Shell Game (Stand Alone 2)

by Badal, Joseph

  “It’s getting awfully late,” Carrie told him. “Mom looks like she’s about to crash.”

  “Don’t let her go to bed. I’ve got some news I want to tell her.”

  “I hope it’s good news. She’s so stressed out she’s only been getting four or five hours sleep a night. Or less.”

  Edward chuckled. “I think you’ll all like it.”

  “What is it, Eddie? What’s going on?”

  “You’ll find out in a few minutes. Be patient.”

  “You’re a bastard, you know it?”

  “I love you, too.”

  Edward hung up and felt a chill go down his spine. He couldn’t wait to see his mother’s face when he told her the good news. He probably should have called her but the news was so important he wanted to share his happiness with her. Especially considering the Winter family’s history with Gerald Folsom. He felt like a parent on Christmas Eve, setting up for his family’s joy.

  At 9, he parked outside the hotel, went inside, and took the elevator to the tenth floor. Carrie let him into the suite where his mother and Wendy were seated on the living room couch in muted light.

  “Do you mind if I turn up the lights?” Edward asked. “I want to see your faces when I give you my news.”

  “This better be good,” Katherine said, smiling. “I can barely keep my eyes open.”

  Edward turned up the lights and looked at Katherine. “I got a call from the bank. They’re renewing our loan. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  Katherine propelled herself off the couch and ran to Edward. She hugged him and cried out, “Thank you, Lord. Oh thank you, thank you, thank you.” She then went to Carrie and hugged her too.

  “Did Gerald finally do the right thing?” Wendy asked, looking incredulous.

  “No, Wendy,” Edward said. “The FDIC apparently forced the bank to make this move. I don’t know anything else, but I do know Folsom’s going down for breaking the law and bribing government officials. They took Broad Street National Bank back from him and he could go to prison for a very long time.”

  Wendy laughed, and then her laughter became almost hysterical before dissolving into tears. “Perfect,” she said. “It’s absolutely perfect.”

  A knock on the door quieted the group.

  “That’s probably Paul,” Edward said.

  Katherine went to the door and opened it. She threw herself against Paul and shouted, “Isn’t the news wonderful?”

  “Not as wonderful as my reception,” he said.

  Edward’s and Carrie’s eyes met and they smiled at one another.

  Katherine backed away from Paul, turning red. He raised a bottle in the air and announced, “I have here a vintage bottle of Dom Perrignon I’ve been saving for an important occasion. I think this qualifies.”

  Wendy went to the kitchen and found wine glasses. She placed them on the coffee table while Paul popped the cork on the champagne. When the glasses were filled, Edward raised his and toasted, “To a bright future for all of us.”

  They each sipped their champagne. Then Wendy said, “And good riddance to Gerald Folsom. I hope none of us ever see his face again.”

  “Here, here,” Katherine said.

  Carrie’s cell phone rang.

  “Hello?” she said.

  “It’s Darren. Just wanted to let you know we’re here. Mike’s in his car watching the back; I’ve got the front.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTY

  Folsom checked his watch. It was 9:50 p.m.

  He took the .45 caliber pistol from his jacket and switched off the safety. He figured it would take him no more than two minutes to go down the emergency exit stairs to the first floor, so he’d leave the room at 9:58 to meet Toothpick Jefferson. He’d scoped out the floor layout earlier. The staircase to the east emergency exit door was to the right when he exited his room, past Room 1045, after a slight curve in the hallway.

  He shoved the pistol into the back of his waistband and pulled his jacket down to cover it, putting on a baseball cap to hide his face. At 9:58, after downing a scotch—his third since checking in—straight from a miniature from the minibar, he left the room. When he reconnoitered the hallway earlier, he’d discovered security cameras in three locations on the floor: one each by the emergency doors at opposite ends of the hallway, and one by the elevator. Because of the curve in the hallway, the only camera that had line of sight to his room and Room 1045 was the one at the east end of the corridor, by the exit he would take to meet Jefferson. He lowered his head, gazing down at the carpet, pulled a wad of chewing gum from his mouth and tore off a piece. He pressed the gum on the camera lens at the east exit before entering the stairwell there and walking down ten floors. At the bottom of the staircase, he opened the emergency exit door and felt a wave of humid air rush over him. Crossing the lawn toward him from the parking lot to the building was Toothpick Jefferson, followed by two men. Folsom could hear Jefferson’s labored breathing already. A fleeting thought crossed Folsom’s mind: How the hell is the fat slob going to climb up ten stories? And then have the energy to fuck the blonde bitch?

  Edward and Paul had finished their champagne and were saying their goodbyes when Carrie’s cell phone rang again.

  “Yeah,” Carrie said.

  “You got company,” Darren said. “They just entered the east emergency staircase.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Three black guys. Another guy let them in.”

  “How do you know they’re here for us?” Carrie asked.

  “The fat guy from the park is with them.”

  “Aw, Jesus. We’re in Room 1045. I’m going to get everyone out of here. Can you follow them up the staircase?”

  “Probably not. The door’s more than likely locked from the inside.”

  “Hold on,” she told him.

  “Everybody listen,” Carrie called out with authority. The room went silent. “We’ve got bad guys coming up the emergency stairwell just down the hall to the right of our room. Let’s get out in the hall. NOW!”

  Edward led them out of the room and into the hall as Carrie spoke again into her cell phone.

  “Darren, go to the west side of the building. We’ll come down the staircase there and meet you.

  “Go,” Carrie told Edward. “I’ve got to get something from the room. Go left down the hall. Take everyone down the staircase there.”

  Edward started to move back to the room, but Carrie shouted at him, “I’ll be right along. My two friends from the park will be waiting outside the door at the bottom. Take care of Mom.”

  They ran to the end of the hall and Edward pounded the locking bar on the emergency exit door, throwing it open, crashing it into the wall. He held the door open as Wendy, then Katherine and Paul ran into the stairwell and began descending the stairs as fast as they could. Edward looked back down the hallway, but Carrie wasn’t in sight. He looked over the railing and saw the others were already two floors down.

  “Keep going,” he shouted. “There are two of Carrie’s friends waiting for you at the bottom.”

  Edward watched the others for a second and then turned around and ran back down the corridor toward Carrie. He was back in Room 1045 within a few moments and found the door open, the suite empty. He stepped back into the corridor and looked left and right.

  “Dammit, Carrie. Where are you?”

  Suddenly, someone grabbed the neck of his jacket and yanked him backwards.

  “What the—”

  “Keep quiet,” Carrie whispered as she closed the door to the linen storage room across from 1045.

  “Why the hell didn’t you come with the rest of us?” he demanded.

  “Because I’m tired of reacting to Folsom. It’s time I took charge.”

  “How do you know these guys are connected to Folsom?”

  “I don’t, but who the hell else would be behind this?”

  She removed a .9 mm automatic pistol from a satchel and handed it to him. “It’s loaded and the safety’s
on. Here’s another magazine.”

  Edward’s eyebrows went up, but he accepted the weapon and pocketed the magazine without a word. Carrie smiled at him when he ejected the magazine, checked the load, and racked the magazine back into the pistol.

  By the time they reached the seventh floor landing, Toothpick Jefferson was breathing like a rutting rhinoceros and sweating buckets.

  Folsom looked back at Jefferson and thought the man might croak on the spot. All four men were now taking baby steps in their climb to the tenth floor since he had to pause every third or fourth step.

  “Listen, Toothpick, why don’t you stay here and cover our backs? I’ll take your men with me.”

  “No way. I got plans for that blonde up there. I ain’t missin’ out on that.”

  Folsom figured that whatever Jefferson’s plans for Carrie Winter were, the man wouldn’t have the energy to perform, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

  They trudged up the last three flights and waited on the landing on the tenth floor while Jefferson caught his breath and wiped his face with an already soaked handkerchief.

  “Okay, I’m ready,” Jefferson gasped.

  “Follow me,” Folsom said. “The room’s on the left, four doors down.” He looked at the larger of Jefferson’s two men and said, “You kick in the door. We’ll follow you.”

  The big man grunted in affirmation.

  “It’s a suite, so there are probably bedrooms left and right of the entry.” He pointed at the big guy. “You go left.” He told the other man to go right. “There are three women staying in the room.”

  “Don’t . . . get . . . trigger . . . happy,” Jefferson wheezed. “We gonna . . . have . . . some . . . fun . . . first.”

  “Okay, Boss,” the big man said.

  “Ready?” Folsom asked. He checked to make sure the other three men had their pistols out.

  The others nodded.

  Folsom cracked open the door and stared down the hall’s length; no one was there. He pushed the door all the way open and quickly marched toward the suite.

  “Hold it,” he whispered to the big man, placing a hand on his chest. “The door’s open.”

  “What’s happening here, Jerry?” Jefferson demanded. “Is this another one of your clusterfucks?”

  “Shh,” Folsom said as he peeked into the room. The suite was dark, the drapes closed. “Go on in,” he said quietly. “You left, you right.”

  Jefferson’s two men entered the suite, while Folsom and Jefferson waited a few steps inside the entry, Jefferson in front of Folsom.

  “If this is another screw-up, Jerry, I’m going to have your ass,” Jefferson said.

  Folsom ignored Jefferson. He was getting a bad feeling. Jefferson’s two men returned to the sitting area. The smaller of the two said, “Clothes are still in the closet; stuff is in the bathroom.”

  “Same with the other rooms,” the big guy said.

  Folsom was beginning to fear for his life. Jefferson was a stone-cold killer, and now he was mad. He took a step backwards, toward the hall, preparing to bolt. But Jefferson must have heard him move, because the fat man turned. Folsom met Jefferson’s gaze and was ready to shoot the gangster when Jefferson’s eyes bulged and his mouth gaped open. At that same instant, something slammed into Folsom’s back, propelling him against Jefferson. His momentum carried him into the room, knocking Jefferson to the floor. Folsom fell on top of him and then rolled off the gangster and looked back through the open door at the lighted hallway. There was no one there.

  “Get him!” Jefferson shouted.

  “Get who, Boss?” one of his men asked.

  “In the hall, you dummy.”

  But before either of the men reached the entry, an arm briefly showed on the side of the doorway and something was tossed into the room. Two seconds passed and then a tremendous explosion ripped through the space, with bright light illuminating the room for a brief time. Then all was darkness, smoke, and pain.

  Folsom knew he was screaming, but he couldn’t hear anything. He gained his feet with effort and staggered to the light switch by the door. He flipped the switch on and looked down at the other men in the room. They were in obvious agony, holding their hands over their ears; screaming tormentedly. Folsom knew he looked the same. He’d dropped his pistol somewhere, but didn’t bother to try to find it. Hands over his ears, he staggered into the hallway.

  He knew he needed to get out of there. The explosion must have roused everyone on this floor and on at least the floors immediately above and below the tenth. He stopped dead in his tracks when Carrie Winter stepped forward from the right side of the hall, the pistol in her hand pointed at Folsom. A movement to the left drew his attention away for a moment.

  Carrie Winter shouted something, but all he could make out was, “Brother Edward.”

  A man, also with a pistol, ran into the suite and collected the dropped weapons.

  The woman shouted again, but Folsom couldn’t hear her. When he hesitated, she hit him on the forehead with the butt of her pistol and, with her other hand, shoved him backwards. He fell onto the floor before scrambling to a sitting position against a chair.

  Jefferson and his men were no longer screaming, but they groaned as though pain permeated every cell of their bodies.

  Carrie dug her cell phone out of a back pocket of her jeans and dialed Darren Noury’s number.

  “Yo,” Darren answered.

  “Everybody okay?”

  “I have Mrs. Folsom in my car. The man and your mom are with Mike in his truck. How’s things there?”

  “Good. Please take Wendy, Paul, and my mom to her house. Wait for us there. I’m going to call the police. I don’t want them anywhere near here when the police arrive.”

  “Will do,” Darren said, and hung up.

  Carrie noticed hotel guests were beginning to peek out of their rooms. A couple people were standing in the hall.

  “Get back in your rooms and lock your doors,” she shouted. “Everything’s okay.” To the woman peeking out at her from her cracked-open door, she calmly said, “Call the police, please.”

  “Are you nuts?” the woman yelled as she moved back into her room. “I already did that.”

  Carrie moved to go back into the room when a rent-a-cop came into view in the hallway. He had a pistol extended in front of him.

  “Drop your weapon,” he shouted at her, his voice quavering.

  “Put that damned thing away before you shoot yourself,” she calmly said. “The action’s all over. The best thing you can do is go down to the lobby and wait for the police. Show them up here.”

  To Carrie’s surprise, the rent-a-cop didn’t argue with her. He said, “Yes, ma’am,” and ran back the way he had come.

  Carrie entered the room, leaving the door open behind her. She and Edward watched the four men and waited for the police. Sirens could be heard in the distance.

  “Carrie, why don’t you do something smart?” Folsom shouted, his hearing obviously still impaired.

  “Shut up, Folsom!” Edward barked.

  “I’ve got $2 million in bearer bonds down the hall you can have if you let me go. The cops are going to be here any minute now. Why blow a chance of a lifetime?”

  “And what about your friends here?” Carrie asked.

  “Fuck them. The cops will be thrilled to finally take down Jefferson.”

  “You asshole,” Jefferson yelled.

  “Will you guys shut up?” Edward yelled. “You’re making my head hurt.”

  “Think about it, Carrie. Think what you could do with $2 million.”

  “Stand up!” Carrie ordered Folsom.

  Folsom stood and smiled, as though he’d found an ally.

  “Let’s go,” she told him. “What room?”

  “1027.”

  “Carrie, what are you doing?” Edward said.

  “It’ll be all right,” she told her brother.

  Folsom took a step toward the door when a gunshot sounded in the roo
m. He spun around like a top and dropped to the floor on his back. Blood oozed from his right eye.

  Edward fired his pistol at Jefferson, hitting the gangster in the chest. Jefferson collapsed on his side and started laughing as Edward wrenched the small pistol from Jefferson’s hand.

  “You sonofabitch!” Edward growled.

  “Shoulda checked me for an ankle rig,” Jefferson said. Then the man laughed again and twice gasped for breath. He convulsed and was dead in ten seconds.

  Carrie moved to Folsom and felt his pulse. Nothing.

  “Crap,” she groaned.

  Edward moved next to her, all the while watching the other two men. “What were you going to do with Folsom?” he asked, his voice full of accusation.

  She gave him an anguished look. “Do you really believe I would have taken his money for myself?”

  “I’m sorry, Carrie,” Edward said, chastised. “Of course not.”

  “I was going to take Folsom’s cash and then bring him back here. The money was for Wendy. After what’s happened with the bank, there may be nothing left for her. There’s no way I would ever do a deal with that bastard”

  The sirens were now so loud it was obvious the police had arrived outside the hotel.

  “Why don’t you follow up on your first instinct?” Edward told Carrie in a low voice so Jefferson’s men didn’t hear him, assuming they were getting their hearing back.

  “What do you mean?” Carrie asked in a whisper.

  “Get his room key out of his pocket and go find the bonds.”

  “Great idea, Eddie. But let’s change roles. You go get the cash and get out of here.”

  “No way, Sis.”

  “Don’t play hero with me. You’ve finally got the bank off your back and Betsy’s just given you a son. You don’t need this hanging over the company or your family.” She knelt down and rummaged through Folsom’s pockets until she found his room card key. She handed it to Edward and said, “Remember, it’s Room 1027. Give the money to Wendy, assuming you get out of here before the police come up. Go! You wait any longer and the police will impound the cash and Wendy may not get any.”

  Edward nodded as though he saw the sense in Carrie’s suggestion. But he asked, “What if these guys tell the police I was here?”