by R. B. Conroy
………
“Look at those rich guys! They probably play golf every day. Are we ever going be rich like that, Hawk?”
“Working for the FBI—are you kidding?”
Hawk peered through the car windshield. Their vehicle was positioned at the back of the parking lot of South Shore Golf Club, tucked neatly between a large delivery truck and an SUV. They were out of sight of the passing autos, but they had a clear view of the intersection of Vawter Park Road and State Road 13. They were patiently waiting for Crane’s SUV to appear.
Jake snickered, “Look at that fat boy; he just missed the ball a mile!”
Hawk shook his head, “You’re just jealous.”
“Who me? I love being poor.” The aggressive agent smiled sarcastically.
Hawk interrupted, “Look! There he is—back already.”
The men watched Crane’s Escalade pull onto State Road 13 and head south.
“Buckle up, buddy. We’re going to Indy.”
………
“Your text message beeper just went off.” Nicky looked up from her knitting.
“It did?”
“Yes darling, and are you ever going to get your hearing checked?”
“My hearing is fine.”
“You didn’t hear the beeper and I did.”
“I was thinking about something.”
“You’re hopeless.”
Normally, Nicky would read him the message, but today he didn’t want her to see it with all that was coming down with Barnes and company. He hoped she didn’t notice the change in their routine. He took his iPhone from its holster and opened the message and saw it was from Josh Dulin. Alex read, I would like to move morning meeting to my office at same time. No answer necessary unless this is a problem.
Chapter 21
“Benching 250, hmmm….pretty good for a guy your age.”
Flushed and perspiring heavily, Alex dropped the heavy weights on the rack and sat up. “Got to try and keep up with you young fellas, Tony.”
“You must’ve done ten miles on the tread earlier. Got a triathlon coming up or something?” The gym owner grinned.
“Not really, just got back from a weekend at the lake, drinking beer and eating everything in sight—you know how that goes.”
“I’ve seen you come here after a weekend at the lake before, but I’ve never seen you work this hard.”
Alex grinned at his old friend. He loved his evenings at Tony’s work-out complex on the Northwest side of Indianapolis. Lifting and sweating with the young guys brought back memories of his high school days as a star half-back and made him feel macho and young again. Because he was in exceptionally good condition for a man of fifty-five, he was able to do aerobic exercises much longer that most of the young guns at the popular fitness joint. Alex prided himself on his muscular frame and fine condition, attributes he felt necessary to meet the many stressful challenges of the fast changing banking industry. Lately, he felt a more pressing need to keep himself in the best physical shape possible. He snatched his towel off the top of the bench and aggressively rubbed his peppered black hair dry.
“See ya, Tony.”
“Take care Mr. C. See you next time.”
Alex draped the towel over his damp neck and headed for the exit. After a few quick jabs at the punching bag dangling by the front door, he stepped out of the air-conditioned center into the warm Indiana night. As he walked toward his car, he paused to admire the nearby Pyramids, which are three, thirty-story, office buildings that resemble the Egyptian Pyramids. The stunning buildings on Indy’s Northwest side were known to all the folks in Indiana. Anyone giving directions to a nearby business would simply say it was near the “Pyramids” and most people would know where to go. Alex was proud of the support his bank had given the developers over the years to maintain and improve the dynamic structures. Alex stepped off the shallow curb, walked to his car, slid in and started the engine. He was soon climbing the nearby entrance ramp onto the always busy I-465 for his trip home.
Several miles down the road, Alex glanced in his rear view mirror. An SUV he had noticed after leaving the work-out center was still behind him. His cell rang; he tapped the control of the steering wheel and answered the hands-free.
“Yes, dear?”
“Where are you?”
“Just left Tony’s.”
“Would you pick up some milk on your way home please?”
“Certainly, dear.”
“And don’t forget to get skim for my diet.”
“I know dear, good-bye.”
“Bye.”
Alex glanced in the side mirror. The dark vehicle was still behind him but staying at a safe distance. There were hundreds of folks who frequented the restaurants and shopping on the Northwest side each evening—it could be anybody. But Alex had made a vow to himself to be more vigilant after the embarrassing incident at the lake last weekend.
His exit was fast approaching. Alex peeled off 465 onto the long ramp to I-65 North. The trailing vehicle took the same exit, staying at the same safe distance. The shadowy SUV’s precise distance from him bothered Alex. A typical commuter would drift a little—forward and back, side to side, but there was absolutely no wavering with the SUV. It was obvious that this vehicle was on a mission.
On full alert now, a few miles up I-65, Alex swerved to the right onto 334, the exit to his home in Zionsville. The other auto made the same exit and was now close behind. Its bright headlights pushed up close to the back of his BMW—almost touching it.
Alex’s pulse quickened, he leaned over and popped the glove box open, removing his loaded forty-five revolver and laid it on the passenger seat next to him. He had been granted a permit to carry the gun as part of increased security efforts after the failed extortion attempt of a few years earlier. The former military man had won several awards for his shooting prowess during his days as a Seal and he wasn’t afraid to use a firearm. He had put the gun in his glove box that evening after the disguised threat from Ramsey at the Chicago meeting.
Suddenly, Alex felt a hard jolt to the rear of his car. He flew forward, and his elbows crashed against the steering wheel. Fighting to maintain control of his car, the light flashed green at the end of the ramp. He gunned it onto 334 toward Zionsville. The menacing SUV stayed glued to his backside. Alex glanced right at the well-lighted convenience center at the end of a long road. He felt it would be a safe place to confront his pursuers. He suddenly took a sharp, aggressive turn to the right. Midway through the turn, his car’s engine began to stall and sputter. He glanced down at the fuel gage—it was below E. In all the recent confusion, he had neglected to fill the tank. His car drifted to the side of the road. He was now alone on a dark road with someone aggressively pursuing him. His training as a Seal had taught him how to kill. He could snap a man’s neck or puncture his trachea within seconds, but it had been years since he had been in the military. And, although he was in excellent physical condition, the good life of fancy restaurants, expensive country clubs, and genteel surroundings had undoubtedly softened him. He wondered if he still had the mustard to confront his tormentors.
The trailing SUV abruptly backed off as if confused by the slowing vehicle. The sputtering suddenly ceased, the engine groaned and then went dead. The vehicle rolled to a stop. With no trace of a moon, it was ugly black outside. Without hesitating, Alex put it in park, snatched the forty-five off the seat and dove toward the passenger side, slamming down on the handle and opening the door as he flew across the seat. A few seconds later, he crashed headfirst onto the roadside. Pain shot through his shoulder as the small stones along side the road dug into his work-out suit. He quickly rolled to his feet and ran toward the back of his auto. He fell across the trunk, pointing his loaded forty-five directly at the mysterious SUV. The shiny barrel glistened in the bright lights of the approaching vehicle, which was now just a few feet away. All the instincts of a young Navy Seal suddenly came rushing back to him. He popped the safety on th
e deadly revolver and prepared to fire. He was in his element—he was ready to rumble.
Suddenly, the SUV slammed on its brakes and skidded on the loose gravel that covered the crusty side road. Alex lifted his forearm to protect against the flying stones. Screeching to a stop, the big vehicle’s rear tires were soon spinning in reverse with its headlights off. A huge cloud of dust exploded around the SUV as it did an abrupt 180 and accelerated back onto 334 heading toward I-65. A short time later, its lights came on illuminating the smooth surface on 334.
Perspiring heavily and shaken, Alex lowered the gun, breathed a quiet sigh of relief and dusted himself off. His shoulder was aching from the fall on the rocks a few moments earlier. Not wanting Nicky to know of this harrowing encounter, he checked his rear bumper for damage. Fortunately, the rubber bumper guards had protected his car well. His sweatsuit had also survived the fall in fairly good condition. There was a slight tear behind the left arm, but otherwise it looked presentable. He looked across a field as the large vehicle raced down I-65 toward Indianapolis. Still angry, he kicked the ground. “You guys haven’t seen the last of me,” he murmured.
He leaned inside and placed the revolver in the car’s glove compartment. He picked up the work-out towel that had fallen from his neck and dried his face and neck. He bumped the passenger door closed and hustled across an open field to the nearby service-center for a can of gas and a gallon of milk.
………
“What the hell was that all about? Sissified bank president, my ass!” Jake hollered. “And why’d we run anyway? We shoulda taken him out!”
Hawk Barger spoke quietly, “We had to leave the scene. We had no choice.”
Hawk was upset. He didn’t like running; it went against every bone in his body. But in this case, he had to. It was obvious to him that Crane was ready to fight. He and his partner had been dangerously close to having a bloody incident with a high profile bank president. Hawk had done the right thing. He did what any experienced agent would do—he backed away from the confrontation before it escalated into something tragic. But he felt cowardly—he felt like less of a man and he resented Jake’s comments.
“We caved! We wimped out and you know it!” Jake barked.
Agitated and conflicted, Barger quickly wheeled to the side of the road and crammed the car into park. He unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned toward the passenger side. He violently grabbed Jake’s shirt collar and yanked him closer. Their faces were only inches apart. Barger’s face was red with rage, “You listen to me, you sorry son-of-a-bitch! If you’re ever going to amount to anything in this organization you’re going to have to get a hell of a lot smarter than you are right now!”
Jake sat wide-eyed; Hawk yanked harder on his collar. “Alex Crane is a civilian Jake. He’s not a terrorist or some other form of enemy combatant. He is the president of one of the largest banks in the country! Think about it! If we would have harmed that man in any way, we would have been disgraced! We would have lost our jobs and more than likely, we would have gone to jail!” Hawk released his grip, pushed Jake hard against the seat, composed himself as best he could and buckled up.
A proud man, Jake stared straight ahead, not saying anything. An angry Hawk checked the rearview mirror, gunned the powerful engine and merged back onto I-65.
………
Alex wound his way through the up-scale neighborhood of the large two and three story homes with well-manicured lawns and a large man-made lake that meandered its way through the center of the sub-division. The whole scene was highlighted by a four-level fountain that seemed to reach for the sky from the middle of the lake.
Alex was still reeling from his encounter with the SUV and was trying desperately to make sense of it all. The two FBI agents who had been observing him earlier in the week drove a dark sedan, not an SUV. Would Ramsey have involved the CIA or possibly the Chicago mob? He lifted his cell and punched the speed dial.
“Hello?” It was a cool response from Barnes, who had caller ID. Not to call Alex by name was purposeful and underlined the growing tension between the two men.
“Got a minute, Barnes?”
“I’m in the middle of something here, I only have a minute. What is it?”
“Someone was tailing me again tonight; they rammed the rear of my car on the exit ramp off of 65. I brandished my handgun and they backed off and drove away.”
Barnes cleared his throat, “Handgun? Sounds like the Wild West to me! Please quit bothering me with these things. Like I told you before, I have no idea who might be harassing you. You’re calling the wrong person.”
“I don’t think so,” Alex said calmly.
With the dispute between himself and the administration ratcheting up, anger seemed inappropriate. In the military he learned that when the enemy becomes more defined, the dialogue becomes more formal.
“Was Nicky with you?” Barnes asked.
“No.”
There was a long pause. “Like I said Alex, I know nothing about your problem tonight.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Listen Crane, you should take your money and retire to that beautiful lake up north. It would save you a lot of grief. And besides, I know that’s what Nicky wants. Good-bye.”
Barnes’ insightfulness about Nicky annoyed Alex; she must have mentioned something to him at a recent office gathering or something. Alex dropped his phone back into its holster and turned toward home. He could see the light in the second story window. Apparently, Nicky had decided to retire early to do some reading. He saw her slender silhouette move gracefully past the sheer window covering. A few seconds later, she pulled the curtain shut and the window went dark.
Alex turned into the open garage door and pulled to a stop. The spacious garage began to darken as the heavy garage door clattered shut behind him. Alex hurried inside. Three empty suitcases from the weekend were neatly placed next to the top of the basement stairs across the hall from the garage door. Alex gathered up the cases and took them to the basement, tossed them on the luggage shelf and hurried back upstairs. He paused at the end of the kitchen counter and flipped on the intercom.
“Nicky?”
“Yes, dear, what do you want? I’m starting to take off my make-up.”
“I’m going to be on the computer for a little bit; I should be up shortly”
“I may be sleeping, so please be quiet.”
“Okay.”
“How was your work-out?”
“Fine, thanks.”
“Good-night, dear.”
“Good-night.”
Alex opened the refrigerator door and grabbed a recently opened bottle of Chardonnay. He filled the wine glass Nicky had left him on the counter. Then he hustled across the dining room to his small den. He dropped in the chair in front of his computer, turned it on and fumbled for the elusive mouse.
Louie Campano never had his cell phone turned on. He only used it for out-going calls, so Alex knew if he wanted to get a message to his Chicago manager, he would need to send him an e-mail. And, Louie probably wouldn’t see the message until he opened his computer at work the next morning.
Alex clicked on Outlook Express and pulled out the keyboard. He located Louie’s address and began typing: Good Morning Louie, Would you please call me on my cell phone at your earliest convenience. Important! Regards, Alex.
Hot and tired, Alex took a sip of his wine and turned on ESPN to see if his beloved Cubbies had beaten the Dodgers that day. He groaned as the score scrolled across the bottom of the screen—Los Angeles Dodgers 6, Chicago Cubs 2. He shook his head, turned off the television and made his way to the bedroom, hoping for a good night’s sleep.
Chapter 22
Louie took a bite of his Payday, savored the sweet flavor for a moment and swallowed. A contented smile crossed his face as he licked his lips and took another bite. He loved Paydays; he kept a stock of the legendary candy bars buried deep in the bottom drawer of his office desk. Every morning without fail, he ripped
one open and enjoyed the salty peanuts wrapped around the tasty nougat center. As the day progressed, he would sneak another one whenever possible, sometimes devouring as many as ten in one day. He was certain that no one knew about his secret addiction—not even Ava. Somewhat self-conscious about his weight problem, he would be embarrassed if anyone found out. He quickly tossed the last chunk in his mouth and gave it a few extra chews just as his phone line lit up.
“Uh…yes Ava?”
“Alex Crane on one.”
“Okay.” Louie finger-nailed a peanut fragment loose from between his front teeth and pushed the button to line one. “Hello Alex!”
“Good morning, Louie. Did you get my e-mail?”
Louie shuffled in his seat, “No, I haven’t checked the internet yet today.”
“That’s okay. I’ve only got a minute; I’m on my way to a meeting with Josh Dulin.”
“Tell Josh hello for me.”
“Will do. Hey, uh…listen, Louie, I’ve got a question for you.”
“Okay.”
“Remember those FBI guys we saw at lunch the other day?”
“Yes, Hawk Barger and Jake Collier.”
“How well do you know those guys?”
“I know Hawk a little bit; I bump into him down on Rush Street occasionally. I don’t know Jake as well.”
There was a pause. “Keep this under your hat, okay?”
“Oh sure, you can trust me, Alex.”
“With all my disagreements with the administration on the bailout money, I think Ben Ramsey has put a couple of Federal agents on me. A car with dark windows has driven slowly past our house several times recently and then someone was watching us up at the lake last weekend. When Nicky and I went to dinner Saturday night, these two guys made a point to smile and make eye contact with me as they left the restaurant. I’m almost certain that it was that fellow, Hawk, and his friend. And, I don’t think their appearance at lunch Monday was an accident. They wanted me to see them again; I think they’re trying to intimidate me.”
