Crossfire

by James P. Sumner

  “You’re in no position to offer fashion advice,” countered Victor. He took a deep breath and pushed his large stomach out a little more, further stretching the buttons on his shirt. “Now you owe my employer fifty large. You’ve owed it for quite some time, and if you couldn’t pay it back before, you definitely can’t afford it with all the interest. You’re out of second chances, Ray.”

  Collins casually glanced around, checking to see if Victor had any friends close by. He couldn’t see any. He took his sunglasses off, folded them up, and put them in the breast pocket of his shirt.

  “All right, look. Ya’ve caught me at a bad time, Vic. I’m just heading home after some vacation time, and I’m a little light on funds right now. Give me a couple of days to get back, speak to my bank, gather the money. I’ll give ya my address, ya can come ’round to mine, I’ll pay ya back, we can have a few tequilas… it’ll be just like old times. Whaddaya say?”

  Victor waved the barrel of his gun in an effort to draw Collins’ attention to it. “We’re doing this now.”

  “I don’t have the money, Vic. Were ya not listening just then? I’m good for it, but I don’t have it on me this second.”

  “Then I take the car, for collateral. And I break your thumbs, for pleasure.” He smiled a big, greasy smile, his large jowls wobbling as he chuckled. “On top of the fifty Gs.”

  Collins shrugged. “The car’s a rental, so be my guest. But as for the thumbs, let’s be honest here, Vic. The only way ya’d break anything of mine is if ya fell on me.’

  Victor’s smile disappeared, and he took a step back, raising his weapon high and taking a slow, deliberate aim at Collins’ head.

  “Hey, hey, hey—take it easy, Jabba,” said Collins, instinctively conscious of any collateral damage. People around them had taken notice, and screams sounded out as they saw the gun. “Just gimme a second here, and I’m sure we can—”

  He stopped talking as he whipped his hand up, grabbing Victor’s wrist and lifting it skyward, so the gun wasn’t pointing at anyone. With an open palm, he jabbed the curved inside edge of his hand, between the thumb and the index finger, hard into Victor’s throat. The overweight debt collector gasped for breath as his eyes went wide with panic. He clutched at his sizable jowls, dropping his gun in the process. Collins quickly knocked it away with his foot, then twisted Victor’s wrist counter-clockwise, straightening his arm out as he turned it against the shoulder joint. He pressed his other hand onto the elbow sharply, forcing him down. Victor’s face collided with the hood of the rental, smashing his nose. A thin spray of blood painted the side panel.

  Offering no opportunity for respite, Collins unleashed a heavy kick, burying his shin deep into Victor’s ribs, feeling them break. Victor wheezed and coughed as he sank to the ground. He struggled to rest on all fours, spitting more blood out in front of him.

  Collins placed his foot on top of the fingers on Victor’s swollen hand, applying enough pressure to restrict his movement. “Listen to me, ya fat sack of crap. I said I’d get ya the money, and I will. I believe in paying my debts, however big they are. But if ya threaten me again, I’ll break your damn neck. Understand?” He paused to examine Victor’s head. “Assuming I can find it, that is…”

  He quickly stomped his foot down, breaking every finger on Victor’s hand. Victor screamed as he rested back on his considerable haunches, cradling his newly-broken bones.

  Collins glanced at his car, seeing the fresh bloodstain dripping down the paintwork just above the wheel arch. He frowned, momentarily angry, before turning and thrusting his knee hard into Victor’s face, connecting with the already-broken nose and making the bad wound worse.

  “And that’s for bleeding on my car, ya bastard! I’ll lose my deposit if I can’t get that clean…”

  Behind him, he heard a screeching of tires. He looked over his shoulder to see another car appear, sliding to a stop. Three men got out, each one dressed as Victor was, and produced a gun from inside their respective suit jackets.

  Collins sighed, holding his hands out to the sides as he muttered, “Ah, bollocks…”

  One of the men stepped forward, standing close to him. He was the same height, with the same tanned complexion as Victor, but was well built, muscular—a far cry from his colleague.

  “Ray, don’t make this any harder on yourself,” he said. “Get in the car.”

  Collins kept his eyes locked on the man in front of him, stalling while he figured a way out of the situation. He could see the other two men in his peripheral. They were too far away to rush. They would shoot him before he managed two steps. The guy in front of him could be taken out easily enough, but he had to think of the consequences. There were a lot of people around, most of them watching in morbid fascination.

  He couldn’t see a viable way out of it, and he knew he had no choice but to go with them.

  “Lead the way, asshole,” he said with a resigned shrug.

  With all three guns aimed at him, they escorted him over to their vehicle, pausing beside it for a moment while one of them frisked him. They took his cell phone from his pocket, tossed it to the ground, and stamped on it before forcing him into the back seat. One of them got in beside him, keeping his gun trained on Collins the whole time. The one who spoke rode shotgun.

  As the driver started the engine, he turned to the man next to him. “What about Victor?”

  The man looked out at their rotund colleague, lying motionless next to Collins’s rental, and shrugged. “Screw him. He couldn’t get the job done. Let him walk back. He could use the exercise anyway.”

  Behind them, Collins smiled to himself as they pulled out of the hotel parking lot, soon immersing themselves in the sea of traffic along the boardwalk. He had no idea where they were taking him, but he knew he was surrounded, unarmed, and cut off from any of his friends.

  6.

  Collins did his best to keep track of where they were going, noting any road signs or landmarks they passed, but it soon proved futile. Five minutes into their journey, a thick, black bag was placed over his head. He had asked if it was necessary, but the reply had simply been a stiff punch to his gut, so he figured it was.

  Instead, he focused on the time. He reckoned they had traveled for almost a half-hour before the car slowed to a stop. He was ushered out of the vehicle and frog-marched to his right. The temperature had risen significantly during the journey, and the heat inside the bag was taking his breath away. It also emphasized the musty smell surrounding him, which was almost unbearable.

  “Guys, it stinks in here,” said Collins, coughing. “You don’t need to keep me covered up, all right? I know how stuff like this works. I won’t say anything to anyone.”

  He felt a sharp blow to the back of his head, followed by a deep voice that said, “Shut up, asshole.”

  They weren’t walking long before the man at his side, holding his arm, said, “Watch the steps.”

  Collins slowed, carefully moving his foot forward until he felt the first one with his toes. He heard his escort move behind him as he climbed. He was still outdoors and could feel the warmth from what little breeze there was on his arms. He counted seventeen steps before the ground leveled out again. Another hand gripped him, shoving him to his right. His footsteps were suddenly muted, and the natural sounds of the outdoors faded away.

  A few seconds later, he felt a hand on either shoulder spin him around and force him down into a chair. It was soft and comfortable, and the cool leather was a welcome reprieve for his exposed skin. The bag was snatched from his head, and he blinked hard against the sudden influx of artificial light, so his eyes would take less time to adjust.

  He glanced around, quickly realizing he was on a plane—a private jet, to be precise. His seat resembled an armchair, and he counted only eight of them inside, including his. He looked up and down the aisle beside him, seeing an armed sentry at either end.

  No way out.

  The chair directly opposite him was occupied. Collins s
tarted from the bottom, first noting the plush, cream carpet lining the floor. Then he saw the shiny, black heels; the long, smooth, caramel legs, crossed right over left at the knee; the short, black leather skirt that left little to the imagination; the manicured hands, clasped patiently in the lap, adorned with expensive-looking jewelry; a loose-fitting white top, barely clinging to the surgically-enhanced breasts; and finally, the most beautiful face he had ever seen—deep red lips curled into a smile that was half-amusement, half-arrogance and hypnotic, seductive brown eyes bordered by cropped, jet-black hair. It was a face he had seen before, but despite the stunning exterior, he wasn’t happy to be seeing it again.

  He slumped slightly in his seat, looking away as he sighed. “Hey, Patty.”

  Patricia Velasquez un-crossed her legs and shuffled slightly in her seat before re-crossing them the opposite way. “Hello, Ray.”

  Her voice was low and alluring, with a gentle, nasal Hispanic tone. She was known as Patty only to those she had given her consent. To everyone else, she was Miss Velasquez, and she was one of the most feared and respected businesswomen on the East Coast. Her numerous holding companies served as reputable fronts for her real dealings, which included gunrunning, money laundering, and the importing and exporting of drugs.

  “You owe me fifty thousand dollars, Ray,” she said.

  He leaned forward, resting his arms on his legs. “I know I do, Patty. I’m trying to scrape it together, but the interest is killing me. If ya can just give me a little more time…”

  She sat forward, matching his body language.

  “Ray, me and you, we… go way back, right?” She reached over and placed her hand on his arm. “We used to be very close, and I understand why we’re not anymore. But I need you to understand something. This is business. I’ve given you as much time as I can, but I have my own interests to protect, not to mention my reputation.”

  Collins sat back, taking a deep breath. He didn’t feel afraid, but he was aware the situation was getting away from him, and it wasn’t about to start getting better.

  “I can get ya what I have by tomorrow,” he said.

  “Which is… how much, exactly?” she replied.

  He shrugged. “About nineteen, maybe nineteen-five.”

  Velasquez sat up straight in her chair, her expression hardening as she narrowed her eyes. “And the other thirty-plus grand? You’ve had almost two months, and you haven’t even got half of what you owe me.”

  Collins was quick to pick up on the sharpness and impatience in her tone. “Hey, cut me some slack, Patty. Two months ago, I only owed seventeen. Ya bought out my debt from that other prick and then cranked up the interest. I could afford to pay him back.”

  “And yet, you didn’t. I was doing you a favor, Ray. Don’t turn this around on me. You got yourself into this mess.”

  “How is this a favor? I went from owing seventeen thousand dollars to nearly fifty in eight weeks, by doing absolutely nothing!”

  She relaxed back in her seat. “It was a favor because Ramirez didn’t have the patience—or the soft spot for you—that I do. When I heard about the problems he was having with you, you were three days late, two grand short, and for that, he was about to put a price on your head.”

  Collins squirmed a little in his seat, pausing to glance out of the window beside him. “Okay, I didn’t know that, and I’m grateful, truly. But I just can’t get my hands on that kinda money. Not without risking it all, which would be pretty stupid.”

  Velasquez nodded. “I agree.”

  “So…?”

  She shrugged. “So, that’s your problem, Ray, not mine. Our history notwithstanding, you’re leaving me with very little choice here. Now I’ve been more than fair so far, and I think I’m keeping very calm under the circumstances. So, this is what’s going to happen. I’m going to step outside and spend fifteen minutes smoking a cigarette and enjoying the lovely weather. You can sit here, in peace, and think how you can get me fifty thousand dollars in the next twelve hours. If, when I return, you’re still out of ideas, I’m going to put a gun to your head and pull the trigger. Do I make myself clear?”

  Collins let out a painful sigh. “Aye… crystal.”

  “Good.”

  She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek before getting elegantly to her feet and leaving the jet, escorted by two of her armed bodyguards. Collins watched her go, then rested his eyes on the remaining three men, who were all watching him from a respectable distance.

  Velasquez wasn’t stupid. He knew that. He figured those men wouldn’t be tempted to get close enough to him that he could disarm one of them and fight his way out. He also had little doubt they would shoot him if he tried, regardless of how much money he owed.

  He sank back in his seat, sliding down a little to rest an elbow on the arm and his chin in his hand. He gazed out of the small window beside him, staring blankly across the runway. The heat shimmered on the blacktop, and there was no wind to counter it. He shook his head and sighed as he glanced at his watch.

  He needed to think of something.

  In what felt like no time at all, Collins heard the muted steps of heels on the expensive carpet behind him as Patty Velasquez returned from her cigarette break, lowering herself with a natural seduction into the seat opposite him. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and held her gaze. Her dark eyes stared back with practiced allure.

  “Well?” she asked.

  He sighed. “Patty, listen… I—”

  She held up a hand and smiled apologetically. “D’you know what? For now, I think it might be best if you refer to me as Miss Velasquez. Just so there’s no confusion over the current status of our relationship.”

  Collins flicked up a questioning eyebrow. “Are ya being serious?”

  She said nothing. She simply smiled.

  He rolled his eyes. “Fine. Whatever. Miss Velasquez… I think we both know I can’t get ya fifty thousand dollars by tomorrow.”

  She nodded along as he spoke, as if she understood what he was saying but didn’t understand why he would be saying it.

  “So… what are you saying to me, Ray?”

  “Well, first off, I think it would be best if ya referred to me as Mr. Collins… y’know, so there’s no confusion about the current status of our relationship.”

  In a flash, Velasquez lunged from her seat and wrapped a manicured hand around his mouth, squeezing his cheeks together, so he resembled a goldfish. He grimaced as her long nails dug into the skin of his face. She rested her other hand on the arm of his chair and leaned over, putting her face close to his.

  “You may be attractive, Ray, but you were never the brightest, so I will keep this simple for you. If you ever get cute with me again on my plane, in front of my men, I will rip your goddamn balls off and wear them as earrings. Do you understand me?”

  Her voice was low and as soft as her accent would allow. He nodded as much as he could in her surprisingly firm grip.

  “Good.” She kissed his cheek and sat back down opposite him, taking a moment to compose herself. “Now… you were saying?”

  He ran a hand along his jaw, opening and closing his mouth to relax his face. “I was saying… I obviously don’t wanna disrespect ya, but I don’t wanna die either. So, I have a proposition for ya.”

  Velasquez leaned on the arm of her chair and rested her chin lightly on the back of her hand. “I’m listening…”

  He shifted in his seat, searching for comfort that the situation wouldn’t allow. “I’ll do a deal with ya. A straight swap. You wipe my slate clean in return for a favor from me.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “That sounds like a much better deal for you than me, honey. You might want to try again.”

  He smiled nervously. “Let me explain. See, I’m a… I’m a talented guy. Ya know that. I’m a skilled and experienced soldier with access to resources at GlobaTech ya can only dream of. I reckon I’m exactly the type of guy someone in your line of work wants owing th
em a favor…”

  Velasquez crossed her legs slowly, her tanned skin shimmering in the light from the window. She held his gaze for a long moment, her expression betraying nothing.

  Collins shifted apprehensively in his seat, silently praying to whoever might be listening that he had done enough to see another sunset.

  Finally, she sat back and grinned. “Now that is a deal we could both benefit from, Ray. Kudos for thinking on your feet. Now that I think about it, there is this one niggly little issue I’ve been dealing with for a while. I assumed it would cost me well over fifty thousand dollars to hire someone professional enough to resolve it for me, but with you… well, I think I’ve gone and bagged myself a bargain.”

  Collins sank into his seat and looked away. “Yeah… aren’t ya lucky?”

  She stood and held out her hand. “Come on. Let’s celebrate our new business arrangement. Lunch is on me.”

  He took her hand and got to his feet, standing closely beside her. “Whatever you say, Miss Velasquez.”

  She gripped his face again, just like before, except this time, it was playful. “Oh, Ray, you’re adorable.” She kissed him on the lips. “Call me Patty.”

  She walked away toward the exit.

  Collins watched her go, transfixed by her confidence and beauty, despite the situation. He ran a hand through his hair, took a deep breath, and followed her.

  “Bollocks,” he muttered as he stepped off the plane.

  7.

  Jericho sat calmly in the corner of Hyatt’s office. Hyatt was working feverishly on a spreadsheet, and the silence he required made Jericho uncomfortable. He fixed his gaze on a small stain on the carpet and focused on it, allowing his surroundings to fade from consciousness, retreating into his own world while simultaneously remaining alert and aware.

  It wasn’t an easy thing to do, but it was a technique he had picked up during his time with the CIA, from an old friend who had served as a sniper during a couple of missions together in Afghanistan. They had been shooting the breeze over a beer one night when the conversation turned to their military work. The sniper had mentioned being on a mission in Helmand Province that had required him to lie motionless on a mountainside for fifty-one hours. Jericho had commented that he couldn’t comprehend the stress that would put on your mind. His friend had smiled and said that in those situations, he meditated to stay both relaxed and focused. Jericho hadn’t understood it at first. His idea of meditation was a bunch of tree-huggers in some backwater forest retreat surrounded by marijuana and yoga mats. But his friend had been patient and explained the technique to him. It had stayed with him ever since and had proved useful more than once.