Bell to Pay

by Jeremy Waldron

  “What’s this about Joey? And don’t lie to me because they weren’t exactly tight-lipped when sharing their concerns about what you might be up to.”

  Joey tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and sighed. She let the fucking cops inside their house. His body was on fire as he let his thoughts scramble to understand. “What did they say?”

  “Joey, they were here in connection to a homicide.” Cecelia paused. “Why do they want to ask you about a murder?”

  Joey clenched his fist and bit his tongue. He thought about telling her a lie, saying that he was helping Samantha Bell cover the crime desk. But Cecelia could sleuth her way to learning the truth before Joey had time to cover his own tail. Inside, he was furious but he couldn’t worry his wife—couldn’t lead her to believe he might actually be closer to the murders than he knew was possible. Joey had one foot in his own grave and he needed to act quick before he, too, ended up dead.

  “You’re not in trouble, are you?” Cecelia’s voice cracked and Joey knew she was on the verge of tears.

  “No. Of course not,” Joey said in his most reassuring voice, then dropped his chin to his chest and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s just work. You know how it can be sometimes.”

  “I let them go into your office.”

  Joey gritted his teeth and stood there feeling like he was rocking on a boat about to sink. He tried to recall how he’d left his office, what the detectives might have found.

  “Did they take anything with them?”

  “I didn’t ask, and frankly don’t really care.”

  This can’t be happening, he kept repeating to himself.

  Then he reminded himself that it was impossible to trace his account back to him.

  Suddenly, his eyes flew wide open. He stopped breathing and his heart stopped. In that split second, he felt the sky falling. Joey remembered something that he knew would bring him down. He couldn’t believe that he didn’t shred the evidence before leaving the house.

  “What did they say when they left?”

  “To call when you got home.” Cecelia gave him the name and number of both detectives.

  Joey promised to sort this out—he had it handled. Then he said, “I love you.”

  Silence hung on the line as Joey waited to hear her reciprocate the words he desperately needed to hear. Instead, the line clicked dead without Cecelia telling him she loved him too.

  Joey squeezed his cellphone so tight he heard the plastic casing crack. Cursing into thin air, Joey felt like he was walking the edge of a cliff about to topple over and lose everything he ever loved.

  He took a minute to calm down before sliding his cellphone into his back pocket. Then he entered the bank and was soon escorted to the private room that accessed his safety deposit box. Once alone, he took out his key, slid it into the lock, and opened it up.

  Joey was smart enough to know his luck would soon run out. It was time to go nuclear.

  He had no choice. What he was about to do had to be done. Not only for him, but his family. It wasn’t personal. Only a matter of survival.

  One by one, Joey pulled the folders of notes and stories he had been saving as a last resort. It was the information that he was sure would give him the severance needed to pay off his daughter’s medical bills with hopefully enough left over to step into a self-imposed retirement. One questioned remained; who should he present it to first? That depended on who he thought the highest bidder may be.

  He thought about the drink he asked to have with Samantha, and he thought that maybe he’d start by talking to her.

  Chapter Fifty

  An hour later, Loxley parked his car in the Metropolitan State University student lot and found his way into the auditorium where the panel discussion was already in progress. He lingered in the back, gauging the crowd and its tone before turning his eyes to the stage. There sat a row of panelists, all invited here to discuss the importance of having a higher calling.

  If only it didn’t relate to business, then maybe it would be something Loxley could relate to. Instead, Loxley closed off his ears, not willing to listen to the same pack of lies he’d once believed himself. But that was long ago, and he was older and wiser now. Still, among the hundreds of young minds here today, one would see through the bullshit and share the same enlightened thoughts as Loxley now knew to be true.

  Lowering his brow, Loxley scanned the rows, flitting between the various faces before finding his target.

  “Not on the panel? Of course you’re not,” Loxley said under his breath, grinning at his clever wits. “How could I be so naïve?”

  He was right again, knowing Parker Collins would be here. Part of Loxley wanted to know how Thompson’s wake went, if his goodbye was satisfying or just a hindrance to a very busy schedule.

  Parker was sitting in the front row—a paper coffee cup in one hand—as he watched his wife, Joan, move across the stage while discussing the importance of pursuing a path greater than just profit.

  Shifting his gaze between Parker and Joan, Loxley listened to Joan’s words very carefully. This was the reason he was here—the reason he chose them to die next. Like those who’d come before them, Loxley had done his research and knew that the Collins’ business activities told a much different tale than the one he was hearing now.

  Joan was a great spokeswoman, so much so that soon she had Loxley questioning if maybe she wasn’t aware of the truth to Parker’s boardroom decisions. Could it be possible? Would he keep that from her?

  An ache in Loxley’s jaw deepened as he stared at the back of Parker’s grey-haired head.

  Parker didn’t even have the nerve to sell his own lie. What a coward, Loxley thought. He should be up there, the two-faced liar. But living a lie and telling a lie were two completely different tasks. It was always easier to live the lie than to keep up with it. That was why Loxley was convinced Joan was on stage and not Parker. She didn’t know.

  A flashbulb ignited and lit up the stage.

  A photojournalist kneeled near the front and snapped a couple more photos.

  Loxley watched intently as the photographer retreated back to his seat. There, he joined the dozen or so other journalists who’d come to cover the event.

  Loxley rolled his neck, suddenly hating the predicament he found himself in. He hadn’t expected to spare Joan’s life, but the more Joan convinced him she knew nothing of her husband’s lies, the more certain Loxley grew that he had to only kill her husband.

  “It’s your lucky day, Mrs. Collins,” Loxley muttered to himself.

  But how to get Parker alone? Loxley knew they’d come here together. This wasn’t going to be easy, but nothing Loxley couldn’t handle with a little foresight.

  “Thank you,” Joan said into the mic. Applause filled the room and Loxley began clapping to blend in with the others.

  Keeping an eye on Parker, Loxley watched him stand. He clapped loudly for his wife, pointing at her as the media and cameras rushed him like a pack of wild dogs. They took his photo, asked him questions that should have been directed at Joan, and treated him like a celebrity who had just spent the last thirty minutes speaking.

  Loxley clenched a fist and found himself turning his attention to Joan who was now being congratulated by her colleagues on the stage. He grinned, thankful someone recognized her smarts.

  Lowering his hands to his sides, Loxley thought about the benefits of leaking Parker’s secret to a member of media here today. After a minute of mulling it over, he decided against it. They wouldn’t do the story justice. It deserved to be told in its entirety and with enough passion to make a splash. And Loxley knew of only one person who had the talent to do just that.

  The woman sitting in the row in front of him was busy scrolling her social media page when Loxley leaned forward and asked to borrow her phone. “Mine must have fallen out on the bus ride here,” he lied.

  The woman eyed him, then smiled. “Sure, no problem.”

  “Thank you.” Loxley pr
essed his palms together and bowed. “My girlfriend is probably wondering what happened to me.”

  Falling back into his seat, Loxley quickly wrote out a text message to Samantha. Once it sent, he handed the phone back to the woman and began making his way to the front of the auditorium.

  He needed to look Parker in his eyes, see the evil that was hiding behind those colorful irises of his, make sure Parker saw him and knew who he was. How close could he get? Would Parker recognize him? It was a risk worth taking. Soon, he would be gone.

  Loxley moved slowly and deliberately down the steps, stalking his prey like a leopard.

  His heart beat faster with each step.

  Parker shook one last hand and turned toward the stairs.

  Then, suddenly, Loxley stopped.

  He stared and felt his pulse race the closer Parker got to him. He was coming straight for Loxley. And when Parker lifted his chin and locked eyes, Loxley held his breath and watched Parker give him a knowing smile before patting Loxley on his shoulder as he passed.

  Blowing out a hot, stale breath, Loxley touched the spot where Parker’s hand had landed. It crackled with static electricity. It never occurred to him that his victim would touch him only minutes before he planned to kill him. Then he turned on a heel and watched Parker exit the auditorium.

  He swallowed down his surprise, licked his lips, and looked around the room. No one else was paying any attention to him. Alone, like always, he hurried up the steps, picked up his pace through the halls, and stiff-armed the exit hoping Parker hadn’t gotten away.

  It didn’t take long for Loxley to catch sight of Parker’s Q-tip hair weaving through the parking lot. He hurried to catch up, needed to get to his own car himself. This was perfect. Parker was alone, just as Loxley needed him to be. Just when his feeling of excitement was beginning to take hold, Loxley spotted a familiar face heading straight for Parker. This, he never saw coming.

  Quickly, he hid behind a red Ford pickup truck and watched through the window glass.

  The reporter called out to Parker. Parker stopped. Loxley watched as they met—not shaking hands—and when the reporter presented Parker with a thick folder, Loxley knew that he may have very well struck gold.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  “And you saw this where?” King directed his anger at Susan.

  For a split second, I saw Susan take a step back in complete surprise. It was a side of King she had never seen before. I hadn’t seen much of it either. But I knew he meant no harm, and it certainly wasn’t meant to be personal. He had his badge clipped on his belt and his gun strapped beneath his arm. For him, this was only work. King was on duty, canvassing for information.

  “Backstage. Damien Black’s lab.” Susan spoke confidently before looking in Allison’s direction. “We were just there.” She turned back to King and narrowed her eyes. “Didn’t you hear anything we said?”

  Damien’s name kept coming up and I made note of it. I’d given them instruction to put together a list of hackers, but I didn’t expect this.

  Allison played peacekeeper when she held up her hand like a white flag waving through the air demanding a ceasefire. “Backstage keeps young adults out of trouble and is putting them on the straight and narrow. They may know how to hack, but I doubt they have the skill like what we’re witnessing here,” she said, pointing to the insulin pump.

  I listened and agreed, trusting Allison’s assessment. But it didn’t come without personal doubts. Just because a man was trained to kill in the field of battle didn’t mean that the skill couldn’t be applied off the battlefield.

  “This was what Sam tasked us to find.” Allison was now staring at me. “And guess what? We found it.”

  King turned his head and gave me a look of disbelief.

  “When is this hacker event?” I asked when all eyes were on me.

  “Doesn’t matter,” King said. “We can request a list of participants and work from there.”

  “Before we go throwing our youth up against a wall and frisking them for information, let’s not forget that these types of events happen all the time,” Allison said.

  “You have a better idea?” Alvarez openly asked.

  “Backstage is doing these kids a service. If its doors close like Damien says they might, then what?” Susan raised her brows, flitting her gaze around the circle. “He’s already afraid some will turn to crime.”

  “More reason to get our hands on the list of students,” King said.

  If they haven’t already, I thought. The more I heard, the more I was ready to jump in my own car and ask Damien some questions myself. “I’ll do it,” I said. “I’ll get the list.”

  King snapped his neck and glared. “No you won’t.”

  “Don’t tell me you expect me to just forget about this and sit on my hands?”

  “That’s exactly what I expect you to do.” King made it clear there wasn’t room for debate. “Go back to work. All of you.”

  “No way; we’re involved. You need us,” Allison said, pointing to the insulin device, subtly reminding King how she informed him about how it worked. “An attack on one is an attack on all.”

  “Christ almighty,” Alvarez grumbled as he left the circle.

  “This isn’t negotiable,” King said, requesting to speak to me alone.

  I felt the girls staring as King led me to the back of his car. He knew I was the ring leader, the instigator, and he might be right. But this was my investigation as much as it was his.

  “Sam, you have to stay away from this case.”

  King’s hands were rooted into his hips, his pupils tiny pinpricks of anger. “I can’t call them off,” I said, pointing at my group of women. “We’re too deep and know too much.”

  “It’s dangerous.”

  I knew what he was saying, appreciated the concern, but there wasn’t any way I could stop now. “This is personal, Alex. Not only for me, but them, too. There’s no way any of us can back out now.”

  King stared at my friends, his brow furrowed with thoughts. He inched forward and lowered his voice. “Look, Sam, I appreciate the knowledge your friends bring to the table, but police work needs to go through the proper channels, especially if we’re going to see this thing through to a conviction.”

  We didn’t even have the suspect’s name. “What are you saying? You want me to get an inside scoop on Damien?”

  “No. I want to know more about what you mentioned to me earlier.” King paused. “Was Donny really running his exchange like a Ponzi scheme?”

  “I don’t have any evidence to prove it.” All I had was enough doubt to make me question it. “Look,” I said, “I’ll get them to back off Damien long enough for you to pay him a visit, but I’m going to need something from you.”

  King’s face tightened. “And what would that be?”

  “Tell me everything you know. And don’t hold back. Like you said, my life could be in danger.”

  King scrubbed a hand over his face and gave me a look that said he couldn’t. “You know it’s too risky to speak too much about an ongoing investigation.”

  I folded my arms across my chest and stared. I knew the spiel. Heard it a million times before. Stories could spin out of control, contaminate jury pools, and all but destroy everything everyone worked so hard to get. But I was different. He could trust me. He just needed to be reminded of who I was.

  I reached for his hand. He didn’t push me away—didn’t resist. Our touches were featherlight but they crackled with electricity hot enough to start a fire. Soon, King had his fingers threaded through mine when he squeezed my hand. In that split second, I watched his gaze soften. King disappeared and Alex surfaced.

  “You know I’d do anything to protect you and Mason,” he said.

  “I know,” I murmured as I squeezed his hand and told him I loved him with my eyes. “So, tell me. What do you know? I’ve already shared everything I know. This has to be a two-way street, otherwise it won’t work.”

 
King looked to the girls to make sure no one was listening. He rolled his shoulders back and I watched him transform back into the strong detective he was. When the air was clear, he said in a soft voice, “When we spoke with Rose, she said to ask Garcia about the Bitcoin key code. She said he would recognize it.”

  “Was it his?”

  King shrugged. “But Rose made it clear she thought Garcia might be the one behind Counts’s murder.”

  “Shit,” I breathed before King followed up with another juicy detail.

  “We don’t know the details, but it appeared that maybe Garcia had, or was trying to, blackmail Donny.”

  I swallowed past my constricting throat. “That’s why you were at Garcia’s house?”

  “Yeah.”

  My blood pressure dropped and I was still not any closer to learning who might be threatening me, but the evidence we had strongly suggested Garcia. If it was him, why was he doing this to me? Was it even possible he had the knowledge to do what he was doing? None of this made sense, but it was the best information we had.

  “You should put eyes on Rose Wild,” I said. “My sources are telling me she and Donny had one-way tickets for Thailand, leaving today.”

  King’s eyes popped like I had just revealed the numbers to last night’s jackpot winning. He snapped his fingers and shouted to Alvarez just as my cell phone started to ring. I plugged my ear and answered. “Dawson, what’s up?”

  “Garcia just called your desk.”

  I froze.

  “Said he was looking for you.”

  “Well, that’s great because I’m looking for him.” I turned and watched Alvarez jump behind the steering wheel. “What did he say?”

  “Just that he needed to speak with you ASAP. It sounded urgent, Sam. Which is why I’m calling. Everything all right?”

  I assumed it had something to do with Donny Counts. Did Garcia know that I was at the hospital? Did he know what King found at his home? My pulse ticked hard and fast as I grew more defensive with every breath. Then Dawson dropped another surprise.