All Roads Lead To Murder

by Lynn Bohart

  I noticed the gun begin to shake. I circled to my right, coming within inches of Ford’s right shoulder.

  “My wife died over two months ago,” he said, choking back a sob. “I’ve lost everyone I love. And I invested everything I have into getting Owens. Nothing matters anymore.”

  A strong, sweaty hand grabbed me around my neck.

  “Aaaargh!” I screeched, struggling to get away.

  Ford spun around. Blair started forward, but he quickly stepped back so he could see both of us at the same time. He pointed the gun at her again. “Don’t.”

  I smelled a blend of alcohol and cigarette smoke from the man behind me. His fingers dug into my flesh. I suspected it was Monty. He must have come up the side stairwell.

  “Let’s take them with us,” Monty said. “It’ll be good insurance.”

  Ford jerked the gun toward the elevator behind Blair. “Hit the button.”

  I was pushed forward as the man jabbed me in the back with what I assumed was another gun. Blair frowned and punched the elevator button.

  When the doors opened, I was shoved inside and slammed against the wall. I turned to find the dark, hateful eyes of Monty staring down at me. His bad eye was bruised and swollen shut.

  José!

  “I don’t like busybodies,” he growled at me, his breath nearly knocking me over.

  Ford forced Blair inside just before the doors closed. He hit the first floor button, and the elevator jerked as it began to descend. For five seconds, the air inside the elevator was thick with tension.

  Ding!

  I jumped when the elevator hit the ground floor and the doors opened. Ford poked his head out and looked both ways.

  My mind was whirring. I remembered from the floor plans that this elevator was next to an exit that opened onto the construction site. Because of that, there was no one around. This exit had been blocked off, and everyone had run for exits that opened onto the street or to the garage.

  Ford had planned well.

  “Move,” he ordered us.

  I reached up to my ear, hoping I could say something to alert Rudy, but my ear wig was gone. Blair stepped out of the elevator first, with Ford right behind her. Monty took the opportunity to grab my upper arm and drag me out, twisting my arm mercilessly.

  “Don’t try anything funny,” he said with the gun now pointed at my face.

  We stepped to the left where a glass door led outside.

  “Open the door,” Ford told Blair.

  When she did, he pushed her out and then followed. As Monty shoved me forward, I saw José running down the hall in our direction.

  Monty didn’t notice and shoved me out the door into the darkened construction zone. There was a van parked only a few feet from the exit. The van had a construction company placard on the side. Ford had already thrown open the rear doors and was forcing Blair inside in her bare feet.

  I stumbled forward over the uneven ground just as José flew out the exit door and launched himself at Monty again, landing a roundhouse kick at his hip. Monty went down on one knee, almost losing the gun. José was winding up for a second assault when Ford grabbed my blouse and yanked me to the back of the van with the gun pointed at my head.

  “Enough!” he bellowed.

  José stopped mid-kick, steadied himself, and turned to us, his face flushed.

  “I’ll kill her,” Ford said. “I don’t care if she is the governor’s wife.”

  “Ex-wife,” I choked out.

  Ford twisted the fabric of my blouse even tighter, almost cutting off my breath.

  “Get in,” he said to José, waving the gun towards the interior of the van. “You just became more collateral.”

  Monty got to his feet. José gave me an apologetic look and shot a hateful stare at Monty.

  Ford let me go and pushed me inside the van. I banged my knee on the way in, but then scooted back next to Blair, who was seated on a long, metal tool box. José jumped in and sat on the floor near the cab.

  “I’ll ride back here,” Ford said to Monty. “You drive. Where’s your friend?”

  “Police got him.”

  Ford cringed. “Okay. He’s on his own. But we need a new car.”

  Monty nodded. “I know a guy.”

  “There can’t be any questions,” Ford said, nodding toward the three of us.

  “There won’t be.”

  Ford climbed in with us, while Monty closed the doors and walked around and got into the driver’s seat.

  “Don’t worry, this will be over soon,” Ford said to us.

  Pressure built in the pit of my stomach. Somehow that didn’t sound so good.

  Ford held the gun on us while he searched through a bag of trash in the back of the van. He pulled out a handful of rags.

  “Turn around,” he said to José.

  José flinched forward, as if to attack.

  “Stop!” Monty called out from the front of the van. He had his gun pointed at José. “Just do as he says.”

  Ford tied José’s hands behind his back first, then mine, and then Blair’s. He had two rags left. They were crusty with paint, but he used them to gag me and Blair.

  While Ford did that, Monty used his phone to make a call. All we heard him say was, “We need a ride,” and, “Okay.”

  Once we were secured, Monty started the engine and pulled the van out of the construction site onto a street behind the convention center. The three of us rocked back and forth as the van rumbled along under the street lights.

  Silence fell inside the vehicle. We drove for five or six minutes, made a few turns, and entered a bad part of town where neon signs for bars and nude dancers flashed through the front windows. When we turned into an alley, darkness shrouded the interior, casting everyone inside in shadow.

  Monty slowed and then stopped.

  “We’re here,” he said as he killed the engine. “Give me a minute.”

  He left the van and disappeared from view. We heard a door open and then voices. A minute later, Monty was back.

  “We’re good.”

  The grinding sound of a motor broke the silence, as a big, metal roll-up door set into the brick wall next to us began to move. We couldn’t see much from where we were, but Monty started the engine and quickly backed the van through the opening.

  He stopped the vehicle with a jerk and turned to Ford. “Okay, now we negotiate.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Ford looked at us. “Be good, and you could still get out of this alive tonight.”

  He opened the back door to the van and got out, closing the door behind him.

  José got up and looked through the front window. His sharp new suit was dirty and the pocket was ripped, but he emitted a low chuckle.

  “Hang tight. We may be okay.”

  He turned to the back doors. A moment later, one of the doors opened. The face that stared in at us made me gasp. It was the guy with the angel tattoo spread across his neck–the one who said I looked like his fourth-grade teacher. His eyes opened in surprise when he recognized us.

  “Van a matarnos,” José mumbled to him.

  He nodded to José. “Qué ha pasado?”

  “Hombres muy malos,” José replied.

  The young man nodded again.

  I glanced at Blair with a look of hope.

  “Angel!” someone yelled.

  “Buena suerte,” the young man murmured. He reached into his pocket and tossed something into the van. Then he closed the door.

  Angel. His name matched his tattoo.

  I glanced at the dirty floor, where a small knife now lay.

  José turned and leaned back to draw the knife into his fingers. As he worked to slip it under the rag tied around his wrists, I peeked through the front window.

  To the right of the van, Ford and Monty negotiated with our old friend, Shaved Head Guy, and the guy who held the baseball bat. The guy who wore the baseball cap backwards stood in the background.

  We were in a large garage
. Overhead lights illuminated a variety of cars parked against the far wall. Ford was eyeing a single car, a black Cadillac.

  Damn!

  It was the car we had stolen from the hotel and then had stolen from us. For someone who didn’t believe in coincidences, I was beginning to reconsider.

  I glanced back to José. He was working furiously at slicing through the rag that bound him. His hands suddenly popped apart.

  “Turn around,” he whispered.

  I turned my back to him and he released me. Blair murmured something through her rag, and I released her. We both rubbed our wrists.

  “Ugh,” I said as I yanked the gag out of my mouth and wiped my lips. “Now what?”

  “Just follow me and be quiet.”

  José carefully opened one of the back doors and swung it wide. A brick wall greeted us.

  We slithered carefully and quietly out of the van, crouching low. Blair and I followed José around the back of the vehicle, which had been parked right next to a tool-laden work bench.

  As we snuck along the side of the van, Angel appeared and we stopped. He glanced our way and gave a quick shake of his head.

  We waited, hunched over and hugging the van.

  Angel faced the rest of the garage. He casually crossed his arms over his chest as he listened and watched whatever Ford and Monty were doing with the other gang members.

  While we waited, someone started a car engine and a yellow hot rod pulled up in front of the van. The loud engine was killed, and we heard the car’s door open and close as our lungs filled with exhaust fumes.

  Angel remained where he was and then dropped his right hand to gesture to us. We began to move. When José reached the front of the van, he paused.

  There was a two foot space between the van and the hot rod.

  He glanced up at Angel.

  Angel stepped into the space, blocking us from view and prompting José to move again.

  The three of us crab-walked past the opening. As soon as we passed, Angel began talking and moved back to his friends.

  My heart was beating so wildly, I was surprised others in the garage couldn’t hear it.

  We made it to the rear of the hot rod. The alley and freedom were only a few feet away. Now what?

  “Stop!”

  We froze. My breath caught.

  Monty came up behind us. “Stand up.”

  We straightened up, and I snuck a peek at Monty. He held a gun. Ford and the rest of the gang members faced us from the other side of the car. Shaved Head Guy showed mild surprise when we appeared on the other side of the hot rod. He turned to Angel, who gave a slight shrug.

  “How the hell did you get out?” Monty snarled.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Ford said from across the room. “Bring them over here.”

  Monty stuck the gun in my back. “Get going, Grandma.”

  I saw Angel flinch, and a scowl covered his face.

  Monty pushed us around the back of the car and over to Ford.

  Ford turned to Shaved Head Guy. “We’ll take the Cadillac.”

  “Hey, man, that’s not a trade,” Shaved Head Guy said. He jerked his head toward the van. “That’s a piece of junk.” He turned toward us. “If you take the Caddy, we want her, too,” he said, nodding toward Blair.

  “And I’ll take her,” Angel said, pointing to me.

  “No,” Ford said. “They’re not part of the deal. Get them into the caddy,” Ford told Monty, pulling his gun from his waistband.

  Shaved Head Guy reacted with lightning speed. His hand shot out with a gun pointed at Ford, and there was a chorus of clicking noises as guns appeared in the hands of the rest of the gang members–including Angel.

  I felt dizzy and a little bit nauseous.

  Ford glanced around at the weaponry. “Looks like it’s a standoff.”

  “You better not stiff us,” Shaved Head Guy said to Monty. “We negotiated in good faith.”

  Monty hesitated and then turned to Ford. “You got any money to sweeten the deal?”

  Ford paused and then looked at Shaved Head Guy. “Sure. We’ll make this right. Hold on. Watch them,” he said to Monty, meaning us.

  He put his gun on a rolling tool cabinet and began to search his inside pocket for his wallet.

  It was José’s cue to act.

  He was standing next to Monty and straight-armed his fist into Monty’s temple. The beefy guy collapsed to the floor. José grabbed his gun.

  Before Ford could react, Angel jumped forward and retrieved Ford’s gun from the tool cabinet. Ford didn’t miss a beat, though. He reached out and grabbed me, spinning me around and putting me into a choke hold, nearly cutting off my air supply.

  “Stop!” he yelled. “I’ll break her neck. I swear I will.”

  Everyone stopped. My eyes met Blair’s. She gave me a reassuring nod.

  And so I moved.

  I took the biggest breath I could, tucked in my chin, bent forward and whipped my left foot around Ford’s right leg. My head popped out of his grasp. I quickly yanked his arm back and came up hard with my knee aimed at his…well, damn, I missed. Again.

  Ford crumpled to the floor, grabbing his crotch.

  Angel burst out in laughter. “Don’t mess with Mrs. Muñoz,” he chided.

  I gave him a smile as I adjusted my blond wig.

  Shaved Head Guy turned to José and nodded. “You want us to dispose of these guys for you?”

  José looked at me, while Ford continued to rock back and forth in agony on the floor next to Monty.

  “No. I’ll call the police,” I said, reaching for my phone.

  “Wait!” Shaved Head Guy said. He gestured to the garage. “This our home. Our business.”

  “We should take them with us, anyway,” Blair said. “I think there are a few law enforcement agencies who would like to talk to them.”

  “We’ll need the van,” Jose said to Shaved Head Guy.

  “No problem. Emilio,” he said to the man holding the baseball bat. Shaved Head Guy jerked his head to the right. “Encontrar algo a la vez para arriba.”

  Emilio went to the wall work bench and pulled out a roll of electrical tape. He came back and tossed it to José.

  José forced Monty’s hands behind his back and wrapped them tightly before pulling him to his feet. He was awake now, but unsteady.

  By this time, Ford was sitting on his heels taking deep breaths. José tossed the tape to Blair, who wrapped his hands as well.

  “Get up,” Blair told him.

  Ford got painfully to his feet, and José and Angel perp-walked the two men to the back of the van.

  I turned to Shaved Head Guy. “Thank you. You have no idea the good you just did. These guys abducted and drugged a young girl and were going to kill a U.S. senator.”

  He turned to his friends with open arms. “Felicitaciones amigos,” he said with a broad grin. “Somos heroes!” They shared a hearty laugh, and then he turned to me, his amused expression lingering. “But we also saved a compadre’s business. No?”

  His eyes traveled to Blair, who looked a little more like a street walker after our ordeal. Mussed-up hair. One shoulder exposed. A tear in the hem of her very short red-sequined dress.

  She gave Shaved Head Guy a seductive wink.

  “Oh, that,” I said.

  “Slavery still exists, but now it applies only to women, and its name is prostitution,” he said under his breath.

  “Excuse me? Was…that a…quote?”

  He grinned, his eyes twinkling beneath all those tattoos.

  “Victor Hugo,” he said simply.

  “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  “C’mon. Let’s go,” José called out from the van. “I’ll ride in back.”

  I turned back to Shaved Head Guy and extended my hand. “I’m surprised to find a gentleman on the back streets of Chicago.” He took my hand in his. It was rough with callouses, but strong. “What’s your given name?”

  “Benito,” he replied. “It means
blessed. Do you bless me, little lady?”

  I smiled. “I don’t have the power to bless anyone, Benito. But we were certainly blessed to meet you tonight.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  While José guarded Ford and Monty in the back of the van and Blair drove, I called David and told him we were safe. We arrived back at the conference center to find the protestors had dispersed. There was a police barricade, but we were allowed through.

  We parked at the front of the building. Detective Mankiewicz and David rushed down the steps to meet us. As I climbed out of the van, David wrapped me in a quick hug.

  “God, I’m glad you’re okay,” he murmured in my ear. He gave me a squeeze and said, “C’mon.”

  We joined the others behind the van. José had just emerged through the back doors, handing off Monty’s gun to Detective Mankiewicz.

  “Is one of these guys Yoda?” Detective Mankiewicz asked.

  “Yes,” Blair said, pointing to Dr. Ford. “Meet my dentist, Dr. Mark Ford, a.k.a Yoda.”

  Detective Mankiewicz waved to two police officers standing at the curb.

  “Take these two into custody. Murder and kidnapping. Read ‘em their rights.”

  The officers removed our prisoners from the van and took them away. Detective Mankiewicz turned to us, but David put up a hand.

  “Look, detective, these women have been through a lot. I think we need to let them clean up and get some rest. We can talk to them in the morning.”

  He looked back and forth between us. “Okay, but I’m just curious, how were you able to get these guys?”

  “Um…actually, José disarmed Monty,” I said.

  “And Julia took care of Ford,” Blair added.

  “What?” David asked. “How?”

  I smiled shyly. “He grabbed me around the neck, and then I…here, let me show you,” I said, reaching for David’s arm.

  “No!” Blair and José said in unison.

  David turned to me. “What did that mean?”

  I started to laugh. “Let’s just say that Dr. Ford won’t be fathering children anytime soon.”

  Detective Mankiewicz smiled and shook his head. “Amazing.”

  “C’mon, I’ll take you back to the hotel,” David said.