” He glanced at the guy sporting the black eye. “And the case is never solved.”

  Ron looked up into Gary’s poker face, searching for a tell. “You’re joking, right? Just trying to have some fun at my expense. You know Rickover was trying to run a sting on your boss. That’s why you’re here. With him out of the way, the only person who can testify against your boss is Mosley. You know she’s got the casket, right? That she’s trying to use it to blackmail the high roller Rickover tried to sell it to?”

  “Mosley who?”

  Gary’s right eye twitched. Ron saw his chance. “Come on, you’ve got to sound more convincing than that. Right now, it looks like you killed Rickover, stole the casket from him, and handed it over to Mosley, who’s trying to generate some income for you. It doesn’t matter what really happened. That’s what it looks like. Your boss sent you here to straighten things out. Before he was just linked to a theft; now he’s linked to a theft and a murder. What’s he going to say when he finds out you’ve put him in deeper, instead of getting him out of the hole?”

  “None of that keeps us from killing you just to tie up loose ends.”

  Ron kept spinning. “You don’t get it, do you? The casket has to go back to the museum. It’s too famous to sell. All it’s good for now is connecting someone to Rickover’s murder. You need to get control of Mosley, if she’s your guy. She’s a loose cannon, threatening this high roller. NewTrust’s starting to pay attention. Anything happens to him or his wife, it’ll be raining cops and SEAL-team-trained mercenaries around here. And then your boss can forget about whatever’s in his locker at the freeport vault.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Who’s this high roller?”

  “James Denison. His wife’s in the hospital here.”

  “Still doesn’t explain why I should let you walk.”

  Ron added the final twist. It was all he had. “I can keep Denison quiet. My woman’s fucking him. She’s got him wrapped around her finger. You get Mosley off his back. I massage his reality a little bit. NewTrust stays out of the picture, and we all walk away clean.”

  “Get up.”

  Ron stood up. Gary nodded at Blond Crew Cut, who punched Ron hard in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Ron folded up. Black Goatee punched him in the kidney while he was bent over. He fell to his hands and knees. There was nothing more he could say. Blond Crew Cut kicked him in the side. He groaned and covered his head with his arms.

  “That’s enough,” Gary said. He poked at Ron with the toe of his shoe. “You’re on a short leash, asshole. You shut Denison up. You stay out of our way. You do anything I don’t like; our next conversation won’t end so well. Get out of here.”

  Ron climbed up the wall to get to his feet. He started toward the door and then turned. “Can I have my gun back?”

  Gary started laughing as if he’d just heard the punch line to the funniest joke imaginable. The others just smiled and shook their heads.

  Nicole slowed down as she neared the Crenshaw Industries warehouse and began checking around the corners before she walked through the intersections of the streets and alleys. She w
ouldn’t be able to help Ron if she got caught herself. As the warehouse came into sight, she saw the door open and ducked behind a dumpster. Ron stumbled out into the alley, rubbed his lower back and his shoulder, stretched his arms overhead, and started toward her, limping as he walked. She rushed to him.

  “Ronny, what happened?”

  “Blundered into Philips’s crew.” He bent over, put his hands on his knees, and shook his head. “How did you find me?”

  “James saw you on the security cameras. You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m good. Did he see anything else?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  Ron stood back up. “Let’s keep moving. They bragged about killing Aaron. I don’t want to be here if they change their minds.”

  Nicole took him by the arm. “Are you really okay?”

  “I’ll be fine in a couple of hours. And it was worth it. I think I’ve got Mosley off our backs. Convinced them that she’s the problem. And we’ve still got the car and Rickover’s money. I spotted them first, so I dropped the car keys behind the trash can on the corner by our hotel before they grabbed me.”

  “Ronny, they could have killed you.”

  “But they didn’t. I lost my .38, though.”

  “They handle it?”

  He nodded.

  “At least we don’t have to worry about fingerprints.”

  They shuffled through the front gate of the private airfield and stopped on the sidewalk. “Do you need to rest?” Nicole asked.

  “We need to keep moving until we’re indoors.”

  “I might have a lead on the casket.” She told him about following Clare to her condo.

  “Your intuition is amazing, honey. The pieces of this puzzle seem like they’re finally falling into place.” At the first break in traffic, they crossed the boulevard from the airport to the waterpark. “And your work with Denison has been stellar. You should call him and tell him you’re okay.”

  “After we pick up the car keys and get back to our room. I’ll call him then.”

  9

  Changing Directions

  Later in the day, after Ron and Nicole showered and ate room service, they lay in bed with the curtains drawn, snuggled together. “You know, Denison didn’t have to come down to the Nohamay Mountain Vault yesterday morning. He could have just let the security team deal with you,” Ron said.

  A satisfied smile crept across her face. “But he didn’t.”

  “That was only because of the work you’d already put in.” He shifted his weight so that he could look at her face. “Now he’s almost one of the team. Taking our advice and providing information.”

  “You got a plan?”

  “One thing at a time. We don’t have the casket yet. I’m just saying that if the casket problem tidies up correctly, Denison is going to be in the palm of your hand. We just need to keep our eyes open for the right opportunity.”

  “Don’t you think maybe he’s off limits?”

  “How’s that?”

  She sighed. “Not a player. Really didn’t know the casket was stolen when he bought it.”

  “I know that’s what he’s saying, and he’s saying it convincingly, by the way, and I know that you believe him, but the jury’s still out as far as I’m concerned.”

  She shifted onto her back and looked up at the ceiling. “He’s an emotional wreck.”

  Ron leaned up on one elbow. “I’m not saying we close the deal. I’m just saying that it’s fair to make preparations until we know for sure. Particularly when it’s not any extra work.”

  “If that’s all you’re saying.”

  “That’s all, baby. You know how I feel about stealing from civilians. I got no problem taking the hundred thousand from Rickover, on the other hand.”

  “Yeah, I’m with you there. It was Denison’s originally, but we didn’t have anything to do with that.” She looked for his eyes. “Say, maybe Mosley would take the ninety thousand for the casket.”

  “If we can’t find it, I’m willing to try anything.”

  Nicole rolled toward the window. The lower part of the curtain glowed bright. “Sun’s going down.”

  “Then I guess we better get moving.”

  They got up and put on comfortable, dark-colored clothes. Nicole checked over the Glocks and then opened a map on her smartphone and pointed out Clare’s condo. “That’s where we’re going.”

  They went out of the front of their building and immediately turned right to go north, away from the casino. Two blocks later, they walked by the Tall Mesa Shopping Center, a small strip mall consisting of a drycleaner, a grocery store, and a hardware store that catered to the locals. Nicole looked at her map. They turned right on the next street. Down the block they could see a row of stuccoed condos.

  “If we’re lucky, Clare will be at work,” Nicole said.

  As they neared, they saw that the lights were on in Clare’s condo. They went up to the door and knocked. No one came. Ron noticed a doorbell and pressed it twice. They could hear the bell easily through the door. No one came. Nicole banged on the door with her fist. They waited a few more minutes. Clare opened the door, dressed in her work clothes. “What?”

  Nicole showed her Glock and pushed Clare back into the living room, Ron close behind her. Clare looked from one to the other. “Who are you? What do you want?”

  Ron gave her a hard glare. “You’re a player. You might not be in this game, but you’re a player.” He pointed to the sofa. “So sit down and be quiet, and we’ll be in and out of here.”

  Clare sat down on the sofa with her hands in her lap. “You can’t treat me like this. I’m protected.”

  “I’m sure you are, which is why we’re so polite. If you’ve been minding your business, you’ve got nothing to be afraid of.” Ron turned to Nicole. “I’ll watch her.”

  Nicole walked back through the condo. In the living room/dining room, there were a sofa, two chairs, a flat-screen TV, and a square dining table with four chairs, but no Cellini casket. She went into the bedroom. There was a king-size bed, two bedside tables, and a wide dresser with a mirror. Clothes were tossed over a tan, overstuffed chair in the corner. She glanced in the bathroom: shower/bath combo, double sink vanity. She stepped into the walk-in closet: shoe boxes on the upper shelf, hanging clothes, two suitcases on the floor. They were empty. She came out of the closet and looked under the bed. Dust bunnies. She went into the bathroom and opened the double doors under the sink: toilet-bowl cleaner, a toilet-bowl brush, and a plunger. She came back out into the bedroom, looked behind the door, turned, and looked back at the tan chair. She dragged it out from the corner. Behind it was a red, wheeled suitcase. She rolled the suitcase out into the room and opened it. The casket lay nestled in packing foam. She closed the suitcase and rolled it into the living room. “Let’s go.”

  Ron looked at Clare. “You know what’s in that suitcase?”

  She shook her head. “It’s not even mine.”

  “Smart money would forget all about it.”

  Ron rolled the red suitcase out onto the sidewalk. He and Nicole hurried away, cutting down an alley to avoid the Tall Mesa Shopping Center, with its traffic and security cameras. They stayed in the dark as much as possible. A few cars drove by in the distance, and a coyote peered at them from behind a group of trash cans, but there were no people on the street. The only noise was the sound of their steps and the whir of the suitcase wheels. When they came to the parking deck where Ron had left the Camry, they each took an end of the suitcase and lugged it up the stairs. The beat-up Camry was still sitting where Ron had parked it. He turned off the alarm, unlocked the trunk, and checked to see that the gym bag of money was still in the wheel well, before they set the suitcase inside.

  He smiled. “I don’t want to jinx this, but I think I’m finally getting a good feeling about this project.”

  “We driving tonight?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know how reliable this car is, and we don’t have a spare
tire. Wish I’d known that when I was at the auto parts store. Don’t want to be stuck on the side of the road in the desert in the middle of the night. First thing in the morning will be soon enough.”

  After Ron reset the car alarm, they went down the stairwell on the far side of the parking deck, circled around the block, and cut through an alley to walk up to their hotel as if they’d come from the opposite direction. Ron looked into the hotel lobby before he opened the glass door. All clear.

  Grace Mosley walked out of the Great Circle Casino Hotel and stood in the circle driveway looking up at the stars. There were a few cars driving by and a few couples strolling on the sidewalk, but the evening had turned quiet outside. Her window of opportunity was closing. If Denison wouldn’t give her the $200,000 for the casket, she was going to have to give it to Philips’s men or run with it, neither of which were good options. Aaron had overplayed his hand. His ex was a single mom now. But at least his daughters had a mom. If she screwed up, Kelly would be an orphan. A special needs orphan. She’d go back to that overcrowded public facility. She’d never progress to independent living.

  Mosley walked on the sidewalk around the circle drive down to the boulevard. The breeze was stronger here, and she could hear the distant noises of the waterpark. Extorting Denison. She never would have thought when she joined the FBI that she would become a dirty cop. It was so easy to be pure when you could pay all your bills, when no one was counting on you. She’d given up Aaron to save her daughter. That’s where lying down with Philips had led.

  She couldn’t be weak now. Aaron’s murder might give her the evidence she needed to get Philips off her back, but if she gave him the casket, he would be in a stronger position to blackmail her to force her cooperation in the future. If she ran with the casket, tried to sell it on the open market, she would put her job in jeopardy and risk jail, and without the protection of her job, Philips wouldn’t think twice about killing her.

  The casket had to go to the museum. She didn’t have any wiggle room. If she wanted to help her daughter and win her own freedom, Denison had to come through with the cash, and she had to find concrete evidence that proved Philips ordered Aaron’s killing, not just speculation and correlation.