Deadly Conception

by Patrick Blake

  “Fuck!” He wiped his eyes and sprinted across 84th Street ducking into the underground parking garage of a neighboring building. Squatting behind a minivan he made a plan. I gotta stay off the streets. Keeler’s probably got cops everywhere. Can’t trust any of them. Shit! There he is.

  Gabriel crouched and moved slowly north along a line of cars parked against a concrete wall. When the 85th Street garage entrance came into view he waited for his chance.

  I gotta time this just right. I gotta warn Raimy.

  Keeler walked down the center of the parking deck, methodically looking between and underneath the parked cars.

  “Sweeney,” Keeler called. “You’re making this tougher than it needs to be.”

  Gabriel help back his rage. Focus, man. Focus.

  “We’re gonna get your buddy and the widow. We can get your daughter, too. Is that what you want?”

  Gabriel’s eyes went wide with fear. Jesus Christ. Iona!

  “Give up. Save your kid.”

  He’s getting closer. Get ready.

  Outside, the traffic light changed, and a stream of cars rolled into the garage. Gabriel raced out, taking advantage of the brief shield the line of moving vehicles created. He turned slightly when he heard horns honking and Keeler yelling for them to move. The cop was stalled, at least briefly.

  Hah!

  Then he heard another horn blare and the unmistakable sound of tires screeching.

  “Aarrgg!” Gabriel was hit. He was tossed a few feet by the blow, landing on the wet ground. The driver raced to check on him.

  “Hey man, are you okay? What the fuck are you doin’ running into the street like that? Shit! I coulda killed you. Damn, man. Lemme help you up.”

  Gabriel struggled. Where’s Keeler? he thought. “I’m okay, buddy. My fault. Sorry.” He limped quickly away, pushed by fear.

  Gabriel walked a block north and then west as fast as he could without drawing attention to himself. The steady rain helped, forcing pedestrians to hustle with their heads down.

  No cops in sight! No sign of Keeler, he thought.

  Within minutes he made it into the 86th Street subway station on Lexington Avenue. Gabriel expected Keeler any minute. He moved to the far end of the platform where it was empty and waited.

  Soon enough, the dirty cop arrived. Gabriel quickly spotted him among the crowd of straphangers waiting near the turnstiles. Keeler saw Gabriel at the end of the platform.

  He’s alone down there. Dumb ass. Keeler moved toward him. The rumble of an oncoming uptown train increased. Good. The noisier the better, he thought. The corrupt detective drew his revolver from his shoulder holster. No one noticed, except Gabriel.

  The noise from the approaching train was deafening. It raced into the station. Keeler was halfway to Gabriel. He raised his pistol and fired…twice.

  Chapter 71

  Gabriel saw Keeler take aim just before jumping. He never heard the shots. No one had. The rumbling subway and the squealing brakes masked the gunfire. Gabriel was safely sprawled a few feet in front of the stopped subway. He only heard the irate curses from the train operator.

  “Are you outta your mind you stupid jackass? You coulda been killed!”

  Gabriel didn’t stick around to explain. He was a veteran city straphanger. He knew where the train would stop when he jumped to get away from a killer. He crossed the tracks and climbed up to the other platform. He couldn’t see Keeler, but he did see the lights from the incoming downtown train. In less than a minute, both subways had pulled out of the station.

  Keeler was alone on the platform. He looked up and down both sides, holstered his firearm, and walked out.

  I know where you’re going, Sweeney, and I’m comin’ to get you, he thought.

  It took Keeler less than five minutes to back track the streets to his parked car, a dark green 4-door Ford Taurus. He thumbed the remote, unlocking the doors, and stepped off the sidewalk into the street to get in.

  LaGuardia Airport, here I come, he thought, and started the car.

  “Keep your fucking hands on the wheel you piece of shit!” Gabriel said as he slid into the passenger seat and leveled his Glock at the man who murdered his friend and lawyer.

  Keeler was shocked. He never expected to be followed from the train station. “Clever boy, Sweeney.”

  “Shut the fuck up you fucking bastard.” Gabriel yelled, out of control.

  Keeler saw an advantage. “So, now what tough guy? You’re gonna kill a cop? Gimme a break. I’m gonna kill you and that nosey doc…just like we wasted your spic buddy.”

  Before Gabriel could answer Keeler whipped the back of his right hand at Gabriel. Instinctively, Gabriel raised his hands to protect himself. Keeler’s wrist hit the gun, knocking it to the floorboard. Gabriel scrambled to get his gun, expecting Keeler to attack him. But the detective had already pushed his car door open and bolted into the street.

  Car tires skidded and the sound of crunching metal was followed by a heavy thud. Gabriel dashed around to the street. Keeler was face down; legs twisted the wrong way. Gabriel checked him closely. He was alive.

  “Hey man. He jumped outta nowhere. Hey…hey…whoa. Dude. Hold on. Oh, shit man! Don’t shoot me, man. I didn’t mean to hit him.”

  Gabriel looked up and saw the driver staring at him, wide-eyed. That’s when he realized he was holding the Glock. He stood up, tucking the pistol into his waistband by the small of his back.

  “Get back in your car and call 9-1-1. Now!” Gabriel ordered the driver and added, “He’s not dead but he’s seriously hurt. Hurry up.”

  He turned back to Keeler and kneeled beside him keeping his back to the growing crowd of onlookers. Gabriel appeared to be rendering aid, in fact he was whispering in Keeler’s ear while lifting the cop’s badge, gun, phone, and wallet.

  “That’s for Cody and Pablo. I hope it hurts. I hope you die slowly.”

  He stood up and addressed the crowd. “Keep back, everyone. I saw the whole thing. My partner just ran blindly into the street. There was nothing the driver could do. I gotta call this in,” he said while flashing Keeler’s badge for everyone to see.

  Gabriel sat in the Taurus and scrolled through Keeler’s phone until he found what he was looking for and tapped out a text.

  All done, Nino. I took care of Sweeney. No problem. Made it look like a suicide. Just like we planned. It was almost as sweet at wasting that Cuban with the hit-n-run. Who’s next? Doc R or the widow? Or both? Lemme know.

  He hit SEND and then left the phone on the dashboard, open to the text thread. He stepped out of the car, looked at Keeler in the street, then slipped into the crowd and walked away.

  I hope that bastard dies. I gotta warn Raimy. He’s in DC. I gotta go help him.

  Chapter 72

  “LaGuardia Airport. Terminal C. There’s an extra hundred if you can do it in 30 minutes.”

  “You’re on, my man,” said the driver.

  Inside the taxi, Gabriel was jittery and kept looking around for the police but all he could see were brake lights from the evening traffic.

  I’m safe for now but I’m toast when I get to the airport if my plan doesn’t work, he thought.

  Before hailing the cab, he stopped at an ATM and withdrew the maximum cash from his account. A block further north he purchased a pre-paid, burner phone from the AT&T store. He calculated he had enough cash for a one-way ticket to DC, plus a little extra.

  Gabriel closed his eyes to think. I have no idea which cops are dirty.

  When he opened his eyes, he activated the burner and sent a message to Ray Doremus, the New York City detective assigned to Cody’s murder.

  Boston Det. Dan Keeler was at the Strathmore in NYC tonight. Did he break in and kill someone?

  The “message delivered” notice flashed as the charge on the pre-paid burner phone battery died.

  Dammit!

  Gabriel switch to his own phone. Low battery. Christ. He tapped a message to Raimy.

  Keeler
killed my lawyer. He thought it was me. Tried to make it look like suicide. I’m on the run. Watch out!

  Gabriel didn’t know it, but his message failed. Lightning flashes re-started, blocking the signal.

  Up ahead, the road was blocked by police.

  Oh shit.

  Chapter 73 – Reston, VA

  The former police officer was feeling the heat and starting to lose his cool. The plan was coming unhinged, and things were falling apart.

  First the memory chip is lost. Then we end up with the only doctor in the country who pegs our work. And now the files are exposed…and Firuzeh is hell bent on finding Asrani’s killer. Holy Christ!

  If he couldn’t get control and secure the plan, then a shit storm was going to hit him…hard.

  If Keeler does what he’s supposed to then that finally takes care of Sweeney. We had Robinson framed up nicely but now with Firuzeh on board…shit. They both have to go. Dammit to hell. How in the world am I going to pull this off? he thought.

  His phone buzzed an incoming text. It jerked him out of his desperate daze. He clicked through and read the background report sent to him from Firuzeh’s phone. He blanched and cursed, again.

  Shit. They got an intel report from Sweeney. Christ. Is he dead or not? What the fuck is going on. I’ve got to head this off.

  Warren Forbes called Firuzeh.

  Chapter 74 – Great Falls, VA

  “Firuzeh, it’s Warren. Can you get a hold of Dr. Robinson and conference him in? I just read your text. I want you both to hear this.”

  “Okay, Warren. No need for the conference call. Raimy is here.”

  “He’s there with you?”

  “Yes. Hang on.”

  Warren’s mind started clicking. She spent the afternoon with him? That’s not like her at all. What in the name of Jesus is she up to? What the hell is going on here?

  “Okay, Warren. We’re both on.”

  Raimy cut in, excited. “Warren, I checked the spread sheet from Asrani’s memory chip. RK was slated for a million dollars…then 500 grand…then zero. The timing of deposits and withdrawals matches the kidnapping, ransom, and Kypreos’ death. Whaddya think?”

  The devil with it all, Forbes seethed, and then said, “I have some info. I just don’t know if it will help.”

  “What do you know, Warren?” Firuzeh pressed.

  “Okay. I did some checking. Kypreos OD’d in his new Range Rover after celebrating too much at a party for his mother’s return.”

  “Hold on a minute,” Firuzeh cried. “Are you telling me it’s another overdose? Like that kid…Lochlin Lanahan?”

  “Liam Lohan,” Raimy corrected.

  Forbes pressed on. “Kypreos was known as a heavy drinker who never turned down a meal. Nickname was Chubby. But he was not a drug user. Never was. I think he was killed.”

  “The only way to make sure is to get the autopsy report for him,” said Raimy. “They probably ran tox screens, so the evidence should be there. I can’t do it. They won’t let me near the place.”

  “Warren, ask Stewart Maple if he can get a hold of the autopsy report,” Firuzeh directed.

  “Will do.” Forbes clicked off, and thought, like Hell I will.

  Firuzeh put her phone down and asked Raimy, “Drink? I sure need one.”

  Raimy nodded gratefully, recalling the extraction of Asrani’s eyes and removal of his thumbs in front of the man’s widow. “Sounds good. Red wine?”

  “Perfect.”

  Firuzeh grabbed a bottle from the kitchen, along with a pair of glasses and a corkscrew. She led Raimy to the great room where he sat on the large sofa looking out on to the Potomac River. She handed Raimy the bottle and opener, placed the glasses on the marble coffee table, sat down close and leaned into him.

  “Do the honors, Raimy.”

  As the couple started into their second glass of wine, the conversation turned compassionate, and then personal.

  “I took advantage of you…your professional skills…for the cemetery,” she said. “I’m sorry about that.”

  “It needed to be done,” Raimy said. “It was difficult for you, wasn’t it?”

  She sighed, gazing out the large windows. “It was hard. Very painful. For all his faults, the cheating, the deceit…I loved him…once…”

  Raimy nodded slowly, trying to understand, when she asked. “How did you handle it? Catching your wife cheating?”

  He stared at Firuzeh for a moment, debating whether to tell her exactly the truth. “I wanted to choke her.”

  Silence.

  Then Raimy put the question back to her. “How about you? What did you do when you learned Asrani was cheating?”

  “Me? I told him to be discreet. And kicked him out of the bedroom.”

  “That’s it?”

  “I was raised differently than you, I think.”

  They looked at each other, and sipped more wine.

  Across town, Warren spent an hour planning his next move when his phone vibrated an incoming text.

  The problem in NYC is taken care of – N

  “It’s about time. One down and two to go…and I have an idea that just might work.” Forbes sneered. He grabbed his car keys, the Smith & Wesson 5-shot revolver from his dresser drawer, a handful of heavy-duty zip ties from his kitchen junk drawer and headed out the door.

  Chapter 75 – Sterling, VA

  The sun was setting on the western side of the Blue Pines Cemetery when Nino pulled up, parking his Cadillac on West Church Road. The gates were closed and locked, as he expected. He grabbed his crowbar, pruners, and serrated-edge spoon from the trunk, and started walking the perimeter of the graveyard when his phone sounded two successive incoming messages from Keeler’s phone.

  Nino smiled, ignorant of his partner’s condition. It’s about time we nailed Sweeney. Fucker.

  Nino pressed on, easily circling the burial grounds in a few minutes and finding several access points through the backyards of adjacent suburban properties. He chose one at the northeastern corner and strolled the grounds, looking for signs of a recent burial. The first three new grave sites were filled with dirt. Nino was glad the markers made it clear none were for Asrani Patel.

  The fourth fresh grave hole was open, but there was no marker. Nino looked around making certain he was alone in the darkening cemetery before jumping into the hole. He landed on top of the sturdy casket and then slid off the side into the tight space. He ruthlessly pried open the head panel. At first, he couldn’t tell what was in the death box, but a quick flash of light from his mobile phone confirmed it was not Patel.

  “Nutin’s ever friggin’ easy. Fuck sake,” he griped, climbing out of the hole.

  It took another fifteen minutes before he discovered the final newly dug grave hole. The marker confirmed it was for Asrani Patel.

  Nino chuckled when he read the epitaph. Beloved Husband, huh? He was a cheating sleaze.

  His malicious amusement quickly ended when he looked into the hole and saw…nothing. Looking around, Nino didn’t see any exposed caskets.

  “Where the hell is he?” Then he spotted the cemetery buildings and walked over. The main house was closed up but some of the lights were on. Peering through the windows, Nino didn’t see any caskets. Just offices and a couple of viewing rooms.

  He moved on to the maintenance building next door where a black panel van was parked with the cemetery logo imprinted on the door.

  Nino forced open the building door with his crowbar and pushed his way inside. He shut the door behind him and turned on the lights. A lone casket rested on a large table. The detective quickly cracked open the case. His smile turned to astonished anger almost immediately.

  “God fuck it all,” he exclaimed, checking three times to make sure the eyes and thumbs of the dead CEO were really missing. “They’re gone. I’m too late. Fuck me sideways. Shit.”

  Nino shut the lid, turned out the lights, closed the door and walked back to his car trying to guess who took the eyes and thu
mbs.

  It’s gotta be somebody who had access to those secret files, he pondered. “Tanzler? No way…he’s too much of a pussy. Couldn’t be Sweeney or Souza…they’re dead. Keeler? No. He’s in New York. He wouldn’t have had time to do this. Plus, he’s not that smart. The doc? Robinson? Shit, I don’t even know where that asshole is.

  As Nino approached his car, he had an idea.

  Maybe Patel’s wife was in on it. If she knew about this then she’d know she needs those body parts. Nobody else knows, except the boss. And I ain’t never met him. Shit, I don’t even know his friggin’ name.

  Nino decided to visit Patel’s widow.

  Chapter 76 – New York City

  Gabriel’s race to LaGuardia Airport was agonizingly slow. The rainstorm turned into a harsh downpour; flooding side streets adjacent to the highway. Squad cars were blocking off impassable streets and redirecting traffic.

  Christ! I guess that’s good news. These cops ain’t lookin’ for me.

  Traffic was crawling. When he tried contacting Raimy and Firuzeh he realized his messages had not gone through. He tried calling.

  Nothing. Dammit!

  The storm sabotaged his signal, and his battery drained.

  “Hey buddy. This traffic is crazy,” the cabbie said. “No way I’m getting you there in 30 minutes Here’s your hundy back.”

  “What? Yeah. Whatever, man. Keep it. Do what you can. Lemme charge up my phone off your cord, cool?” Gabriel sunk into a daze and planned.

  Finally arriving, he jumped out of the cab and dashed into Terminal C hoping to make the next Delta shuttle to DC’s Reagan Airport.

  Shit. The guns. Gabriel remembered he had his handgun in a lockbox and Keeler’s revolver with him. He peeled off to a restroom, rushed into an open stall, unzipped his luggage, unloaded Keeler’s revolver, and then locked it all away with his Glock 43 9mm in his TSA-approved lockbox gun case.

  Sprinting to the Delta ticket counter he walked up to the first-class agent.