Deception

by Dan Lawton

  A 1989 Ford F-250 matches six of the seven digits, albeit not in the same order, and the vehicle is registered to an elderly man. The second hit is more interesting as it matches all seven digits, not in order again, but the Volkswagen Beetle is registered to a young woman, so that doesn’t help me either. I can tell by the clean records of these two individuals that they have no association with Snake or the Zved’s. It would be clever for Snake to use someone like them to throw the police off track a bit, but Snake isn’t as smart as he thinks he is. He has managed to get away many times over, but he wasn’t able to get past me. Not this time. Without the restrictions put on the effort to capture him by the city, he would have been caught a long time ago, and I wouldn’t even be in this situation.

  I had been hopeful to find some sort of lead while scanning through the police database, but it turns out to be a colossal failure. The second scan I do includes searching for partial VINs for vehicle types known to be associated with the Zved’s, plus those registered to known associates. After that search also yields nothing, George and I scan through some of Snake’s files for less obvious ideas.

  It hasn’t been long since we arrived, and hour maybe, but I decide it’s best if we go somewhere else to do this. I can sense people gossiping around the office, and the longer we stay here the worse it’s going to get. The last thing I need right now is for Sheriff Jack Hearns to find out about this. With George’s help, I gather up all the material into a single box and carry it out the back door when no one is watching.

  ---

  Frank and George have both fallen asleep in the back of the van, so I leave them there while I bring the box of files inside through the garage. Alicia is curled up in a chair, also sleeping, when I walk by, so I find the office with the biggest table and get started.

  As I read through Snake’s files, I realize there isn’t much that I don’t already know. Despite having no felonies on his record, he’s been arrested over twenty times for numerous misdemeanors. He had the charges dropped in over half of those cases, and he’s only spent a total of one year and twelve days in jail combined for all of his other offenses. Either he had the best defense lawyer money can buy, or he bribed some judges for their leniency with a cut of his dirty money.

  I assume the latter.

  As I continue to browse through the files, there are no obvious connections that jump off the page at me. I scroll through the records and look through past cellmates and those of other Zved members, jail inmate numbers and cell blocks, important dates, addresses, and even subliminal references made in his many tattoos.

  I find nothing that even comes remotely close to referencing 282w53s.

  There are stacks of manila folders and individual papers piled across the top of the table, and I’ve hit a dead end. After hours of searching, I’m exhausted and frustrated, and I really need some relief. I’m about to rise from my chair and pace around the room when Alicia shows up in the doorway.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” her voice is raspy and she clears her throat.

  I sigh.

  She can tell something’s not right, as I would have woken her up if I had the money. She senses my frustration. “Did something go wrong?” she asks.

  “There was no money.”

  “What do you mean? What about the ten million?” She’s suddenly awake and wide-eyed, and is fully engaged in the conversation.

  “It’s wasn’t in the safe.”

  “If not the money, what was inside?”

  I remove the key and note from my pocket and hand them to her. She studies them for a moment.

  “I don’t know what it means yet,” I say. “I’ve looked through all these records and searched in the police database for some reference, anything. But I’ve got nothing.”

  Alicia is suddenly pacing the room rapidly, and she seems quite nervous.

  I continue, “Don’t worry, we’ll find it.”

  She shakes her head as she continues to pace. I can see the sweat forming on her neck. “We don’t have much time,” she says frantically.

  I rise from the chair and walk over to her. I lightly grab her shoulders with my hands to stop her from pacing. “Relax, I’ll find the money. I’ll come up with something and we’ll get out of here. I promise.”

  “No, you don’t understand. I think they’re on to us.”

  “What are you talking about? Who’s on to us?”

  “Everyone!” Tears are beginning to fill her eyes, and she’s close to losing it. I guide her over to a chair and force her to sit.

  “Calm down and talk to me. No one is on to us. Did something happen?”

  She gazes into my eyes through the tears and nods at me. “I saw someone snooping around outside the building yesterday.”

  “What? Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I thought you were going to get the money tonight, so we’d be gone by the time they came back.”

  My heart is pounding, and she now has me worried. “Okay, alright. Who was it? Do you know who it was?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. There were two guys. They were looking in the windows and they tried to break in through the back.”

  I back away from Alicia and start pacing in the same pattern she was before. The situation is getting urgent and there is no telling how much longer it will take for the Zved’s to find out what’s happening.

  This is not going the way I had planned.

  We need to find that money, and fast, before they find it and it’s gone forever. I need to come up with a plan of attack, and I need to do it now.

  “Okay,” I say, “go to the garage and wake up the guys and meet me down the hall. We’ve got to figure out what the hell we’re going to do.”

  In the small office near the garage door, I push the empty plastic bags and paperback that Alicia was reading earlier onto the floor. I spread a tabletop map of the county across the table and starting scanning it while I wait for Alicia to return with our friends. Moments later, she enters the room with Frank and George following behind her.

  “Sit,” I say, “both of you. No one sleeps until we figure out what the hell this means.” I slam the key and note on the corner of the table and cross my arms as the groggy men flop into chairs.

  Alicia stands in the doorway and blocks the exit.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  GEORGE

  Alicia and Frank are standing side-by-side in the living room as Billy and I enter the room. They turn their attention to us right away. Alicia looks at me with concern, which is likely a combination of recalling my outburst from before and the bloody hand print across my chest. I avoid her eyes. Frank looks okay if you can ignore the swollen face and two black eyes. He appears to be standing on his own without any support from Alicia, so he must be feeling better.

  “It’s nice to see you awake,” I say in Frank’s direction. Even through his battered face, he still manages to smile at the attention.

  “Thank you,” Frank responds. “I got a headache and my face is a little sore, but I’m okay.”

  I nod, assuming he hasn’t seen a mirror; I think he’d feel a little differently about it if he had.

  He points to my shirt. “What happened to you?”

  Alicia looks attentively at me, also curious to hear my answer.

  I shrug. “Nothing. I’m fine.” I quickly change the subject. Do you remember what happened to you?”

  Frank looks to Billy before responding. “I slipped and fell in the van.”

  I catch a glimpse of Billy nodding subtly in confirmation. He has Frank wrapped around his finger and it’s beginning to make me sick. Frank’s not a bad guy. That doesn’t make him innocent, but he’s nothing like that tyrant brother of his. I can tell Alicia feels the same way, as I catch her rolling her eyes. I really do feel bad for almost killing him.

  “I’m glad you all want to stand around and chat, but we have to go,” Billy the tyrant chimes in, darkening the mood.

  “What’s going on?” Alicia
asks.

  “They know where we are. George saw them while we were gone.”

  Frank’s eyes pop at the sound of this, although it’s difficult to see through the swelling in his face.

  “Speaking of that, where’d you guys go?” I ask.

  “Nowhere,” Billy mutters.

  I want to press further, but we really do need to get out of here, so I let it go.

  “Where we gunna go, boss?” Frank asks.

  “I have a place in mind. Somewhere close by. We’ll come back for the money in the morning, then we’ll go.”

  Frank smiles. “Go where, boss?”

  “You know where.”

  “I want you to say it.” Frank is giddy.

  “No, I’m not going to say it.”

  “Oh, come on. He already knows,” Frank says, referring to me.

  “I’m not saying it.” Billy is stern, which disappoints Frank.

  Frank leans in close to Alicia and whispers, although it’s not very quiet, “Mexico, baby.”

  Alicia is unresponsive and I can hear Billy mumble something to himself. There is a brief silence before Billy speaks again.

  “It’s time to go. Everyone stay in here until I give you the signal that it’s safe.” Billy walks across the living room and over to the front door. He pinches open the blinds and peeks outside, much like I did before. After scanning the street, he reaches for the door.

  “Hey, boss?” Frank startles everyone.

  Billy turns and faces him as he holds onto the door handle. “What?”

  “What’s the signal?”

  Billy rolls his eyes and sighs, obviously annoyed. “When I say it’s safe, just come, okay?” Billy doesn’t wait for a response and turns back to the door. “What a fucking moron.” He turns the handle and pulls the door toward him, allowing some space for his head to slide out. He scans the street again before turning back to us. “Okay, come on. Hurry up.” He opens the door fully and motions for us to follow.

  Alicia goes first, followed by me, then Frank. Billy closes the door behind us and sneaks his way across the walkway and into the driver’s side of the van. Alicia reaches the back of the van shortly thereafter, and she and I pile inside. I close one door and wait for Frank to hop in the other.

  A moment passes and there is still no sign of Frank. He was right behind me, so he should already be in the van by now. He must have forgot something and turned back. I slide toward the rear doors and start to poke my head out. Just as I do, multiple rounds of explosions and loud echoes fill the air.

  Gun shots.

  I recognize them as being the same sound as before in the parking lot of the pub. I pull my head back into the van, slam the doors, and throw myself on the floor and cover my head. It’s like we’re on the battlefield. Alicia shrieks from the bench behind Billy’s seat and slides onto the floor next to me. Billy ducks in the front and covers his head. Someone is screaming, but I can’t tell who it is or what they’re saying.

  Maybe it’s me.

  Then, suddenly, just as quickly as it started, the gun shots fade out and the faint sound of squealing tires are heard peeling away in the background. Billy lifts himself and looks back at us.

  You okay? Everyone okay?” he says. He’s breathing heavily but is fairly calm. I look to Alicia, who looks back at me. She’s quivering, like me. I turn to Billy and shake my head. “Where’s Frank?”

  My eyes sink as Billy’s face turns to panic. His cheeks are rosy, but the paleness is beginning to overwhelm his face. He must have thought that Frank was already in the van.

  Billy pushes his door open and runs around the front of the van. I lose him as he passes in front of the windshield. Moments later, I hear his screams. No words actually come out, just loud, murderous screams. I look to Alicia, who is sobbing in her hands, then I hop over the front seat and join Billy outside.

  Frank’s dead body is in the driveway, right next to the rear wheel of the van. Blood is streaming down the side of the uneven driveway and staining a path under the van. If I didn’t know it was Frank, the body would be unrecognizable. Tens of rounds of ammunition tore through his upper torso, neck, and face, killing him instantly. Bullet casings litter the street.

  I walk back around the van and sit on the rear bumper. My stomach churns and I can taste the acid of the bile starting to make its way up and out. I try to hold it back, but I can’t. I vomit at my feet as I think about how easily that could have been me over there instead.

  Billy’s hands are covered in blood and he sits on his knees on the ground next to Frank, pounding the cement with his closed fists. I can’t help but feel sorry for him as I know what it’s like to lose someone who’s close to you. He lacked the tolerance needed to deal with Frank and his apparent condition, but he didn’t want him to die, that much is obvious.

  Billy is becoming hysterical as he continues to pound his fists into the cement. I lift my feet over the vomit, open the back doors, and slide back into the van, letting him be. I move onto the bench on the passenger’s side and rest my face in my hands. Alicia is doing the same on the bench opposite to me.

  I try to think of another time that I’ve seen a grown man weep like that. I can’t recall such an instance.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  BILLY

  I park the van in the parking garage a few blocks from 53rd Street, then George and I start in that direction. Frank waits inside for us to return and Alicia is back at the old station. It’s around 8:30 A.M. and the sidewalk is crowded. George and I walk in the opposite direction as most people.

  Shawnee County Savings Bank is one of the largest privately owned banks in the city, and it’s our target this morning. The note from the safe is secured in my pocket, as well as the brass key that I hope belongs to a safety deposit box inside the bank.

  “Let’s make a pit stop in here before we head over,” I say to George as I lead him into an upscale men’s business clothing store that stands alone by itself.

  “What do we need in there?” George asks.

  “We need a new wardrobe if we’re going to look like cops. I’m buying.”

  We’ve been wearing the same clothes for a couple of days now, and they’re dirty and a bit foul smelling, so we need a fresh look. I have my badge with me, but we need to look presentable too so there’s no hesitation on the part of the bank employees.

  I ignore the enthusiastic salesman as we enter the store, and I walk directly to the back wall. Crisp suits in various colors and styles line the wall, all hanging in perfect unison. The lighting is strategically placed so that the most expensive Italian ones are highlighted, and they grab my attention immediately. The suits are sharp, but they may be a bit of an overkill. All we really need is some new slacks and shirts and even blazers would be unnecessary. They’ll just get in the way.

  I reluctantly slide over to the section that has slacks and button-up shirts hanging individually, and we pick out some dark colors. The salesman follows closely behind us as we browse through the racks. We change into the new outfits in the designated rooms in the back, and I pay the salesman in cash before we leave.

  Back on the sidewalk, the morning rush hasn’t died down any, so it takes us a moment to cross the sidewalk to get to the trash cans. We toss our old clothes into the can and make our way toward the bank. It’s still a block away, so I take the opportunity to go over the details one more time.

  “Just follow my lead in there,” I begin. “We’re both cops and we need to access that box. We don’t leave until we see what the contents are.”

  George doesn’t react, and I can tell he’s having anxiety over the whole situation.

  I continue, “If this is it and there is cash inside the box, we’re confiscating it as evidence. They’ll probably catch on at that point, so be prepared to run. You come back this way and I’ll go the long way around the other side of 53rd, and we’ll meet at the van. You’ll beat me there, so you tell Frank what’s going on so he’s ready to roll as soon as I arr
ive. Got it?”

  George nods.

  My heart rate is increasing as we approach the impressive stairwell to the bank, and the adrenaline rush fuels me. Things are about to get pretty exciting.

  I fight through the apprehension and I blast us through the line of law-abiding citizens with confidence. I approach the teller and flash her my badge. Barbara, the teller, is obviously uncomfortable and unsure how to react. After some back and forth banter and some resistance from her to provide us access to the safety deposit box, I hit her with it.

  “We’ve received a report of a potential bomb on the premises and we need access to this box.”

  She gasps and covers her mouth with her hands. She spends the next couple of minutes frantically searching through her computer for a hit on various combinations of the seven digits that I have memorized from the note in my pocket. There are no results. I back away from the counter and pace around in a small circle. Fuck. What the hell do we do now?

  “I’ll go get the manager,” Barbara says. “Maybe he can help.”

  Before I can respond, George breaks his silence, “No, we don’t have the time to wait for the manager,” he says.

  He’s not following my lead like I told him, but maybe he has an idea, so I don’t intervene. He worked in a bank before he joined me, so maybe there’s something I’m missing. I stand back and watch him go to work.

  It’s not long before the two of them are in a deep discussion about there being too many digits and the labelling of the shelves that house the safety deposit boxes, or some shit like that. They lost me almost immediately, but George seems to know what’s going on.

  At least I hope he knows what’s going on.