Hate Crime

by William Bernhardt

The man did not wait for him to finish. He shoved Ben back, hard. Ben fell against his desk, the edge slamming into him.

  Ben didn’t waste a second. He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small handheld radio. “Boxer? Now! Call the police and come!”

  The man in the mask knocked the radio out of his hand. “Would you by chance be calling Boxer Johnson?”

  Ben felt his mouth go dry.

  The man reached into his coat and removed another radio, just like the one Ben had, then a black leather wallet. “Boxer Johnson, age fifty-five, blue eyes, one hundred and seventy-five pounds, eyesight restriction.” He threw the wallet into Ben’s face. “Bad news, Kincaid. He won’t be coming.”

  Ben pressed back against the desk, trying to get as far as possible from the man. “Who are you? What do you want?”

  “Oh, but you already know that, don’t you? This is your party, after all.”

  “I don’t know what-”

  “Don’t treat me like a jerk.” He drew his hand back and slapped Ben hard across the face. “You set this up, with your little press conference. You knew I’d have no choice but to come after you. I wasn’t going to let you screw everything up. Not after all the work, all the… killing. Maybe you thought I’d wait till you left the office, but I figured I better move quick, before it’s too late. Before you were ready. First, I took out your two little friends. But I kept telling myself, this kid Kincaid can’t be this stupid. He’s practically inviting me to come after him. He must have backup. So after you went into the office, I sat back and waited. And sure enough, as predictable as clockwork, your rear guard showed up, chatting into his little radio, making his rounds.”

  “If you’ve hurt him-”

  “Oh, I’ve hurt him all right. I hurt him good, like he won’t forget for a long time. If he can remember anything.”

  “Ben, have you got the ex-” Christina stepped through the doorway, then froze. A millisecond later, she turned to run. The man in the mask whirled around, grabbed her arm. As she tried to pull away, he jerked her backwards. Ben knew that it hurt; he could see it in her eyes. She flew backward and careered into the desk beside him.

  “And here’s the pretty one,” he said, contempt dripping from his voice. “I might have a little fun with you, before it’s over. Or after.”

  “I don’t know who you are or what-”

  He slapped her, silencing her. “You may be an innocent victim of your boss’s little prank. But you’re going to suffer just as bad.” He grabbed Ben by the collar, shaking him. “Did you think you could fuck with me? With me? You little punk.” He threw Ben back with disgust. “This is going to be a pleasure.” He pulled a revolver out of his coat pocket and pressed it against the side of Ben’s skull. “Gonna take away all your troubles, lawyer-boy. You should thank me.”

  “No!” Christina screamed. “Please don’t hurt him!”

  “Don’t waste your breath crying for this asswipe,” the man said, pulling Ben up by the collar and pressing his head down with the gun. “Save it for yourself. You’re next.”

  Mike found Sergeant Baxter in the kitchen of the Chicago FBI office. She had a coffee cup in one hand and a half-eaten yogurt in the other.

  “Care to join me for a little slash-and-burn operation?” he asked.

  “Why would I?”

  “Because you’re my partner.”

  She pressed a hand against her chest. “He remembers!”

  “Don’t be so-”

  “I thought you had totally forgotten. Or that Special Agent Swift had worked some kind of Deep South mojo on your brain.”

  “Hey, I didn’t ask to have a Feeb baby-sitting me on this case.”

  “No, but you haven’t exactly resisted, either. So what’s a slash-and-burn, anyway?”

  “Means I don’t really have a clue. I’m going to thrust myself into the lion’s den and see if I can stir something up. Hassle, threaten, intimidate. Take no prisoners.”

  “Sounds very sophisticated. Count me in. What is it we’re trying to learn?”

  “What else? The identity of the fourth kidnapper.”

  Baxter stared at him strangely. “But-I thought you already knew.”

  Mike returned an equally mystified expression. “Why in God’s name would you think that?”

  “Because I watched your pal Kincaid on television telling everyone he knew who the fourth man was.”

  “What?”

  “And I figured he could only have gotten the scoop from you. Wrong?”

  “Very.” Mike thrust his hands into his pockets. “What the hell is he playing at?”

  “Hard to tell with those defense shysters. Must be some kind of trick.”

  “Yeah. Must be. Maybe he-” All at once, Mike’s face went white. “Oh, my God. That stupid idiot.”

  “What? What is it?”

  “Change of plan.” Mike began racing down the corridor. He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and started dialing. “We’ve got to find him.” He put the phone to his ear, got no answer, swore. “That incredible moron!” He punched the elevator button, then didn’t have the patience to wait. He lurched toward the stairs. “Ben has pulled some stupid stunts in his time, take my word for it. But this one’s going to get him killed.”

  Christina looked on in horror as the brutal man in the Halloween mask pressed a gun to Ben’s temple. How had this plan gone so wrong so fast? Images flashed unbidden in her brain-Manny Nowosky with the drill bit through his skull; Charlie the Chicken with the gun in his mouth. And now Ben was poised to be the next victim.

  “You brought this on yourself,” the man growled. “You could’ve just let that son-of-a-bitch kid take the rap. But no, you had to go messin’ around in my business. And now you’re going to pay the price.”

  Christina’s mind was racing. That voice, even hoarse and broken, sounded familiar, but with the mask concealing his face she couldn’t be sure. She watched helplessly as his thumb pulled back the hammer of the pistol. He was really going to do it! She couldn’t wait another second. Without warning, she lurched forward, head-butting the gun away from Ben.

  The gun fired, but the bullet went off somewhere into the far wall. The man in the mask fell backward. Christina scrambled to her feet, but he was too quick for her. He caught her with the back of his gun hand and whipped her hard across the face. She felt her head explode, her neck bent by the force of the blow. Blood trickled down her cheek.

  She began to topple, but the man in the mask grabbed her by the hair and jerked her head up. Ben scrambled to his feet and tried to rush him, but he shoved Ben back with ease.

  “One more move like that and the girl dies!” he barked.

  Ben froze in his tracks.

  Christina tried to pull her head out of the daze and figure out what to do next. The man was still holding the gun in his spare hand, but it was pointing off to the side; during the struggle, it had pivoted around on his trigger finger. This would be a good time to do something. If she could only figure out what.

  “You thought you could hurt me?” The man’s former cool had evaporated. “I’ve been fighting all my life! I’ve taken out the biggest and the strongest. Never let anyone get in my way. And that includes you!”

  He outweighed Christina by more than two-to-one, but she had been taking those self-defense classes at the Y for a reason, and no matter how tough the guy was, he had the same vulnerable points as everyone else. The eyes, which she couldn’t get to. The temples, the ears, which she also couldn’t get to. And the knees.

  Now that was a different story.

  She reared back with the heel of her shoe and smashed it into the small of his kneecap. He tumbled. Just like her instructor told her-no matter how big the man, a good swift kick to the knee will bring him down.

  But he was still holding the gun. She brought her foot around, this time kicking his gun hand. He released it, then she kicked it to the other side of the room.

  “Ben! Get it!”

  Ben
dove for that corner of the office, but the man grabbed his foot and fell right on top of him. They began to struggle. Christina tried to get around him, but he threw up his arm and tripped her. He pulled himself onto his knees, holding back Ben with one hand and Christina with the other.

  The gun lay on the floor in the opposite corner.

  Ben rammed his elbow into the man’s nose. Christina came at his neck with her fingernails. He still did not release them. Christina could feel great power surging through his arms. He was stronger than Samson, and determined not to let them go.

  With a mighty effort, he tossed the both of them back a few feet, then flung himself toward the gun. He grabbed the revolver, then rolled around on his shoulder. Christina raced forward-just in time to see a poised gun staring her down the throat.

  “You goddamn punks!” the man shouted, almost hysterical. The gun was wavering, trembling, but not so much that there was any chance he would miss her if he pulled the trigger. “You goddamn smart-ass punks!”

  “I thought so,” Christina said quietly. “I know who you are.”

  In the midst of the struggle, the man’s mask had been knocked to the side.

  “You’re Mario Roma,” Christina continued. “You own Remote Control.”

  “Yeah,” Roma said, his teeth clenched, both hands squeezing the shaking revolver. “And you’re a corpse.”

  “He’s not in the courthouse!” Mike shouted back to Baxter, who was waiting in the unmarked Bureau car.

  “I’ve been calling their office. No answer.”

  “Damn.” He dove into the passenger seat. “You drive.”

  Given the urgency, she did as he instructed, but she was incredulous even as she slid across the seat.

  “I want to keep working the phone,” Mike explained. “And I need someone giving the road their full attention-and driving just as fast as possible.”

  Baxter pulled the car away from the curb, with a peel of rubber. “You must really be tight with this shyster.”

  Mike shrugged. “We go way back.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Besides, it’s kind of like being a Good Samaritan. How many friends can a defense lawyer have?”

  “Right.”

  “Just get to their office, Baxter,” he said, punching the tiny buttons on the phone. “I’m calling Swift. Maybe she can call in backup.”

  “But why?” Ben asked, genuinely curious and stalling for time. “Why would you go in for kidnapping? You have a successful restaurant.”

  “Are you kidding? No one makes money from restaurants. It’s a money pit. And campus clubs are the worst. The kids are so damn fickle.”

  “But kidnapping?”

  “Look, I grew up in Chicago. The mob rules, right? Everyone I ever knew was crooked. That was how we made money. It was expected.”

  “Mike told me he thought you were protesting too much when you said you had no mob connections.”

  “This job had nothing to do with the mob. Those jerks coulda never come up with something this smart.” He wiped his brow with his free hand. “I left all that behind. Tried to start fresh. Clean. But I wasn’t making money and the debts were piling up. If I didn’t come up with some money-major money-I’d lose everything.”

  “So you went in for kidnapping. Then murder.”

  “I never wanted the murders. But Manny was making threats, saying he’d talk, and then Charlie-” He tightened his grip on Christina’s hair. “Aw, what’s the use? You wouldn’t believe me. And you’re both dead anyway.” His lip curled as he pointed the gun at Christina’s skull.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Ben said, trying to keep his voice calm even though he was more terrified than he had ever been in his life. Not Christina. Please, God, not Christina. “You can stop the killing now.”

  “Too late,” Roma said, sweat dripping from his chin. “Too goddamn late.”

  Outside Ben’s office, in the front lobby, they all heard the sound of a door slamming shut.

  “Who’s that?” Roma hissed, lips tight.

  “Probably Jones, my office manager,” Ben answered. “Or my investigator, Loving.”

  “Like hell. I already took care of both of them.”

  “Ben? Christina? Where are you? I’ve got the stuff from the courthouse.”

  It was their new intern. Vicki.

  “Any luck?” Baxter asked.

  Mike shook his head. “No one’s answering. Not in the office Ben’s been using, not in any office in the building that I can find a number for.”

  “It’s late,” Baxter said, as she wove in and out of traffic, hitting speeds well beyond the limit. “Probably all gone home or not answering.”

  “That doesn’t help me. I found a doorman at the Marriott across the street who thinks he saw Ben and Christina go in half an hour ago. Half an hour!” He wiped his brow. “And you know what that means.”

  “If they’ve been back that long, and they’re not answering the phone…”

  “Yeah.” Mike bit his lower lip, trying to fight back the emotions that were flooding to the surface. “If that killer has been there for half an hour-”

  Baxter swerved into the next lane, leaving a semi eating her dust. “I’m driving as fast as I can.”

  “It won’t matter. We can’t possibly get there in time. Neither will backup.” He sat silent for a moment, hands gripping the console. “They’re on their own.”

  “Goddamn it,” Roma muttered under his breath, still gripping Christina by the hair. “Goddamn it to hell.”

  “Don’t drag Vicki into this,” Ben whispered. “She’s just a kid. She knows nothing.”

  “Goddamn it to hell!” He released Christina, then waved them both away from the door. “Get back! In the corner.”

  Ben did as he was told, but he kept talking. “I haven’t told her anything about the case. All she does is fetch coffee and hold paper clips. There’s no need to hurt her.”

  “Shut up!” Roma hissed.

  A moment later, Vicki’s petite frame appeared in the doorway. She was carrying a large banker’s box. “Ben?”

  A second later, she saw the man, and a second after that, the gun. A small cry escaped from her.

  “Get up aganst the wall,” the man barked.

  “What’s happening?” she said, in a tiny trembling voice.

  “Get up against the wall!” he shouted.

  “Do as he says,” Ben told her. “Please.”

  She scooted forward, her lips parted, her face ghost white. Her hands began to shake. Ben wondered how much longer she could hold that box.

  “Hurry!”

  She scooted forward-too fast. She stumbled, and the box tumbled out of her hands, taking Roma by surprise. Reams of paper spewed forth, knocking him backward. The gun spilled out of his hand. He stepped backward, hit the desk, then fell, as the floor was covered in paper.

  “Oh!” Vicki screamed. “I’m so sorry. Don’t hurt me! Please! I’ll clean this up.”

  “Just get in the corner!” Roma bellowed, but Vicki knelt down and started rummaging through the paper-

  – and came up holding a gun.

  Ben and Christina gaped. Roma’s hand was barely an inch away from his own weapon. “Don’t do it,” Vicki cautioned.

  He didn’t listen. He grabbed it. Vicki fired, but missed. Roma rolled away.

  “Don’t be a fool,” Vicki said. “I will shoot.”

  Roma came up, gun in hand-

  And Vicki fired. The bullet caught him in the neck, slamming him back against the wall. His eyes fluttered shut.

  “Call 911,” Vicki ordered. “Fast.” She ran to Roma’s side, looked at the wound, pressed two fingers against the side of his neck. “Damn,” she muttered. “He’s not going to make it.”

  While Christina made the call, Ben stared at his intern. And her pistol. “What the hell is going on?”

  “I think a ‘thank you’ might be in order here,” Vicki replied. There was a strength in her voice that he did
n’t recall being there before.

  “What were you doing with a gun in your files?”

  “A girl has to know how to protect herself. Especially if she’s working for someone like you.”

  “My God,” Ben said, slapping his forehead. “The press will be all over this. We’ll have to get you a lawyer. Someone outside the firm. It was self-defense, of course, but we’re going to have to convince the cops that-”

  Vicki pushed herself back up to her feet. “Relax, Ben. You don’t have to worry about the cops.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  She smiled. “Because I am a cop.”

  49

  “It was always about the kidnapping,” Ben explained. “From the very start. First an audacious plan to get money, then a desperate plan to keep it.”

  Ben sat in Judge Lacayo’s chambers with Christina, Drabble, the judge’s clerk, and most important, Mike, probably the only man in the room the judge really trusted. Although as far as that went, he was being pretty deferential to Ben today, especially compared to how the man had treated him since the trial began. Funny how a judge’s attitude changed once a law enforcement officer came in and told him that the far-fetched story the lawyer had been telling since the trial began was actually true.

  “Mario Roma needed money,” Mike said. “Actually, I don’t know if he needed it so much as wanted it, but he was the one who concocted this plan. He had some contacts in Tulsa and he knew the Metzger family. And he’d seen Tommy. He knew the parents were loaded, attached to their child-but more than a bit negligent. He knew capturing the kid would not be that tricky. The hard part would be getting the money, keeping the money, and not getting caught.”

  “But he apparently managed it, right?” Drabble said.

  “Right-because he enlisted help. He knew a small-time hood named Manny Nowosky because he hung out in Roma’s club. Probably pushed drugs there, too, but Mario turned a blind eye to that. Call it a reciprocal favor. Manny brought in a street chicken he knew named Charlie. But Mario needed one more person to make it all work, so he recruited Tony.”

  “Tony didn’t write a word in his journal that suggests that he was involved in anything criminal,” Christina protested.