Forceful Intent

by R. A. McGee

  “Isn’t he the Mattress King?” Ross said.

  Ross was right. When they were kids, there was a series of poorly produced commercials on local television. A guy had a jingle about buying a better mattress from his store. Porter didn’t want to get it stuck in his head.

  “That’s right,” Porter said. “I wonder how he’s involved?”

  “There’s no telling, but you guys have to get ready to go. That uniform I sent on break will be back soon.”

  “I know, I know. But before we leave, I want to apologize.”

  “What for?” Rivera said.

  “I promised you a big case and it doesn’t look like you’re going to get one.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Rivera said. “I want that girl found. By the time I get a warrant or bring in the FBI, who knows what could happen to Danny?”

  “What do you mean?” Ross said.

  “Porter stopped Michelson from wiping his phone, but what happens when he calls his lawyer? Michelson probably has some ethically devoid scumbag on retainer. I’m sure he’ll tell his lawyer to warn the clients that their personal information is in jeopardy. Maybe even a code word to tell the lawyer to tell the clients to kill the children and get rid of their bodies. Like a failsafe, so no one gets in trouble with the law. I can’t get a warrant in time to stop that. You have to go.” Rivera looked at Porter. “You have to bring back that little girl. At least save Danny.”

  Porter put his hand on Rivera’s shoulder and squeezed it. “I’ll bring her back,” he said, as much to himself as Rivera.

  Fifty-Two

  Porter and Ross left the police station and drove to Porter’s Yukon, still parked at the small grocery store where they’d left it earlier in the day. The meeting with the Acres boys seemed like days ago.

  “What are you going to do?” Ross said.

  “It’s simple. I’ll go knock on this guy’s door and tell him to give me the kid. I think he’ll listen.”

  “That doesn’t sound easy.”

  “I said it was simple, not easy. I have no idea what I’m walking into. What the layout of the house is, if he has dogs. Security. Hell, I don’t even know if that’s the place they’re keeping Danny. Just because we got some info from Michelson doesn’t mean it’s legit. That could be the address of his favorite hot dog stand.”

  “I don’t think so,” Ross said. “I watched your entire conversation. He was telling the truth.”

  “I know, but I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

  “I understand.”

  There was silence until they reached the parking lot and Porter got out of the car. “Okay, man, I’ll let you know what I come up with.” He shut Ross’s car door and stepped over to the Yukon.

  Porter heard Ross put the sedan into gear and turned to see his friend back up and block his exit route, trapping the Yukon in the parking spot.

  Ross hopped out of the car, leaving his door open. “What do you mean you’ll let me know? What kind of shit is that? You’re trying to leave me behind?”

  “Ross, this isn’t for you. Trust me. It’s going to be dangerous. I can’t let you get hurt,” Porter said.

  “Let me get hurt? I’m a grown man. You don’t let me do anything.”

  “Ross—”

  “Don’t shut me down. You know what this means to me,” Ross said.

  “No. You aren’t coming.”

  “You can’t tell me no, Porter. And you can’t stop me. I’m going and I’m gonna help Danny.”

  “No, you aren’t,” Porter said, trying to take Ross’s car keys from him. It was like trying to wrangle the keys from a drunk person. Ross wouldn’t give them up.

  “I’m not moving my car unless you let me go,” Ross said.

  Porter reached for the keys again. He could take them from him, for sure, but he didn’t want to hurt his friend. That was the entire point of this argument and why Porter didn’t want Ross going to Lakeland with him. He wasn’t sure how this was going to play out, and he didn’t want anything to happen to Ross. He grabbed Ross’s left arm.

  “Gotcha. Now give me the keys, Gianullo, you’re pissing me off—”

  Porter felt a dull thud hit the side of his face. Then another.

  Ross was punching him.

  Porter let go of Ross’s arm, moved, and blocked so the rest of the blows missed. To an observer, it would have looked like a father play fighting with his son. Porter stepped back again and, once he was out of the range of Ross’s haymakers, began to laugh.

  “You aren’t getting these keys.” Ross was furious.

  “Do you remember that time you got into that fight at the bar I was working at?”

  Ross scrunched up his face. “Of course I remember it. I’m not a savage like you, these things stick with me.”

  “You were sticking up for that girl, right, because that weird guy kept bothering her?” Porter said.

  “Why?”

  “I remember watching you swing on that big gorilla. A full-fledged overhand right to the jaw. I always wondered how he took that punch. I figured the guy had a cinderblock for a chin.”

  Ross looked at Porter, confused. He kept his fists balled but lowered them to his side.

  “It turns out you hit like a bitch. It’s like you have two marshmallows on the ends of your arms.” Porter’s laugh grew louder.

  “Laugh it up, asshole,” Ross said and raised his fists again.

  “Do you remember what happened to that guy?” Porter said.

  “Not really. I remember punching him and then everything got hazy.”

  “He hit you back, and you don’t have a cinderblock chin. I saw what was happening and took care of him. I promise you, when he woke up in the morning he regretted messing with you and that girl,” Porter said.

  “Thank you for that.”

  “Look man, you might as well be family. Hell, I like you more than my real brother. I’m trying to keep you from getting in the way and getting hurt, that’s all,” Porter said.

  “I realize that, but I’m a big boy. Hell, I’m older than you are. I want to help and I’m going to. Period.”

  Porter looked at Ross and knew there was no changing his mind. Ross was the single most stubborn person he knew. Besides, time was not on their side, and they needed to get on the road. “Fine. Move your car. You can come.”

  Ross looked at Porter gravely. “Thank you.”

  “Shut up and move your car already.”

  Ross ran off to move and park the sedan. Porter got into the Yukon and started it. While he was waiting for Ross, he tried to think of a plan to get Danny back, but nothing would come to him. It was too hard without seeing the location. He was going to have to wait until he got there.

  Ross jumped into the passenger seat. “Thanks.”

  “Stop telling me thanks. If you’re coming, at least make yourself useful. GPS this address for me. I have no idea where I’m going.”

  Fifty-Three

  They drove into the night towards Lakeland, nearly the halfway point between Tampa and Orlando. Porter had gone there weekly as a child. There was a large church where his parents had liked to worship. He’d never understood why they couldn’t have gone to a church that didn’t require an hour-long drive, but it wasn’t for him to decide.

  As they drove, Ross compiled as much information as he could about Otto Schmidt. He even found the old ‘Mattress King’ ad on a streaming site and played it.

  “I told you not to play that. I’ll never get that shit out of my head now,” Porter said.

  “Sorry. Just trying to find out what I can. He kind of fell off the radar.”

  “The Mattress King?”

  “It looks like he inherited the business from his father when he was a young man. According to this article, due to a series of good investments, he grew the mattress business twenty-fold. He used that and diversified into other things—real estate, hotels, things like that. His net worth is currently estimated at almost fifty million,” Ross said.
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  “I guess I’m living wrong. I should have been selling mattresses.”

  “Weird thing is, he just disappeared. His shareholders say they haven’t seen him in years. They know he’s alive, because he’ll call into the end of year meetings, but no one can get a face to face.”

  “I’ll bet we do,” Porter said.

  “I checked Google and looked at the satellite view of his house.”

  “What are we working with?” Porter said.

  “‘House’ is the wrong word for it. It looks more like a compound,” Ross said.

  “That’s what Candy Man said. How bad is it?”

  “The place is huge. It looks like it’s an industrial area, with some kind of river behind it. There’s a big fence around the whole thing.”

  “We can work with that. It’s not ideal, but at least we know where he is. And if he’s keeping a little kid tucked away, it would definitely be in a place like that. Big. Secure. He wouldn’t want just anyone rolling up and ruining his fun, would he?” Porter said.

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t.”

  Silence loomed for several minutes until Ross spoke.

  “Why can’t we just call in an anonymous tip and get the cops to go there? Find Danny themselves?”

  “Hold on, tough guy. An hour ago you were full of piss and vinegar. I seem to recall you sucker-punching me a couple times. Now you want to back out?” Porter said.

  “It wasn’t a sucker-punch. You were standing right in front of me—”

  “That’s true.”

  “—and you know I’m not losing my nerve. I just think it would be safer for the cops to go get Danny,” Ross said.

  “Safer for us, but not her.”

  “Why not?”

  “Right now this Mattress King has no idea we’re onto him. No clue. That’s why we need to get there before Candy Man tips him off. Having the cops show up at his front door asking about kidnapped kids is a pretty good tip-off, don’t you think?” Porter said.

  “I didn’t think of that.”

  “You’re an accountant.”

  Ross smirked at Porter.

  “All kidding aside, there is another practical reason it won’t work.”

  “School me,” Ross said.

  “Because all the cops can do is knock on the front door and ask if they can come in and take a look around. Schmidt won’t let them. They’d need probable cause to get a warrant to go into the house, or compound in this case. They won’t have it, so they have no way in. That’s not something we have to worry about,” Porter said.

  “Who needs probable cause when you have Porter cause, right?”

  “That was terrible,” Porter said, but gave a small chuckle. “You aren’t even a father yet and you already have dad jokes.”

  The GPS said they were only a few minutes out, when Porter took an unexpected turn.

  “Where are you going?” Ross said. “You missed the street back there.”

  “You said it was in an industrial area, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Those places are always half-vacant. Buildings with busted-out windows, boarded-up doors. We need to find one and post up for a while, so we get a feel for the place,” Porter said.

  “Think we have time for that?”

  “I think so. Rivera will stall things out as long as she can. I asked her to call before Candy Man makes a phone call. That’ll be our cue that we’re out of time. Besides, as much as I want to save Danny, I’m not rushing in there blind. I’m not bulletproof, remember? Speaking of which, can you grab my bag?”

  Ross reached into the back seat and grabbed Porter’s pharmacy bag. Porter grabbed one of the bottles and took two more pills.

  “Don’t you think you’ve taken enough of those?” Ross said.

  “What are you, my mother? It’s just antibiotics, man. I don’t want to get my arm amputated,” Porter said.

  “You aren’t taking the pain pills?”

  “No. I need to be clear-headed.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Shit yes,” Porter said, and that was the end of it.

  Lakeland wasn’t a very large city and the industrial complex wasn’t huge. It consisted of a self-storage complex and two large warehouses on the north side of a large, multi-acre parcel. The warehouses used to house a cigar manufacturing company, but the business had long since moved to a newer location. The brick buildings were three stories tall, lined with windows on every floor. Opposite them was a line of metal buildings with metal roofs. They were all single-story, but there were almost a dozen of them. They were strung out along the riverfront, which flowed behind them. The buildings were surrounded by a large chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. As industrial parks went, it wasn’t very large, but it was private. The area wasn’t too far from downtown, and after everyone left for the day, there would be no one around for miles.

  Porter checked the map on Ross’s phone and found a place to park the Yukon, about a quarter of a mile away from the industrial park. They parked off the road and out of the way. Porter got into his lockbox and put on his darkest t-shirt. Then he grabbed two flashlights, a roll of electrical tape, and an extra magazine for his Glock.

  The men walked through a grove of cypress trees until they ended up behind the storage unit facility. Following the back walls of the storage buildings, they continued parallel to the compound opposite the storage units until they reached the back of one of the tobacco warehouses. Long since abandoned, they knew it was currently for rent. The ad on the internet had said it was offered by Schmidt Realty.

  “He must own this whole parcel,” Ross said.

  Behind the warehouse they were out of sight of anyone who would be looking from the compound, so Porter grabbed the plywood from a boarded-up door and wrenched it off. The plywood protested, but gave way. They walked in, and Porter leaned the plywood against the door.

  “No one will know we’re here. Let’s get some elevation.”

  Flashlights off, they climbed two flights of stairs and reached the top level. There was a hallway running the length of the entire floor. The walls on the top level were made of brick, and much of it was crumbling onto the floor, having worked its way loose from rest of the wall.

  Along the hallway were several doorways, none of which had doors anymore. Stepping through any of them would take a person into a large, almost entirely open space— the main working area. There had been rows upon rows of tables lined up to allow workers to roll the cigars. As it was now, it was completely empty, save for three walls which, along with the main wall, formed a small office immediately to the left when passing into the room from the first empty doorway.

  “Supervisor’s office?” Ross said.

  “Probably,” Porter said. He stepped past the supervisor’s office and took a few dozen steps until he reached the wall of windows, which faced the Mattress King’s compound.

  “Don’t get too close. People could see you.”

  “No chance. We’re standing in a dark room and looking out. We’re good,” Porter said.

  Ross joined him by the windows. “What are we looking for?”

  “Anything. Everything. We know nothing about what’s happening over there, so whatever we can see will help us.”

  There was silence as the two men took in the aerial view. It was difficult to see in the darkness, and it looked like one huge compound behind the gated, barbed-wire fence. One enormous building where a tiny child was being held.

  She could be anywhere, Porter thought.

  “She could be anywhere,” Ross said.

  “That’s not the worst part. See that little building near the street?”

  “Yeah,” Ross said.

  “It’s a guardhouse. See how there’s a gate in front of it? It’s to control access.”

  “You think he has security?”

  “Candy Man said he did. It looks like if we go around the back, we can avoid them. That’s the move,” Porter said.

  Ross
looked around. “I have to take a piss.”

  “So piss.”

  “Where?”

  “You’re a man, right? Anywhere.”

  Ross looked around, then headed back to the supervisor’s office and the privacy it would provide.

  Porter shook his head and kept scanning the compound. He needed to find some sort of weakness, or at least make an educated decision about which section of the building Danny would be in.

  It wasn’t easy. It was the middle of the night in a dark area. The only lights were those in the compound. Some places had more lights than others. Porter focused his attention on a section near the middle.

  Lost in concentration, Porter thought he heard Ross returning from his piss. He failed to notice a man in black pants and black shirt approaching him until the man was much too close. Porter heard a noise, turned, and was blasted in the face by a flashlight.

  “What the hell are you doing in here?”

  Porter raised his hands. “Easy, buddy, take it easy.”

  “I asked what you’re doing here,” the man said.

  “I’m interested in the property. Just thought I’d look around.”

  “Bullshit,” the man said. “We’re always catching vandals in here. Thieves. Kids sneaking in to get laid. You got a girl with you somewhere?”

  “Nope, it’s the truth. I’m a Realtor looking for space for a client. If you get that light out of my eyes, I can show you my ID.”

  The man lowered his flashlight to Porter’s hands. “Being a Realtor won’t get you around a trespassing charge, but let’s see the ID.”

  Porter moved his left hand to his rear pocket, but stepped a little closer to the man as he did. There was no time to deal with the cops. He was about to attack the man when he heard a wet thud, and the man went down in a heap. Standing over him was Ross, holding a brick.

  “Did I just kill that guy?”

  “Yes,” Porter said.

  Fifty-Four

  “Are you serious? Oh shit. Shit, shit. I can’t believe I killed a guy,” Ross said.