I'll Kill Her for You

by Steve Richer

  “This is Penny. Say hello, Penny.”

  The little girl sniffled. “Hello.”

  “Do you want to die today, Penny?”

  “N-No.”

  “See? She doesn’t want to die and you can prevent this, champ. Are you willing to?”

  Lawson’s mouth went dry. The child was a dead ringer for Kelsey.

  “Wait! I’ll do everything you want. I just need to wait for my broker to liquidate the assets. Then the money is yours, I swear. Just don’t hurt her.”

  “Good answer. Make it quick because the gun isn’t leaving her head until you transfer the funds to my account.”

  The line and video went dead.

  How could he buy some time when he evidently had a daughter and her life was at stake? He had an idea. Bargaining was a two-way street.

  “Dad?”

  David looked up. “Yes?”

  “Do you still have your Ferrari?”

  Chapter 36

  The powerful engine of the red 1962 Ferrari 250 GTO revved up and even for someone like Lawson who wasn’t a gearhead, it was a sweet sound that pumped his blood with adrenaline. It cornered like a dream as he went through a red light and punched the gas.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d driven the classic Ferrari but it was the first time with his father’s permission. The situation was so dire that David hadn’t even tried to dissuade him from borrowing his favorite car.

  It was in storage in a garage several blocks away from the Park Avenue penthouse, along with a few other vintage beauties. Lawson had had to take a taxi to that place first because it would have taken too long for the attendant to bring the car over, as was customary.

  But time was precious. A little girl’s – his daughter’s – life was on the line. That was why he didn’t think twice about bringing the car up to seventy in Midtown Manhattan.

  “Where are you now?” he barked into his phone which was resting on his lap.

  “I’m on the expressway,” Bailey said. “I’m about to cross into Staten Island.”

  Lawson nodded vaguely. He wasn’t a geography wiz despite having lived most of his life in New York. He looked at the map on his phone. It was the fastest way for her to reach her destination from Brooklyn. He was tempted to do the same but instead he would take the Holland Tunnel, go through Jersey City, and then head south to Bayonne.

  At this speed, he wouldn’t be far behind her. Because it was still the holiday season, patrol cars were scarce. They were either on vacation or they were being lenient. In any case, it worked in his favor.

  “One thing that’s been bothering me…”

  “What’s that?” she replied.

  “The caller, he said that it isn’t extortion. He said this whole thing is payback. I don’t get it. What does it mean?”

  “You don’t have enemies?”

  “We’ve gone over this. I don’t, it has to be about my family.”

  “But then why go after you?”

  “That’s the big mystery crammed inside a puzzle, isn’t it? The guy was adamant about ruining the family name. He has to know by now that I don’t give two chocolate-dipped shits about any of that.”

  Bailey thought once more about it. “There’s like two forces at work here. On the one hand, it’s personal because they asked for your money specifically. It’s your daughter that’s been kidnapped.”

  “Man, it feels so weird to think that I have a daughter…”

  “But on the other hand,” she continued, “these people are obsessed with destroying the Winslow reputation. If it wasn’t all about you, they could have gone after someone else in your family. They could have kidnapped your sister or her kids.”

  “Meaning?”

  “There has to be a business element going on too. A competitor going after the company.”

  “But Corpora Z is a dead end, remember?” Lawson said, having told her earlier about his father’s confession and the CIA’s involvement. “Has to be something else.”

  “This is theoretical anyway. If we get to them in time, it won’t matter.”

  “Yeah, as long as we catch them before they leave.”

  “Lawson, can you think of anything else that could help us identify who we’re dealing with?”

  He exhaled loudly, keeping his eyes on the road. “No, sorry. Except…”

  “What? Tell me.”

  “My dad is sort of famous for his indiscretions, as my mother puts it. I had kinda blocked it from my mind, to be honest. I guess I’ve always known but it’s one of those things we don’t talk about, you know? My mother would look the other way as long as it didn’t affect the family reputation.”

  “We’ll know soon enough,” Bailey said. “I’m speeding down the Staten Island Expressway as we speak.”

  Lawson didn’t reply. He just prayed she would get there in time.

  Detective Carolyn Munson was off today but that didn’t mean she wasn’t busy. She was home at her house in West Bergen and her mother was visiting with her new boyfriend. The guy was eighty years old and he wouldn’t stop winking mischievously while he grabbed her mother’s ass, as if this was the funniest thing ever.

  Even worse, her mom loved every second of it. Barf.

  So she kept herself occupied and out of their space. She didn’t mind all these disgusting things they were doing as long as she didn’t have to witness it. Another day and they would fly back down to Florida.

  She was in the laundry room, on stain duty, as she called it. In front of her were six blouses and they all had stains on it. Mustard, jelly, ketchup, jam, gravy, toothpaste. She had long ago stopped wondering how it happened. She was clumsy, screw it. She had accepted it.

  And to be honest, she was getting pretty damn good at dealing with these stains. She had her station set up by the washing machine: a Spray ‘n Wash stick for regular stains, OxiClean for the tougher ones. She used to have a cheat sheet to remember how to deal with each type but now she knew it my heart.

  Ice cream and other dairy products had protein so she had to soak the shirts in cold water first. Fruit juice stains required hot water and no soap otherwise the stain could become permanent. She had this down to an art form.

  In fact, even though she had initially loathed this chore, she found it relaxing now. When she was working a case, it allowed her to focus and think about clues and suspects and how it was all related.

  Today her caseload was empty. Not quite, but enough. Winslow had finally been charged so now it was up to the DA’s office to build their case. It was out of her hands.

  But why was she still thinking about him then? Could it be that the whole thing seemed too tidy?

  She had never met someone implicated in so many crimes that didn’t make any sense, especially given who that kid was. A famous heir kills his girlfriend? Sure, it happens. But how many of them then blew up somebody in a car? Everything about this was… odd.

  She heard the ceiling creaking above. Oh God, was her mother and geriatric Don Juan going at it again? She reached to her left and turned up the radio. She started humming along with Hooked on a Feeling just to have something else to think about. She found herself bobbing her head to the ooga-chaka ooga-ooga, really getting into it, when her phone rang.

  “Munson.”

  “Detective, this is the monitoring station. I just got an alert that your boy Lawson Winslow is making a run for it?”

  “What?” she said, turning down the music.

  “His ankle bracelet is reporting that he’s leaving his confined area.”

  “Where is he going?”

  “He’s in Jersey City right now, heading down I-78. We’re scrambling units, coordinating with local authorities.”

  If what the officer was saying was true, Winslow wasn’t far from her house. She could maybe stop him herself. She didn’t have to, it wasn’t her job, but it beat watching the ceiling shake above her head.

  “I’m going after him,” she said, wiping her hands on a towel. “Updat
e me as much as you can. There’s no way that kid disappears into thin air.”

  She called her partner, grabbed her weapon, and got ready to end this once and for all.

  Chapter 37

  The port area was deserted. On Bailey’s right was the water of the Upper Bay, with the Bayonne Golf Club beyond, and on her left there was nothing but a string of warehouses and industrial buildings.

  There were two guard shacks but they weren’t manned. She wondered if her suspects had paid off security or if they weren’t there because it was the off-season for the port. There were cruises to Canada in the summer and the Caribbean in the spring and fall, but December and January were dead months. Both explanations were plausible.

  In any case, Bailey stopped her car half a mile away from the port facility itself, behind a building. The area was large but she knew her destination. There was only one ship that was docked. It was a freighter about a hundred and eighty feet in length.

  It had to be the getaway plan.

  It had to be where they kept their hostage.

  She produced her pistol and wished she had more firepower as she scampered toward the ship.

  The officer’s mess wasn’t really spacious but at least it was clean. It was like a small cafeteria, long tables, chairs, and various condiments throughout. It was suitable for the Rolling Stones, Mick thought with a chuckle.

  Less enthusiastic about all of this was the little girl. She was on a chair, hugging her knees to her chest as she cowered against the wall. Having a gun held to her head had driven home just how serious they were about all this and now she didn’t dare cry. She was what, eleven? She truly understood the gravity of the situation.

  Good.

  Less calm were his partners. Ronnie was on his laptop and he was tapping his foot so much that it wouldn’t be a surprise if the floor gave out. Then again, the ship wasn’t new.

  It dated back to the Soviet era and now belonged to an outfit in Slovenia, people who didn’t mind making a hefty sum for a hasty run out New Jersey. The crew was up on the bridge with strict instructions not to get out until they cast off.

  For her part, Charlie was pacing back and forth. “I don’t like this.”

  “You never like anything,” Mick said.

  “We haven’t had news from Keith since this morning. I really don’t like this.”

  “Relax.”

  Ronnie looked up from his computer which displayed no new information. “What if Keith has been caught? What if the cops have him? If they do, he’ll talk and lead the police straight to us! Oh man, we’re fucked. We’re so fucked!”

  “I will repeat once more for the cheap seats: relax. If Keith has been caught, which I doubt, he won’t talk. That’s why I hired him. That’s why I hired each and every one of you. I’ve studied you guys and chose you because you’re trustworthy. Okay? Satisfied now?”

  “No,” Charlie and Ronnie replied at the same time.

  Mick chuckled but he was alone. Why couldn’t they find the humor in this? His plan was flawless. The ship was clean and so was their getaway. They would sail south and once they were within sight of Bermuda, Mick would take a zodiac to land. From there, he’d fly out on fake passports and disappear forever.

  He would be a billionaire, after all.

  Ronnie shook his head, his eyes lost in the distance. “I’m not made for prison, man.”

  Slowly, Mick went to him and crouched by his side.

  “Listen to me.”

  “What?”

  “You won’t go to prison, I promise you.” He looked at Charlie until she met his gaze. “Same for you. Do you believe me? I promise no one is going to prison.”

  “Okay, okay,” Ronnie said, mostly to convince himself. “Can we at least have this boat leave shore? I’d be much more comfortable if we weren’t docked.”

  “Yeah,” Charlie added. “Let’s leave now. If Keith isn’t here by now that means he’s not gonna show up. I say we take off.”

  “No, not now.”

  “Oh come on!”

  Mick straightened up to address them. “First of all, I want to be close enough to have Internet access. I want to know the minute the money lands in the account. And what if something goes wrong?”

  “But you said…”

  “Everything’s fine, Ronnie. Relax. I’m just preparing for contingencies. Hell, it’s been the plan all along, for years. But there’s also something else.”

  “Such as?”

  “Her,” the leader said, pointing at Penny. “You think I’m a monster? Before we leave she has to walk out of here. I’m not taking her to Bermuda with me. I mean, nobody is following us but if something happens and the cops know we have a child, I don’t want an AMBER Alert on my ass. So we get the money, she walks off the ship, and we all live happily ever after. Just as I promised.”

  Ronnie and Charlie nodded but they weren’t convinced. It wasn’t lost on Mick and he didn’t care.

  It was also part of the plan.

  Bailey was actually relieved she wasn’t shot at as she climbed up the gangway. She held her breath the entire way and was happy to still be alive as her feet touched the rusty deck.

  Her fingers were freezing – it had to be ten degrees colder here by the water – and she wondered if she’d be able to pull the trigger if she had to. She marched ahead toward the superstructure. At the very top was an area enclosed in windows. It had to be the bridge.

  Thankfully, there were clouds and not too much glare against the glass. She could tell there were people inside. She had no idea if these were the people she was looking for but it was a good place to start.

  She carefully reached a set of stairs and went up the superstructure. She bent her knees and frog marched all the way to the door leading to the bridge. This was possibly the stupidest thing she would ever do. She needed a rifle, flashbangs. She needed an entire team to do this right.

  But she was on her own and the clock was ticking.

  Without wasting another second, she opened the door and entered the bridge, Glock aimed forward.

  “Don’t move! I want to see hands in the air!”

  There were ten men inside. They were mostly leaning against the consoles or sitting on the floor, arms crossed.

  “No, don’t shoot! Please!”

  “We just crew!”

  Most men wore work clothes and old coveralls smeared with grease. They were telling the truth, this was the ship’s crew.

  “Don’t move,” Bailey repeated, making sure everybody had a chance to have her weapon pointed at him.

  She produced a stack of zip ties she’d brought from the car and she was glad she had enough. She tossed them to the man she thought was the captain and made him order his men to tie each other’s hands up behind their backs. They complied without arguing.

  “We are just sailors,” the captain said as he continued. “We just here for transport.”

  “How many are there?”

  “Three. I see three.”

  “Good,” Bailey said. “Now where are they?”

  Chapter 38

  The Ferrari slowed as it entered the port area. It was a disappointing sound, he thought. This sort of car was meant for speed, not for cruising. The engine seemed to complain as Lawson shifted into second gear.

  A part of him didn’t want to slow down. A few minutes ago, the broker had called him to verify that his assets had been liquidated. The money had been transferred to his account. The right thing to do was for him to wire the billion to the bad guys and his daughter would be released.

  Yet Lawson didn’t trust them.

  It was up to Bailey to do her part. Plus he glanced down at his ankle. The cavalry had to be on its way to arrest him. He just had to buy some time for Penny.

  He followed the instructions Bailey had given him and before long he saw her car parked by a building. He stopped next to it and got out. He found footprints in the snow and they were leading to the lonely ship up ahead. He jogged in this directi
on.

  This was stupid, he wasn’t trained for this and had no weapons. But his daughter was in there. For once in his life he had to take responsibility.

  For once there was something that truly mattered in his life. It’s what Kelsey would have wanted him to do.

  He reached the ship and climbed aboard.

  “Oh shit,” Ronnie said, his head getting closer to his computer monitor.

  “What is it?”

  “I’m getting something here. NYPD has been dispatched, there’s a lot of chatter. New Jersey troopers are being called too. US Marshals…”

  “Goddamn it, Ronnie. What are you talking about?”

  “Lawson’s ankle monitor. He left the house. He left Manhattan.”

  “Oh man,” Charlie moaned, her pacing becoming erratic. “Oh man! Where is he going? Is he coming here?!”

  Ronnie shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know, they’re not saying. But I’m not staying here.”

  He stood up, closed the lid of his computer, and stuffed it in his bag.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m not staying here, Mick, or whatever the hell your real name is. I can’t take all these chances, okay?”

  “Sit down.”

  “I’m not made for prison! Do you know what happens to somebody like me in jail? I can’t take this, okay? I’m not built to survive this lifestyle.”

  “I promised you that you wouldn’t go to jail, Ronnie. You just have to trust me.”

  “This is too risky, man!”

  “You’re willing to turn your back on hundreds of millions of dollars?”

  Ronnie put on his coat and slung his bag over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t make it a week inside! I’m sorry, I have to go.”

  As he zipped up and looked around to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything, Charlie picked up her parka which rested on a table.

  “Me too,” she said. “There’s too much heat. I’m bailing.”