When Doubt Creeps In: A Harry Bronson Suspense Thriller

by L C Hayden

  “I’m so sorry,” the man said. “I let my curiosity get the best of me. I’ll never do this again. Please. I need the job. Please.” He lowered his head.

  “Relax. I have no plans to turn you in.”

  The man looked up and searched Bronson’s face as though searching for assurance. “You won’t?”

  Bronson placed his index finger over his lips. “I won’t. Just tell me, what were you doing?”

  The servant looked down again. “I know. We have our own refrigerator with our own food. I have no business going through yours. I am so sorry.”

  Bronson focused on the food thief while his peripheral vision searched the area. “It doesn’t bother me if you take some of the stuff to the servants’ quarters.”

  “Oh no! It’s nothing like that. I don’t even live here. I have my own apartment. I was just here to … to …”

  Steal some food. Didn’t Andrew feed them properly?

  Paco lowered his head. “It’s for my little girl.”

  Bronson’s throat constricted, and he cleared it. “Are you saying you don’t have enough food for her over there?”

  The man’s eyes widened. “That’s not it at all. We have plenty of food, but we don’t have fancy food like you do here.” He paused and smiled. “She’s turning ten and she’s never eaten any of those things we serve you. I thought this once …” He swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave now.”

  Bronson’s sight zoomed in on the knife rack hanging on the wall. “No, wait. I don’t even know your name.”

  The stranger gasped. “No one has ever asked that before. We are invisible. We serve and clean. We are the faceless people.”

  “Not to me,” Bronson said. “What’s your name?”

  “My friends call me Paco.” He stepped forward and although he was a good six inches shorter than Bronson, he locked his sight on Bronson’s eyes. “I’ve never seen you before. I know you must be one of the Beauregards, as you are a guest in this house. But you’re kind. You’re different from them. Who exactly are you?”

  Bronson chose his knife. One small enough to hide in his pocket, but large enough to do some damage. “My name is Alex Bentley. I’m the bad seed in the family. I don’t normally see eye-to-eye with the rest of the family.”

  “Which is good news for me, but it must not be for you.” Paco stepped away from Bronson. “Thank you for your silence. I’ll leave now.”

  “Paco, wait.”

  He stopped and turned.

  “Have you bought your little girl a gift?”

  Paco pointed with his head. “The food. It was going to be her gift.”

  Bronson pulled out a twenty from his wallet. “Get her something special. You only turn ten once.”

  Paco’s face lit up.

  “And choose what you want from the refrigerator. I’ll help you carry the food to your car.”

  Paco’s lower lip dropped and his eyes glistened with tears. “Alicia—that’s my little girl. She’ll be so happy. How can I ever repay you?”

  “Just be quick about it. We don’t want any of the Beauregards to come stormin’ in and spoilin’ our plans.”

  “That’s not likely to happen. They wouldn’t be caught dead in the kitchen.”

  “I know that,” Bronson said. “But we still should hurry.”

  Paco nodded and opened the refrigerator door. He took out enough for a small banquet. Bronson and Paco packed the containers in two boxes. Bronson carried one and Paco the other. As soon as he’d helped Paco, he planned to return to the kitchen for that knife.

  “This way,” Paco said and led him down a labyrinth of hallways, deep into the outer part of the house.

  “I really want to repay your kindness,” Paco said. “What can I do?”

  That’s when an idea started forming in Bronson’s thoughts.

  63

  The jingling of the cell woke Andrew up. He fumbled for the phone. When he saw the caller ID, he rubbed his eyelids and tried to focus. “Yes? Hi! Uh …?”

  “Were you asleep?” Came the voice from the other end of the line. “My God, Andrew, it’s almost ten. Do you plan to sleep the day away?”

  “Uh, no.” Andrew’s mind was still foggy and he shook his head, hoping to clear the webs away. Last night, after leaving Bronson, he had stopped at the bar and picked up a bottle of rum. Bad move. He should have headed straight to bed. “I had a late night, that’s all.”

  “Oh? Linda and you—”

  Andrew smiled. That would have been nice. “No, nothing like that. Business kept me up. But I’m awake now.”

  A small pause came from the other end. “Business? As with Bentley?”

  Good! He sounded pleased. “Yeah. We sat outside and talked.”

  “Is that so? You’re one step ahead. One of these days, you’re in for a big promotion.”

  Ah, sweet music to the ears. Andrew’s smile widened. “I told him that today he’s going to make that call.”

  “Excellent! What did he say?”

  Andrew attempted to recall Bentley’s words. He closed his eyes but nothing came. It didn’t matter. He’d tell his leader what he wanted to hear. “He said that would be no problem. He’s as ready as we are.”

  “You do plan to listen in on the conversation?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good. You’ll have all of the details then, and that’s exactly what we’ll need.”

  Andrew sat up in bed. “What do you mean? Why should we be focusing on the details?” Was there something he wasn’t catching onto? “Won’t Bentley be taking care of them?”

  “Think about it. Why complicate matters by having a third party? He sets the deal up and we move in.”

  Andrew swung his legs over the bed and slipped his slippers on. “I’m not following you.”

  “Really?” He stressed the word so it sounded like rreallly. “Do I have to spell everything out for you?”

  Andrew rubbed his forehead, wishing the hangover away so he could think clearly. Then it dawned on him exactly what they were talking about. “You’re considering killing Bentley.”

  “Do you have a problem with that?”

  “He’s a pleasant man, very easy to talk to. He listens to what I have to say.” As soon as Andrew said that, he regretted it. In his kind of business being pleasant had nothing to do with the end result. He had to say something else fast before he’d be considered a weak link in the chain. “But I can see how his death will benefit us. That’s the important part. No middle man means more money for us and less chance of things going wrong.”

  “Now you’re talking.”

  He had gotten it right. Andrew beamed with happiness. “What are the plans?”

  “Is Bentley still at your house?”

  “He comes and goes as he pleases but only within the house. He knows he’s not allowed to step outside.”

  “Which bedroom is his?”

  “Third floor. The master guest bedroom.”

  “Good. As always, you do nothing. Call it an early night and make sure all of your servants are gone. My two men know their way in. By late tomorrow night, Bentley will be dead.”

  64

  Andrew and Bronson sat in the sunroom located on the left-hand side of the Beauregard mansion. They had been tweaking the plans each had made for the delivery of the goods. Andrew drank the last of his homemade lemonade, set the glass down, and looked at Bronson. “Do you have any questions before we finalize the deal?”

  “Just one.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I want to make sure your boss agrees to our plans. That’s why I want him there tomorrow. I want to hear him say it before I leave.”

  “That’s a reasonable request.”

  A few seconds passed before Bronson asked, “Are you and Thomas as close as everyone says?”

  A faraway look came over Andrew’s eyes. “Yes, of course. You saw us at the restaurant.”

  What Bronson had seen was an unspoken edge between them that united
and separated them. “And the truth?”

  Andrew’s eyebrows rose in an arch as though a giant tree had been shattered. “What—what do you mean? We were always close.”

  “Were?”

  Andrew opened his mouth to speak. Then closed it. His eyes wandered around the room. “Was that a Freudian slip?”

  “You tell me.”

  Sorrow washed out Andrew’s face, blurring his features. “We used to be very close when we were kids.”

  “What happened?”

  “His dad—the senator—was always hard on him and kept comparing him to me. Eventually, Thomas got fed up and blamed me. He said I was more of a son to his dad than he was.” Andrew’s cheeks turned red and he looked away. “I didn’t help matters either.”

  “How’s that?”

  “My father and I were never close. Sure, he provided for me, but he was never there. I heard from him two times a year, at Christmas and on my birthday. So if Thomas’ dad wanted me to be his son too, I encouraged him.” Andrew squirmed in his chair. “But enough about me. In spite of our troubles, Thomas and I are still friends.” He looked at his watch. “We’ve been sitting here for almost an hour. Are you ready to make that call?” He offered Bronson the cell.

  Without hesitating, Bronson accepted the phone and turned it on.

  “Remember to put it on speaker. We don’t want to be in for any surprises.”

  “I have no problem with that.” Bronson punched in the corresponding numbers. He knew he would have to make the call today, and in the middle of the night, he had come up with an idea. He hoped it’d work and if it didn’t, he had the knife in his pocket. Just in case.

  Even before the person at the other end of the line answered, Bronson blurted out, “Hey, Manuel. It’s me, Alex Bentley. You’re on speaker, so the connection might not be all that good. Can you hear me?”

  At the other end, Special Agent Pablo Escobar picked up on the code. “Hey, boss. I was getting worried. I thought maybe you had run into trouble.”

  “Not unless you call being kept prisoner in a millionaire’s house trouble.”

  “Doesn’t sound too bad. Or is it?”

  Bronson looked at Andrew and smiled as his hand swept the area around him. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  Andrew nodded.

  Pablo continued, “How long are you going to be held there?”

  “Only long enough to finalize the arrangements.”

  “Which are?”

  “Before I answer that,” Bronson said. “Is everything set at your end?”

  “My men are sitting around waiting for the command.”

  “Tell them that tomorrow at nine A.M. Central Time, we—that’s me and all of those involved with this deal—will be at the Beauregard’s private airstrip. There, I’ll board a gray twin-engine Beechcraft plane. It’s a sweet little thing with the Texas star painted on the tips of the wings and two more on each side toward the back of the plane. The wings also have a blue and white stripe pattern. It should be easy to spot.”

  “We’ll be looking at the sky for that twin-engine Beechcraft plane. Tell the pilot to head for Bogota. To the south side, he will spot Parque Nacional Natural Chingaza. That’s where we’ll be. You know the place.”

  Bronson searched his brain. Was that some form of a code? “I do.”

  “Then you can guide him, and when you get close enough to make contact, have him call us, and I’ll give him specific directions.” The FBI agent temporarily paused. “You will be safe in the plane, right?”

  “I hope so,” Bronson said and cast his eyes on Andrew.

  He looked away.

  65

  Andrew locked himself in the main library, one of the few soundproof rooms in the mansion. Even as he closed the door, he speed-dialed Morris’ private number. He used the business number, the one that gave him direct access.

  “How did the call go?” Morris wasted no time with friendly chit-chat, not that Andrew had expected any.

  “That’s what I’m calling about.” Andrew’s stomach turned. Anything that called for a change of plans was bad news, but he had no choice. “You can’t kill Alex, or at least not yet.”

  “Arrangements have already been made. Why must I change plans?”

  Andrew knew he would be drilled about the details of the call. He had carefully listened and memorized the key points. “Bentley’s contact is a man named Manuel. He specifically said that Bentley had to be on that plane to point out where the pilot had to land. Without Alex there, how’s the pilot going to know where to land?”

  “What else did he say?”

  “He said that they were to head to Bogota, and at its south side, the pilot will spot Parque Nacional Natural Chingaza. That’s where they would be. Then that’s when he said that Alex had to be there to guide the pilot as to which way to head.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Manuel said that when they get close enough, contact him and he would give them specific directions.”

  “I’ll call you back.” Morris disconnected.

  * * *

  Andrew sunk rather than sat on the recliner facing the backyard. Books surrounded him, but what good were they if they couldn’t give him the answer he sought? He shifted into a full reclining position. Might as well be comfortable.

  The seconds dragged like thick molasses running uphill. Still, he waited for the call. He closed his eyes.

  The cell vibrating in his hand startled Andrew awake. “I’m listening.”

  “Relax, will you? We got it covered. The pilot is familiar with the area. He said there are only two places he could land, and they’re not that far apart from each other. When he’s close enough, he’ll make contact and get specific directions.”

  “What if Manuel demands to speak to Alex?”

  “He will tell him that Alex is asleep in the back of the plane and there’s no way he can be reached.”

  Andrew nodded even though he knew Morris couldn’t see him.

  Morris’ demanding tone spoke loud and clear. “That takes us back to our original plan. Empty the house out and call it an early night.”

  “I will.” Andrew rubbed the bridge of his nose. There was nothing he could do. Alex had only a few hours left to live.

  66

  Dinner that night was a quiet affair, filled with long, awkward conversational pauses. The silence was magnified by the gentle sounds of silverware, crystal, and china. Bronson sat across from Andrew at the long dining table. As he slurped his soup, he locked his gaze on Andrew.

  Andrew looked everywhere but at him.

  Maybe Andrew felt embarrassed at having revealed so much about himself. If so, that would explain the lack of eye contact. “Good soup.” Bronson took another spoonful.

  A long pause followed, then, “Yes, it is.”

  “You’re lucky, having great cooks. Each night is a feast.”

  Andrew nodded but didn’t look up.

  What was bothering Andrew? Bronson wished he knew. His alert button turned on.

  Both focused on the rest of the meal.

  At long last, the meal was over and Bronson felt relief. He set his napkin beside his empty plate. “As always, thank you for dinner. It was very good.” He faked a yawn. “I’m tired and tomorrow will be a long day. I’m goin’ to head to my room and have a good night’s rest.”

  Andrew looked at his watch. “It’s only seven. You’re calling it quits this early?”

  “I may stop at the library and read for maybe half-an-hour, and then I’m off to my room. Is that all right?”

  Andrew nodded. “Of course, it is. In fact, that’s not a bad idea.” He signaled for the head waiter.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Mr. Bentley wants to have a good night’s rest. I want you to gather all the servants and have them out of here by nine. Is that clear?”

  “That’s not necessary,” Bronson said.

  Andrew ignored Bronson and zoomed in on the head waiter. “Is that clear?”<
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  “Yes, sir.” He turned and headed toward the kitchen.

  Bronson stood. “I’ve changed my mind. I need to pack, so I’ll head to my room instead. Then I’ll read and get some shut-eye.”

  “I’ll do the same—except for the packing part.”

  Bronson smiled. “Goodnight, then.” He headed out of the room.

  “Alex.”

  Bronson stopped and turned.

  “I just want you to know that it’s been a pleasure working with you. I wish … I wish things didn’t have …” He cleared his throat. “I wish we had gotten to know each other a bit better.”

  “Next time,” Bronson said.

  “Next time.” Andrew spoke so softly that Bronson hardly heard him.

  That had been the warning signal. There would be no next time. He wondered why.

  * * *

  Might as well pack, Bronson thought. He gathered his few personal items and stuffed them in the suitcase. He placed the open valise on the floor by the door.

  He set the alarm clock for two forty-five AM and forced himself to fall asleep. He would need all of his strength for the events he knew would soon unfold.

  Right before he turned off the light, he placed the knife under the pillow next to his. It’d be easy to reach just in case he needed it.

  67

  Gerry stood six-foot-five and was all muscle and no fat. For that reason, he preferred trucks. They were big and strong, like him.

  He drove his Ford truck to the back of the Beauregard mansion and parked in front of the door normally reserved for deliveries.

  “We’re already here, and you haven’t said a word.” Jack, who often teamed up with Gerry to do odd jobs, said. He was a bit taller than six-feet and like his partner, pure muscle. “What gives?”

  “I’ve been considering various ways to eliminate Bentley.”

  Jack wiped the sweat from his forehead and took out his subcompact semi-auto .380 ACP. “This would be the easiest and fastest.”