Chasing the Son

by Bob Mayer

  “What about a woman?” Riley asked.

  “Where’s your friend, Horace?” Sarah asked.

  “He had some errands to run,” Riley said.

  “Like tracking down his son?”

  “You lied.”

  “Really?” Sarah laughed. “Do you think I owe you the truth or something? Seriously. But I tell you what. I think you and Horace owe me. You owe me for the money you took. Then the money you burned. And the passports. Those aren’t cheap, you know.”

  Riley said nothing. Westland was still holding the gun on the one conscious goon. Gator was looking like he wanted to hit someone else. And Kono was checking the edge of his machete.

  “And I’m going to collect,” Sarah finally said. “I want you to get your friend, Horace. And then call me back.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s looking for his son, isn’t he?”

  “He is.”

  “Well, I’ve got him.”

  The phone went dead.

  Chapter Ten

  Friday

  Preston knelt down in front of Merchant Fabrou’s wheelchair. “I have your son’s ring, Mister Fabrou.”

  The two guards came back in, reporting that Dillon had escaped. But Fabrou was still processing the devastating news that Preston had conveyed.

  “What?” Fabrou said, trying to focus on the man kneeling in front of him.

  “I have your son’s ring,” Preston repeated.

  “Where is my son?” Merchant Fabrou asked. Some semblance of the message got through. “Where is his body?”

  “I’ve had it taken care of,” Preston said. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a plastic bag. He extended it to Fabrou. “Your son’s ring, sir.”

  Fabrou took the bag with shaking hands. He opened it and reached in, retrieving the ring, hands shaking. Tears formed, as if the presentation of this band of gold was final proof.

  Preston stood up and took a couple of steps back. “If you wish, sir, I’ll make arrangements for your son’s body to be shipped to Savannah.”

  Fabrou was turning the ring to and fro. His own Institute Ring glittered on his finger. “But what happened? How did he die? How did this Dillon kill my son?”

  Preston looked at the two guards, then back at the old man. “Sir, maybe it’s best if—“ then he paused as Fabrou gasped. The old man dropped the ring, hands going to his chest. His mouth opened, trying to say something, but nothing came out except desperate gasps for air.

  Preston took another step back. He looked over at the two guards. They looked at each other, then at Preston.

  And remained where they were.

  “Anyone can be bought, Mister Fabrou,” Preston said.

  The old man stared at him, hands to his chest, fighting for air. Preston walked closer and leaned forward, his face scant inches from the old man’s. He whispered so only Fabrou would hear him. “I killed your son, Merchant. And now I’ve killed you. Your line is over. And you were betrayed by more than just your guards.”

  Fabrou’s face was bright red and his eyes were losing their focus. He reached forward, toward Preston, who easily stepped back, out of the grasp.

  Then Fabrou fell forward and hit the deck. He twitched for several seconds, then was still. Preston knelt and carefully retrieved the ring with the plastic bag, ensuring it was sealed inside.

  Then he stood up. “Call it in once I’m gone,” he told the two guards. “And next time I tell you to shoot someone, make sure you hit him!”

  * * *

  Dillon stared at Fabrou’s yacht from the concealment of palmettos on Daufuskie, well above the water line. He was surprised the Zodiac hadn’t been sent after him. Then he saw why as it headed toward Harbour Town with Preston Gregory in it.

  One step behind. That was Dillon’s summary of events so far. He was one step behind. If not more.

  There was one person left for him to push, the person he should have gone to instead of Jerrod. Fortunately, his destination wasn’t that far away, but that made sense since Daufuskie was where everyone was coming, all the elements for a perfect storm.

  With a long, determined stride, Dillon began walking toward the narrow waterfront golf cart path that ran down the center of Daufuskie Island. Cars had long been banned from the island, even when the resort was open, the primary means of transportation being golf carts. With the death of the resort and all three golf courses, only a handful of people still called the island home, and almost of those were seasonal visitors on the north side.

  The island was beautiful, with nature ruling, other than the golf courses and a few buildings. Native Americans had lived here for centuries. During the Yemassee War in 1715, a group of them had been massacred on the southern tip of the island, and thus Bloody Point had gotten its name. Gullah, freed black slaves, and runaways had settled the island for a long time, until most were pressed out when the resort had been built.

  Now, with the resort bankrupt and the golf courses shut down, the island was reverting back. Something Mrs. Jenrette and Mister Fabrou were planning on changing.

  * * *

  “What?” Chase had not expected this turn of events.

  “Sarah Briggs,” Riley said. He explained shaking down the goons, getting the phone, and calling Sarah. He related the entire conversation.

  Westland, Gator and Kono stood around them, on a dock underneath the Cross Island Parkway Bridge where they’d agreed to meet after accomplishing their tasks. The fact it was Riley who’d learned where Harry and Doc were, and not Chase, was a twist that was hard to process; much worse was the fact that Sarah Briggs said she had them.

  “She’s bluffing,” Chase said. “Fucking with us.”

  “I don’t think so,” Riley said. “She killed Farrelli. She’s got something going on, something big enough to take out a wise guy from New Jersey. She’s not stupid. She knows if we could get those two idiots to talk, so can some muscle from the Garden State.”

  “Why don’t we call her?” Westland suggested. “Find out what she wants?”

  Chase put his hand out and Riley put the burner in it. “Speed dial one,” Riley said. “And put it on speaker.”

  The five of them gathered in tight around one of the pylons that supported the pier. Chase opened the phone, hit speed dial one and then speaker. He put the phone on top of the pylon.

  Sarah answered before it rang twice. “Horace, how are you?”

  “I need proof of life,” Chase said.

  “Oh, Horace, right to the business as always. No chit-chat for you. No ‘How do you do’? No ‘How are things since I fucked you over’?”

  “Proof of life,” Chase repeated. “Hell, proof you really have him.”

  “Oh, I have him. And Doc Cleary. Irascible old coot, isn’t he? Put up quite the fuss for a man his age. Got to give him credit, Horace. A good man to have your son with. Especially since you were never there for him. A boy needs a male role model. Someone in his life he can turn to. Someone he can emulate. Someone he can count on. Someone who is there.”

  “Proof of life.”

  “Horace, if you’re going to just be a recording,” Sarah said, “I can hang up now and save myself a lot of trouble. After all, you contacted me, not the other way around.”

  Riley spoke up. “Bullshit. You left the burner with Farrelli’s two guys who you paid off. Both are mistakes unless they were deliberate. You should have killed both of them. And if you didn’t, you certainly shouldn’t have left them a phone to contact you. So you knew we’d check, and you knew we’d call. You’re willing to have them give you up to the Jersey mob to draw us in with this call. So let’s cut the bullshit.”

  “Leave it to the old man to figure something out,” Sarah said. “But seriously, you guys are so far behind, you two will still be figuring this out in the old soldier’s home. If you’re alive to make it to the old soldier’s home.”

  “Proof you have them and proof of life,” Riley said. “Or this conversation ends now.”
/>   “Oh you boys. No fun at all. And we had fun didn’t we Horace? Rocking around in your little rubber boat?”

  When there was no reply, they could hear her sigh. “Give me a different number to send a photo to.”

  Riley rattled off his cell phone number.

  “Call me back after you get the picture,” Sarah Briggs said and the line went dead.

  Seconds later, Riley’s phone buzzed with a text message. He accessed it and then turned the face so they could all see.

  Doc Cleary and a young man, tied down in chairs inside some kind of room with wood walls. On Doc’s lap was a newspaper. The look on his face was resolute.

  And Chase saw his son for the first time. It was difficult to tell in the photo, but he looked big, larger than Doc. With dark hair that had grown out since his Institute days, covering his ears and close to his shoulders. His face was well tanned, not unexpected after eighteen months at sea. He had a couple of days of beard, giving a dark tint to his face.

  “Looks like you,” Westland said.

  Chase didn’t know how to respond.

  “Today’s Island Packet,” Riley said, referring to the paper, and nudging Chase out of his shock.

  “Fuck,” Chase said. “How did she get them?”

  “She was on this well before we were,” Riley said.

  Gator spoke up. “We kill her next time we see her.”

  “We get my son and Doc back first,” Chase said.

  “Any of you recognize the place?” Riley asked, looking at Gator and then Kono.

  They both shook their head. Kono pointed at a window in the left rear. “Get that larger, we might see something out there.” Right now it was just a green blur.

  “Okay,” Riley said. “She has Doc and Harry. She didn’t do that on a lark. She wants something. The question we have to answer before we call her back is how far are we willing to go to get them back? Based on her history, Briggs’ price is going to be high. And I don’t think it’s going to be money.”

  No one responded as they pondered that.

  “I can’t ask you all to do anything,” Chase said. “This is on me. I’m the one that has to pay the price, whatever it is.”

  “Oh, bullshit,” Riley said.

  “Yah,” Kono added. “Bullshit. I owe you my life. A life for a life.”

  Chase looked at Gator.

  The big man shrugged. “Whatever. Sounds like there’s going to be some good action. I’m in.”

  Chase turned to Kate Westland. “You’ve got no stake in this. So—“

  Westland cut him off. “I have a stake.”

  That surprised Riley. “Kate, just because I’m—“

  “Shut up,” Westland said. “It’s got nothing to do with you, Dave. So don’t get a swelled head. I’ve got a stake in this. Trust me.”

  “Okay,” Chase said. “Let’s see what she wants.”

  He hit speed dial on the burner. This time it went through five rings, Sarah taunting them with each ring.

  Finally she answered. “Well, gentlemen? By the way, who am I talking to? Chase, of course. Riley. Who should know better. Is that big musclehead Gator there? And his sidekick, the Gullah?”

  “Kono,” Chase said. “Yes.”

  “Hell of a team,” Sarah said. “You guys were damn lucky that Hellfire took out Karralkov.”

  “So were you since you were with us,” Chase noted. “What do you want?”

  “’What do I want’?” She was silent for a few seconds. “I want you to do whatever I ask of you in the next twenty-four hours. You do that and you get your son and the old man back. So hold on to that phone. It rings, you answer. It goes six rings and there’s no answer, then your son and the old man are fed to the gators.”

  The line went dead.

  “They here,” Kono said.

  “What?” Chase asked.

  “She say ‘fed to the gators’,” Kono explained. “She’s here. And she has them near here too.”

  “He’s right,” Riley said. “She’d want to keep her ace in the hole close by, and that’s what she considers Doc and Harry. She thinks she’s got us on kidnap retainer.”

  “She does,” Chase said.

  “At the moment,” Riley said. “But she wouldn’t have said twenty-four hours if it was something she wanted us to do right now.”

  “The land deal,” Westland said. “Tomorrow morning on Daufuskie. It’s got to have something to do with that. Everything is pointing to that.”

  Riley took charge. “Gator. You know some place where this image can be increased?” He held up his cell phone.

  “Yeah,” Gator said.

  Riley handed over his phone. “Do it.” He turned to Kono. “We need your boat at Chase’s place at Brams Point. It’s close to Daufuskie and hopefully wherever Doc and Harry are being held.”

  “Can do,” Kono said.

  The two of them left to accomplish their tasks.

  “I think—“ Riley began, but then his phone rang. “Yo.”

  “Riley, it’s Parsons. You got an epidemic of heart attacks down there it seems.”

  “Who now?”

  “Merchant Fabrou collapsed on his boat. I picked it up off the wires since they’re dispatching a sea ambulance to his yacht in your neck of the woods. Report is that it’s a heart attack.”

  Riley sighed. “Anything else?”

  “Nope. Just thought you might want to know. Seems like the shit is hitting the fan. Might want to duck.”

  “Not likely,” Riley said. “Thanks.”

  He hung up then relayed the information to the other two.

  “I saw something,” Chase said, “when I was in the harbor master’s office. Kind of looked like they were trying to kill someone on Merchant Fabrou’s yacht, but he got away.”

  “And where are the cops?” Westland asked.

  “Don’t ask,” Riley said. As she started to ask, he held up a hand. “Seriously, Kate. Think Deadwood. Think Wild West. Think whatever.”

  “Okey-dokey,” Westland said, obviously not surprised. “Got it.”

  “The guy they were shooting at got away to Daufuskie,” Riley said. “So I’m thinking that’s a good place to check out. Not like the ferry is running any more. And it isn’t likely he’s going to run into someone to bring him to the mainland. Island’s almost deserted now since the resort went under. My boat is tied up here. We can head over there now and track whoever it was down.”

  * * *

  Preston looked at the image, recognizing Harry Brannigan, despite the longer hair and the semi-beard. “Do you know where this is?”

  The man holding the iPad with the picture was former Secret Service and now worked for Preston’s father. Who’d ‘subletted’ him to his son as personal protection. He was a short man, with a burly build. His nose had been broken long ago and set improperly, giving it a slight cant. He often felt it was his appearance that had kept him from a promotion to the Presidential detail, blithely ignoring the fact he’d been cashiered for spending a night with a hooker on an advance detail and showing up for duty still somewhat drunk.

  That didn’t mean Jimmy Pappano didn’t know his job. He’d put a tap into Sarah Briggs’ phone while she was using the bathroom during her ‘meeting’ with Preston at the Senator’s Charleston office. What the two had done hadn’t disgusted him, as he’d seen much weirder and kinkier stuff in his time in Washington D.C. both in the Secret Service and working privately for the Senator.

  Pappano nodded. “I tracked it off the towers. It’s south of here. Wassaw Wildlife Refuge, which is east and a little south of Savannah on the coast.”

  Preston was in a second-floor suite in the Sea Pines Resort, where Presidents and other big-wigs used to visit annually for Renaissance Weekend. The event had since moved on to other locales, but it was a still a nice joint.

  He was seated behind a large desk, covered with papers and plans: the future of Daufuskie Island as envisioned by the Sea Drift plan, but modified by Preston Gr
egory for Preston Gregory.

  “Harry Brannigan,” Preston said, staring at the image. “I assume the old man is Doc Cleary.”

  “She threatened Chase,” Pappano said. “Told him he had to do what she said to get his son back.”

  “She’s going to betray me,” Preston said with certainty. “The fucking bitch is going to betray me. She lied to my face yesterday about Harry. She’s going to use Chase and Riley to take me out.”

  Pappano had nothing to say to that.

  “You saw her come out of Rigney’s place?”

  Pappano nodded. “One of my men was tailing her. She was in there about forty-five minutes.”

  “She’s playing everyone,” Preston said. “And so is Rigney.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Pappano asked.

  “Go to Wassaw Island,” Preston ordered. “Get them. Leave three of your men with me.”

  Pappano nodded. “Where do you want me to bring them?”

  “My boat,” Preston said. “You’re going to need it to get down there. Then come back up. Clear?”

  Pappano nodded. “Might get a little messy dealing with whoever she has guarding them.”

  Preston shrugged. “So be it. Going to get messy in a lot of places.” As Pappano went to the door, Preston called out: “Send him in. Tell the men you’re leaving to wait five minutes, then come in.”

  “Roger that.” Pappano exited and Charles Rigney entered.

  “Is something going on?” Rigney asked.

  “Something is always going on,” Preston said. “But everything is under control.”

  Charles Rigney gingerly sat down without asking permission—he’d work with the young man, but he would not kowtow to the youngster. “You’re sure Merchant is dead?”

  “Heart attack,” Preston said.

  “Incredible timing,” Rigney said. “And quite prescient of you to have me get him to amend his will two months ago, before his surgery.”

  Preston tapped the side of his head. “I see the future, Charles. Stick with me and I’ll take you places you’ve never considered.”

  “I suspect that is a possibility,” Rigney said. “But I’ll be cashing out as we discussed. I’m getting too old for all of this.” He paused. “The word is that Farrelli also had a heart attack.”