by Bradley West
“All these years, my people spent their life’s savings to hire coyotes to take them to Los Estados Unidos,” Jaime said. “Finally, the tide turns for Mexico. At a grand a head and room for forty in the back, I’d have a helluva business between El Paso and Juarez.”
They made good time and arrived early to find Travis’ pickup already at the rendezvous, a spur road two hundred yards from the entrance. Laying out his site map on the open tailgate, Travis talked them through the showroom and warehouse floorplans. Jaime would be the muscle, responsible for most of the equipment. Sal would interpret Carla’s shopping list and carry the lighter goods. Maung would stand sentry duty. Travis would break into the showroom and disable the alarms and CCTVs via the video control room. He set up a conference call and ensured everyone could connect.
“What do Sal and I do while you deactivate the security?” Jaime asked.
“Wait here. I doubt anyone will respond even if we trigger an alarm, but a state trooper pulled us over on the drive down. My cover story worked too well, and he offered to call the local cops to let them know we’d be here later tonight. I don’t know how that’ll play out, but the lower our visibility, the better.”
“That’s no fucking good. Why not postpone for twenty-four hours?”
“Several reasons, the most important one being that I have to help Carla escape tomorrow night. Tonight’s our night so long as you’re still game.”
“We’re fine,” Sal said. “We’ll wait for your signal.”
“You should be able to park around back,” Travis said, “out of sight of the main road. Once I finish in the showroom, I’ll come over to help.”
Maung said nothing, but ran another weapons check to channel his nervous energy: The pair of M-4s functioned properly and looked like they were well maintained.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Jaime said as Travis and Maung drove off. “The mission’s compromised. We should have had a fallback target to rob: Ryder fucked up. If the cops show up, we’ll have to shoot our way out.”
Sal didn’t know what he thought, other than he felt very conspicuous. He couldn’t tell whether Jaime’s weapon and their pistols made him feel more or less secure.
Up the road at Bettadapur’s, Maung stood to the side of the showroom in the shadows. He had a night-vision spotter’s scope, but there was a full moon and enough ambient glow from the distant streetlights to render it unnecessary.
Disabling the alarms and CCTV presented a Catch-22 since Ryder would have to bypass the alarm on the door before deactivating the entire system from the control room. In the SEALs they’d punch a hole in the roof and drop down, but he didn’t have the tools. What he counted on turned out to be the case: an exhaust fan covered the window of the men’s room toilet. He pulled the pickup around the rear and stood in the bed as he pried the vent off, wincing from the racket as he removed the fan in the nighttime silence. He lowered his tool bag through the window and onto the floor.
Now for the tricky part: He had to squeeze his shoulders through a diagonal gap that was maybe an inch wider than he was broad. He’d done it before, but not without assistance. He radioed Maung and a few minutes later, the little man supported Travis’ thighs and propelled him headfirst toward the toilet. Travis avoided a swirly by grabbing the edges of the seat and doing a handstand. He fell to the side, legs crashing into the partition as he crumpled to the floor. He said a silent thank you to the custodians for the clean men’s room floor.
Through the open window, he heard a car door open and a command. “You there in the pickup! Put your hands up! Up! UP!”
Goddamn! The cops had Maung. Travis fled the men’s room and ran toward the back door with the Glock out. He shot out the bottom glass panel on the showroom door, kicked out the larger shards and crawled through while he turned off his headlamp. A darkened squad car was parked between the door and his Ram 2500, and a pair of flashlights probed the source of the broken glass.
Travis lay pressed against the wall and belly crawled to stay in the shadows. Ryder saw one officer in the bright moonlight and drew a bead on the cop but held off. Maung would be out of the pickup’s bed, creeping up on the other man with his knife drawn.
“Maung! Don’t kill them!” Travis shouted from his hiding spot in the dark. “Drop your weapons, both of you. We don’t want to hurt anyone.”
The cop he had in his sights pressed talk on his lapel radio, “10-71 at 8238 California Drive. Officers require assistance.”
Out of sight was the sound of a brief struggle. Maung, all five-foot-six, held his A-Klub knife against the throat of a sideways-leaning officer almost a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier. “You shut up or friend die,” Maung declared.
“Put down your weapon,” Ryder added for emphasis. The cop looked at his colleague with a machete against his windpipe and dropped his pistol. Behind them, they heard a vehicle at full throttle. Ryder turned his head, half-expecting the rest of the Burlingame police force. Instead, Jaime pulled up and hopped out with his rifle at the ready.
The police dispatcher’s calls for clarification went unheeded, then she confirmed two units inbound with three-minute ETAs.
“They called for backup,” Travis said. “Cuff them and get the fuck out of here.”
Maung had his man handcuffed in seconds. Jaime took a little longer, collecting radios as well as weapons. Travis walked over to where Sal sat in the cab. “Now that they’ve seen your truck, it’s burned. Clear everything out and put it into my rig. We leave in thirty seconds.” Sal got busy.
Recriminations flew as the four men roared off in the Ram ahead of the reinforcements. “I told you we should have aborted,” Jaime started. “Now it’s FUBAR.”
“Oh, we’re fucked in more ways than you can imagine,” Travis said. “We’ve lost Sal’s new truck, and if it’s registered to his address, he can expect a raid tomorrow. The cops made my plates on the drive over and again when they rolled up on Maung, so I can’t go home. My burglary tools are back in the men’s room covered in my prints and to top everything off, we didn’t get Carla’s lab equipment.”
“That’s totally on you,” Jaime spat. “And then I had to save your ass.”
Travis shook his head. “I didn’t call you because Maung and I had it under control. We would have neutralized the reinforcements, then walked back to Sal and you, and we’d all be in the big white truck with no one the wiser.”
Two police cars whipped past in the opposite direction, lights flashing.
“Bullshit! Plus, you’d have lost your precious pickup.”
“Look, that’s all history. We have to stay off the main roads and hide. Covid or not, when shots are fired around cops, they swarm. They may even put up a bird. They sure as hell will have my place staked out and all the road cameras on the lookout.”
They drove in silence for a moment. “The truck’s not registered to Sal,” Jaime said. “I don’t know who it’s registered to. And I paid in cash.”
“Then how did you buy insurance?” Sal asked.
“Insurance? What insurance? We’re headed to Canada. I negotiated a big discount. I’m not certain the seller has papers.”
Travis started to laugh, joined by Maung. “Hot truck,” the Burmese said.
“Well, that’s one less thing to worry about then,” Travis said. “Let’s put some miles behind us and park for a few hours. If we can, we’ll steal a car and leave this hidden somewhere. We’ll time our arrival to hit Sal’s before sunrise.”
Sal shook his head. “With the Covid-20 outbreak, we’re safer in this pickup even if the cops have the plates.”
* * * * *
Muller made the drive north to Marin and Katerina rode shotgun. They passed the odd official vehicle, stragglers along the road and random abandoned cars.
Melvin’s surge of energy from the cocaine had drained away. He was tired of these godless people and their games. “If you grab Tyson’s mother tonight, there’s no way they’ll pay to get the ba
by back. We have to sell the baby first, then take her.”
“You must have been too busy choking me to pay attention,” Katerina said. “We hang on to the baby until we know his mother’s blood has the same antibodies. That will take at least a day. Then we sell him back, if he goes back.”
Melvin dropped his right hand down to his quick-draw holster. “We agreed that we swap the mother for the baby. That’s the deal, the only deal.”
“Let’s focus on the task,” Muller said. “Tonight, the plan is to confirm where she stays and surveil the premises. Unless it’s a slam dunk, we return to Oakland, set up our lab and come back tomorrow night with Tyson for the exchange. Melvin’s correct that our goal is to trade the baby for money and steal the mother.”
Melvin said nothing. They thought he was a fool who couldn’t see the disconnect between Katerina’s story and Muller’s lie. The play tonight had to be a second try at the original plan: A fake exchange of the child, a grab for the ransom money and the abduction of Tyson’s mother. If that was their plan, they knew they’d have to kill him to carry it out. Tonight’s the night.
Forty minutes later, the Tahoe wound its way up the tony residential streets of Kentfield, one of Marin’s premier neighborhoods. Muller pulled over and activated the burner. His first message was from the second merc he’d reached out to earlier: “Bomber Mike” Horne was on board. Muller passed along the Souls’ address and added that Smiley Shuckies had signed on. That should make Horne happy: The two were practically butt-buddies. Muller’s next order of business was the seizure and sequestration of Stephanie Ferguson, the woman who would make him wealthy beyond his dreams, and the termination of Melvin Robinson’s employment.
At 23:30, 1800 Crown Road was quiet. Pat sat in the living room, TV off and a glass of wine in her hand. It wasn’t her first, but she still hadn’t worked up the courage to tell her daughters that they had to leave for Canada in two days. Barb, her co-conspirator in crimes against cabernet sauvignon, dozed over a book. Greg was well asleep thanks to pain meds, and Steph was perched in an armchair she’d dragged into his room as the TV droned its doomsday message.
The burner buzzed: I’m out front with Tyson. Come down the driveway alone and bring the money.
Melvin catfooted it around the back of the house to check it out: Only a few lights on inside, lights out on the patio, but three vehicles in the long driveway. With so many cars, there had to be firepower on premises. Maybe Sal Maggio’s family would do his work for him. If those snipers from Friday night were on station with night-vision goggles, he’d learn about it as soon as Muller’s head popped into view. Melvin trotted back down, gave his boss the okay signal and stepped back into the shadows. He didn’t know whether to aim his pistol at Muller or up the drive. In the meantime, he waited for Rolf’s face to disappear in red mist. Then he’d do the same to Katerina and surrender to the Maggios.
The front door opened, and a figure pulled a suitcase onto the portico. The door shut and Melvin heard the wheels clump down stone steps. Stephanie’s appearance was Katerina’s cue to approach with a blanketed bundle. Melvin couldn’t believe that anyone would fall for the same ruse twice in three nights, but here came the skinny white woman down the driveway.
The porch lights came on, the front door opened a second time and two women rushed out. “Steph! Steph! Where are you going?”
“Stay where you are! I’m getting Tyson back!”
Melvin watched as Katerina stopped her walk up the driveway. She was thirty feet beyond Muller, who knelt in the gloom out of Steph’s sight, but visible to the two women standing on the higher elevation of the front porch. Melvin was still unseen and felt uncertain about what happened next. Where was the protection? Were the men flanking them while the three Maggio women ran a diversion? Gone were thoughts of shooting Muller and Katerina. This was a trap. He had to get out of here. There was a state park across the street, fewer than fifty yards down the hill and into the manzanita. Then he thought of Tyson and the blameless child’s cruel fate if he fled.
Katerina’s prize was almost within reach when Stephanie stopped—something in the mad scientist’s demeanor rang a warning bell. “Show me my baby. Show me Tyson!” The two women were fifteen feet apart. Katerina lobbed her bundle in an arc at Steph and charged. Katerina surprised Melvin even more when she ignored the suitcase and tackled Steph. The two women struggled until Muller ran up the driveway and neutralized Steph in short order. Pat and Barb shouted to wake the dead and flew down the hill.
Melvin waited for the shock of the bullets then realized that the men weren’t home. He sprinted toward the women and arrived before Barb and Pat could join the fray. Muller had Stephanie’s hands zip-tied behind her and a sock wadded in her mouth. He hauled her to her feet. Katerina’s attentions were on the suitcase. Barb pulled up short, but Pat went straight for Muller, who controlled his hostage with one hand and reached for his pistol with the other. Melvin ran past his boss and used his gun barrel to smack Pat across the face. She fell and struck her head hard on the driveway.
Melvin’s violent action had transported him back in time and space to Afghanistan. He pointed his weapon at yet another indigenous female of unknown intentions and said, “Don’t make a sound or I’ll shoot. Count to one hundred before you call anyone. Otherwise, Stephanie dies.”
The three kidnappers retreated with their prizes and drove off at speed. Melvin could feel rather than see Katerina’s weapon pointed at him from the backseat. In turn, he pointed his pistol at Rolf’s midriff. “If you don’t fuck this up, everyone comes out a winner. Keep both hands on the wheel and drive us back to Oakland. Katerina, you drop your weapon over the front seat. Your job is to control the hostage. Drop it now or I shoot Rolf.”
Katerina didn’t know anything about guns, starting with whether the pistol she pointed was even loaded or had the safety on. If she pulled the trigger and nothing happened, Melvin would kill Rolf and her. She tossed the weapon into the front seat and Melvin snatched it before Muller could react.
“What happens when we get back?” Muller asked.
“Gonna be some big-time changes,” Melvin said.
Stephanie let out an undecipherable cry through her gag.
chapter twenty-three
UPRISINGS
Monday, July 13: Kentfield, Oakland, San Mateo County and San Francisco, California, early morning
“911, what is your emergency?”
“1800 Crown Road, my mother’s unconscious and bleeding. She was struck in the face and hit her head on the driveway.”
“I’ll need you to answer a short survey before I dispatch an ambulance. Has anyone in your house contracted Covid-19 or 20?”
“What? No! I need an ambulance now!”
“Ma’am, please calm down. These questions protect our medical staff. Does anyone have a temperature or a cough? Any signs of delirium or disorientation?”
“My sister’s been kidnapped, my mother’s maybe dying and you’re asking me Covid questions? What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Kidnapped? Do you have any knowledge of whether the kidnappers have a Covid infection or have been exposed to the vi—”
Barb disconnected and howled with anguish. Mom hadn’t moved a muscle. She raced up the driveway, grabbed her mother’s keys and drove down to the prostrate figure. She dragged Pat up onto the backseat, propped her upright, belted her in place and dove through the deserted streets to Mount Marin Hospital.
The ER was a circus with patients in the parking lot and on the sidewalk, and a phalanx of hazmat-suited staff and security guards striving to keep order. The closest vacant space to the ER was almost a hundred yards away. Before Barb could exit the car, someone in a blue plastic boilersuit handed her a clipboard and a pen, and pressed a thermometer to her forehead.
“I’m not sick! My mother had a fall . . . someone with a gun knocked her out. She needs a doctor!”
The blue person had heard every story already, usually in a vain att
empt to jump the queue of the Covid-afflicted. “How long has your mother been sick? Once you fill out the forms, we can time-stamp her application. In the meantime, I’d like to take her temperature.”
“We’re not sick! Are you people insane? She needs an X-Ray and maybe an MRI. Will you just look at her?”
“Ma’am, the ER isn’t accepting non-Covid patients at present. Novato Community Hospital is the closest facility that admits general accident patients.”
“That’s fifteen miles away, goddammit!”
A second person in a decontamination suit approached. “Phyllis, can I help?”
“Dr. Alexander, what are you doing out here?”
“I finished my shift and am headed out to sleep in my car for a few hours. What seems to be the matter?” The doctor shone his phone flashlight on Barb, who gestured toward Pat in the backseat.
While Dr. Alexander raised the alarm, Barb dialed Sal. She briefed her father as fast as she could.
“Stay with your mother,” Sal said. “I’m with Jaime, Travis and one of his men. We’re south of the airport and it will take us at least ninety minutes to make it back. Let me know if they move your mother or the police come. And don’t call the police again.”
* * * * *
Melvin had Muller and Katerina’s pistols on the floor at his feet. The only weapon that mattered was in his hand and this time his arm didn’t shake. But as they drew close to the warehouse, Muller seemed almost smug. Melvin was self-aware enough to know that there were people smarter than he was, and he was in the presence of two of them.
“Pull over in front of the warehouse, turn off the ignition and pass the keys over. Katerina, if you run, I’ll kill your partner. Then I’ll shoot you too, so don’t move.”
From the backseat, Stephanie tried to talk through the gag.
“If you scream, I’ll shoot you,” Melvin said. “Katerina, pull the gag.”
“I just want to be with my son,” Stephanie said once the sock was removed. “I’ll do anything you want. Just don’t hurt Tyson.”
