by Bradley West
Pat was in confessional mode. “I brought this all on. I’ve been a wicked person, and God punished us for my sins. You know that I love your uncle Sal, but—”
Carla didn’t want to learn more as she’d deduced the truth years ago. Her aunt dressed like a tango instructress and made eyes at men half her age. “Aunt Pat, let’s leave God out of this. The kidnappers want Uncle Sal’s Covid cure. It saved Stephanie and that’s what you should be grateful for. We’ll find out more about Tyson when we meet with Steph and Greg.”
As Carla pulled onto the 101 North, she realized that her aunt would flip out if she saw Greg and Jaime wounded. Babysitting this wine-soaked floozy wasn’t top of her agenda. Carla took a deep breath and accelerated into the fast lane.
After a pause for all of ten seconds, Auntie Pat was at it again. “I met a man at a motel to have sex today. He surprised me and brought two friends. They wanted to record it. I barely escaped. I’m the one who should be kidnapped, not little Tyson.”
“Enough! I need to concentrate.” Carla turned on the radio and heard that the governor had announced a statewide lockdown effective at midnight. A new strain of the coronavirus had jumped the Bay, and the hospitals in San Francisco were filling up.
* * * * *
The traffic had thinned out and the sunset into the Pacific had been spectacular for the soul. Lindy had pulled over forty-minutes ago to bottle-feed Clancy and change a diaper. No wonder America’s landfills were full of used Pampers: The kid was on five so far today. He repaid her attention with delightful gurgles and the odd squeal.
As for her own state, she hadn’t eaten in a long time and was deep into her second pack of cigarettes. Her throat felt like a dragon had used it as a forge. The fuel gauge ticked on a quarter and she pulled in at the next station. Gas prices had doubled since she last filled up, and the minimart donuts and Advil didn’t leave her feeling any better.
Just down the road, she saw that the Gualala Supermarket was open. She parked in a well-lit handicapped spot. Windows up or cracked? She opted for a little fresh air since the Benz smelled like an ashtray. She grabbed a handful of hundred-dollar bills and hustled inside. By the time she’d wiped the shopping cart handles and affixed the mandatory mask, it was almost nine-thirty and closing time.
The shelves were all but picked clean, but she loaded up on canned goods, lunchmeat, some fruit, a case of wine, more diapers and a combination corkscrew and can opener. She ignored the cashier’s question about some damned discount card, then waited while the dullard teenage girl bagged her things. Her ears were attuned to Clancy’s strident cries should he awaken and find Mommy gone.
Clancy was still asleep when she returned. Within a minute, Lindy was on the way to the landlord’s home just a few miles away. Out of habit she lit another Marlboro, but it tasted terrible and she was still short of breath from that grocery store dash. She tossed it out the window and sampled a seasonal favorite, fresh Bing cherries. Despite a nine-dollars-a-pound price tag, they were tasteless. Fucking rip-off.
* * * * *
Muller’s phone buzzed: It was the mole. “The phone stopped twice in Gualala, well up Route 1. Now on the move again, but inland on two-lane county roads.”
Muller thanked him and hung up. “You hear anything inside?”
Melvin had one ear on the headset and his free ear fixed on the boss. He shook his head. “Lights are on, but nobody’s home. You want me to look around?”
“No. That red Tesla parked out front belongs to the niece. Her fucking boyfriend might come back here to pick it up.”
“I hope he does. I owe him for Lenny.”
Muller started up the van and considered their next steps. “We have more to worry about than Lenny and Alf. Our lives are blown up. You ready to disappear?”
“Got my bugout bag with cash, cards and IDs in the back. You set, boss?”
Muller didn’t dignify that question with a reply. He started the van and a short distance later they were alongside the parked Taurus. “Follow me. I’ll head to Stinson Beach and pull over somewhere quiet. We’ll salvage what we can from the van and torch it. Then we drop in and babysit Maggio. After that, we take a call.”
“Maybe we can trade him for part of the ransom money?”
“After tonight, no way in hell we touch that one-point-three again unless we have the kid on live display. If we produce the baby, they’ll be good for the whole enchilada. Grandpa Sal doesn’t figure in.”
“What about Oakland and the bug?”
“That’s Burns’ angle and he’s short fifty grand unless you do it on credit. We’ll point Burns to his wife, and if he brings the baby back, we’ll reconsider. Our focus is on the two million Sal was set to collect on Monday. After that, the world’s our oyster. Here are the keys. Stay close behind. Don’t shoot unless I shoot first. Think happy thoughts about retirement in Mexico.”
Melvin got into the Taurus. Mexico? Who the fuck wanted to retire to Mexico? It was dangerous down there, particularly for brothers who spoke bad Spanglish.
* * * * *
Travis had pulled behind the shuttered shopping center, cut the lights and taken a look at Greg and Jaime. Greg was in shock: pale, shallow breaths, clammy skin and semiconscious. Jaime had been half scalped: The bullet tracked the liner of his ballistic helmet and dug a deep furrow across the top of his head behind his hairline. It looked like an ER visit for both and maybe the operating room for Greg. “When was your last tetanus shot?” he asked the Marine.
“Before my last deployment, three years ago.”
“Well, at least we don’t have that to worry about.”
“We have to take Stephanie to a doctor,” Jaime said. “Her stitches pulled, and she could be headed into shock.”
“I thought you were seeing double. How can you make that call?”
“I’m not blind. I’ll call my VFW contacts and see if one of the old quacks can help us out.”
“It’s almost time to text Carla. She should be up here with Barb and Pat. Let’s talk it through before we take those two to real doctors or the hospital and end up with cops involved.”
* * * * *
Sal’s arms burned and his palms were raw, but that rope was almost sawed through. With a final jerk he snapped the last threads and was free from the pole. He felt his way to the steps and slid his handcuffed hands up the banister as he ascended. He’d heard the garage door open and close maybe two hours ago. Perhaps they’d left a guard behind, but he doubted it. More likely, they’d taken everyone to the exchange. He tested the doorknob with a slow twist and found it locked. He found the light switch and turned it on.
At the bottom of the stairs a workbench held an assortment of tools and weaponry worthy of the pawnshop–rape dungeon in Pulp Fiction. Sal couldn’t work a chainsaw, so he chose the five-pound sledgehammer. It still took more than a dozen blows to destroy where the deadbolt anchored the door frame. If anyone were home, they’d be on the other side. Instead the house was dark, save for the basement light.
He crept down the hallway wall until he found a light switch: Three doors to choose from. One of the bedrooms had an empty crib and a trash basket half-filled with soiled diapers.
Sal had just dialed Carla’s cell when the garage door rumbled to life. He switched out the hall light and room lights and closed the bedroom door.
A voice rang out. “Goddamnit! He broke out of the basement! Check the doors to see if he’s outside.”
* * * * *
The extended Maggio family was reunited at the back of the shopping center, three vehicles parked close together. Travis’ triage assessment concluded that only he and Carla were clearheaded. Barb and Jaime were functional, and the other three were write-offs: The politburo would have only two voters this session. “Carla, now that you’ve heard the sitrep, what’s your decision?”
“That’s a lot to process. Let me walk through it. If we stay on the run, we take motel rooms tonight, sneak Greg and Jaime inside and wait for y
our staff to come back with the medkit. You patch up Jaime and Greg. Greg’s wound may become infected, which will force us to dump him at an ER and maybe blow our cover. We don’t know where Tyson or Sal are or how to find them. There are two kidnappers at large.
“If you call the FBI, you take Greg and Jaime to the ER. We brief the FBI about Burns and maybe learn what they’ve found out about the kidnappers. Jaime and your friends will be deported, or maybe you’ll all go to prison.”
“That’s the size of it. You need to decide as I’m biased: Arkar and Maung don’t deserve to get thrown out.”
“Not so fast. I don’t know if it matters, but the entire state goes into mandatory lockdown at midnight. The virus jumped from Oakland to San Francisco and ICUs are full.”
“That reduces our ability to travel. It also will give the cops fewer people to look for us. Call it, Maverick.”
Before she could answer, Carla’s phone rang.
chapter eleven
ESCAPADES
Friday, July 10: Marin County, night
The master bedroom door was locked. “He’s in here!” Muller shouted. “Go around back!”
“Carla? It’s Sal. Tyson isn’t here. Is he with you?”
“No. They didn’t bring him. There was a shootout. Where are you?”
Muller’s kick rattled the door.
“I don’t know. The kidnappers are back. Gotta run.” Sal hung up and dialed 911.
“What’s your emergency?” asked the operator.
Muller kicked the door again. “If you don’t open this door, I’ll kill you!”
“I’ve been kidnapped,” Sal told the operator. “I don’t know where I am. They have guns, and they’re threatening to kill me.”
“Stay on the line, sir. What’s your name?”
“Sal Maggio. Send police. Can’t talk.” He left the phone off the hook and grabbed the vanity stool.
Muller’s next kick pushed the doorframe partly out of the wall. Sal used the stool to break out the bedroom window through closed drapes. Melvin ran toward the noise. He stopped short, readied his weapon and ducked around the corner.
Sal ran to the other side of the bedroom, thrust the drapes aside, slid open the window and dumped himself over the sill. The door behind him burst open. Still handcuffed, he sprinted into the darkness.
Muller leaned out the window and looked in vain for a target. Melvin ran around the corner and nearly drew fire from his agitated boss.
“Cars dispatched to your location, Mr. Maggio. Stay where you are. Help is on the way,” the police dispatcher deadpanned.
“Fuck!” Muller cursed.
* * * * *
“That was Sal!” Carla exclaimed. “He’s where they had Tyson, but he’s not there. The kidnappers were after him and he hung up.”
“That settles it,” Travis said. “I’m calling the FBI.” He picked up the phone and tapped a number.
“Fillmore. Ryder?”
“Yes.”
“Why has your phone been off? Anything to do with two Black Ice employees shot dead in a Marin County park? Do you have the baby?”
“Negative. The abductors didn’t bring the baby. They made a grab for the ransom; shit went sideways and we suffered two wounded to their two dead. We let two of them go.”
“Why didn’t you hold them and wait for the police?”
“We didn’t know if they had another sniper. We picked up our wounded and left ASAP. I could have killed the other two, but that was my only other option.”
Fillmore sighed. “I assume this isn’t a social call. You want the Bureau involved?”
“Yes, that’s an official request from the child’s parents, Greg and Stephanie Ferguson.”
“Where are you? I’ll come to you.”
“We’re near the Novato Community Hospital,” Travis said. “I’ll wait outside for you.”
“I’ll be there in less than thirty. Don’t do anything stupid. You’ve already fucked up my wife’s garden party. Don’t give me another reason to shoot you.”
* * * * *
Travis put Carla in charge of the women and sent them to the ER. Jaime’s head had defogged, and he tended to an unconscious Greg. The F-150 was just about the most-wanted vehicle in Marin County, so Travis took it easy on the one-mile-drive. Pat’s Audi was parked in front of the ER, hazards flashing.
As Greg disappeared into surgery and Jaime into an evaluation cubicle, Travis and Carla went to Pat’s assistance. A green hazmat–suited man with a clipboard tried to take their temperatures, but they shook him off.
A large nurse and Pat argued over Stephanie. Pat raised her tone from loud to belligerent. “She’s in shock, I tell you! Her baby’s been kidnapped, and her husband’s been shot. She needs medical attention, starting with new stitches!”
“Ma’am, this hospital is closed to everyone except suspected Covid patients or catastrophic injuries. Your daughter will be safer outside the hospital than in it.”
“She’s immune to the virus! She was in Mount Marin’s ICU last week, but now she’s cured.”
“Last week? You all need to leave right way.”
Carla ignored her, stepped into reception and walked a hunched Stephanie out to her mother’s car. Travis detached a furious Pat from her debate partner. They stood outside and waited for Barb to leave contact details.
Carla’s boss at Livermore, Dr. Harriet Holland, had bombarded her with texts demanding that she return to the lab by tomorrow morning. Carla’s new assignment was to decode “896MX” since it wasn’t referenced in the lab’s records as the only substance in the world that killed the entire known inventory of bat-sourced coronaviruses. Had she concocted it under another name? Smuggled it in from outside? Holland wanted a formula decomposition including spectrographic analysis, a bigger batch created to kickstart human trials, and an account of Carla’s actions before, during and after the appearance of this wonder drug at Livermore. Carla ignored the correspondence, but mentally moved a step closer to a new life in Canada.
Her favorite alpha chimp with the gimpy legs hobbled over and saw her concern. “You look worried. What happened?”
“My boss read my lab notes and discovered that Uncle Sal’s drug kills coronaviruses. She’s gone apeshit and wants the drug and me back ASAP. If I give her the last dose, I screw Tyson. But if I can decode the encrypted files and find the formula, I can share that and leave the vial with Uncle Sal.”
“Email me the files,” Travis said. “I have a friend who used to break codes for the CIA. We’re out of touch, but I have an old dark web email address that might work. If he can crack it, he’ll do it in a hurry. If he can’t, I’ll forward it to my old boss in the DEA for his people to look at.”
* * * * *
Sal disentangled himself from the infernal manzanita and worked his way down the unlit street, backyard by backyard. He saw a dark car drive past toward the main road: The kidnappers. He was a free man again. He walked out between two houses, panting from his unaccustomed handcuffed sprint technique.
Two police cars, lights flashing but sirens silent whipped past on their way to the house. Sal drew a deep breath, stepped into the street, and then turned to walk down to where the blue and red kaleidoscopes flickered. He made out an officer in silhouette. He’d be out of the cuffs and back with his family in no time.
From the edge of the road, he sensed rather than saw movement in the gloom. A deep voice said, “Don’t move or make a sound.”
Melvin put his phone to his ear. “I have him.” From well up the road, a car’s taillights lit up as it reversed toward them.
Sal couldn’t believe his stupidity. Once recaptured, he’d never have another chance to escape. If Burns got hold of him, his ex-boss would infect him or order him killed. Either way, he was screwed. In a flash, he had an intuition: The kidnappers no longer had Tyson. His fate and his grandson’s were no longer interlinked. Sal lashed a kick into his captor’s groin. Melvin doubled over and dropped his pistol an
d phone.
Sal took off. Melvin scrambled to grab his weapon and raise it to a firing position. His quarry was already invisible across the darkened front yards. As a manicured lawn transitioned to an array of desert succulents, Sal stumbled on an agave plant and went ass-over-teakettle. Melvin fired at the sound and missed high. A dog barked and the next-door porch light flipped on too late for him to find his target. Melvin heard the fugitive resume running, gravel crunching underfoot. The outline of a black four-door sedan slowed to a stop.
Melvin gave up on his quarry, retrieved his phone and shifted his attention to his boss’s curses. “You fucking idiot! You let him disarm you and escape and then you fired a shot? Get in the car!” Melvin got in the back seat.
Sal saw the Taurus drive off and didn’t buy it the second time. He turned and ran farther into the darkness back to the kidnappers’ house. Ten seconds later, an intense flashlight beam struck him in the eyes. “Stop! Hands in the air! Kneel on the ground.”
Sal spoke between rasps, cuffed hands on knees. “I called 911. I’m Sal Maggio. The kidnappers just drove off after shooting at me. They have my newborn grandson. Help me out of these handcuffs.”
* * * * *
“What in the fuck happened back there?” Muller snapped.
“I was watching you back up and he kicked me in the balls. I thought I was gonna puke. He’s fast too.”
“This has been a shitty day and you’re a big reason why. I have half—” Muller’s phone buzzed in mid-harangue. “It’s the AT&T man. Lindy Burns stopped for the night up in the hills. Since you fucked up our two-million-dollar payday, we’re back with Plan A.”
“And, uh, what’s Plan A?” Melvin asked, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. His left nut had absorbed more of the kick and was softer than his right one. That wasn’t encouraging. He needed to compare them under good light.
