The Kidnap Victim Page 5

  He held up a finger. “Got you. I’ll be expecting him.” He hung up. “Have a seat.”

  “What’s up, Neal?”

  “I’ve got to change my plans. I need you to go to the bank for me. You got a problem carrying cash?”

  “Not in broad daylight.”

  He reached into a drawer of his desk and took out a fat manila envelope and a key. “Are you familiar with safe-deposit boxes?”

  She shook her head.

  “Here’s the sealed envelope and the safe-deposit-box key. Be sure you’re carrying a photo ID. At Milton Bank, they’ll have you sign the access ledger and check your ID signature against the ledger signature. Then they’ll use your key and their key to open the box, which they take into a private room for you. You put the envelope in the box. Then you take the box back the teller, and she puts it away and gives your key back.”

  “That sounds simple enough.”

  “This is the important part. This safe-deposit box belongs to a very special client. Do not touch anything in the box. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “The client knows exactly what’s in there. If anything is missing, he’ll know.”

  “You can count on me.”

  “If there’s a problem, I won’t cover for you.”

  “There won’t be any problems.”

  “Great.”

  Robertson picked up his desk phone and speed-dialed the Milton Bank manager’s private line. “Walter? It’s Neal. I’ve got a new assistant. I want you to put her on the safe-deposit-box list. I’ll email the specifics right now.”

  He hung up the phone. “That’s that. Come see me when you get back.”

  Molly rebuttoned her dress as she headed out to her car. She had the key. How much money could possibly be in the safe-deposit box? $25,000? $50,000? Her work was finally going to pay off. As soon as she was out of sight of the office, she called John. “He gave me the safe-deposit-box key. I’m going to the bank.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Are you meeting me there?”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. What did he tell you to do?”

  She reported what Robertson had said.

  “So he’s expecting you back in a few minutes. You disappear now, you won’t make it to the state line. Once the bank has you in its records, you can get in the safe-deposit box anytime. We’ll give it a couple of days and then steal the key. That way we’ll have plenty of time to disappear before they find out the money is gone. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Traffic was heavy in the downtown business zone, with drivers honking their horns or yelling at jaywalkers. The crosswalks were full of people on their lunch breaks. Traffic stopped in her lane where a tow truck was loading a banged-up white truck. Molly nosed her way into the other lane. So they weren’t taking the money today. That meant she still had time to decide. Was she going to leave with John—partner with him, learn the long con, make the kind of money she’d only dreamed of? Or was she going to stay with Chad? They had history. She knew she could count on him. But what was loyalty worth, compared to taking the next step? With Chad, they were always on the short con, hustling marks for their pocket money, emptying cash registers, forging checks, or using stolen credit cards. That was never going to change. If she wanted to move on, now was the time.

  Milton Bank was on her right. She pulled into the bank’s parking lot and parked nearest the doors. But John owed her nothing. She couldn’t trust him. If a more experienced girl came along, she’d be out. Right now she had all the power because she was the only one who could get into the safe-deposit box. But maybe she didn’t need a man. Manipulating Robertson had been easy enough. If she stole the key by herself, she could take all the cash, and leave both John and Chad behind. She was the one who did all the work. Why did she always have to give half the money to a man?

  Later that afternoon in Cricket Bay, Stein sat in his car in the parking lot of the Shoot-the-Moon mini-golf watching Sally, Denison, and the redhead making their way around the course. He’d been following them for two days, morning to night, and he still had no idea what Sally’s scheme was. They went shopping. They went to restaurants. They hung out on the beach. Sally never went anywhere by herself. Were she and the redhead ripping off Denison? Was she ripping off the redhead and Denison? It had to be one or the other; Denison had too much money to be involved in some crooked scheme. They were at hole number seven, the giant clown head, laughing and gesturing as if they were having a grand time.

  What was Sally’s game? There had to be some way to figure out what she was up to. She owed him $60,000. He had to have that money. It would keep his family from being put out on the street. He’d told Carrie that the imaginary interview had gone fine and that he had to stay in town for the second interview. He only had a day or two more before he’d have to tell her something else. They moved on to hole number eight. There was no reason to continue sitting here. Maybe he could learn something new online.

  “Sorry I didn’t call yesterday. I was swamped with grading,” Bobby said.

  Bell sat at the umbrella table on the deck at the beach house, looking out over the darkening sea. The wind was up, and even though it was almost twilight, a man was out on the beach flying a kite. “That’s okay, honey. It was just another day in paradise.”

  “That bad?”

  “Nicole somehow manages to treat me like I’m her sister and like she’s just a visitor. And Dad seems more and more like his old self.”

  “Good news, but not what you hoped for.”

  “Hearing Dad on the phone was just a lot different from actually being here.”

  “Yeah, I know how that goes. So you’re beginning to like her?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. I’m still not convinced she’s going to be good for Dad in the long run. I just think her involvement with him is more innocent than I originally thought.”

  “Have you talked to your brother?”

  “He’s major pissed. Of course, he’s not here. I tried to explain, but he thinks maybe Dad’s behavior is caused be a brain bleed or something from all the stress of Mom’s cancer.”

  “I don’t know, honey. All of you have been through a heavy emotional time. That can cause people to act different.”

  “I know.” She got out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “It’s all just so raw. And there Dad is, smiling, holding her hand. When I think of her fucking him, I want to choke her.”

  “You need a hug.”

  “You think? Almost bought a pack of cigarettes yesterday.”

  “You should tell your dad that we’re getting married.”

  “It’s too soon.”

  “We don’t have to get married right away. We can wait ’til next spring, but he deserves to know. Skip too. They deserve to be happy for you.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Good.” He paused for a moment. “Since there’s nothing else you can do there, why don’t you come home early?”

  “I’d love to. But this is the last chance I get to be with Dad for a while. And I don’t want to listen to Skip bitch about it. So it’s just the usual dysfunctional family bullshit. Those are my excuses, and I’m sticking to them.”

  “Try to get a good night’s sleep.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you.”

  4

  Molly’s Plan

  The next morning, while Molly was driving to work, the money in the safe-deposit box at Milton Bank kept popping up in her mind. Fat envelopes stacked in the box. The envelopes she’s peeked in had been full of hundred-dollar bills, so there had to be well over $100,000 in the box. That was real money. The kind of money that belonged to dangerous criminals. John must know who they are. His connection would have told him. And yet he wasn’t the least bit worried about stealing from them.

  She turned onto Thackeray Drive. But why should he be? No one had seen him. He wasn’t working in Neal’s office. No, if they came for anyo
ne, it would be her. Was John’s escape plan good enough to protect her? Or was it just good enough to protect him? She pulled into the parking lot of Robertson’s law office and parked away from the door. She was taking all the risk, but she was only getting half the money, and that was after the 10 percent they paid to the connection. If he existed at all.

  She’d made up her mind. If she could get the safe-deposit-box key herself, she’d take all the money and stiff John. If she couldn’t, she’d stick with John. Chad was out of the picture. It was time for her to move on.

  Robertson was at the courthouse that morning. After Betty left for lunch, Molly saw her chance. She slipped into Robertson’s private office, leaving the door slightly ajar. She glanced around the room. When he’d sent her to the bank, he’d taken the key from the middle top drawer of his desk, so she started there. No luck—just the usual assortment of pens, Post-it notes, and paperclips. The top right drawer held a Colt .357 and a box of shells. The gun seemed out of character. Neal was a talker, not a fighter. The middle drawer contained a set of headphones, an old iPhone, and a pint of Jim Beam. Now that was the Neal Robertson she knew. The bottom drawer was files of open cases. Where could the key be? There weren’t any other drawers in the room. Just then, she heard the front door open. She stepped from behind the desk. Robertson came into the office with his briefcase in one hand. “What’re you doing?”

  “Looking for the Stevens divorce file. I need to make copies. I thought it might be on your desk.”

  He set his briefcase down on his desktop. “I don’t think it’s here.”

  “Must have missed it in the copier room.”

  She turned to go. He caught her by the wrist. “What’s your hurry?”

  “No hurry.” She kissed him.

  He ran his hands over her ass.

  “Betty won’t back for another thirty minutes,” she said.

  He smiled. She bent over the desk and hiked up her skirt.

  “You’re making me crazy.”

  “You telling me you don’t love it?”

  He dropped his pants. Just then, the door crashed open, and Chad charged into the office, pointing and yelling. “Get off her, asshole! You’re not using my sister for a whore! Your wife is going to hear about this!”

  “Get out of here,” Molly yelled. She tried to get up, but Robertson pushed her back down on the desk.

  Robertson looked straight at Chad. “What kind of idiot are you? I’ll do whatever I want. You can’t blackmail me.” He smacked Molly’s rump. “You going to stay and watch? Get the fuck out of here.”

  Chad rushed around the desk and grabbed Robertson by the front of his shirt, pushing him back to the wall. Molly squeezed out of the way. “Stop it,” she yelled. “Stop it.”

  Robertson’s feet were tangled in his pants. Chad punched him in the face. Robertson threw up his arms and then clawed at Chad’s face. Chad lurched backward. Robertson fell forward onto his desk, jerked the top drawer open, and pulled out the Colt. As he turned toward Chad, Chad dived at him, both hands grabbing for the gun.

  “No! No!” Molly yelled.

  The gun went off, the sound banging around the room. Chad crumpled to the floor, grabbing at Robertson as he fell. Robertson fired again. Then he turned and looked at Molly, the .357 hanging loose in his hand. She breathed in hard, as if she were going to scream, spun on her heels, and ran.

  Robertson set the gun down on his desk. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He pulled up his pants, reached into the second drawer of his desk for the Jim Beam, and took a slug from the bottle. Then he stepped over to Chad and poked him with his shoe. Dead.

  He walked over to the open door, looked out into the reception area to make sure it was empty, closed the door, and went back to his desk and sat down. Think. Take a breath. This couldn’t have been an accident. Molly and this guy must have been in it together. He looked over at the body. Blood was already pooling on the carpet. He couldn’t clean this up by himself. He took another slug of bourbon. There was only one thing he could do. He didn’t want to, but it was all that was left. He couldn’t risk making things worse than they already were. He took out his throwaway cell phone.

  “Spanish? It’s Neal. I made a mistake. I need your help.”

  “What phone are you using?” Spanish Mike asked.

  “The throwaway.”

  “Don’t say anything else. Where are you?”

  “I’m at my office.”

  “I’m sending some guys right over.”

  John was back in Irish Eyes, sitting at the bar, sipping a cup of black coffee. The place was almost empty. The bartender was on his knees behind the bar, restocking the soft drink refrigerator. Three retired guys were sitting at a table in the corner playing rummy and nursing their beers. John had just come from Mail N More, where he’d visited his rented locker and left a manila envelope containing their escape packet: new IDs, credit cards, and $5000 cash. All the details were now in place. All they had to do was steal the safe-deposit-box key, take the money, collect their new identities, and disappear. He still hadn’t quite decided if he should bring Molly with him or cut her loose. He was going to have to make up his mind. If he brought her along, Nicole would be furious. He’d have to set some strict boundaries on his relationship with Molly—no more sex, for starters—and that might make it difficult to keep her in line. But it couldn’t be helped. Sex with partners was different than sex with civilians. It created jealousy, hierarchies of intimacy and loyalty. No, inside their crew, he and Nicole had to be alpha, and there couldn’t be any confusion about that. If Nicole was going to continue seeing Denison, he needed a reliable partner. Someone trainable. He just couldn’t find a new person for every job. So he was just going to have to suck it up and win Nicole over to his plan. His smartphone rang. It was Molly.

  “Yeah?”

  “John,” She sounded as if she were crying. “It’s all gone to hell. Neal shot Chad.”

  John stood up and walked away from the bar. “Slow down. Where are you?”

  “I’m in my car in the QuikSnack parking lot.”

  “Okay. Neal shot Chad?”

  “I ran.”

  “Take a breath. Who’s Chad?”

  “The guy you saw me with.”

  John sat down at a table. “Start at the beginning. Don’t leave anything out.”

  Molly explained what happened.

  “I told you to wait, but you couldn’t. So right after you got access to the safe-deposit box, you blew the job up. All that money lost. I didn’t believe that guy at the coffee shop was an old boyfriend, but I didn’t think you were a fool.”

  “Hey, I didn’t know he was going to barge in there. I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

  “It’s a little late for woulda, coulda, shoulda.”

  “I’ll make it right. I’ll do whatever you say. I’ll go back in there and tell him I panicked.”

  John thought for a minute. “No. He’s spooked now. Going back is a death sentence. You need to disappear. Don’t go to your apartment.”

  “I can’t leave my stuff.”

  “You’ve got a credit card and a bank card, don’t you? Get out of town.”

  He put his phone back in his pocket. What a clusterfuck. A month’s work wasted. This was exactly the problem he avoided by not working with new partners. If Nicole had been here, they’d be counting the money right now. Well, so much for Molly. What had she been up to? Was it her plan to surprise him by getting the key on her own or was she planning to cheat him? At least he had some distance from this problem. Robertson had never met him. He went back to the bar. The bartender looked toward him. “You want that coffee freshened up?”

  “No, thanks,” he said. “I’ve got to go.”

  Molly’s small blue suitcase lay open on her unmade bed. She flipped over the dresser drawer of underwear into the suitcase, dropped the drawer onto the bed, and smoothed out the pile of panties with her hands. There was still room for her bras. The large suitcase, alread
y packed, stood by the front door. She looked at her watch. Hard to believe that Chad was alive an hour ago. What an idiot. She was going to miss him. She teared up. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Not now. No time for feelings. She was on her own. She’d screwed up, and John had dropped her. She needed to keep moving. She pushed the bras into the suitcase and closed it. As she wheeled the suitcase to the front door, she glanced around the apartment for anything that she couldn’t leave behind. All packed. She wheeled the suitcases, one in each hand, toward the elevator. Then she changed her mind, pushed through the door to the stairwell, and stopped. She heard the elevator open and heavy footsteps start down the hall.

  She picked up her suitcases just as someone started pounding on a door. “Ms. Wright! Ms. Wright!” She set the suitcases down and ran down three flights of stairs and out the fire exit into the sunny parking lot. Two clean-cut Latino men wearing charcoal suits were waiting by a black Avalon parked next to her car. She veered toward the street. The taller one, who had a knife tattoo on his neck, caught her by the arm before she reached the sidewalk.

  “Don’t struggle. It’ll only make things painful.” He led her back to the Avalon and pushed her into the back seat. “Carlos,” he said, “look up the stairs and make sure she didn’t leave anything behind.”

  A few minutes later, Carlos came out of the stairwell with her suitcases in his hands. “That’s all of it. Frankie and Lu are in the apartment.”

  “Let’s go.” Knife Tattoo got in the backseat with Molly.

  They drove downtown into the old industrial zone by the railroad tracks. Molly sat very still, Knife Tattoo’s hard fingers tight around her wrist. She wanted to say something, anything, but she didn’t know any words that could help. John told her to keep Chad out of it, but she hadn’t, and he’d blindsided her. John told her not to go back to the apartment, but she had to have her clothes. Now she wasn’t sure she was going to leave with her life. She tried to control her breathing. What did they really know? A guy claiming to be her brother had threatened Neal, gotten into a fight, gotten shot. She was a witness. Was that the worst of it?