“Walk into the bank side by side. Don’t forget the briefcase. Be casual. Go to the bank president’s office. His name is Elmore Grimm; he’s expecting you. Make sure Marilu has possession of the key. She is the only one who can go into the vault. Wait for her near the vault entrance. Copy?”
“Yep. Let’s get it done, Emily.”
“Wait a minute. When Marilu comes out of the vault, take the briefcase from her and walk beside her to the Bronco. We’ll be right behind you. Then drive back to the rest stop outside town and wait for us. Do you copy?”
“Copy—over and out.”
The hush that followed the silenced radio settled over Abe like the stillness of a cemetery. He stole a glance at Marilu and saw her gulping air through her mouth as if she couldn’t catch her breath. He reached across the seat and gave her hand a quick squeeze, then opened the door and stepped onto the sidewalk. Abe scanned both directions of First Street. A few pickup trucks and utility vehicles dotted the main street, but nothing suspicious. There appeared to be no sign of out-of-state plates or ominous-looking Buicks. Abe came around and opened the door for Marilu, telling Patch to stay put, then picked up the briefcase. He grasped Marilu’s elbow, helping her out of the seat, and carefully guided her through the bank’s main entrance.
Emily stood at a small table in the center of the lobby filling out forms as if she were going to make a deposit or withdrawal. She glanced up and locked on Abe’s eyes before returning to her paperwork. Robert Bowman stood behind a teller’s window. When Abe looked his way, Bowman tilted his chin toward a desk in a small glassed-in office with the sign “Elmore Grimm, President.”
A chubby, pink-faced man, sweating profusely, sat behind an ornate cherrywood desk. When Abe and Marilu walked into his office, the man retrieved a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his black gabardine suit jacket and wiped his forehead.
Ignoring Marilu, the banker extended a pudgy, well-manicured hand to Abe. Grimm’s grip was flaccid and fleeting.
“Elmore Grimm, glad to meet y’all. I unnerstand y’all need to get into yer safe-deposit box?” He flashed a butt-crack smile and fixed his pale, beady eyes on Abe.
Marilu stood with her arms crossed in a protective gesture over her chest, not uttering a word, so Abe spoke up. “It’s Miss DiMarco who needs to do that. I’ll wait for her. Where is the vault located?”
The banker squinted and looked at Marilu as if he just noticed her presence. “It’s back through this here door behind my office. Course you have the key, young lady?” he asked Marilu. “Can’t get in without your key and my key. It’s teamwork, Miss, uh . . .”
“DiMarco,” Abe said. “She has the key. Is there any other way in or out of that vault, Mr. Grimm?”
“No siree. One way in, one way out. Ever’body’s gotta go through me. Now we need to fill out a little paperwork here and take care of this so you folks can be on your way.” The white handkerchief reappeared and Elmore Grimm mopped his pink head.
“I’ll be right outside this door,” Abe said to Marilu. He couldn’t see her eyes, but he felt her fear.
“You can wait here in the office, Mr. . . . uh, DiMarco. Jis take a seat and after I get the little lady’s John Hancock she and I’ll go on back to open that vault.”
Abe sat down in one of the swivel chairs while Marilu remained standing. He didn’t bother correcting the banker on his name. Marilu showed her ID and signed the signature card, then handed her key to Grimm. He verified the signature, and she picked up the briefcase, following him through a wooden door and down a short hallway. A quick look confirmed there were no other doors in that part of the bank except for the one leading to the vault. We’ll be out of here in a few minutes, he thought.
While he waited, he swiveled around to face the front window and caught sight of a long, black sedan crawling past the bank. It could be anyone, Abe told himself, but a sudden chill ran through his body, setting his nerves on edge. Emily and Bowman noticed it, too. The Buick turned the corner, momentarily out of sight, but Abe’s adrenaline had kicked in. He stood up, his heart thudding in his chest. Emily threw him a look and signaled with her hand to sit down. Sitting back in the chair and turning around, Abe’s always restless fingers began drumming the desktop as he looked down the hall for any sign of Marilu. Although she had been gone only a few minutes, it seemed an eternity. Traffic noise was barely audible from the confines of the bank, but his overactive mind registered what could be the sound of motorcycles. He stood up again and turned to scrutinize the street, looking for anything, then glanced back to check the hallway for Marilu.
The part of him that watched from a distance tried to tell him none of this was happening—a bad dream, that’s all. That was how he felt when Sharon begged him to end her suffering. He went through the motions, zombie-like, trying to detach himself from the reality of the situation. It hadn’t worked then—it didn’t work now, yet he still played along.
Grimm appeared, and after three or four long minutes, Marilu strode in, clutching the briefcase to her chest. “Here, let me carry that,” Abe said. She seemed reluctant to give it up, but did.
“Well, now, anything else I can do for you folks . . . open a new checking or savings account?” Grimm began, but Abe cut him off.
“No thanks.” He took Marilu’s arm and turned toward the door, hoping the ominous-looking black car was some rich Texas rancher come to town to spend money. Elmore Grimm appeared relieved to see them go.
Bowman jabbered into his radio, trying to reach Agent Wilson, who had positioned herself on a side street. After several minutes he placed the radio back in its holster and pulled out his gun instead. He turned his attention to Abe and Marilu. “The Buick’s gone. Wilson said she couldn’t see who was inside because the windows were dark, but it appeared to have left town. Then I lost contact with her, probably some local interference.” Bowman’s furrowed brow and clenched jaw gave Abe the feeling the FBI agent knew it was not local interference. “We’re going to play this close and careful, so stay behind me. A little change of plan—we’ll escort Marilu to my vehicle, settle her in the backseat. You put the briefcase on the floor in the front.”
“I’m riding with Bowman until we locate the other Fed,” Emily said. “Follow us in the Bronco, Abe.” It sounded like an order.
When they reached the door, Bowman stepped out first, telling the others to wait while he checked the street. As soon as he gave the all-clear signal, Abe and Marilu followed, with Emily flanking them from behind, her Glock ready. But without Agent Wilson’s input they had no way of knowing who or what waited around the corner.
The motorcycles were on them so fast no one had a chance to respond. First one, then another, followed by a third. They roared onto the sidewalk, the leader plowing directly into Bowman before he could get a shot off. The FBI agent went down, cursing in pain and losing the grip on his weapon in the process. The biker rolled over him and kept going. Bowman lay in a pool of blood and appeared to be unconscious, or dead.
The second rider concentrated on Abe and Marilu. He came in close, trying to run them down as well. Marilu screamed and Abe jerked her back, flush with the wall of the bank. The bike went into a skid, tires screeching, and landed on its side, pinning the rider underneath. Abe figured the Aryans were after the briefcase. He held it tightly behind him with one hand. With the other he tried to restrain Marilu, who in a panic attempted to flee. “Stay back. If you run, they will get you,” he yelled, pulling her toward the bank entrance, where Emily remained.
Then he heard a gunshot and hoped like hell it came from Emily. She crouched down on one knee in the alcove of the doorway, steadying her Glock with both hands. When the downed biker pulled out a gun, Emily fired off a round, hitting him in the shoulder. He dropped his weapon and screeched in pain. The third bike circled around and returned to the side street without making contact.
Emily tried to push the bank door open, but it didn’t give. Abe heard her mutter, “That asshole locked u
s out.” She darted out to Bowman and took his pulse, then rummaged through his pockets before scurrying back. “He’s still alive. Take Marilu and the briefcase and make a run for Bowman’s car. It’s faster than the Bronco,” she said, tossing the keys to Abe. “Get out of here before the other two come back. I’m calling for assistance.”
Quickly letting go of Marilu’s arm, he caught the keys, then hesitated.
“Go on, Abe. Get the hell out of here. Bowman’s still breathing, but he needs an ambulance.” She had her radio in her free hand and began shouting into it. “Officer down, officer down. Do you read?”
Go where? Abe wondered. But he knew he and Marilu were sitting ducks—they couldn’t remain there, pasted against the wall like a pair of butterflies pinned to a mat. They had no way to defend themselves and Marilu had become hysterical. As for Abe, in this new life-threatening situation he assumed his zombie-like persona, going through the motions again, no matter how crazy, while somebody, the real Abe, watched in horrified fascination.
It had only been a couple of minutes since they stepped out of the bank and Bowman went down. Where in hell was the FBI backup? Abe’s mind raced. Someone must have heard Emily’s gunshot and called the police, and she had radioed for help. The local cops and an ambulance would arrive soon. But he knew the other two gangsters would make another run for the briefcase, and Emily could be hurt or killed in the process if both bikers came at her. He couldn’t let that happen, so he made a decision to draw them away. He knew Patch would be safe in the Bronco.
Abe took Marilu’s arm and ran for Bowman’s vehicle. Opening the back door, he yelled, “Get in and lock the door. Lie on the floor, and don’t get up, no matter what.” She stood frozen in place, but he gave her a shove and slammed the door. “On the floor, damn it.” He jumped in the driver’s side, and after making sure all doors were locked, placed the briefcase on the seat beside him, started the engine, cracked his window, and listened for the sound of motorcycles. He didn’t have to wait long.
38
As soon as he heard the motorcycles, Abe shifted into reverse and screeched to the side street, blocking the bikers’ exit. When they spotted him, he held the briefcase up to the passenger-side window, changed gears, and sped off, burning rubber in his departure. Marilu lifted her head and let out a shriek when she saw the bikes.
“Get down now, and stay down.” He didn’t know where he was going, or what to do when he got there. His only objective at the moment—draw the bikers away from Emily.
The motorcycles had better maneuverability, but Abe thought he could circle around and get back to the bank before they caught up with him, giving the local cops time to respond to Emily’s call. Riding his horn, he ran a red light, then took a reckless corner. For once he wanted to see flashing lights and hear a siren. Then he saw them in his rearview mirror—two Dumas Police cars followed by an ambulance and red fire department paramedic vehicle crossed the intersection behind him. They turned on their sirens and sped by, intent on reaching their destination and oblivious to Abe and the bikers. Good, he thought. They’re responding to Emily’s call.
The motorcycles were forced to stop while the emergency vehicles passed. Abe took advantage of the opportunity and tried to shake them by turning around a corner and pulling into an alley. He thought he could ditch the bikers and return to the bank. Instead, he found himself on a dead end.
“What’s happening?” Marilu said from the floor. “Why are we stopped?”
“Quiet, Marilu, stay down.” The bikes hadn’t discovered the alley yet, but he wanted to figure out how far away they were. Dumas was a small town, and it would be only a matter of time before they found him. He heard the rev of engines and knew they were close, maybe two blocks. A single siren droned in the distance. It’s the ambulance taking Bowman to the hospital, Abe thought. He put the car in reverse and started to back out. He knew he had to hurry off the dead-end street before the bikers found him.
When he checked the rearview mirror his heart started pounding. A long, black sedan had pulled up perpendicular to the alley, blocking his exit. Two motorcycles flanked the Buick. Abe began to sweat despite the goose bumps on the back of his neck. He scanned the alleyway, looking for an opening between the buildings, but saw nothing. He wiped sweaty palms on his pant legs and, inhaling deeply, trying to steady his voice, told Marilu, “Stay put. Don’t get up. Don’t talk.”
“What is it?” she hissed, raising her head enough to look around. When she saw her father’s car, she let out a whimper and crumpled to the floor, covering her head with her arms.
Abe pulled forward, stalling for time, trying to think. The bikers rode down the alley in his direction, not hurrying now, knowing he was trapped. He saw the radio, grabbed the receiver, and pressed the talk button. “Emily, Emily, this is Abe. Do you read? Over.” A burst of static came back in response. With his other hand he reached under the seat, looking for a weapon, finding nothing, then in the glove compartment—still no gun. Abe remembered the call number Emily told him to use on the radio, and switched the channel to twenty-one.
Marilu screamed, “You bastard. You brought me to him. They’re going to kill us.”
Ignoring her, he tried the radio again. “Emily. This is Abe. Do you read? I repeat. Do you read?”
The static continued, followed by silence, then finally a response. He sighed in relief when he heard her voice.
“Abe. This is Emily. Where are you?”
“Dead-end alley. Not far, somewhere behind the bank. Can’t get out. DiMarco and the two bikers have me pinned in.” Even in that tense moment, he wanted reassurance she was safe. “Are you okay?”
“I’m all right, Abe. No time for small talk. Give me a street name, something. I’ll find you.”
“Sorry. It’s an alley behind the bank.” When Abe glanced up, two Harleys had stopped beside the car. Abe took a deep breath. “They’re here and they’re armed, Em. Gotta go.” The skinheads had dismounted and stood beside the door. He put the radio receiver down and met the glare of two muscle-bound brutes.
A straggly beard reached the chest of the tall one. Shoulder-length, dirty-blond hair fringed a bald head; steely gray eyes smoldered. The tattoo of a swastika centered on his forehead added emphasis to his scowl. He carried a tire iron and, with a single swing, smashed Abe’s side window.
Marilu shrieked.
The second biker, shorter and stockier, with tattoos encircling his throat like a turtleneck sweater, pointed a semiautomatic assault weapon at Abe.
Behind the bikers, Abe caught a glimpse of DiMarco and his bodyguard walking toward them. Benavutti had one arm in a sling, a reminder of his last encounter with Abe and Emily. He carried a .22 pistol in his free hand and a malicious grin on his face.
“Get out of the car, asshole,” said the biker with the gun. There didn’t seem to be a choice. The Aryan stretched his neck to look inside, saw the briefcase, saw Marilu cowering on the floor, and smirked. “Well, well, well. Look what we found here. Daddy’s little girl.” He pointed the gun at Marilu. “You, too, bitch. Your old man’s been looking for you.” At the same time, DiMarco and Benavutti sauntered onto the scene.
Abe opened the back door, looked at Marilu. “Better do what he says.”
Marilu stumbled out of the backseat. Keeping her head diverted away from the men, she stood behind Abe and didn’t bother to look up when she heard her father’s voice.
“Get your ass over here, Marilu.” He had dressed in a gray pinstripe suit, a blue shirt open at the neck, and Italian loafers. No cowboy hat covered the thick mane of gray hair this time. The goon with the tire iron took the briefcase off the seat and handed it to DiMarco. Marilu continued to look away from her father. “I said, come here. You’re going with me,” he repeated, then walked up to her and grabbed her arm.
She slapped him soundly across the face. “Go to hell. I’d rather be dead.”
It was the distraction Abe needed, as everyone’s attention switched to Di
Marco. Abe brought his knee up into the groin of the biker holding the gun, then followed it with a hard fist to the gut. When he doubled over clutching his crotch, Abe grabbed the AK-47. He pulled Marilu behind him and pointed the gun at DiMarco. Benavutti had his pistol centered on Abe, but looked at his boss and didn’t shoot. The other biker still held the tire iron over his head, ready to crush Abe’s skull, when the piercing sound of police sirens filled the air. In an instant the biker dropped the weapon and made a run for his motorcycle. His buddy lay on the ground, clutching his testicles and gasping for breath.
Two Dumas City Police cars and a pair of gold-and-white Moore County Sheriff vehicles surrounded the Buick and cut off any means of escape. The officers, wearing bulletproof vests, their guns drawn, knelt behind their vehicles. With the assault rifle still fixed on DiMarco, Abe glanced at the new arrivals, quickly scanning their faces until his eyes settled on Emily, her body partially hidden behind a Sheriff’s SUV.
She picked up a megaphone and he heard her voice, strong and clear. “Put your weapons down and your hands behind your head.”
The biker on the ground struggled to his feet and tried to run, but stopped when he saw Abe with the gun.
Benavutti, his eyes darting wildly, and with his gun pointed at Abe, said, “I can kill both of them before he gets a shot off, boss.”
“Put it down, you fucking idiot,” DiMarco said. With eyes narrowed into slits, and a scowl, he looked at his daughter. “I can’t believe you did this to me, Marilu. After everything I gave you when that whore of a mother of yours left. You’re probably not even my kid, anyway, the way that cunt played around. But you’ll pay for this. You’ll see.”
Upon hearing these words, she looked directly into her father’s eyes. “My mother didn’t leave me, she died—OD’d on depression drugs. You know it, and you know why. I’ve been paying all my life. It’s your turn.”
Abe picked up the weapon Benavutti had dropped and slipped it into his pocket. Marilu, her head held high, turned her back on her father, and walked toward the police cars. With his eyes still fastened on the Mafia boss, Abe grabbed the briefcase with his free hand and waited for Emily. DiMarco looked stubborn and defiant. Maybe he thought his lawyers and connections would get him off again. Abe didn’t think so. Not this time.
Key Witness Page 23
