by Owen Parr
“What the hell just happened?” Patrick asked.
Traffic stopped both ways on US 1, honking increasing into a full-on roar, with many cars trying to make their way out of the mess. I opened my car door, avoiding hitting the car behind me that just stopped a few feet from us. I exchanged glances with the lady driving the car. She seemed to be making the sign of the cross non-stop. As I stepped fully out of the car, I noticed the front left tire had a blowout.
Marcy and Patrick were both out of the car now. She couldn’t stop shaking. I embraced her. “Marcy, we’re fine. It’s okay.”
She was crying and trying to wipe her tears from her face. I handed her my handkerchief. “Why do people keep shooting at us, Joey? I’m terrified something is going to happen to you.”
“We’re fine. Everything is fine.”
“Everything is fine? I saw that bastard aim his gun right at your face. Didn’t you see that?”
Of course, I saw it. My life froze at the very moment. “He just did that to scare us. He never intended to shoot us. We’re safe,” I added, still holding her tight.
Patrick made his way to my side of the car, as both Marcy and I stared at the blown out tire.
“I think that son of a bitch just shot out our tire,” I said.
Now, in between the loud honks, police sirens could be heard everywhere. We looked back and saw a similar scene to what I saw this morning—a sea of cars stopped, hundreds of them.
Two police cars, with their red-blue lights on, came from the north, opposite us, driving over the median separating north and south traffic on US 1. They pulled-up just in front of our car, blocking all traffic that was trying to untangle themselves out of this chaos.
“Is anyone hurt?” asked one of the officers in a loud voice, so he could be heard over the other sirens and honking horns.
“We’re all fine, officer. Although, I think there was an accident behind us,” I said, glancing back. The blue caddy had crashed into the car in front of it. There didn’t seem to be anyone hurt in the car in front, but the people in the caddy were nowhere to be seen.
“You blew a tire?” One of the officers asked me.
“It seems that way, officer,” I replied, not wanting to get into an explanation just now.
The officers spoke, and one began redirecting traffic to my left.
“Can you drive your car to the right lane? Then we’ll deal with this,” the officer who was next to me said.
I did as he asked, slowly moving the car, thump, thumping, to the right.
Marcy relaxed a bit. Taking advantage that both officers were dealing with traffic, she asked me, “What are you going to tell them?”
I looked at the officers. “I’m going to play dumb and go with the blown tire, for now.”
The lady in the car behind me, who made the sign of the cross, drove her car in front of our car, parked, and slid her window down as one of the officers approached her and began talking to her.
Both Marcy and I saw the interaction. “Shit, what now?” I said to her in a hushed voice.
I assumed our appointment with the antiquities professor at the university was going to be delayed, so I started to dial Agnes to reschedule when the officer approached me. “Here Marcy,” I said, thrusting my phone at her, “tell Agnes to reschedule with the professor,” I said, handing her the phone.
“Can I see your license, sir?” the officer asked.
“Yes, of course,” I replied, pulling out my wallet. “I’m NYPD, retired,” I said as I handed him my New York driver’s license.
“Oh yeah,” he said, looking at my license. “I have a brother at the 54th. What precinct were you in?”
“Midtown South,” I replied. “What’s his name?” I asked, looking at his name badge.
He looked up and smiled. “Charlie Benevento, like the city in Italy. Giuseppe Mancuso, parla Italiano?”
“Si, e tu?” I asked.
“Solo un po’.” he replied. “So, Mr. Mancuso, this lady tells me a motorcycle rider aimed a gun at you and shot out your tire? Did you see him do that?”
As much as I was starting to like this paisan, I didn’t want to get involved in a shooting investigation. “No, officer. I didn’t see any of that. Everything happened so fast.”
“How about your passengers? Did they see anything?”
“I’m sure they didn’t, or they’d have said something.” I shook my head.
“Who is the lady with you?”
“My wife, Marcy.” I thought for a second and then decided to add, “She’s with the Bureau in New York.” I assumed that would add some validity to what I said.
“She’s FBI, okay. What about the big red guy?” he asked, pointing his pen at Patrick.
“He’s an uncle on my mother’s side.”
“You guys on vacation?”
I ignored the vacation part. “We’re here for a few days. Staying at the Holiday Inn right up the street, across from the university.”
Handing me back my license, he added, “Stay here a moment. I want to question a few more witnesses.
Marcy and Patrick came over. Marcy asked, “What’s up?”
I smiled as officer Benevento glanced back at us. Turning my face away from him, I said in a low voice, “The lady behind us saw the gun pointed at us.”
“And?” Marcy inquired.
“And he wants to question a few more witnesses. I told him I didn’t see a gun.”
“Did he believe you?” Patrick asked.
I lowered my face and quietly said, “He’s coming back.”
“Hi folks, is everyone all right?”
Both Marcy and Patrick responded in the affirmative.
He nodded. “We’re going to have your car towed and inspected. Someone else said they may have seen a gun on the rider of the bike. We just want to have this cleared up.”
“No problem, officer,” I said.
He went on to tell us where the car would be and took my cell number. At the same time, he asked if we planned on being in Miami for a few more days. Further, he said, if they found anything—like gunshots, I imagined—a detective would want to speak to us.
The sky became ominous again, black and gray wavy clouds were moving from the west and northwest. It looked as if a blanket was being pulled over the otherwise blue sky above us. We started walking to our hotel that was five blocks away.
Marcy said, “You know they’re going to find out our tire was shot out, right?”
“I’m sure they will. We’ll worry about that when it happens. Right now, we need to figure out what the hell’s going on. The guy who shot at us made sure to look me in the eye before he fired.”
Patrick added, a little out of breath from our brisk walk, “Well, it doesn’t take a Sherlock Holmes to deduce we struck a chord at MarAir.”
“I think I fucked up.”
“How so?” Marcy asked.
“I asked Troy, Man-bun, for his cell number. Instead, I gave him mine. So, I’m sure they found out who I am.”
16
We got back to the hotel before the skies opened again for another round of pounding rain, accompanied by thunder and lightning. Finding a quiet area in the lobby, we sat to discuss what just happened.
“You think they figured out who we are?” Patrick asked.
“Yes,” I began, “and, of course, they know we’re looking for Gavi.”
“So, why shoot at us?”
“They want to scare us away from asking questions. That guy could have easily shot at me. Yet, he didn’t.”
Marcy was on her phone. She clicked off and said, “I’m worried for that young girl, Alexa, at the airport. She’s not answering my calls.”
“You think Mr. Troy questioned her after we left?”
Marcy was somber in her reply. “I don’t know, Mr. Pat. I may have put her in harm’s way.”
“You have her cell number,” I said, “Maybe Agnes can do a search and find out who she is and where she lives. We can check on
her later.” Just as I said that, my cell phone rang. “Hang on, Agnes is calling.” I answered the call and put it on speaker.
“Joey, I have some new information for you,” Agnes said.
“We were just about to call you. You’re on speaker. What you got?”
“You want me on speaker?”
“Go ahead, it’s just the three of us here.”
“As a precaution, Father Dom asked me to monitor Aaron Drucker’s bank accounts. So, I’ve been doing that for the last few days.”
“Yeah, so what you find?”
“What I found is that Drucker just wired two million dollars to an account in Cayman. To a private holding company whose beneficial owners I have not found yet.”
“That’s ransom money,” I replied, “but why did they wait so long?”
“And why did he not call us?” Marcy said.
“Hi Marcy,” Agnes said, “I also have some information on the car tailing you guys.”
“What about it?”
“It is owned by a small rental agency in Northwest Miami near the airport. SameDay Rentals. I’ll text you the address later, in case you want to pay them a visit.”
“What about the two guys who rented the car?” I asked.
“Sorry, I couldn’t find anything on that.”
Marcy added, “That’s the key element if we’re to find who is following us.”
“Do you think Drucker is having us followed?” Patrick asked.
“Agnes, Marcy is going to give you a cell number. See if you can find out the full name and address of this person. Her first name is Alexa. Try harder and find out who rented the car. It’s important.”
Shit. I felt like the puzzle we were working on just fell on the floor and all the pieces scattered every which way. A ransom request after all these days didn’t make sense. Why wait? Why would Drucker have us followed? And if it wasn’t Drucker, who was following us?
“Agnes, can you find out who received the funds from Drucker?” I asked.
“I can try, but I doubt I can break into the receiving bank’s system. They have too many security firewalls. It’s a bank, after all.”
“I understand,” I said. “How about finding out where this private holding company is registered, the one receiving the two million? Maybe you can trace the beneficial owner that way.”
“Good thought. I’ll try that. What about Gavi? Any idea what’s happened to her?”
“She was flown to Saint Thomas last Friday on a private plane.”
“Hah, we’re on to something,” Agnes said. “You still want to meet with the professor at the university?”
“Text me his contact number. And get back to work on these things. We need the info on the rental and the recipient of the funds. Those are two key factors in this puzzle,” I added, clicking off the call.
“You didn’t tell her about us being shot at,” Patrick said.
“No, I didn’t. There’s no sense worrying her and Father Dom about that. I still think it was just a warning.”
“I think,” Marcy said, standing up, “our visit to MarAir triggered the ransom call. If they know we questioned Alexa, then they know we know about Gavi being taken to Saint Thomas. Whatever their plans were, we lit the fuse.”
I looked up at Marcy as she paced around the little sitting area. “I think you’re right. Why are you pacing?”
“I think better when I’m standing up.”
Patrick asked, “What now?”
I looked around our sitting area. We were still alone. Sitting back, I replied, “For one thing, it seems like Gavi is alive. I mean, I hope this Drucker fellow got proof of life before he wired the funds. Hopefully, they’ll let her go…” I paused.
“I hope you’re right Joey, but this thing is a lot bigger than a kidnapping. If Bob Olmec’s investigation into ISIS, the antiquities, and these three companies is tied into Gavi’s kidnapping, then we’re involved in a major crime. And, if Gavi saw her abductors…well, I hate to think of what they may do to her after they get the money.”
“Marcy, you’re making me nervous pacing around. Sit down,” I said, pointing to a chair. “What bothers me is that if they were holding Gavi as leverage against something her father has—some information that could blow up this whole scheme up—why ask for money, then let her go?”
“Maybe Drucker handed over whatever information he had.”
“But, if the kidnapping was about exchanging information for Gavi, then money was never an issue. Yet, now we have a ransom paid? Something went wrong with the original plan, and I hope Gavi doesn’t become a victim because of it.”
All three of us sat there quietly for a few moments, with more questions than we had answers to.
“I think we go over and talk to the professor tomorrow morning, then head back to New York. Not much else we can do here now,” I said.
“In that case I’ll take a nap, I’m exhausted,” said Marcy.
“Mr. Pat, how about a beer by the pool? Then, in a couple of hours we’ll grab some dinner nearby.”
“Sounds good by me.”
We were back at the hotel at seven in the evening. Two suits were seated in the lobby of the Holiday Inn. At first glance, they looked like cops. I noticed the clerk at the front desk waving at them as we walked into the lobby.
One of the suits spoke as they walked over to us. “Are you Joey Mancuso?”
I replied. “Yes. How can I help you?”
“Mr. Mancuso, I’m Detective John Fernandez with the Miami-Dade Sheriff’s Department. This is Detective Al Smyth, my partner. We need to speak to you all.”
I introduced both Marcy and Mr. Pat. “Yes, of course. What’s the problem?”
“Your tire was shot at—twice, as a matter of fact. You told the officer at the scene that you didn’t see when the motorcycle rider took the shots, right?”
I went with my original story. “That’s correct. I saw the motorcycle when he was approaching, but I didn’t see him shoot at the tire.”
Fernandez looked at his partner. “Where were you folks before the incident?”
Knowing that someone shot our tire out, I suspected they did a thorough check of the rental car, including the car’s computer, which had an internal GPS. I know I would have if I was investigating. So, I replied, “We were at Miami Executive Airport.”
“Why were you there?” Smyth asked.
“We were checking on flights to Saint Thomas and other islands,” I replied.
“Who did you check with while there?” asked Fernandez.
I hesitated in responding.
Fernandez said, “Mr. Mancuso, we know you’re a retired NYPD detective, and,” looking at Marcy, he added, “your wife is Special Agent Martinez with the New York FBI. So, we’re giving you the courtesy of meeting here. There’s more to this than someone shooting your tire out. Please cooperate with us.”
No shit, Sherlock. “We stopped at MarAir and two others. But, I really don’t remember the other two.”
Both detectives looked at each other again. Fernandez asked, “What time was that?”
“It was early in the morning, I think around nine. I’m sure you retrieved that information from the car’s GPS, right?”
Smyth smiled. “Yes we did. Why MarAir as opposed to a regular airline?”
“Look,” I began, “if you’re extending a courtesy because of who we are, how about telling us what’s going on?”
“Did you speak to Alexa Gould while you were there?”
“I spoke to Alexa,” Marcy replied. “I was not aware of her last name. Is she all right?”
“Guys, it seems we’re playing a game here,” Smyth said. “We’ll show you ours, if you show us yours. Fair enough?” he asked, opening up his hands with palms up.
Marcy asked again, sternly this time. “Is Alexa all right?”
“I’m afraid not,” Smyth replied. “Miss Gould was found in an empty field, not too far from the airport. One gunshot to the head.”
<
br /> Marcy leaned forward and covered her face with both hands.
My cell phone vibrated. I got up to comfort Marcy, I read the message. Mancuso, this is Aaron Drucker. Gavi is fine. She’ll be in New York with us later today. Case is over. Let Ruth Goldstein know how much we owe you.
No, asshole, this case just started again. I had a new victim to advocate for.
17
I sat on the arm of Marcy’s chair and rubbed her back. “We’ll find the killer. I’m sorry this happened.”
She looked up at me, drying her tears with the sleeve of her sweater, and said somberly, “You better.”
“I will.”
Both Fernandez and Smyth watched us, and it was obvious our guilt was on display for them to see.
“You want to share with us what’s going on?” Fernandez asked.
I moved to a chair and sat close to the detectives, glancing around to make sure we were still alone in the lobby. “Look, I’m a private detective now. So is Mr. Pat,” I said, pointing at Patrick. “We’re here on a possible kidnapping case. A young girl from Connecticut who’s attending the University of Miami. We traced her steps to MarAir, where she boarded a flight to Saint Thomas last Friday.”
“Is your wife officially on the case?” Smyth asked.
“No. We’re newlyweds, and she just accompanied us. She’s not involved.”
“So, what happened at Miami Executive?” Fernandez pushed.
“We stopped at the MarAir desk and showed pictures of Gavi, the girl we’re looking for. The victim, Alexa, didn’t say anything, but, her body language showed us she knew something. There was another person with her at the desk. Troy, who is also a pilot. Anyway, he told Alexa to take her break. He didn’t want her there while we asked questions, it seemed.” I stopped to look at Marcy as she got up and walked away with Patrick.
“What did Troy tell you?” Smyth asked.
“He wasn’t very forthcoming. He said he didn’t recognize the girl we were looking for.”
“Then what?”
“Marcy followed the victim to the ladies room and found out that Gavi, our missing person, flew out of the airport to Saint Thomas, and that Troy was the pilot. Two other employees and pilots for MarAir and Gavi’s boyfriend, Carlos Alvarez, accompanied them.”