by L C Hayden
Gerry turned off the engine. “Put that away. The gun is to be used only as a last resort. We don’t want anybody to see or hear us. I want us in and out at the snap of a finger.”
Jack frowned and did as told. “You’re thinking of doing the deed with a knife?”
Gerry shook his head. “Too messy. The staff would call the police as soon as they saw all of that blood and realized Bentley was missing.”
“What then?”
“A pillow.”
“Huh?”
“We sneak into Bentley’s room and since it’s past midnight, he should be sound asleep. I’ll grab a pillow and smother him. You hold him down.”
Jack bit his lip. “What if he’s awake?”
“Then we apologize and say we’re guests and we got the wrong room. We’ll ask him to show us where the other bedrooms are. When he turns, we grab him. I don’t like snapping necks, but I’ve done it before.”
Jack shook himself as though attempting to erase a memory. “That should work, but I’m taking my gun just in case.”
Gerry opened the truck door and slid out. “That’s a wise move.” He headed toward the back door, the one reserved for deliveries. Jack followed close behind.
Gerry turned the doorknob and the door opened, just as he had expected. He knew Andrew would leave it open for them.
Gerry and Jack stepped into the entryway and darkness bathed them. Gerry had thought to bring a flashlight, but he was so familiar with the Beauregard floor plan, he knew it would be unnecessary.
“Ready?” Gerry mouthed the word. He didn’t want to take a chance of waking anybody.
Jack nodded.
Gerry led him past a large room that served as the pantry, then into the kitchen, and down the series of hallways that led to the stairs. At the bottom of the staircase, Gerry paused and listened to the silence. He wasn’t expecting any problems, but he had always leaned toward the side of precaution. After he was satisfied no one was around, he signaled for Jack to follow.
Soon as they reached the third floor, Gerry zoomed in on the first door to the right, Bentley’s master suite. He looked at the bottom of the door. Only darkness came from the other side. He pressed his ear against the door. Quiet as a grave. Gerry’s lips curved upward in an awkward smile. He liked that comparison.
He reached for the doorknob and gently turned it.
He stepped inside Bentley’s room and focused on the bed.
68
Andrew had ordered all household staff—those who live outside the mansion—out by nine. Those, whose quarters were part of the house, would be restricted to their area. But of all nights, why tonight?
That was typical of his luck, Paco thought. Or maybe not. Maybe his luck was changing, and it was due to that nice man, Alex Bentley. He wasn’t anything like the rest of his family. Andrew ruled as though he were a god and everyone in the house were peons.
But this Alex Bentley—he seemed to care. He had made his daughter, Alicia, so happy.
When she saw the rich, fancy food Paco had brought for her birthday, she squealed with joy. The two of them had sat and enjoyed the rich man’s delights. “I didn’t think food could look and taste so good, Papa. This is the best birthday ever. Thank you, Papa.”
“That’s not all.” Paco reached into his wallet and handed his daughter the twenty-dollar bill Alex had given him. “This is for you to spend any way you want.”
Alicia’s mouth dropped open. “Papa, no. We can’t afford it.”
Paco smiled. “This time, we can.”
Alicia threw her arms around him and squeezed him tight.
Paco could still feel that embrace.
Alex had made his little girl happy, and now Paco was here to pay back the kindness.
The problem was they had agreed to meet at three. It was now 12:23. Paco considered his alternatives. He could go down to the kitchen and bring home some more of those fancy dishes. He shook his head. That would be stealing, and he wasn’t a thief.
The only thing he could do was wait for Alex to join him.
Paco took a deep breath. He had come early because he knew something was going down tonight. Something always did when Andrew barred the staff from using the house.
Paco chewed the inside of his cheek and stared at his watch. Only two minutes had dragged by. Right now the house was nice and quiet, but who knew what would happen in ten or fifteen minutes.
If he didn’t act now, Alex might not get his wish, and that was wrong. That man deserved the best.
That left only one choice. He’d climb to the third level and wake Alex up.
Paco took a deep breath and began his ascent.
69
“Where the hell is he?” Jack asked. They had found an empty, unmade bed. Bentley had been sleeping here not too long ago.
Gerry checked the adjoining bathroom while Jack searched the closet. Their efforts proved fruitless. Gerry signaled for Jack to check under the bed.
“You think he knows?” Jack lowered his voice.
“How could he?”
Jack shrugged and bent down and looked. No Bentley. “Should we wake Andrew up?” He straightened up and dusted the lint off his pants.
“No. That will only complicate matters.”
“Then what do we do?”
Andrew spotted Bentley’s suitcase. It had been neatly packed and remained opened on the floor by the door. “Andrew told me Bentley likes to roam the house at night. His suitcase is still here. He hasn’t left. Chances are he’s somewhere out there.” Gerry pointed to the door. “Let’s find him.”
“And if we can’t?” Jack made sure his gun was easily available.
“We can always take care of Bentley tomorrow. Our main concern is that Morris is safe. We’ll give our search fifteen minutes. If we can’t find Bentley by then, we’ll head next door and make sure Morris isn’t in danger.” He opened the bedroom door and stuck his head out. The hallway was empty. He let himself out.
Jack followed close behind.
* * *
Paco climbed only three steps when he heard his name called. He froze. He didn’t want to lose his job. He slowly turned, his mind formulating lies as to why he was here. His sight landed on a dark shadow. Paco nibbled on his lower lip. “I can see you.”
Alex took a step forward, away from the darkness. “It’s me, Alex. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Paco relaxed his shoulders. “You’re up. We weren’t supposed to meet for two more hours.”
“I know. I felt restless, so I got up. Is that okay?” Alex looked around as though expecting someone.
“It’s more than okay. Are you ready to go?”
“You have no idea how ready I am.”
“Then let’s do this.”
“You lead and I’ll follow.”
Paco led Alex to the servants’ quarters. Under normal circumstances, this was a bright, happy place. But now with all lights turned off and a silence that devoured them, Paco began to sweat.
“How far is your apartment?” Alex asked.
“Not far from here. One of these days, I hope to earn the privilege of living here.” He opened the door at the end of the hallway. “This way.”
Alex saw the car, an early 2000 Chevy sedan. It was in desperate need of paint. “That’s the most beautiful car I’ve ever seen.”
“Liar.” Paco smiled. “But it’s all mine. Get in.”
Alex slid into the front passenger’s seat.
Paco started the engine and the car was soon bouncing down the road away from the Beauregard mansion. “Now that you have your freedom, where do you want to go?”
“Take me to the neighbors. I’d like to pay Morris a visit.”
70
“I appreciate you doin’ this for me,” Bronson said. “But I have one more favor to ask.”
Paco glanced at the man sitting next to him. “What’s that?”
“I’d like to borrow your cell. I have an urgent call to make.”
&nbs
p; “I use the little money Mr. Beauregard pays me to buy food and clothing for Alicia and pay rent and utilities. There’s no money left for luxuries like a phone.”
Bronson closed his eyes. All that money Andrew had—what good did it do? “I’m sorry. Do you have access to a phone at all?”
“The apartment complex has a community phone. I use that.”
“If I give you a number, can you relay a message for me?”
“Depends. Who am I calling?”
“His name is Pablo Escobar. He’s an FBI Special Agent.”
Paco whistled a wow! “What do I tell him?”
“Tell him I’m at the Morris mansion and may need back up.”
Paco slowed down.
Bronson sat up straighter and glanced around, making sure no one was following them. He remembered the last car trouble episode he and Mike had, and its memory made Bronson feel uncomfortable. “Car trouble?”
Paco pulled off and the car came to a stop. “Look, Alex … Bentley, I don’t want any trouble. All I wanted was to repay a favor.”
“There will be no trouble, at least not for you.” Bronson focused on the dark shadows that surrounded them. Nothing there. He hoped. “Just drop me there and take off. And please, make that call.”
“I’m not moving until I hear the truth.”
Bronson turned away from the car window and met his look. “Meanin’?”
“I may be poor, but I’m not a fool. You’re not a Beauregard. Who are you?”
“That’s not really important.” Bronson tossed out the remark as casual as yesterday’s lunch.
“It is to me. I don’t want any troubles descending on my little girl.” He watched Bronson closely with eyes that missed little and revealed less. “Maybe you should get out. My debt to you has been repaid.”
Bronson’s sense of foreboding deepened. “You’re right. I’m not a Beauregard. I’m sorry about lyin’ to you.” He took a deep breath. “Alex Bentley isn’t even my real name. It’s Bronson. Harry Bronson. I’m not an FBI agent but I do work for the bureau. Sort of. I used to be a homicide detective. But I’m not anymore. I’m simply a man tryin’ to right a wrong and help a friend along the way.”
“Bronnnson.” Paco said the name as though he tasted the word. “That name suits you a lot better. What wrong are you trying to fix?”
“Sorry. I’m not at liberty to discuss the details. It’s an ongoing investigation.”
“So Andrew has dipped his hand into something illegal. I knew it.” He started the engine and pulled off into the road. “Is Mr. Morris involved? Is that why you’re trying to get to his house?”
Bronson was hoping to find something that would connect Thomas to Andrew’s illegal going-ons. He knew Pablo would be furious with him for doing this on his own, but he had no choice. He was running out of time. “What can you tell me about Thomas?”
Paco’s eyebrows arched. “Oh, that Morris. I thought you were talking about the senator.”
“We’ll get to him later. Tell me about Thomas.”
“Thomas. He’s the best in the bunch. He takes care of us. I work for him, you know.”
“I thought you worked for Andrew.”
“I work for both.” He sighed. “I can’t spend as much time with Alicia now, but it’s only temporarily.” Paco beamed as though he had accomplished a great task. “I just started. Two weeks ago. I haven’t been paid yet, but the first thing I’m doing with that money is buying me a phone. Alicia would really like that.”
“So you’re familiar with the house’s layout.”
“My job is to straighten out the rooms. That may not sound like much, but it does keep me busy. The house is very large, so yeah, I am acquainted with the layout.”
“Tell me about it.”
Paco did and Bronson made mental notes. When he finished, Bronson asked, “Can you get me inside?”
“Now? At this time? I don’t have a key like I do to Andrew’s house.”
“How can I get in?”
Paco’s eyebrows furrowed. “The main gardener likes to work on the yard at this time of night. If Tito is out, he’ll let us in. If not, you’re on your own.” Paco turned into the long, sweeping driveway.
“Once I’m in, you can go. I don’t want to get you into trouble. I’ll find my way back to Andrew’s house.”
The road formed a Y and Paco took a right, past the senator’s mansion. Bronson focused on the structure. It loomed before him, giving him the feeling that its dark windows were eyes staring. Watching. Waiting for him.
Further on down the road, Bronson spotted a second dwelling, Thomas’ residence. The structure was too big to be called a house. It was more like a mini-mansion.
Bronson wrote down Pablo’s phone number and handed Paco the paper. “Please make that call.”
Paco looked down at the paper. “I’m sure Tito will let me borrow his cell if he has one.” He accepted the paper, drove to the back of the house, and turned off the engine. “You’re a lucky man. That’s Tito over there.” He pointed to a man pulling out weeds from around the rose vines. “Wait in here while I talk to him.”
Minutes later, Bronson was inside the house.
Based on what Paco had told him, Thomas had an office in the house. He’d begin his search there.
71
As Bronson crept down the hallway toward Thomas’ office, his heart pounded with such force, he was sure he had swallowed a full marching band complete with a drum line. If Paco had been correct, the pair of light oak doors next to him led to the office. He plastered his ear to the door and listened to silence. He looked under the door. No lights. He turned the knob. It easily opened.
Bronson stepped in and closed the door behind him, thankful that the floor-to-ceiling curtains were open and the full moon lit up the room. The spacious office contained high ceilings and museum-quality furniture. Just as Bronson had expected.
The right-hand side of the room housed two four-drawer wooden file cabinets, a bookcase filled with books, and a mahogany leather top desk. Other than a set of solid-gold Mont Blanc fountain pens, a calendar with flip pages, and a lamp, its top was empty.
At the opposite end of the room, a leather couch faced a Bolivian Rosewood coffee table. Two recliners and a loveseat completed the décor.
Bronson’s head jerked up when he heard footsteps in the hallway. He could, if need be, dive behind the couch. Not the best place to hide, but for now, the only place. Whoever walked the hallway went past the office and continued down the hallway. Bronson let out the air he’d been holding. He was safe, at least for the moment.
He pulled on the top cabinet drawer. It was locked. Naturally. Maybe he’d have better luck with the desk. He opened the top right-hand side drawer. It was filled with office supplies, notepads, and a basket that held odds and ends. Bronson took out the basket and tapped on the drawer’s bottom. No secret compartment there. He returned the basket to its original place.
The next drawer held a small box filled with stamps, address labels, and envelopes. Neatly stacked next to this box was a stack of blank stationery. Bronson scanned through the papers. Other than the fancy letterhead, the stationary held no interest. Just like before, he tapped on the drawer. Again, no false bottom.
He attempted to open the last drawer but found it locked. He studied the locking mechanism. If he had a pick, he’d have it open in less than a second. But without the proper tools, he was out of luck.
He reopened the first drawer and searched through the basket. He saw paperclips—a possibility—a ruler, a measuring tape, address labels, file folders markers, a magnifying glass, and a custom-made leather box. He opened it and encountered miniature screwdrivers, various sizes of files, and—bingo!—a set of picks.
Hot diggy-dog. He was on a roll.
He chose the largest of the picks and got to work on the lock. The pick was too small to do a proper job. Maybe if he used a steadier one, he’d have better luck. He grabbed it and tried again. On the third
try, the lock clicked open. He returned the tools to their proper place and slid open the bottom drawer.
It concealed only one item. A ledger. Bronson’s heart revved like a squad car in pursuit. Could he really be this lucky?
He reached for the ledger but stopped when he heard footsteps approaching. This time, whoever stood on the other side was turning the doorknob.
Bronson closed the drawer and dashed toward the back of the couch just as two men stepped in.
72
“You’re a deep disappointment to me,” one of the men said. Even though he spoke in hushed tones, his words erupted geyser-like. “Always have been. Always will be.”
“I could say the same about you, Dad.” Thomas stressed the word dad, making it sound dirty.
From his hiding place behind the couch, Bronson was privy to their conversation. One of those men had to be Thomas. Bronson recognized his voice. The other one—dad—had to be the senator.
“How dare you speak that way to me,” Senator Morris said.
Someone flipped the light switch and the room lit up as bright as noon.
“And how dare you invite filth into your life and then spread it to encompass mine,” Thomas said.
One of them sat on the loveseat across from the couch while the other paced. Bronson’s gut told him Thomas was the one who did the pacing.
“I have no idea what that means.” The Senator cast the sentence out with as much enthusiasm as one would devote to last week’s agenda.
The pacing stopped. “Don’t ever play me the fool again. I know what Andrew’s doing. I also know you’re the one he answers to.”
Bronson’s eyebrows shot up. Oh really? He had had his suspicions, but until now, he couldn’t confirm it. Bronson would give anything if he could see the senator’s face.
“Again, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The senator’s tone was steady and calm. A true politician—indeed.