Rebels and Thieves

by Russell Williams

  Kemp raised his voice. “It’s not on TV, though. It’s not plastered all over the news.”

  “Take caution in your tone. Remember, I don’t put up with much from people.”

  “I’m eager to get over with it, that’s all.” Kemp looked at a fifty-two-inch flat-screen television, tuned to the business channel. Right at that moment, there was breaking news on CNBC. One of the business journalists sat up straight in his chair, his face long. He reported eight people were found dead from taking cyanide-laced tablets of Lipitron. These people were from the following states: Florida, Georgia, and Virginia. The unknown suspect or suspects had put sixty-five milligrams of cyanide into each tablet. Razor Edge Laboratories, the manufacturer of the cholesterol lowering drug, was unavailable for comment on the recent development.

  “I told you everything would go as planned.”

  “It’s about time.” Kemp looked at his computer screen, realizing many investors were selling their shares in Razor Edge Laboratories. In less than a few minutes, the companies’ stock had plummeted nearly thirty-five percent and showed no sign of reaching a bottom. Kemp leaned back in his leather chair, placed his hands on his stomach, and laughed hard. “Oh, this is the best news I’ve ever heard.”

  “The news media will be updating their numbers throughout the day.”

  Kemp rubbed his hands together. “How many more people are going to bite the dust?”

  “I’d say at least three of four more.”

  Kemp’s spirits soared. Since he was shorting the stock, he stood to make a fortune. “That’s great news. This stock is going lower. It’s going to get hammered throughout the day.”

  “You’d better take advantage of it.”

  Kemp felt a surge of excitement. “That’s why you pay me the big bucks, isn’t it?”

  “Later on today, it’s going to happen again. To the second company we agreed on.”

  Kemp felt the adrenaline shooting through his veins, making the hair on his arms stand on end. Oh, this is the best feeling in the world. He lived for moments like this. There’s so much cash to be made in the stock market. It’s so easy to exploit the weak, feeble, and intellectually inferior. He was on top of the world. Excited to profit from more people dying, he studied the portfolio, paying particular attention to his open position in Razor Edge Laboratories. It had dropped another ten percent. Since he was shorting the stock, every quarter it dropped in value made him a ton of cash. When he thought about the same thing happening to another flagship drug company later on today, he leaned back in his chair and burst out laughing. He intended to short that company, too. Soon, he intended to flee the country as an extremely wealthy man. He looked for to living a lavish lifestyle in Morocco, where the United States didn’t have an extradition treaty.

  Chapter 57

  Facing the glass, Smith sat in Interview Room Number One—a fifteen-by-fifteen-foot room with a white tiled floor, a metal table, and four matching chairs. In the corner of the room, affixed to the ceiling, was a live video camera. Malone and Peterson came into the room, sat down across from the suspect, and stared at him. Behind the glass, standing in the observation room, were officers, brass, and folks from the State Attorney’s office.

  “Someone added sixty-five milligrams of cyanide to Lipitron,” Malone said.

  Smith threw up his hands. “I don’t know anything about that.”

  Malone was struggling to be patient. It was obvious Smith knew more than he was letting on. “Eight people are now dead.”

  “That’s awful, Sergeant. I’m just as shocked as you are.”

  “That’s really hard for me to believe. It’s time to get honest with us. ”

  Smith wiped the sweat from his brow. “I’m telling you the truth, I swear to God.”

  “This has Black Capital Investment’s name written all over it.” Malone knew Smith was lying through his teeth. It was his job to conduct research for the hedge fund. Privy to private information, Smith would have knowledge of every business they dealt with.

  “I don’t know have the faintest idea you’re talking about.”

  “Stop jerking us around. You work for Black Capital Investments, don’t you?”

  “So do a hell of a lot of other people.”

  Malone was having a hard time keeping his anger in check. He wanted to ring the guy’s neck. “Take a look around you. There’s no one else here but you.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “You’d better start talking. Or you’re going to end up in the slammer.”

  Smith’s gaze darted nervously around the room. “Don’t threaten me.”

  Malone felt his face flush. It was time to turn up the heat. “We’re going to haul Black Capital Investments’ employees in here all day for questioning.”

  “That has nothing to do with me.”

  “If you cooperate with us, we can work out a deal with the State Attorney’s office.”

  “No, that won’t be necessary.”

  Malone could tell Smith was nervous. The guy would have to be a fool to think criminals were loyal to each other. “If one of your employees cuts a deal with us, it’s going to be too late for you. You’re going to end up in the slammer, regretting you different sing a different tune.”

  “No, I’ll take my chances. I think they’re pretty damn good.”

  “This is really serious. We’re talking about conspiracy to commit murder.”

  Smith fidgeted in his seat. “Are we done here, Sergeant?”

  Malone could smell blood in the water. He knew Smith was didn’t want to get caught and spend time behind bars. “We know that Black Capital Investments owns Stillwater Cruises.”

  “Who cares?” Smith leaned back in the chair. “That’s a matter of public record.”

  “Tell me about their cruises, the ones with steep discounts.”

  “Kemp offers rich corporate executives special packages on Stillwater Cruises. He gets them the best cabins, the best food, and the best booze.”

  “Some executives get into trouble there, drinking, gambling, and losing money?”

  Smith looked nervous. “I don’t know anything about that.”

  “Stop lying to me.” Malone was sick of wasting time. He opened a manila folder, removed six pictures, all of them with Smith and the high-class prostitute in the hotel room. He slid them across the table, until they were right in front of his face.

  “You’re a real jerk, Sergeant.” Smith shook his head. “You’re piece of work.”

  “Kemp works out creative deals to forgive their debt, doesn’t he?”

  “I’ve already said enough, Sergeant.”

  Malone knew Smith didn’t want his wife to find out about his alternative lifestyle. On the one hand, he wanted a loving wife; but one the other hand, he wanted some action on the side. “I’m going to call your wife. I’m going to bring her down here and see what she knows.”

  “Leave her out of this.”

  “You’d better start talking.” Malone grabbed a thick stack of papers, containing a list of every company that had booked a trip with Stillwater Cruises over the past six months. Malone was sure Kemp had collaborated with some of the companies on the list to poison the prescription drug supply chain. Out of all the companies listed, Malone highlighted several secondary prescription drug wholesalers. Companies like this had an alarming history of acquiring illegal or counterfeit drugs. Stored in warehouses, they went on to sell these tainted prescription drugs to large, regional wholesalers, who in turn, sold them to health care institutions, independent drug stores, retail drug store chains, and other entities, such as surgical and physician’s offices. He leaned forward and placed papers in front of the suspect.

  “What’s this, Sergeant?”

  “Look at highlighted companies. Tell me which one you conducted business with.”

  Smith clenched his jaw. “I don’t recognize any of these secondary wholesalers.”

  “Well, that just about raps things up. We haven
’t charged you with anything.” Malone knew Smith wasn’t going to come clean, even if he showed the incriminating pictures to his wife. To get the truth out of him, he’d have to pay him a personal visit later on today and resort to unconventional measures.

  “So, I’m free to go, right?”

  “Well, you’re free to go for the time being. But I’ll be in touch with you real soon.”

  Smith pushed back his chair and got to his feet. He bent over, picked up the incriminating photographs of himself, and slipped them into his back pocket. Shaking his head, he stormed out of the interview room, slamming the door behind him.

  Chapter 58

  Railroad Trail was easy on the eyes, with expensive one and two story homes. These homes were set far back from the highway, landscaped with beautiful palm trees, an assortment of shrubs, and colorful flower beds. Sitting on huge plots of land, these homes were priced anywhere from five hundred thousand dollars to well over several million dollars. At the end of the block, on the right-hand side of the street, was Smith’s home. Eager to confront him again, Malone pulled his unmarked police car into the long driveway and parked behind the black BMW. Malone chuckled to himself. Smith must have had his car towed to the shop because his four flat tires had been fixed. Unfastening his seatbelt, Malone reached into his blue blazer’s coat pocket and pulled out a knife. He walked around Smith’s car and punctured all of the tires.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Smith asked, stepping onto the front porch.

  Malone gave him a wise-guy smile. “It looks like you have to get your car fixed again.”

  “This isn’t right, Sergeant. I missed work today. I just got my car back from the shop.”

  “It looks like you’ve had some more bad luck.”

  “I told you everything I knew at the police station.”

  Malone could feel his anger rising. He didn’t like people stringing him along. “No, you didn’t. Stop lying to me.”

  “You don’t have the right to destroy people’s personal property.”

  “That’s true.”

  “I’m going to get even with you. You’re never going to intimidate me again.”

  Standing on the front porch, Smith held up a video camera. He stood still, his chin held high in the air, a smirk on his face. Malone didn’t respond well to threats and intimidation. He probably thinks he’s gotten the best of me, that he’s played me for a fool. But he doesn’t know what he’s in store for. Smith set the video camera on a glass table, right next inside the foyer. He pulled the front door shut, locked it, and spun around.

  “I've got your number, Sergeant. Now, the shoe’s on the other foot.”

  “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?”

  “I have you on video tape, destroying my personal property.”

  Malone gave him a big grin. There was nothing this guy could do to intimidate him. “You think you’re going to hold that over my head, don’t you?”

  “If you tell my wife about the dirty pictures, I’ll turn the video over to the media.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  Smith laughed. “I mean it, Sergeant. I’ll get you fired.”

  “You have it all figured out, huh?”

  “It’s your move, Sergeant. But you’d better use your damn head.”

  Malone moved closer to him. He stood there, face to face. Smith’s never going to learn his lesson. He was sick of trying to get through to him. He gave him a knee to the groin. As he collapsed to the ground, Malone caught him in his arms, spun him around, and handcuffed his hands behind his back. Startled, a middle-aged woman opened the front door. She had shoulder length brown hair, wide brown eyes, and a big, round belly.

  “Call my attorney, Julie,” Smith said, his voice strained. “Do it right now.”

  “What’s going on here?” Julie asked.

  “I’m Sergeant Malone,” he said, flashing his gold badge. “I’m with the Miami PD.”

  Julie’s hand flew to her mouth. “What are you doing to my husband?”

  “Don’t say another word, Julie. Get Jim Thomas on the line. Hurry up.”

  “George, tell me what’s going—”

  Smith cut her off. “Shut up, Julie. Tell him I want to file a police brutality charge.”

  Malone winked at her, reached into the house, and grabbed the video recorder off a small glass table. Using his other hand, he grabbed Smith by the back of his neck. He forced him down the long driveway, toward the unmarked police car. Behind him, he heard Smith’s wife slam the front door shut and throw the deadbolt.

  “That’s it,” Malone said, forcing him closer to his unmarked police car. “Keep moving.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “We’re going to take a little ride together.”

  Smith shook his head. “I don’t want to go anywhere with you.”

  Malone picked up his pace. No matter what, he was going to get the truth out of him. “That’s too damn bad, isn’t it? We’re going to take a nice, long ride together.”

  “Leave me the hell alone, Sergeant.” Smith sounded scared. “I mean it.”

  “No, you’ve got to pay for what you’ve done. I’m sick of taking it easy on you.”

  Smith raised his voice. “I’m not going to say another word to word.”

  “We’ll just have to see about that, won’t we?”

  Malone shoved him into the front seat and slammed the car door shut. He slid behind the wheel, twisted on the ignition, and sped out of the driveway. Racing out of the development, he turned right, onto Congress Avenue, and pulled into a Target’s parking lot. He drove the unmarked police car behind the building, where there weren’t many cars. Parking beside a dumpster, he cut the engine and removed two white pills from his shirt pocket. He held them in his right hand, palm up.

  “I took these pills from the crime scene,” Malone said. “They’re laced with cyanide.”

  Smith rolled his eyes. “We’ve already been through this, Sergeant.”

  “I’m going to give you one more chance to get honest with me. That’s it. Now, tell me the names of the secondary wholesalers you researched for Black Capital Investments.”

  Smith shook his head. “No, take me back home.”

  Malone grabbed the back of Smith’s thick red hair and yanked back his head. You think this is a big joke, don’t you? All right, here’s a taste of your own medicine. He shoved the pills into Smith’s mouth. Gagging, Smith tried not to swallow them. Horror stricken, he shook his head as tears flowed down his cheeks. Convinced he’d gotten the message, Malone grabbed a pen from his shirt pocket, shoved it deep into his mouth, and made him puke. The pills laid on the front seat, covered with red spittle.

  “I brought some more with me,” Malone said. “You won’t be so lucky next time.”

  Smith’s face was bright red. “You’re crazy.”

  “Maybe I am.”

  “Please … please leave me alone.”

  Malone looked him straight in the eye. One way or the other, he was going to break him. “Do you want to go another round with me?”

  Smith’s eyes filled with tears. “No, I don’t.”

  “You’d better come clean. Or you’re not going to be around much longer.”

  “I remember two firms now—Bridge Tower and Martin Peek.”

  Malone was filled with a sense of relief. He was happy the guy had finally come to his senses. “What else can you tell me?”

  “I don’t know much, other than Kemp met with both company’s presidents.”

  Malone unlocked his handcuffs. “Thanks. Now, get the hell out of my sight.”

  Smith opened the car door, stumbled a few feet, and then collapsed to the ground. Malone cranked the engine, drove around the building, and pealed out of the parking lot. Pushing nearly eighty-five miles per hour, he raced down Congress Avenue, heading back to police headquarters. He knew another terrorist attack was eminent. Either one or both of the secondary wholesalers had poisoned the prescription
drug supply chain.

  Chapter 59

  Malone walked out of the Miami Police Department, into a large parking lot, where he saw Special Agent Raven from the FBI leaning against his unmarked police car. She was dressed in a beige two-piece pantsuit and a blue shirt with long collar points. Her long auburn hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Her makeup was flawless. She took his breath away, but he wouldn’t dare tell her that. He didn’t want to interact with her on a personal or professional level. The last thing he wanted in the world was to answer to the Feds. This was his case, not theirs. And due to the recent developments, he was getting much closer to bringing down Black Capital Investments. No one was going to get in his way, especially after he’d sacrificed so much of his time and energy into building a case against Kemp.

  “I don’t like this,” Malone said. “It looks like you’re following me.”

  Raven gave him a serious look. “Dream on, Sergeant. You’re not my type.”

  “You’re the one who’s standing here, leaning against my police cruiser.”

  “You have a long list of corporations that booked trips with Stillwater Cruises.”

  Malone was surprises she knew about that. He didn’t want her to know anymore about his investigation. “That’s right. My partner and I obtained it.”

  “Out of all those corporations, you’re interested in two secondary wholesalers.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I’m on the FBI’s Joint Terrorism Task Force. We’re working with the Miami PD.”

  Malone hated to hear that. “Oh, that’s right.”

  “Oh, come on, Sergeant. Don’t give me that crap. You know we’re working together.”

  “My lieutenant may have mentioned it to me.”

  Two police men, dressed in full uniform, walked past them. One of the officers looked over his shoulder. He smiled at Raven, looking her up and down. He tripped over his feet, almost falling to the ground, but he managed to regain his balance. Laughing, the other police officer slapped him on the back. Even though it was a bit juvenile, Malone got a kick out of it. He could’ help but chuckle.