by M. L. Harris
Boone and Caleb look at each other, then at me. “It’s your call, Maggie,” Boone says.
“I’m not letting him walk.”
“Sure?”
“Dude. We’ve chased this animal all over the city. Now we got him. To hell with it. I’m goin’ in.”
“Not without me you aren’t,” Boone shoots back, and then turns to Caleb. “You’ve done enough. Go to the Vietnamese joint down the block and hang till one of the boys picks you up.”
“Right. Hey, be careful, and smart,” Caleb says, turning and walking off.
Boone and I move quickly inside the building, taking the stairs two at a time. On the fourth floor I grab his arm.
“Remember, we take him alive.”
Yeah right, Wildman is probably thinking. There’s no doubt he’d shoot a violent psychopath before taking a bullet himself.
I wait as Boone applies his skills learned during a summer job as a locksmith’s apprentice. It takes him two minutes to pick the door lock, the deadbolt another three while I bite a fingernail down to the quick.
Finally he turns and says, “We’re a go.”
Our guns out, I press my body tightly against Boone.
He grabs the doorknob, whispering, “Three… two… one…”
The door swings wide, and Boone quickly closes the distance between himself and Ivan. He points his gun at Ivan’s head.
“You move, you die.”
Reacting to instinct, Ivan raises a large knife in the air.
From behind, I twist his wrist, freeing the weapon.
Searching the sofa, I find a gun between two seat cushions.
Suddenly, the girl bolts from the bathroom, all drugged up and waving a gun. I grab her hand, twisting until the gun drops to the floor. She claws wildly at my face. I slam the butt of my gun into her neck and she collapses.
I turn, staring at Ivan.
Ragged and tattooed, he stares back, his eyes empty, cold.
“You’re one tough ass creep to nail down,” I tell him.
He makes no reply.
Boone is anxious to get the hell out of here. He quickly searches the place, slipping Ivan’s cell phone into his pocket.
I search Ivan, finding condoms and a small bag of white powder.
Then, I turn to Boone and say, “Let’s go.”
Shoving the barrel of his gun in Ivan’s ribs, he muscles him down the stairs and into the street. I’ve gone ahead, and moments later the taxi rolls up.
I am in the passenger seat, Boone forcing Ivan into the back and sliding in beside him. The driver takes off.
A few minutes later, Ivan finally says, “Whatta ya want from me?”
I look through the windshield, not looking back at him.
“Information. We have a lot to talk about.”
Chapter
39
The streets of the Tenderloin bustle with activity as the taxi driver enters a particularly tough section, adjacent to a low-income housing project and a seedy commercial district.
He stops outside a vacant retail space and Boone climbs out, motioning to Ivan to do likewise.
Boone is careful not to allow the driver to see his gun.
“Get moving,” he tells Ivan.
I give the cabbie another hundred bucks to wait.
Pointing my gun at Ivan from inside my jacket, I wait as Boone picks the entry lock to the space. We step inside and over to a stairway, descending to the basement. Entering the dank room, I conduct a quick visual inspection: leaky stone walls, bare concrete floor, a light bulb dangling above a table, some cheap folding chairs, and no windows.
I take a seat across the table from Ivan.
In Boone’s eyes I see his readiness to pounce on Ivan if he makes a wrong move.
Ivan looks back at Boone, his expression nasty.
I glare at Ivan and say, “My boyfriend was nearly killed because of you.”
Ivan shrugs.
“Dude was in da wrong place at da wrong time,” he says, like we’re discussing the weather.
I hate this, down here with this creep.
I decide to get down to business.
“I need information.”
He doesn’t blink.
“Can’t help ya,” he tells me, probably trying to figure out where I’ve found the guts to challenge him.
My eyes narrow.
“Enough bullshit. You murdered three people. I wanna know who hired you.”
He leans toward me, his face twisted in anger.
“Why don’t ya both eat me?”
Charming.
“Hey dude, the choice is yours: leave here dead or alive.”
I’m sure he’s no stranger to interrogations, given his long experience on the wrong side of the law.
“You alls bluffin’. I ain’t scared a dyin’.”
Boone and I share a look.
Maybe he really doesn’t care.
“We have ways of getting the information,” Boone tells him.
Ivan smirks, barking at me, “Whatta ya gonna do? Torture my ass?”
“I could,” Boone informs him.
“But ya ain’t gonna,” Ivan replies.
“What is he paying you?”
There’s a silence. As a career criminal, he knows enough not to throw out a starting figure.
“I’ll give you fifty thousand,” I say.
He seems amused.
“I wanna get this straight. You askin’ me to rat this guy out… for fifty grand?”
Ivan is aware of the value of his information, and I need it.
Badly.
“Make it two hundred and I’ll tink ‘bout it.”
I start laughing.
“In your dreams.”
He turns to Boone, staring directly at him.
“Shoot away.”
I pause to think.
“Seventy-five thousand,” I finally say.
Ivan doesn’t respond, but I catch a tiny glint in his eyes.
I have his attention.
“You just ain’t gettin’ this, bitch. I’d have to disappear. I ain’t doin’ nothin’ for less than two hundred.”
I rise from my chair, leaving the room.
Then Boone takes Ivan’s shirt off, attaching electrodes to his chest like he’s planning on shocking him.
A few minutes later, I come back to the table and sit down, giving him a cold stare.
“A hundred thousand. Or I take another break and leave you with my friend here.”
He looks into my eyes, and I stare back at him.
Finally he says, “Okay, we’s got a deal then.”
Boone motions toward a far wall, and I get up and follow him over to a dark corner.
“Maggie! Seriously?” Boone says in a hushed tone. “We’re not giving this scumbag any money. Besides, neither of us has a hundred grand to give him anyway, and you know it.”
I look down at my feet and reply, “Listen, bro, we have to string him along. Do we have a choice?”
Boone thinks about this.
“I see your point.”
Returning to the table, I retake my seat across from Ivan.
“Okay, first, we verify that you’re telling the truth. Then, the money.”
“How ya gonna do that?”
“I want to see this guy with my own eyes,” I tell him, rising from my chair. “Follow me.”
Boone holds his gun on Ivan as we climb the stairs to the empty space above. I then hand Ivan his cell phone.
“Call him.”
“Sayin’ what?”
“The two of you need to meet, it’s urgent, and it has to be discussed in person.”
He hesitates, then dials a number.
After a few rings, a man answers.
A brief conversation follows.
The line goes dead, and he hands the phone back to me. “Okay bitch, it’s on.”
“Let’s go,” I reply, “and stop calling me that.”
“Don’t wanna be my bitch, eh?”
“Shut the hell up, or I’ll kick your teeth in.”
“Oh yeah? You and who else?”
Boone jumps between us, jamming the butt of his gun into Ivan’s gut, doubling him over. “Enough of this shit.”
Outside, the three of us pile back inside the taxi and the driver heads toward our destination. Anxiously, I try to reach Jack, but again, the call goes to his voicemail.
“Still nothing from Jack,” I tell Boone, and he shoots me a concerned look.
The cabbie continues to navigate traffic, and a thought is tumbling inside my head. We’re gonna confront the mastermind behind all this.
Suddenly my cell rings, and I answer it.
“Hey.”
“Maggie! Where the hell are you?” Emily blurts out.
“Entering the San Francisco Zoo.”
“The zoo? What’re you doing there?”
“I’ve got Ivan.”
“Damn it girl, what’s going on?”
“Just get here, Emily, fast.”
As we hustle out of the taxi and start toward the entrance, Boone turns to me and says, “I’m totally pumped, how about you?”
I nod. Yes
In actual fact, what I feel is fear.
All the way down to my toes.
Chapter
40
As we move through the grounds at the zoo, I give Ivan a sideways glance, asking, “Are you sure this is the right location?”
He doesn’t respond.
Great place for a rendezvous, I’m thinking. Lots of people around. Animals too, like the one beside me.
Boone and I continue through the crowd as Ivan leads us to the monkey exhibit.
“How fitting,” Boone tells Ivan as we approach the enclosure. “A monkey, together with his fellow monkeys.”
“Screw you,” Ivan shoots back.
I feel beads of sweat pooling on my forehead.
Boone tells Ivan to wait by the exhibit, and we take our positions nearby as throngs of visitors pass through.
I stand erect, my eyes glued to a narrow gate at the entrance to the exhibit. A few visitors come through the gate, but none of them approach Ivan.
Several minutes pass, and I continue to stare at the gate.
Then, a dozen more visitors enter, but again, nobody approaches Ivan.
I struggle to repress the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me. The pursuit has been relentless, everything culminating in this moment.
Eyes still fixed on the gate, my anxiety grows.
A few minutes later, another horde of visitors comes through the gate, but this time, a well-dressed man emerges from behind them.
He moves alongside the crowd, in the direction of Ivan.
Then, he enters my line of sight. And when I see him, I stumble backwards.
It is Brody Weston.
I am dumbfounded.
Brody?
I try to hide myself in the midst of a group of high-school students, but Brody notices the commotion and sees me.
When he turns back and looks at Ivan, he is troubled by the expression on his face.
Turning quickly on his heels, Brody hurries back toward the entrance gate.
I manage to regain my wits as Boone rushes over.
“Let him go,” I plead.
“I don’t get it.”
“He might lead us to Jack,” I tell him. “I’m going after him.”
“Alright. I’ll take care of Ivan.”
I dash through the crowd, passing through the gate and exiting the exhibit. Boone turns back to Ivan and sees his foot coming up. Feeling pain, Boone clutches his groin, knees on the ground as Ivan disappears.
I scramble through the zoo and dodge visitors, running a hundred yards behind Brody who’s making a beeline for the main exit. I round a corner and see him, disappearing into the back of a Town Car, his driver pulling away.
Frantically, I wave my hands toward a queue of taxis parked by the entrance, the Town Car having turned a corner and disappearing. I jump in a taxi and shout, “Follow that Town Car!”
He puts the car in gear, stepping on the gas pedal and taking off in pursuit.
The Town Car picks up speed and enters the Bayshore Freeway.
A ways back my cabbie is weaving through traffic, drawing closer.
“Keep your distance,” I tell him. “Don’t let ‘em know we’re following.”
“Brody Weston?” I mumble. “The bastard had his partners killed!”
Now I know why Jack isn’t responding. Brody is on to him.
Oh God. Jack’s in trouble.
Up ahead, the Town Car continues its high rate of speed, entering an off ramp.
“It’s okay, you can hang back now,” I tell the driver. “I know where they’re going.”
“You do?”
“Yes. It’s an estate in Los Altos Hills.”
Jack is there, I’m thinking, tears pooling in my eyes.
I begin obsessing. Is he alive? I need to see Detective Gower. I have to think. I can’t think.
“They’re turning in,” the cabbie says as the Town Car enters Brody’s estate.
Slowly, we pass the entrance, and in the distance, the Town Car disappears beyond the gate.
I begin to cry uncontrollably.
Chapter
41
Jack began to wonder what happened to Brody, who earlier had excused himself to take an “important” phone call. Leaving the billiard room, he walked down a corridor and into the foyer where, incidentally, wireless communications were possible.
Unable to find Brody, he removed his cell and retrieved his messages.
At first, he noticed the ones I had left.
I FOUND IVAN. WHERE ARE YOU?
Noticing the timestamps next to the text messages, Jack became puzzled.
Why didn’t her messages come through earlier?
Then he read my last text.
WATCH YOUR BACK. BRODY’S THE KILLER!
He replied to my text, using a code word that we came up with when this whole thing began.
GERONIMO
Feeling a presence, Jack slowly turned around.
Brody was standing there, pointing a gun at him.
“I’ll take that,” Brody said, referring to Jack’s cell phone. “Toss it over.”
As he did so, Aiden emerged from the shadows.
“Search him.”
Finding Jack’s gun tucked into the small of his back, Aiden removed it.
Then Brody motioned toward a stairway down to the basement.
“Let’s go,” he said, and turned to Aiden. “Lock his gun away.”
“Yes sir.”
Jack started down the stairs, Brody a few steps behind.
At the bottom of the stairs, a central hallway ran the length of the mansion, providing access to various living areas, and a mechanical room.
“Keep moving,” Brody prodded.
Off to one side of the hallway was a locked, heavy steel door.
“Stop here,” Brody told Jack as he took a key from his pocket, turned the lock and waved his gun toward the door. “After you.”
A circular staircase led down into a dimly-lit space.
In the half-light of the cellar, Jack had a jarring sensation, the vibe creepy: individual cells and bars and locked doors, adorned by chains and leg irons mounted on the walls. The dreariness and the awful smell summoned hellish feelings of dread.
Brody gestured with his gun toward one of the cells, and a guard standing nearby stepped over, opening it.
“Inside,” ordered Brody.
Jack did as he was told, and the guard closed the door, securing the lock with a key on his belt chain.
Then Brody removed Jack’s cell phone from his pocket.
As he saw my text message “Brody’s the killer” a wicked grin crossed his face.
So Jack… now you know.”
Chapter
42
Aiden entered a pantry near the kitchen in Brody’s h
ouse and opening a huge safe, put Jack’s gun inside as his wife, Greta, looked on from behind.
He latched the door and spun the dial.
“Mr. Fisher will be staying indefinitely,” he told her.
She understood this as code for “a permanent stay” at the estate.
In other words, the guest would not be leaving, ever.
Aiden went up the stairs and into their living quarters above the kitchen.
Meanwhile, Greta slipped down the back stairs, entering the basement and moving along the hallway. Eventually she stopped beside a door to the mechanical room. Going inside, Greta recalled a time several years ago when she had brought a repairman in here to work on a furnace.
He noticed an open pipe extending down through the floor, telling her, “This pipe seems to be ventilating a space below us.”
Busy with other duties, she dismissed the mystery.
Brody gave no explanation, and Aiden was silent on the matter.
And now there’s this Jack Fisher.
Earlier, she had eavesdropped from an alcove in the entrance hall, hearing Brody forcing Jack into the basement at gunpoint.
Then, she went to the mechanical room, listening by the pipe.
I hear voices! Good Lord, there are people down there, she thought.
A conversation between Jack and Brody was underway.
“What the hell’s going on, Brody?”
“How’s Maggie?”
“Just fine. Why?”
“I saw her this afternoon at the San Francisco Zoo.”
Jack thought about this.
“That must’ve been where she learned you’re behind the murders.”
Brody grinned.
“Maggie’s a smart girl.”
“She has you figured out.”
“Really? You’re a fool, Jack,” Brody replied, shaking his head as he sat in a chair outside the cell.
In the mechanical room above Greta staggered away from the pipe, returned to the kitchen and sank into a chair, trying to process what she’d heard.
Greta shuddered, thinking about an episode a few years ago when she had locked horns with Brody Weston.
But there’s more to her story.
Greta Murphy was born in Dublin, Ireland and as a young girl her father had been a member of the Irish Freedom Fighters. Conversations at the dinner table often included tales of devastation and strife as her father recalled the brutal oppression of British rule.
As a result, Greta’s outlook was deeply altered, and she learned early in her life the adverse effects powerful people could have on others. The notion of compromising her freedom to a guy like Brody Weston was unimaginable.
