Psycho ebook EPUB

by Ready, Set, Psycho (epub)

  Josef put his hand on Solomon’s shoulder and then picked up the check. “Solomon,” he said, “almost four million dollars?”

  “It’s everything.” Solomon said. “I don’t need it nearly so much as some of the folks you can get this to. I might not need it at all.”

  “What have you gotten yourself into?”

  “Something that will play out one way or another. And there’s no going back.”

  “I’ll pray for a miracle, Sol. And I will hold on to this until I know you don’t need it. Do you believe in miracles, Sol? Do you believe you’ll come out of this okay?”

  “Of course,” Solomon said. “I’ve seen a miracle, Josef. And if there’s another miracle, I won’t need that money.” He paused and smiled before adding, “And if there isn’t another miracle, I definitely won’t need that money.”

  Solomon sat in the Starbucks drinking from a bottle of water, staring at Justin across the table. Justin was smiling and wearing a t-shirt that looked like it was designed for a Norwegian black metal band and plain blue jeans. “I half expected the cops when I walked in here.”

  Solomon shrugged. “Nobody here but me.”

  Justin’s legs were trembling with excitement under the table. “I’m surprised you can just sit there. Don’t you want to hit me? Punch me? Kill me?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Justin lifted his shirt. “It still hurts,” he said, pointing to his chest. “Where you shot me? Still fucking hurts. Bruises on bruises. Never really healed.”

  “Good,” Solomon said. “I hope it never does.”

  Justin dropped his shirt and laughed. It drew the attention of a few other people in the café. “We should probably just get on with it.” Justin stood and motioned for Solomon to walk ahead of him.

  The two left the Starbucks and walked east. At the second alley they passed, Justin prodded Solomon, still walking arm’s-length in front of him, to go into the alley. There was a van there with the rear facing the street. “Open the door,” Justin said. Solomon did so, and as he did Justin injected him with propofol. A moment later Solomon was unconscious.

  Justin drove but did not need to go far. He arrived at a warehouse that had been split into industrial workspaces near the coffee shop. He parked the van underground near the large freight elevator. Justin got out of the car and looked around. Satisfied, he went into the back of the van and rolled Solomon into a Persian carpet and then dropped him casually onto the cement. He rolled a dolly out of the elevator and struggled but managed to lift Solomon onto the dolly, and then rolled it into the elevator.

  He took the elevator to the fifth floor. The space had large fifteen-foot ceilings, exposed beams, and the forty-by-forty space was empty except for a small room in the northwest corner constructed from MDF. The room had no door and was covered in layers of plastic.

  Justin unrolled the carpet in front of the room, and Solomon flopped out. Justin sat Solomon up and bound his wrists with handcuffs and quickties and then bound his feet in rope and quickties. Solomon was slumped over but erect, and though unconscious, the first thing he would see when he woke would be the room covered in plastic.

  Justin sat on the ground nearby and waited, smiling, watching his watch and checking the detective’s breathing and heart rate every so often.

  October 3, 2014

  Solomon woke slowly. His eyes were heavy. When he managed to keep them open, the sun was shining brightly onto him, and it took another few moments to adjust. As he adjusted and could finally open his eyes fully, his vision was blurry. He struggled against the bondage and then relaxed. He saw the room, and he shuffled on the carpet toward it.

  “Like a dog wiping its shitty ass on the carpet,” Justin said, laughing.

  Solomon stopped. He sat staring at the room. Justin was sitting off to his left and behind him. He could not see him.

  “That’s what you look like, Sol. It’s fucking hilarious,” Justin said, clicking a photo on his phone.

  “So this is your big plan?” Solomon said. He pushed his hands into tight fists, causing a short click that sounded like his knuckles cracking, and then relaxed.

  “Oh so angry, Sol, and I get it. You’ve really lost the game now.”

  “Can I still resign?”

  “No. No, you offered me your life for her life.”

  “Hyacinth.”

  “Oh, was that her name? Whatever. I don’t really care.”

  “You said you would let her go.”

  “I didn’t mean her,” Justin said.

  Solomon craned his head to look over his shoulder. He said nothing. When it became too uncomfortable, he turned back toward the room.

  “Look, it’s not all bad,” Justin said. “I was trying to think of how I should kill you. I really was hoping you would just kill yourself, and, you know, once I set a goal I don’t like to give up. So here is what I’m thinking. I’m going to force you to watch another one of your failures — you couldn’t even kill yourself right. So, you get to watch this bitch suffocate. And then you’ll kill yourself like you were supposed to. I’ll untie one arm and give you a knife. And then, then, I won’t kill the next person. I’ll skip one. Trust me. I’ll skip one. And then I’ll continue.”

  “How long does she have?” Solomon asked.

  Justin brought over his laptop and placed it between Solomon and the room. On the screen was Hyacinth, as well as heads-up display showing her vital signs. Everything was green and beeping consistently.

  “A few hours,” Justin said. “Won’t be too long. And you get to spend all that time with me! Plenty of time to contemplate your failures and decide how you’ll end it. I suggest seppuku. If I get a vote, I vote for that. But like I said, you’ve got plenty of time to think about it.”

  Solomon smiled and stared at the laptop. “Plenty of time.”

  “Yes,” Justin said, taking a step back. “What do you mean?”

  Solomon said nothing.

  “Plenty of time to think about how you’re going to kill yourself. Plenty of time to think about your failures. Plenty of time to think about how I won, you lost.”

  Solomon said nothing, but continued to smile.

  “It’s checkmate, Sol. It’s over and you know it.”

  Justin walked away from Solomon and over to another computer nearby. He sat listening to loud death metal and watching hardcore porn for a few minutes — and a few minutes was all it took for three people in SWAT uniforms to come smashing through the large windows of the loft. Another five breached the door simultaneously, tossing in flashbangs. Solomon had ducked for cover when he saw it happening. Justin did not notice and was rolling on the ground trying to cover his ears and eyes at the same time.

  One of the SWAT members cut Solomon loose with bolt cutters. Solomon touched his wrists where they were raw. Three others had put quickties on Justin’s wrists and were holding him upright on his knees.

  Justin was laughing.

  The room was empty. Hyacinth was not inside.

  Justin laughed as they pried the door open, more and more as they peeled away the layers of rubber and plastic to discover that there was nothing inside. “So wonderfully predictable, Sol. Really, you have outdone yourself. She’s not here, man. She’s not here.”

  Solomon kneeled in front of Justin to look him in the eyes. “It’s over. You’ve lost.”

  “She’s not here. You’re not dead. I’m not dead. You don’t win. You know, I knew this would happen. I did think it would happen at the shop. I thought it might happen on the road. I genuinely did not think we would get all the way here — but boy I’m glad we did. I’m glad, Sol. I’m glad I spent the fucking money to get a dozen of these places all around the city. You’ll never fucking find her. It’s the sort of plan you could never pull off, you cheap fuck.”

  “I’m not cheap,” Solomon replied. “I’m frug
al. Now admit you lost. It’s over.”

  “No. You haven’t done it yet. You brought some SWAT. Good for you. They have rules of engagement. They won’t kill me. And they won’t kill you. The girl dies. Unless you take one of their guns right now and fucking kill yourself.”

  “Has anyone ever told you the difference between being frugal and being cheap?” Solomon said, standing upright and towering over Justin. “A frugal person is willing to spend the money when there’s value. A cheap person wouldn’t. A cheap person would call the cops. A cheap person would bring the SWAT. But I am not a cheap person. I am frugal.” Solomon nodded at one of the SWAT team members. The man handed him a gun.

  “You know what it costs to embed a GPS panic button in your finger?” He stopped talking and waved his right index finger. He rolled his fingers into a fist and clicked the panic button several times, demonstrating an audible click that sounded like knuckles cracking. Justin gulped. “That wasn’t all that expensive. Maybe five grand. You know what it cost to set it up so that when I push this button, the signal goes to security specialists who then dispatch a helicopter and a band of rather awful but terribly well-controlled and well-paid men to my rescue?” Solomon put the gun on Justin’s temple. “Five million dollars or so. Worth every penny. Best money I’ve ever spent. Best value. I would have paid triple. Say it.”

  “Where’d you get the money for that? Spent your own? I knew you had money, Sol!”

  “No,” Solomon said. “I did the only thing better than spending my own money to kill you.”

  “My father,” Justin said instantly.

  “True, and worse than you can imagine. He paid me ten million to kill you. I would have done it for free. Say it.”

  Justin smiled. “The entire back wall is a false wall. She’s in a room behind it. The painting is with her.” Solomon nodded, and three of the men headed toward the back of the room. Using explosives, they blew out the wall, exposing another room behind. Solomon waited, his gun still on Justin’s temple.

  “She’s here. She’s fine,” one of the men called back. “She’s unconscious but alive.”

  “Pay the price,” Justin said. “Me or you.”

  “Say it,” Solomon said.

  “Checkmate,” Justin said.

  Solomon emptied the clip into Justin’s head, firing twice and letting the body fall over before continuing. He reloaded the gun and then emptied it again up and down his torso.

  “Did you need the whole two clips?” a mercenary asked.

  Solomon turned to him. “This guy is one of those assholes who just comes back to life if you only shoot him once or twice.” He took out his phone and snapped a few photos.

  “Fair ’nuff,” The mercenary said. “I’ve had my share of those. Need anything else?”

  “The girl needs an ambulance, and I could use a ride back to town?”

  “It’s your dime.”

  Solomon rode in the back of an armored Navigator twenty blocks uptown. He got out of the car with a tube carrying case and walked another three blocks to a parking tower, climbing the stairs to the third floor. In the northwest corner of the third floor, Vince was pacing in front of a midnight blue BMW X6. “You’re late,” Vince said.

  “My fucking caper,” Solomon said, “my fucking time.”

  Vince put up his hands, surprised. “Alright, old-timer. Alright. Take it easy. The guys have been calling, is all. Wondering if we are cancelled.”

  “Are you ready?” Solomon asked. He was checking the trunk for his duffle bag and then taking the painting out of the case he was using to carry it and putting it into his bag. When finished, he opened the passenger door.

  “Yes,” Vince said, getting into the driver’s seat.

  Vince started the car and peeled out of the parking spot.

  “Another stunt like that and I’ll kill you,” Solomon said. “Don’t draw fucking attention to us. This is not a fucking joke.”

  “Damn,” Vince said. “Alright. I get it. Nice and slow, Miss Daisy.”

  Solomon slapped Vince in the head. “I hate the sound of your voice.”

  Vince drove carefully. He stopped fully at stop signs and slowed when coming to yellow lights. He pulled into a lot a block away from the Lincoln tunnel. Reginald and Sham were waiting with their duffle bags. They got into the car.

  “Everything alright?” Sham asked.

  “Don’t ask,” Vince said.

  “I think we should know if something went wrong. This isn’t a good start,” Reginald said.

  “Everything is fine,” Solomon said. “I had a rough night. We started late. The guy isn’t home, and it doesn’t matter. We have all night.”

  “Oh, them you talk to, but me, I get slapped?” Vince said.

  Solomon slapped Vince again. Everyone laughed — even Vince.

  “Damn, son,” Sham said. “I knew I liked you, Sol. But now I fucking love you. Shit just got real. Let’s fucking do this!” He put his head out the window. “Let’s burgle something!”

  “That’s not a word,” Reginald said.

  The ride to Short Hills was loud. At Sham’s request, they listened to the entire first side of the Beach House album Bloom, which he called, “essential pre-heist listening.”

  Solomon repeated, “This music is terrible,” or any of a dozen variations of that every chance he could. But he smiled and looked out the window and gazed at the homes that became more and more beautiful as they got closer to their destination.

  As they passed the sign for Short Hills, Solomon turned around in his seat. “So where do we go in, Reginald?”

  “Entrance off his balcony on the second floor. Only entrance without an alarm, and a battery was never installed on the motion sensor.”

  “And your safe, Sham?”

  “The brown credenza in the study on the second floor. First door on the right after going down the stairs.”

  “Vince?”

  “I’m in the bedroom opening the safe behind the wall. It is a digital lock, and the code is 5-4-4-6-7-5-6.”

  Solomon turned forward again in his seat. “Okay. Good. It’s one thirty in the morning now. We are eight minutes out. We are going to be a little over ninety minutes behind schedule, so let’s be efficient. The vic isn’t home. We will turn the alarms off. We will go in and out of the second floor entrance. You have pictures in the bags of the stuff you are supposed to target. You can leave everything else behind. No, you must leave everything else behind.” Solomon took the bottle of pills from his pocket and downed one. The three other passengers looked away as he did.

  He put a hand on Vince’s shoulder. “I mean it, Vince. Take nothing else. Don’t be greedy. It gets people killed.”

  “I don’t know what kind of rep you think I have,” Vince said, “but I didn’t get here because I’m a fucking idiot. They didn’t bring me in to drive the car and get caught.”

  Solomon looked out the window and smiled. Other than the terrible music, the next eight minutes were silent.

  Vince pulled into the driveway of the target house. All four men stepped out simultaneously. It was quiet, but the street was well lit. Vince opened the trunk and each man grabbed his bag. Vince closed the trunk, and the four walked around the side of the house. At the gate to the backyard, Solomon pulled the blue cord that opened the latch on the other side. They walked through. Sham was last, closing the door behind them and latching the gate again.

  On their left a porch rose that rounded the corner of the house. They climbed the stairs and walked around the corner to the back. There was a ladder in the backyard and debris from workers who appeared to be replacing the eavestroughs. Sham and Reginald took the ladder and leaned it against the railing of a second-floor balcony. The four climbed up.

  At the top, Solomon went to the door and produced a key. He slipped it into the deadbolt and turned. He en
gaged the handle, and the door opened. He pointed at Sham, who went in first, found the stairs on his left, and went down. Reginald followed. Vince went to walk in, and Solomon put a hand on his chest. “I know you can do this, Vince. You’re the lynchpin of this heist. Without you, it just couldn’t happen. Without you, we’d all get caught.” Solomon smiled.

  Vince smiled back and lowered his head. “I got this. And thanks. For what it’s worth, I’ve really enjoyed working with you on this.”

  Solomon allowed Vince to go in. Vince went in and then right and into the bedroom. Solomon went in and then down one flight of stairs to the main floor. He went to the front door, and at the touchpad next to the door he shut down the alarm. He turned around and found the stairs to the basement, descending. He was alone. He sat in front of the red chest and sighed. He took a key from his pocket and slipped it into the lock. The lock gave, and he opened the top of the chest. This revealed a long, hard metal safe shaped to fit in the chest. There was a digital keypad with a red LED. Solomon started typing the code, heard a thud, and a scream, and Vince yelling, “Fuck!” Solomon did not stop typing. He hit “enter” and the red LED went green. He opened the safe and saw a painting lying flat. He opened his duffle bag. Inside was the round, long cylinder that he had custom made with Kevin. He unzipped the cylinder. Inside was the painting he had taken from Justin’s apartment when he rescued Hyacinth. He rolled up the painting from the chest and slid it into the cylinder.

  By now, Sham and Reginald were heading upstairs. Vince met them on the stairs and was telling them that the homeowner was home as Solomon emerged from the basement.

  “What did you do?” Solomon asked, half-whispering.

  “He’s fucking here, Sol. Fucking here. This is all fucked up. He was in the bathroom and came out right into the room, and there I am,” Vince said.

  “And what did you do?” Solomon asked.

  “I fucking tackled him and tied him up. He’s on a chair in his room.”