It’s then I make out the reason for their surrender. Standing by the Jeep’s tailgate are two men. Colonie cops. Detective Mendel and Sgt. Dernitz to be precise.
“I knew getting away from that Denny’s was too easy,” I whisper to myself.
“Hands up, Baker,” Mendel insists, his service weapon drawn, the barrel staring me in the face. “You’re under arrest.”
“For what exactly?” I say.
“For being an asshole,” Mendel says. Then, “Sgt. Dernitz, please escort our new prisoners to the cruiser and read them their rights.”
25
“Don’t say a word to them, people,” Edge insists. “Take it from me, maintain silence. Anything you say can and will be used against you, even if you tell them you gotta pee something fierce.”
We’re handcuffed with disposable plastic cuffs, and three of us are shoved into the back seat of the cruiser while Edge is allowed to ride shotgun. Sgt. Dernitz does the driving while Mendel follows close behind in the Jeep. I notice something very interesting reflected in the side-view mirror. Following close behind the Jeep is another car. A beat up black Lincoln Town Car, the equally beat up Sergey Boys inside it.
They must have found a way to flip the car right side up . . .
Something else captures my attention. I don’t spend a lot of time in the Albany area anymore, but I do know my way around, and the direction we’re driving is not toward the Colonie Police Department. It is instead, back to Cohoes to the north. When the highway ends, and we turn onto Mohawk Street, I turn to Sarah. As if anticipating my gaze, she locks eyes on me and nods.
Soon, we come upon the Mohawk River to our immediate right. The road follows the contour of the river bank which is located far below road level at the bottom of a ravine which has been carved of the black shale by thousands upon thousands of years of never ending water flow. But then we come upon a powerhouse made of brick and a small lake filled with water collected by a half-moon-shaped concrete dam. Beyond the dam, the river has been reduced to a trickle. And beyond that, in the distance, the cliff-like Cohoes Falls, looking odd and out of place without the white foamy water crashing over its side.
As we pass, Sarah and I turn to get a view of the fall’s rock face, and sure enough, we both see it. A face that resembles Satan with its two dark eyes, protruding nose, sneering mouth, and of course, two large rock formations that protrude from opposite sides of the head. Rock formations that most definitely could be interpreted as the horns of the devil. Below the devil’s face is where the treasure is located, and it’s exactly the information these clowns are going to try and extract from us.
The road veers off to the left, and soon we’re entering the old city of Cohoes. When we pull up to the site of the old Harmony Hotel, we stop.
“I think it’s about time you cut me loose, Dernitz,” Sarah says. “Play time’s over.”
I turn quick, get a good look at her over my shoulder. Edge turns in his seat and also locks eyes on her. So does Rob who is seated on her left side.
“I was told to cuff you up,” the uniformed cop says, his brown eyes reflected in the rearview.
“Oh crap,” I whisper to myself. “Somebody tell me this isn’t happening.”
Dernitz shifts his big donut fed body out from behind the wheel, draws his weapon, presses the barrel against the side of Rob’s Mohawk-haired head.
“Please, dude,” Rob grunts, his face pale and sickly. “Don’t shoot.”
“Get out,” Dernitz says.
Rob obeys.
That’s when Sarah gets out. She holds out her wrists for Dernitz, who reaches into his pocket, comes back out with an honest to goodness old fashioned switchblade, just like the kind my dad used to carry with him on the job sites he was excavating. He presses the silver nipple on the bone-colored knife grip and the silver blade snaps into place. He then cuts away Sarah’s cuffs, not like they’re made of thick, almost rigid plastic, but instead, warm butter.
“Don’t know why you two insisted on cuffing me,” she says, rubbing her wrists.
“Gotta keep things realistic,” Dernitz says. “These men trusted you, and in turn, they led you to the skull map. Now you know where the treasure is which means we know where the treasure is. Job well done. So, what if you had to be cuffed for a little while.” He grows a sly grin. “I’m told you enjoy being handcuffed.”
He sticks his big fat head back inside the cruiser.
“You. Indiana Jones,” he says. “Get out.” Shifting his gaze to the front seat. “You too, James Patterson.”
“Patterson sucks,” Edge says, maneuvering his cuffed hands so that he can pull back the door opener. “Doesn’t even write his own books.”
I slide myself out of the cruiser, lock eyes on Sarah.
“So much for my asking you out for a drink,” I say.
She offers up a smile, her beautiful dark hair shifting in the early evening breeze. Maybe Edge will write a book about her one day. He can call it, Beauty and the Bitch.
“This is all your fault,” she says. “You guys hadn’t gotten drunk at the bar at SuspenseFest and started shooting your big mouths off, you wouldn’t be here.”
“You mean we …as in you, me, and Baker…wouldn’t be here, asshole,” Edge says. “If not for us, you’d still be wondering where the Dutch Schultz treasure is instead of actually knowing where it is.”
Now arriving front and center, the tall, well-built Detective Mendel and the worse for wear Sergey Boys.
“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a party, Edge,” I say. “Detective Mendel, good to see you again. You know, you’re gonna like prison, especially being a cop. Talk about becoming somebody’s bitch. You won’t make it through the first day without some huge black dude making you his wife.”
Mendel makes a fist, wallops me.
My jaw stings and my head rings like a bell. Knees go a little wobbly, but I refuse to buckle in front of them. I have my pride after all.
“Let’s get inside,” Sergey Senior insists. “My son needs medical attention.”
As soon as the little silver stars stop swirling around my head, I get a quick look at Sergey Junior. Blood is still pouring out of his mangled nose and mouth. His face looks like the Lincoln Town Car ran over it. Not once, but seven times.
Dernitz pokes my back with the gun barrel.
“Walk,” he says. “Inside the hotel.”
“I’d like a cozy room with a view, please,” I say.
“And room service,” Edge says. “I’m freakin’ hungry again.”
26
“So much for your room with a view, Baker,” Edge says. “And so much for room service.”
The plastic ties have been cut away from our wrists. We’ve been transported down inside a basement underneath the old Harmony Hotel. Now, rather than loose plastic ties, duct tape tightly binds our wrists behind our backs. It binds our ankles to the two front legs of the metal chairs we’ve been seated in. The walls are concrete block covered in areas of brown, nearly black, mold. The floor is gray concrete and cracked in places. There’s a drain set in the middle of the floor and some rust colored stains that surround the metal drain cap. The place smells like cat piss and sweat, and I can’t shake the feeling that more than one man or woman has died down here. Maybe Dutch Schultz himself killed some of his enemies in this old basement.
The place is lit only by a bright, bare bulb that hangs from the ceiling from a wire. Detective Mendel paces the floor while Sgt. Dernitz sits atop a metal table, his legs dangling off the side. He’s holding a foot-long hot dog that’s covered with the works including mustard and ketchup . . . something I could never wrap my head around. Far as I’m concerned you’re either a ketchup man or a mustard man. There’s no room for inbetweeneness when it comes to hot dog condiments. For a beverage, he’s chosen one of Edge’ remaining cold beers. Something that’s bound to piss the bestseller off more than being a kidnapped and tied up.
Sarah sits at the table, once again g
oing over the photos of the skull, rather than going over the actual skull which rests in the metal box that’s also set on the table. After all, the phone allows her to zoom into the map. I also suspect that the actual bones creep her out.
“So, what are you going to do with us?” I say. “Why don’t you just let us go? It’s not like we’re going to tell anyone about the treasure.”
“There’s the little problem about you telling the world about our involvement,” Dernitz says, taking a bite of the hot dog. A bite so big, he reduces the foot long to about eight inches.
“My partner has a point,” Mendel says while he paces. “If anyone finds out about our involvement it will mean we go straight to jail, do not stop to collect two hundred dollars, no police union bene’s, no pension, no more fun of any kind. Capice?”
“Did he just say capice?” Edge says. “What are we, caught up in a bad B movie?”
“I just wanna go home, dude,” Rob says, his voice trembling. I get the distinct feeling he’s verging on weeping.
“So, what’s the alternative?” I inquire. “You gonna kill us?”
Rob might look tough with his Mohawk and a face full of metal, but he squeals like a little kid and most definitely breaks out into tears.
Sarah gets up from the table, looks me in the eye.
“To answer your question, Chase,” she says, “we need to keep you around. You led us to the map and now the treasure, but as a final gift, you might be invaluable in helping us extract it.”
“How exactly? I’m tied to a chair, bitch.”
Mendel comes to me, makes a fist, sucker punches me. The sucker part refers to my hands being tied behind my back. Can’t exactly defend myself that way, now can I?
My head feels like it’s about to split in two down the center. The world slows down, speeds up, then slows down again. Chase the punching bag.
Sarah goes on, “My cop friends and I are going to head down to the base of the falls and attempt an extraction immediately. However, you are going to be my guide.”
I repeat, “Again, I’m tied to a chair. In case you hadn’t noticed.”
“We’re gonna use Facetime, Baker,” Dernitz says, before taking another bite that reduces the last eight inches of foot long to about four. There’s a small dollop of ketchup and mustard on his cheek, but I don’t say anything about it. “Thank God for the digital world,” he adds.
“Yeah, thank God,” I say. “What about your Uncle Pat, Sarah? He know what you’re doing down here? He know you’re a criminal?”
Mendel raises his meaty hand, balls his fist against my jaw again. This time, it’s not the pain that affects me so much as the passing out. I black out. But it doesn’t last. I come back around almost immediately.
“Where am I?” I say.
“Exactly where you were three seconds ago,” Dernitz says, shoving the last bit of hotdog into his fat face.
“For a second, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven,” I say, staring into Sarah’s face. I pucker my lips, blow her a kiss.
“You wish, Chase Baker,” Sarah says. “And as for my Uncle Pat, he’s resting comfortably. At his age, he’s entirely oblivious to our actions. Which is just fine by me, and by God.”
“But I’m not so oblivious,” comes the voice of another man who’s slowly making his way down the wood stairs. “In fact, Mr. Baker, you could say this is all my idea.”
It’s that nice man, Sam, who greeted Sarah like his long-lost daughter earlier. Looks like Edge’s instincts were right on all along. He’s followed by the Sergey Boys, both of whom are all patched up. Sergey Junior has so much surgical tape and gauze covering his face, I can barely make out his beady little eyes and thin red lips.
Edge laughs aloud. “Look at you, Junior,” he says. “Don’t you look like the Return of the Mummy.”
Mendel socks Edge. But unlike me, Edge doesn’t pass out or even flinch. His face goes rock hard, his lips tighten, his forehead scrunches. There’s a purple vein popping out of his neck and his bald scalp.
“I’ve killed men twice your size when I was in the joint, Mendel,” he says, his voice low, strained, and defiant. “And you can bet your ass that when I manage to get out of this chair, you will be next.”
“You wouldn’t dare hurt a cop, Edgerton,” Dernitz says, taking a deep drink of his beer. “That kind of shit gets you the chair.”
“Can you please, please, please, just let me go?” Rob begs through his tears. “I’m just the Uber driver. I play bass in a punk band. I go to church on Sundays. My mamma is a window. I don’t care about treasure. I just wanna go home.”
“Shut up, Mohawk,” Mendel scolds.
Sarah turns to Dernitz. “The phone,” she says. “Call Facetime.”
He sets down the beer, reaches into his pocket, produces his iPhone, dials something. My phone, which is set on the metal table, chimes. It’s what I recognize as the sing-songy Facetime chime. Dernitz picks my phone up, thumbs the answer button.
Sarah goes to the corrupt cop, relieves him of my phone. I need to remind myself to engage the phone’s password security locking system one of these days. Chase the stupid and the lazy.
“So, Sarah, remind me again why we need to Facetime while you go after the treasure?” I insist.
Grinning, she says, “Because you’re the fabulous, wonderful, adventurous Chase Baker. Schultz didn’t just place the treasure at the bottom of the falls and expect someone to go get it. There will be booby traps and other hidden dangers. You’re trained to recognize these dangers before they can bite you in your cute little ass.”
Mendel gives her a look like he’s jealous. My eyes go from the detective to Sarah, back to Mendel again. The realization that suddenly sinks in makes me want to laugh.
“Mendel,” I say. “You’re not banging Sarah are you?”
He looks at me with scorn.
“So what if I am?” he says. “You got a problem with that Indiana Jones?”
“Not at all,” I say. “But that wedding ring on your finger tells me your old lady does.”
He raises his hand once more. I stiffen, prepare for the blow.
But Sarah steps between us at the last second.
“That’s enough,” she says. “We need Chase bright and alert and uninjured.”
She hands my phone to Sam, and together, she and the two cops head for the staircase.
“It will take us a few minutes to drive back to the falls, cut the fence, and then make the climb down inside, Chase,” she explains. “In the meantime, Sam and our Russian friends will keep watch over you.”
“Wait one second,” I demand. “What if I refuse to help you, or even better, what if I sort of neglect to warn you about something that looks to me like a booby trap?”
Sarah grins once more.
“Sam,” she says.
“Oh yes, Sarah, honey,” the mild manner man says.
He bends down, lifts his pant leg, pulls out a stainless-steel Bowie knife that’s sheathed against the side of his pale shin. He approaches Edge and sticks the razor-sharp business end of the knife under the writer’s nose.
“With each booby trap you fail to spot, or any danger you fail to mention . . . Or, heck, for every time our internet cuts out, good ole’ Sam here has been instructed to cut a little piece of Edge’s and Mohawk Rob’s face off.”
Rob goes from quietly weeping to outright sobbing now.
“You wouldn’t want something like that on your conscious,” Sarah adds. “Now would you, Chase Baker?”
“Hope the waterfall doesn’t suddenly turn on,” Edge says.
“Naturally, I’ve already thought that one through as well,” Sarah says. “The first round of daily water release usually happens at six in the evening. Which means, not only do we have plenty of time, but we have more than enough time to escape the falls should the alarm suddenly sound. But say we do extract the treasure, and someone sees us doing it? They will want to come after us. But if we time it right, the hydro pl
ant water release will kill them.” Her face takes on a radiant glow like she loves herself and her ability to conjure up nefarious plots. “How cool is that? Success will be all about the timing.”
“Let’s hope the timing isn’t off,” Mendel says, his eyes on Dernitz.
“Then let’s do this,” Sarah says.
The three disappear up the stairs.
27
Sam is still gripping the knife in one hand while his eyes are glued to my smartphone which is gripped in the other. Meanwhile, I’m pulling on the tape that binds my wrists, trying my best to get them free. But it’s no use. The tape is too tight.
I turn my head, steal an over-the-shoulder glance at Edge. He too is struggling to free himself.
“Whaddya think, Edge?” I say after a beat. “You really think the Dutch Schultz treasure is located at the bottom of those falls? You think the blue diamonds are in there? Can you imagine the enormous wealth the find will bring to the lucky bastards who make the discovery?”
“Hey, you,” Sam says, pulling down on his cardigan sweater with the same hand that grips the knife so that the thick cotton material doesn’t bunch up around his waist. “Be quiet. I’m trying to watch the Facetime. I can’t hear what they're saying you keep babbling like that.”
“You wish me to gag him?” Sergey Senior says. When he says wish, it sounds like veesh.
“He needs to be able to talk to me when he observes the treasure extraction,” Sam says. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t bother with gagging him. We’d just fucking kill him.”
“I see,” Sergey Senior says. “But his words are making me nervous.”
“What exactly do you mean, Sergey?” Sam asks.
“What I’m talking about is this: What if Sarah and those cops come upon the treasure? What if they take the shit for themselves, da?”
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