by Liliana Hart
They headed east out of Midway and into the residential area of Chicago. The lights from the city could be seen in the distance, but these neighborhoods they were driving through were all hidden in shadow. What few streetlights there were had been broken out, and shards of glass littered the streets along with trash and the occasional homeless person. All of the houses were attached to each other and were no wider than one room across. The sidewalks were cracked and the trees were empty of leaves. Nothing could hide the stark depression of the street or the desperation behind the crumbling brick of the houses.
They stopped in front of the last house on the block, and Jones pulled into a cracked driveway that had weeds growing between the broken concrete. The rain had lessened back to a miserable drizzle, and the headlights from the SUV caught a glimpse of the whites of someone’s eyes as they lighted the alleyway. Carrie already had her gun in her lap, and Shane grabbed the .9mm out of the small of his back.
“Nice neighborhood,” Rachel commented.
“We figured it was the least we could for Mr. Norman since he was so accommodating,” Jones said. “You kids stay in the car, and Carrie and I will relieve Cutter of Mr. Norman. My best advice is to just shoot anything that moves or they’ll have this car stripped before we make it back outside.”
Jones and Carrie left the SUV with their weapons drawn and in plain sight of anyone lurking in the area. The silence was deafening inside the car, and Rachel was sure she saw movement just outside her window, though she couldn’t be sure. There were a few people who dashed back and forth from the alley to the other houses on the block, but Rachel could never get a clear glimpse of them. They were like rats scurrying from place to place, scavenging whatever they could find.
It was less than five minutes before Rachel saw the outline of Jones backlit at the front door of the row house. He held a small man by the arm and Jones yanked him down the steps and into the rain. By the way the man was struggling, it didn’t look like he was too happy to see Jones again. Carrie followed closely behind them with her weapon out and her eyes constantly moving as she looked for danger.
The back door of the SUV opened next to Rachel and the small man was unceremoniously tossed in next to her like a sack of potatoes. The man reminded her of a small wet cat. Rachel scooted closer to Shane and felt much better when he put his arm around her. Jones and Carrie got back in the front seat, and they were back on the road in no time.
“I tell you, I’m going to be filing a complaint with your superior, young man,” the nasally voice from beside her said.
Rachel saw Wildcat’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, but he kept his eyes on the road ahead. He turned onto the highway and almost immediately the neighborhoods improved. They were now headed into the heart of the city.
“I’ve never been treated so poorly in my entire life,” the man said, turning his gaze on Rachel. He was small of stature and his sandy hair was thinning on top. Thick glassed perched at the end of his nose and his fingernails were buffed and manicured. Despite his damp and wilted appearance, the quality of his suit was very expensive, as was the gold watch at his wrist.
“I was snatched from my home in the middle of the night, and they wouldn’t even give me the courtesy of packing a bag first. For two days I’ve had to wear these clothes. It’s just shameful. And then, as if that weren’t bad enough, they blindfolded me and took me to this God forsaken place. I haven’t slept a wink in fear the rats would eat me alive. And then those barbarians showed up and watched every move I made. I couldn’t even use the facilities in private. It’s just been a dreadful experience.”
Rachel nodded sympathetically and let him wind down. The man was close to hyperventilation and was obviously prone to hysterics. She scooted closer to Shane, though she was practically sitting on his lap as it was.
“Oh dear, I haven’t introduced myself. This situation has just taken its toll on my nerves. I’ll have to have two sessions next week with my therapist. I’m Neville Norman, by the way,” he said, extending his hand. “Third generation president and owner of Suretrust Bank.”
He didn’t give Rachel the opportunity to introduce herself. “And you must be Rachel Valentine. I’ve seen your picture on the news, so that’s how I recognized you. Though you’re not quite what I expected now that I’m seeing you in person for the first time. I thought you’d have a little more…class,” he said, looking at her sweatshirt and jeans with disapproval. “Did you know you’re wanted by the police for murder?”
Rachel was speechless. Was this guy for real?
“But of course you know,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re with the police right now. And it seems you have your father’s talent for buying your way out of sticky situations since you’re not being hauled away in handcuffs.”
Rachel narrowed her eyes and felt Shane put a restraining hand on her shoulder. Mr. Norman must have seen her disgusted look because he backpedalled fast.
“Don’t get me wrong, my dear. I’m so pleased you chose my bank for your nefarious purposes. According to my bank manager, people are opening new accounts left and right because of the notoriety. I’m afraid someone on my staff might have told the media you’re a customer, and I do give my apologies for that, my dear, and promise to reprimand the guilty party right away. But business has really picked up. And with the economy the way it is too,” he said, shaking his head.
“Glad I could be of help,” Rachel said stiffly.
“And now it’s my turn to help you,” Mr. Norman said. “And maybe you’ll think about transferring all of your father’s assets over to Suretrust once he’s declared legally dead.”
Before Rachel could say anything to the disgusting little man, Carrie turned around in her seat and leveled her gun right between his eyes. “Mr. Norman,” she said sweetly. “Kindly shut up.”
Carrie waited until she saw his nod of agreement before turning back around in her seat. Rachel saw the grin on Wildcat’s face and had to duck her head down so her own smile couldn’t be seen. Shane was looking out the window of the SUV, but she could feel his body shaking with laughter.
The rest of the trip was made in silence.
***
Suretrust Bank was directly across the street from Loyola University. It was one of the reasons Rachel had originally chosen it. When she’d first opened her account she’d been a student at the university and it had seemed the most convenient place to do her business.
Contrary to what others thought, she hadn’t lived on the money her father continuously deposited into her account. She’d had a job all the way through college to supplement the athletic scholarship she’d received for target shooting, and she’d made meager deposits every week for four years. If only she’d known about Neville Norman’s tendencies for high drama and his big mouth back then, she would have gladly made the trek across the city to a different bank every week.
Mr. Norman was given permission to speak again once the bank came into view. He led them around the back of the building to the employee entrance, and Jones parked the SUV so it blocked the back entrance.
The bank was housed in what used to be an old Catholic Church built some time in the mid-1850’s. The architecture was gothic, similar to most of the churches built during that time in Chicago, and they hadn’t changed the outside much when it had been converted into a bank during the early part of the twentieth century. They’d replaced the stained glass on the street level with sturdier material and had them wired with alarms, but the stained glass on the upper floors where all the offices were held was as it always had been.
“I hope you all understand how inconvenient this is for me and my bank,” Mr. Norman said. “We would have gotten national news coverage if you’d brought Ms. Valentine in to collect her things during peak traffic hours.”
“We’re sorry for the inconvenience,” Jones said as diplomatically as possible. “But perhaps it would be best if you opened the doors and let us in before any of Angelo Valentine’s men
decide to use us for target practice.”
Mr. Norman paled at that bit of news and hurried to the back door. Carrie and Shane kept Rachel between them, and she didn’t like the fact that they were risking their own lives trying to protect hers.
Mr. Norman opened the outer door with a key and moved into a short entryway that was barred with an electronic gate. He punched in a long series of numbers on a keypad and held his thumb to a scanner. The bars around them lifted from the ground and into the ceiling.
“No lights,” Jones ordered as Mr. Norman was about to hit the main switch. “We draw as little attention as possible to ourselves.”
An urgency she couldn’t explain started to hammer away at Rachel’s insides, and she looked behind her nervously, afraid Angelo’s men were hiding around the corner. Something didn’t feel right, and from the way the others held onto their weapons and swept slowly throughout the building, she thought they might be having the same feelings.
“Rachel, which direction is your safety deposit box?” Shane asked.
“I can answer that,” Mr. Norman said as if he were the star pupil in a classroom. Using his keys to unlock a drawer behind the main counter, he pulled out a large key ring that held dozens of numbered silver keys. “Ms. Valentine purchased the VIP safety deposit box, which is housed in the basement level of the building. And as with all our VIP customers, only the best security will do,” he said proudly.
Rachel rolled her eyes, perfectly aware of what kind of safety deposit box she had and where it was located in the building, but she let Mr. Norman prattle on because despite his irritating personality, she could sense the layer of tension he was hiding behind the professional façade.
“We’ll have to take the stairs down,” Mr. Norman said apologetically. “We felt adding elevators would be compromising the integrity of the structure.”
The stair railings were dark and polished to a high gleam, and the stairs themselves were grey-veined white marble. Rachel followed behind Mr. Norman down the stairs to the basement level. There were ornate sconces lining each side of the walls on the way down, and they cast only a small yellow glow in the darkness.
“I’m assuming I can turn the lights on down here,” Mr. Norman said insolently to Jones.
“By all means,” Jones said.
Mr. Norman flipped on several switches beside a round steel door and harsh fluorescent lighting came on overhead. He typed in yet another key code for the door and used his keys before turning the handle. The room wasn’t terribly large. Rachel guessed an independent bank only had a handful of what they considered VIP customers. The walls were lined with numbered silver boxes and there were heavy stainless steel tables in rows down the middle of the room. The sterility of the room didn’t match the rest of the bank at all.
“Now, Ms. Valentine,” Mr. Norman said. “All you need to do is use your key and collect your belongings. I can have everyone wait outside and give you some privacy if it makes you more comfortable.”
“But I don’t have my key,” Rachel said. “It was in my apartment when it caught fire. I didn’t have time to get it.”
Mr. Norman clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Then I’m afraid I’ll need two valid forms of ID before I can open it for you. We’ll need to go back upstairs and fill out the proper paperwork. You do have ID, don’t you?”
“Not on me,” Rachel said with a hesitant smile.
“Open the door, Mr. Norman,” Shane said.
“But it’s against bank policy. If I do it for you and the word gets out, others will expect me to do the same. Or worse, they’ll worry about the safety of their deposits and go elsewhere. I’m sorry, but it just can’t be done. She’ll have to come back when she has proper identification or the key. It’s the best I can do.”
Shane moved as fast as lightning, grabbing Mr. Norman by the shirt collar and holding him off the ground. Mr. Norman’s face was turning purple, but Shane showed no signs of distress. “Open her box now, Mr. Norman, or I’m going to throw you through that wall over there. Nod if you understand me.”
Mr. Norman nodded and Shane dropped him to the floor in a heap. He scrambled off the ground and looked through the numbered keys with shaking hands. Rachel took the wad of keys from him and walked to the far corner of the room where her box was located. Mr. Norman managed to get up off the ground with minimal fuss. He flitted around nervously, wringing his hands, either concerned the bank propriety police were going to come through the door and arrest him or Shane was going to break every bone in his body. From the way he was eyeing Shane, she had a feeling it was the latter.
“I want to press charges against this…this brute,” Mr. Norman said to Jones. “You were a witness to the way he treated me. You’re an FBI agent, sworn to uphold the law.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jones said. “I didn’t see anything of the kind.”
“We don’t have time for this,” Shane said, turning his back on Mr. Norman, but Mr. Norman grabbed his sleeve and wouldn’t let him leave.
“Arrest him,” Mr. Norman said, voice shrill. “I demand it.” The three men were gathered in the corner, Shane’s face growing dark with rage and Jones trying to contain his laughter as Mr. Norman listed each of Shane’s transgressions.
Rachel ignored the argument going on behind her and focused on the lock box. It took her two tries to get the key into the lock. The nervous tension had only increased the longer they were in the bank. There were too many possibilities. Too many things that could go wrong once she had the papers in her hands. When the lock snicked open, relief consumed her. It was almost the end now. She feared her life would never be “normal” again, but if the FBI did their jobs and shut down the dangerous players on the list, maybe she could begin to live day-to-day without looking over her shoulder. Rachel pulled the rectangular silver box out of the wall and placed it on one of the heavy tables.
“Do you have it?” Carrie asked from the doorway.
The envelope with her name and address on it was exactly where she’d left it eight months before. Rachel grabbed it and shoved the box back into the wall. She just wanted to get out, and get out fast.
Rachel went to stand by Carrie in hopes the men would quit arguing and notice she’d done what she came to do.
“We need to get out of here,” she said to Carrie. “I’m not having good feelings about being here. Do you think you can get their attention?”
“I think that can be arranged,” Carrie said.
Before Rachel could blink, Carrie had an arm wrapped around her throat, cutting off her air. The discharge of Carrie’s gun was deafening in the small room, and Rachel watched in horror as Mr. Norman fell to the floor. Blood pooled beneath his head and ran so dark it was almost black.
“Carrie,” Jones said, his weapon out automatically at the sound of gunfire. “What have you done?” The devastation and realization on his face was almost unbearable to look at.
“Don’t pretend like I didn’t just do you a favor,” she said. Carrie positioned Rachel in front of her so the men didn’t have a clear shot of her body. “I’ve wanted to shoot him since the first time I met him.”
“I don’t understand,” Jones said, trying to make sense of the betrayal. “Your career. Everything you’ve worked for. They’ll send you to prison. What about us?”
Rachel’s heart went out to Jones. He was confused and hurt, but his training wouldn’t let him lower his weapon. Rachel wondered if it came down to it if Jones would be able to pull the trigger.
“Well, here’s the thing Jones,” Carrie said. “There never really was an us.”
A second shot sounded near Rachel’s ear and she saw the bloom of red on the front of Wildcat’s shirt and the look of surprise on his face as he dropped to his knees. His weapon skidded away from his body, and he touched the wound in his chest before falling over. Rachel’s ears rung and she thought she screamed out, but she couldn’t be sure.
“Men are so sensitive when
they’re the ones who are being dumped,” Carrie said in her ear. “It’s pathetic.”
Rachel struggled against the vise of Carrie’s arms but her grip was too strong, and Rachel whimpered when Carrie pulled hard on her hair to get her to cooperate.
Mr. Norman’s eyes were open and staring and she could only see the smallest movements of Wildcat’s chest as he struggled to breathe. Rachel prayed the same fate didn’t befall Shane. She kept her eyes locked on Shane’s face, mentally telling him how much she loved him, but Shane was focused on Carrie. Shane’s gaze didn’t waver even as his friend lay bleeding at his feet. His .9mm was pointed at Carrie and his hand was steady.
“Carrie, this isn’t the way,” Shane said. “I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger like Jones. I shoot to kill. Let Rachel go.”
“You know I’m not going to do that, lover boy,” Carrie said. “I’m making a lot of money on this deal, and I always deliver exactly what the client wants.”
Her voice was different, Rachel thought. Rougher and less refined than the woman she’d thought she’d known. Hell, they’d never really known her at all. Only a few days. But Wildcat had been fooled for much longer. It took a true psychopath to live a double life of treachery and feel no remorse for the people you destroyed along the way.
“You killed the other FBI agents working the Valentine case,” Shane said.
Carrie shrugged and tightened her grip around Rachel’s throat. “Just Agent Culver,” she said. “Angelo hired me to bring him Dom, and Culver was in the way. Culver was a casualty of war, but I can’t claim responsibility for the other agents. I was just the inside source for information. Angelo’s men took care of the rest.”
“You know Angelo isn’t going to let you live once you’ve done what he hired you to do. That’s the way Angelo works. You’re smart enough to know that, Carrie.”
“Angelo Valentine is a fool and his men know it,” she said. “It wasn’t hard to buy a few of them for extra insurance. Now I’ve got Rachel and the list, and as soon as I hand her over and the money is transferred my job is done. I’ve been Angelo’s inside source for more than two years. Do you think I’m completely stupid? I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve that Angelo will never see coming.” Carrie backed out of the room so she and Rachel stood at the base of the stairs.
