“We, uh, we going somewhere far from here?” Grant questioned, trying to sound casual.
“Nah. We take you to Angelo first, then we make the drop. It’s all close by.” As soon as he finished speaking, his portly face reddened. He seemed to realize he’d said too much.
Trying to capitalize on his alone time with the less ruthless, more dimwitted bodyguard, Grant continued, “What’s it like working for my family?”
This seemed like safer territory to Mario. “Eh, it’s a job. Working for Angelo’s not too bad.”
“But Angelo’s dying of lung cancer.”
“Yeah,” Mario confirmed, looking genuinely sad. “He told us we’re getting a new boss soon, though. I wonder who he’ll bring in.”
So they didn’t know about his father’s plan. The bodyguards were in for quite a surprise once Enzo took the reins.
“Gotta be better than Carlo,” Mario added.
“You didn’t like Carlo?”
Mario looked embarrassed. “Well, God rest his soul, he, ah—”
“I told you not to talk to Madsen!” Tank yelled, returning quickly and pointing an accusatory finger in Grant’s direction, glaring at his partner. “He’s the one who killed Carlo in the first place!”
Grant locked eyes with Tank. “I didn’t want to do it, I swear. He forced my hand—he…he shot Sophie.”
“That’s right, and she’ll get shot again if you don’t cooperate.”
“I know that,” Grant sullenly replied. “I won’t do anything to jeopardize her safety. You don’t have to keep me tied up. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Yeah, right,” Tank scoffed. “You’re staying put, Madsen.”
Mario bit his lip. “How did, um, how did Carlo die? I mean, did he take it like a man?”
Tank started to reprimand his partner again but stopped short. He wanted to hear Grant’s response as well.
With a far-off gaze, Grant answered, “I suppose so. His last words were that Logan…that Logan died trying to protect me.” Grant’s eyes pierced into the bodyguards. “Was Carlo telling the truth? Did Logan die trying to protect me?”
Mario’s jowls quivered like a cornered hamster, but Tank maintained his composure, saying nothing.
Grant continued prodding. “How did Logan die? Did he take it like a man?”
Tank exploded, “How the fuck should we know? We weren’t there when Logan died!”
“Yes, you were.” Playing this exchange carefully, Grant lied. “Carlo confessed it as he was dying. He told me you held Logan down while he killed him.”
Mario turned white. “B-B-But we didn’t know Carlo was going to stab him!”
Tank swallowed hard, and it was the first time Grant had seen him look shaken. “Does Enzo know about this?”
“Do you think you’d still be alive if Enzo knew?”
“Good point,” Tank conceded. “You—you planning on telling him?”
Ben’s devastated eyes flashed in Grant’s mind. Pushing that memory aside for now, he answered grimly, “Logan already got his justice when Carlo died. I know Carlo forced you two to be there—you were only doing your jobs. You had no idea what Carlo was going to do.”
Mario’s big head bobbed up and down enthusiastically. “Exactly! Logan was a cool guy. I’d never try to kill him.”
Sadly, Grant said, “Logan got what was coming to him.”
He stole a glance at Tank, who still appeared unconvinced that the son of Enzo Barberi would let the past slide. Grant added, “Besides, I hate my father, so I’m not going to tell him anything. I never want to see him again.”
“You’d better not speak that way about him,” Tank warned.
“What’s he going to do?” Grant challenged bitterly. “He’s already taken everything from me.”
“Not everything,” Tank amended, towering over his seated detainee. “You still got your girlfriend, if you play this right.”
Kneeling down by Grant, Tank whipped out a knife out of his boot, slowly unsheathing it. Grant studied the dull gleam of daylight reflected on the blade. Was Tank going to murder him now, just like he’d killed his brother? Was the FBI right outside, listening in? Could they save him in time if he was stabbed?
Hesitating, Tank glared at Grant, whose shoulders stiffened.
The bodyguard clutched the knife with one hand and ran the other through his short brown hair, considering what to do. “If I cut you free, you gonna do what we tell you?”
Grant exhaled. “You have Sophie. I’m not going to do anything stupid as long as she’s in danger.”
Evidently satisfied with his response, Tank quickly sliced his blade through the plastic tie.
Reveling in his freedom, Grant immediately began stretching his sore shoulders. He tentatively asked, “Is it okay if I use the head?”
Tank looked pensive as he replaced the knife. “Fine. Meat, go with him.”
Mario waited for Grant to rise to standing and followed him to the bathroom. It felt good to use his legs, and Grant set a swift pace until something on the floor brought him to a halt. There on the concrete was a rust-colored stain, splotchy and smeared. Grant stared at the bloodstain in horror.
When Mario noticed where Grant’s gaze had landed, he drew in a sharp breath. “You don’t wanna see that. C’mon.” He latched on to Grant’s arms and shoved him forward.
“Logan was here,” Grant mumbled, feeling a sickening dread sweep over him—a chilling sensation that made him want to vomit.
Mario said nothing as he pushed him, which confirmed Grant’s suspicions. His mind whirling, he barely remembered making it to the bathroom and shutting the door, but now found himself enclosed in the small, dark space. Feeling his chest spasm with hyperventilated breaths, Grant fought for control, gripping the counter of a grimy sink.
“We’ve got their confessions,” he whispered urgently, hoping his shaky voice could be deciphered by the ears listening to the recording device. “If anything happens to me, bring Tank and Mario to justice. Make them pay for killing my brother.” He closed his eyes, feeling his nose burn as he fought back tears. “And I hope you’ve found Sophie by now.” Swallowing hard, he begged, “You have to find her.”
***
“You must be getting bored,” Sophie called out into the darkness. “How long have we been here?”
Nasal Voice grunted and was quiet a few moments before offering, “Only a day or so.”
A whole day? Her father must be insane with worry by now, and she knew Grant would be even more panicked—if he was still alive. Concentrate, she told herself. How can I win this guy over?
“Thank you for making sure I’m safe here.”
There was silence. Eventually he asked, “Do you need some more water?”
“No, thank you.”
“You sure? I can just run upstairs and get some.”
Upstairs? Are we in some sort of basement?
“No, I’m fine. You’re very kind to ask though.”
“You’re sure pretty,” he offered. “No wonder Logan gave you all that money.”
She licked her dry lips, trying to comprehend his comment. “He didn’t give me the money. Logan stashed it in my office, and I’m sure he intended to retrieve it when he needed it. But then I found it, and I kind of freaked out. Then the police got involved.”
He sounded wounded. “You gave the cops our money?”
“They took it,” she corrected. “Right after they arrested me.”
“You got popped?”
“Yes. I spent a year in prison, and I’m still on parole.” Forcing a smile, she added, “So please let me go by next Wednesday ’cause I have to meet with my PO that day.”
The man chuckled. “You’ll be outta here for sure by then, sweetie.”
“That’s a relief.”
“Why’d you get popped? Just for having our cash?”
Sophie gave a rueful smile. “Logan hid guns in my office too.”
The man whistled between his teeth. “Carlo never told m
e that.”
“I’m sure he didn’t.” She couldn’t stop the anger seeping into her voice.
“You mad at Carlo? What’d he ever do to you?”
“He shot me!”
There was a stunned silence. Slowly he said, “I didn’t know that either. They never tell the bodyguards nothing.”
“Carlo shot me, and then Grant wrestled the gun away from him.”
“Huh. And this whole time I was thinking that was a pure revenge kill—you know, Grant getting back at Carlo for offing his brother. But he did it to save you?”
“Yes.”
She heard a faint chuckle. “No wonder Carlo used to call him Saint Grant.”
The ring of a cell phone filled the air, and Sophie listened intently to one side of the conversation. “Yeah… Shit, now?… But… I thought you said it was soundproof… Yes, boss, right away.”
Sophie heard a resigned sigh followed by the sound of his heavy footsteps approaching her. The hairs on the back of her neck bristled, and her heart rate soared. Was he going to kill her now?
“You look thirsty,” he said ominously.
“No, please—” She struggled, feeling the rim of the glass forced to her lips again.
“Drink this!” he barked, spilling some of the liquid down her chin as she resisted.
Most of the drink went into her mouth, though. It was a sickeningly sweet orange juice, gagging her as it slid down her throat. The bitter aftertaste made her feel nauseated and light-headed, and she struggled to keep her head upright, feeling the walls close in on her, darkness fading to black.
He watched her body slump forward on the chair and couldn’t resist placing his large hand on the crown of her head, petting her mussed blond hair fondly.
“Sorry ’bout that,” he whispered. “But we got unexpected company raiding the compound, and nobody can know you’re down here.” He sighed. “You sure are pretty.”
***
It was a good thing they weren’t playing for money or Grant would’ve owed them a fortune by now. Not only did he lack experience playing poker, but his mind was far too preoccupied to focus on cards. A game of life-or-death was about to play out.
Tank shifted his body on the crate, wincing as he put pressure on his knee.
“Sorry about your knee,” Grant offered.
Glaring at him, Tank replied, “Your brother kicked me in the same fucking knee as you did, asshole.”
Mario smirked, and they resumed playing. Tank’s phone rang, and he reached into his pocket. He answered, but listened to the caller for a moment before speaking.
“What put us behind schedule?” Tank frowned. “No shit… They gone now?” His response showed his agitation. “We can’t go there! Are you fucking kidding me?… Of course I know about Ange… But surely Enzo didn’t know this would happen… Fuck… Make sure you get me a good driver is all I have to say.” He closed the phone.
Glancing at Mario and then glaring at Grant, Tank announced, “It’s time.”
25. Confiscate
An edge of desperation permeated the Gold Coast residence.
“Every room—the police searched every room, Jerry?” Will asked.
“Yes!” he snapped, collapsing into one of the luxuriant chairs surrounding Will Taylor’s dining room table.
Marilyn let out a guilty sigh. If she hadn’t suggested they turn off the audio in the first place, they’d never have allowed the Barberi family to kidnap Grant and Sophie right out from under their noses.
In a gentler tone, Jerry continued, “I’ve already told you, Mr. Taylor. The officers investigated every inch of that compound. They’re not going to hold Sophie in such an obvious place anyway.”
Standing beside the table, Will gripped the back of another chair and clenched his jaw. The ebullient hope he’d experienced prior to the raid had been replaced by a sick dread since discovering his daughter was missing.
FBI Agent Bounter watched the father’s pained expression, and then he looked across the table at Jerry, who appeared equally frustrated. He then resumed listening to the happenings at the warehouse as transmitted through the device Grant was wearing.
The state police detective, John Vidri, was on his cell phone in the kitchen.
“And they bought your cover story for searching there?” Joe asked from the corner of the room where he leaned against the hutch.
Jerry looked up. “Yeah. The detective explained that Sophie wasn’t there for my home visit, forcing me to put out an APB on her, and told them a cop thought he saw someone matching her description on the grounds of the Barberi house.”
“I hope they swallowed it,” Joe replied. “Did Angelo seem like he knew anything about Grant being wired?”
Jerry grimaced. “John didn’t think so, but Angelo Barberi wasn’t exactly up to saying much. He was in bed the whole time they were there, sounding like each breath he took could be his last. Apparently he doesn’t look so good.”
Joe shot a glance at Ben, who appeared to be the only one in the room slightly saddened by the news of the don’s impending demise. Joe had wanted to keep eyes on Ben at all times while this situation was sorted out, but he was beginning to question the wisdom of having the boy in such immediate proximity to the action. Ben had been horrified to hear Grant and Sophie were kidnapped, and he seemed close to tears upon learning the raid of the Barberi compound had failed to locate Sophie.
But thanks to the transmitter, at least they knew Grant was still alive.
“Can they search there again?” Will begged. “Maybe she’s hidden somewhere in the compound. It’s a big place, right?”
Marilyn bit her lip. “I doubt they could get another warrant. No judge wants to take on the Barberi family twice.”
Suddenly Ben bolted upright out of his chair. “The CC!”
The five adults stared at the teenager, and Joe asked, “The CC?”
“Carlo’s Crypt,” Ben responded quickly. “It’s a secret room in the basement Carlo showed me—he said that’s where they interrogated drug dealers who were trying to skim off the top.” He turned to Marilyn and Jerry. “Did they search there?”
Marilyn’s cheeks flushed with excitement. “I don’t think they found anything like that, Jer?”
Shaking his head, Jerry also appeared keyed up.
“Can they get back in there, Mar?”
Her green eyes took on a fierce glint. “They have to try. Ben, let’s get the detective so you can tell him everything you know about this room.”
“They’re on the move!” Lucas cut in, lunging for the audio console to turn on the speakers. John rushed in from the other room.
Everyone froze, listening intently to Grant’s unsteady voice. “You don’t have to put me in the trunk. I told you I won’t try to escape.”
“Get your ass in there now, Madsen,” Tank’s voice, slightly fainter in volume, transmitted.
“It’s unnecessary,” Grant countered.
They heard a gasp, and Lucas tightened his lips. “The bodyguard probably just pulled a gun on him,” he said.
There was a rustling sound on the audio, followed by panting breaths. Tank supplied a grim warning: “You try anything cute, we hurt Sophie.”
The rapid breathing continued.
“Have a nice ride!” Tank’s and Mario’s chuckles were cut off by the harsh slam of the trunk.
Now on a cell phone, Lucas instructed his men at the warehouse stakeout to keep a healthy distance when tailing the Mafia car. John also resumed his phone conversation.
With each of Grant’s panicked breaths coming over the airwaves, Joe’s expression became icier and more incensed. He wanted to rip Enzo’s fucking heart out for involving Grant in his little games—as if he hadn’t hurt his sons enough when he’d lived outside the prison walls.
Finally Grant’s breathing began to slow, though his voice trembled as he whispered into the microphone. “They’re—they’re taking me somewhere. I think we’re getting the briefcase from Angelo fir
st.”
There were a few moments of silence before Grant resumed. “I don’t know why they put me in the trunk… Maybe they don’t want me to see where they’re keeping Angelo.”
It sounded like he was forcing himself to calm down, gulping big breaths. “The only thing that’s keeping me going is the hope Sophie is safe. I know you’ve found her by now.”
Grant’s faithful plea sliced into all of them. Will swiftly left the room, and Joe worriedly watched him go. After a beat, he followed him to the kitchen.
Marilyn exchanged a culpable glance with Jerry before resting her eyes on the sixteen year old biting his nails next to her. “We’re going to find her,” she promised.
***
Attempting to focus on the hum of the tires and ambient city noise—horns honking, rap songs blaring, pedestrians shouting—Grant compelled himself to relax in the darkened interior of the trunk. With only the hellish red glow of the brake lights as company, he considered the irony of his abduction providing him with plentiful practice using the grounding skills Dr. Hayes had taught him.
The night was turning cold, and he could not stop shivering. As the city sounds faded, Grant wondered if they’d reached the sedate mansions of the Gold Coast. He could faintly make out the bodyguards’ conversation from the backseat.
“This is horseshit,” Tank railed. “We gotta go to the compound when we’re certain the cops got their eagle eye on it? They’re gonna tail us for sure.”
“It’s what Enzo wants,” Mario suggested. “We gotta go to Ange, and Ange is too sick to relocate.”
“It’s still horseshit,” Tank muttered.
“Ah, Salvatore will lose ’em for sure. Won’tcha, Tory?”
Grant couldn’t hear the driver’s answer, but it made both bodyguards laugh.
“Look alive, gentlemen,” Tank warned as the car slowed and made a turn.
“I don’t see them,” Mario whined.
“There—that grey sedan at ten o’clock. Fucking unmarked. Fucking cops.”
After Tank’s identification of the stakeout vehicle, all was quiet. Then the car pulled to a stop. Grant heard the squeal of a garage door closing and suddenly he was blinded by light. Blinking furiously, he squinted up at the behemoth figure of Mario, who reached in and pulled him out by the plastic tie on his wrists, cutting him even deeper.
Bad Behavior [Confuct Series #2] Page 31
