Cargo: an edge of your seat thriller

by J. C. Maçek III

  When the hell did people in management decide to start adding ‘and the greatest’ after the word ‘latest’? And why did it have to be said every single time? It was intensely irritating to Gilley and anyone like him.

  As if finally remembering he had an audience in front of him, the Lieutenant looked up and addressed his officers at last.

  “All right, everyone. We are all here to discuss the possible kidnapping of this man.” He nodded to Fring, who pushed a button on the remote control to bring up a decidedly unfriendly looking picture of the subject onto the screen behind the lieutenant. “Anthony Peterson,” James said. “Local businessman. Missing since at least early this morning, possibly yesterday evening.”

  The cops in the room took notes and nodded as the droning lecture continued.

  “Also, seemingly missing and possibly kidnapped is Peterson’s wife, Susan.” The button was pushed again, and Peterson’s face was replaced by that of a very pretty woman in her thirties with long brown hair and green eyes. This resulted in mumbles and whistles throughout the crowd. “Right, right, right, she’s good looking. Decorum, please,” James said and coughed.

  Officer Witrack waved a hand in the air and spoke before being recognized. “You keep saying ‘possibly’ and ‘seemingly.’ Are we really putting this much effort into looking for a guy who might just be out on another goddamn fishing trip?”

  There were chuckles throughout the mostly controlled crowd, and Lieutenant James coughed a few more times before leaning in toward the podium microphone and continuing. “Right, right. We all remember the story of the actor from last year. Who was it?”

  “Kent,” Fring said, barely audibly.

  “Right, Kurt Kent, the actor. For those of you who don’t know, he was reported missing a year or so ago, and we all went hog wild on the search. By the time night rolled around, it turned out the guy had been on a thirteen-hour deep-sea fishing trip with his mistress, which is why his wife didn’t know about it.”

  “He got a hell of a sunburn to go with his divorce, too,” Gilley called from the back, causing more chuckling.

  “That he did,” Lieutenant James admitted. “And, yes, it might turn out to be exactly that way, but this is Los Angeles. You know how things are. If we don’t act, we look bad. If we do act, we look–”

  “Slightly less bad?” Austen offered from the back.

  “Good enough. So, we’re moving on this one under the assumption that this kidnapping is real.” James said, then coughed a few times and continued. “Now, what do we know? Well, not much. Early this morning a call came from Anthony Peterson to his adult son Evan Peterson who, soon after, reported the father missing. Peterson and the step-mother, Susan. Detective Gilley went to see him and ultimately brought him in.”

  James nodded to Gilley who picked it up from there, speaking loudly over the crowd without a microphone. “Right. I’ve got him cooling his heels in one of the interrogation rooms with a big pot of coffee. He’s not a suspect, but he’s a material witness right now. Thing is, he’s also drunk as hell and kind of belligerent, so it’s hard to know if we can trust him as far as we can throw him.”

  James took back over. “True, so in the meantime, Burns sent out officers Riley and Gonzales to check out the Petersons’ house.” He turned the page in his report and looked back up. “Instead of finding Peterson playing lawn darts in his bathrobe, they found the front door wide open.” The projector switched to a digital picture of the front of the house. “It seemed like someone was in a big hurry to leave because the door was thrown open hard enough to crack the window in it and bend the hinge. Whoever the hell it was is a strong guy.”

  James looked up at the crowd for any reaction or questions, then kept going.

  “Around that same time, a call was coming in about a rampaging attack dog.” The projector switched to an image of a mean-looking black dog. “Turns out the neighbors recognized the pooch as–” cough, cough “–get this, ‘Satan,’ the new guard dog purchased by the Petersons. The bad pooch was running around, terrorizing the neighbors until one of them gave him some leftover chicken. Now, he’s putty in their hands.”

  “Good boy,” Witrack called out, causing a few more chuckles.

  Lieutenant James patted the air again and said, “Now, just sit back, people, because here’s where it gets a lot more serious.” The officers quieted themselves. “The alarm was shut off, so clearly the burglar had the code. We’ve got some blood on the stairs and the back porch that we’re looking at, but aside from some apparent rummaging in the bedroom, it doesn’t look like anything of value was taken. No real signs of struggle either. The Petersons apparently kept the place pretty damned clean. We’re looking for fingerprints, but so far, we’re coming up blank.”

  “And the blood?” Austen asked.

  “Not sure. Still being analyzed. That might be the key, but it’s too soon to tell.”

  “Yeah, they’ll have it in a half hour,” Austen said under his breath as Gilley nodded to him.

  “Now, if that was all, it would still be enough to get us moving on this. We don’t want the press to find out about this and start asking questions we can’t answer.” Lieutenant James coughed.

  “Sir? Officer Hall,” a young, female officer said. “Is he really that big a name?”

  James nodded. “He’s a well-known businessman. Enough that his picture on the front page is going to look bad. As far as we know, he’s kind of a snake in the grass, but a single TV news story can turn him into a pillar of the community and everyone from Walt the postman to the Mayor himself will start screaming that one of our finest citizens is missing.”

  Fring leaned in toward the microphone and said, “And, officially, it doesn’t matter how big a name he is. We treat all kidnappings the same.” The officers groaned and chuckled at the bogus claim, so Fring continued, “We’ll put a community liaison in front of the cameras when the time is right, but for now the most important thing is getting out in front of this.”

  As he leaned back out, Lieutenant James coughed a couple of times and added, “Whether this is actually a kidnapping or not.”

  “You said there’s more?” Officer Nopke asked.

  “Much,” James affirmed, and the screen then showed a jewelry storefront. “This is Fairfax Unlimited Jewelers. It was broken into, also early this morning. From what we could tell from when the alarm code was entered, this was not too long after the Peterson place was hit.”

  A few hands went up, but James ignored them. “Tragically, this was no mere jewelry heist. The place was cleaned out, yes, and the thief or thieves also apparently killed–” the image on the screen changed again to a uniformed man in a pool of blood “–this man. Pedro Antonio Americano, security guard for FUJ.”

  The crowd responded with shocked murmurs and muted conversation as Lieutenant James continued.

  “Naturally, and I hope this answers your questions–” Lieutenant James coughed a few times before shifting gears. “I’m guessing your next question was what the hell this has to do with Peterson?” He saw a few nods and adjusted his train of thought. “Homicide headed out there after the uniforms called it in. When they interviewed the store manager, he identified the owner of the place as one Anthony Peterson.”

  Murmurs rose again.

  “True, we would’ve found it out anyway, but the guy was nervously trying to figure out how to tell ‘Mr. Peterson’ out loud. So–”

  “So, it looks like someone is specifically going after Peterson and his wife and their properties?” Detective Austen asked.

  “Detective Gilley?”

  Gilley turned to Austen and said, “That’s right–” before realizing he was talking too loudly to his friend who was right next to him. He shook his head and addressed the rest of the group together. “That’s the assumption we’re under right now. The son, drunk bastard that he is, tells us a hell of a story. Seems like daddy called to tell him he’s being kept in a shipping container–” the crowd mumble
d to each other “–yeah, that’s what I said. He’s got limited air and…and that’s beside the point for this part of the case, because the reason he called was that the dad took away Junior’s trust fund and his sister’s too. Says he’d be dead without it. Ransom.”

  “How much are we talking about?” Hall asked.

  Gilley nodded to her and rubbed his hands together nervously. He never really enjoyed public speaking much.

  “Well, it’s still hard to get a straight answer from this kid, but the trust funds total about three million. The son seems to be indicating the total ransom is around ten million.”

  More murmurs and whistles from the crowd served as his response.

  Lieutenant James coughed a few times to get attention back on himself and went back into his monotone presentation. “So, we’ve got Homicide involved, we’re looking for prints, but they’re not finding any. Thing is, whoever hit this place also had the alarm codes, because everything was turned off including the cameras. We’ve got a dead security guard with a family and someone on the run with a lot of money. Plus, a smeared, size-twelve footprint – presumably of one of the perpetrator’s – and that’s about it.”

  “Inside job?” someone called out.

  “Possible,” Lieutenant James said. “They did have the alarm code. We haven’t ruled anything out. Hang on, now, there’s a lot more to cover, and time is running out. It’s already been several hours, now and there’s a lot more evidence to go over.”

  The room quieted again.

  “Next up, one of our own, Officer Nash,” Lieutenant James said as the screen went from smeared blood to a picture of a large, bald man in a blue uniform. “This guy called in a routine traffic stop not too far away from FUJ. Late model Dodge Charger, local plates,” he droned even lower as he read. “Thing is, the driver wore a ski mask, which Nash rightfully thought was odd in this weather, so he tried pulling him over. But the Charger sped away, and Nash lost him.”

  “Must’ve been some driver,” Austen mumbled.

  “After Nash’s call-in, the desk had the plates run, and they tell us the car is owned by this man.”

  The screen changed again, this time to a photo of a man with a ridiculously goofy look on his face. It looked like a selfie, perhaps pulled from a Facebook page. James turned around to look at the face, coughed twice, and turned back to the crowd. “This comedian here is one Tom Pocase. You can probably guess there would be some kind of connection by now. He’s a high-level assistant of good old Anthony Peterson.”

  Gilley took over and said, “We don’t think he’s behind this, though, because, as it turns out, he’s missing too.”

  James leaned in and said, “Pocase’s wife called in early this morning, and the call didn’t seem significant at the time for reasons that should be apparent. See, he reportedly texted her that morning, and she indicated the texts didn’t seem like him. Plus, he hadn’t been seen since the previous day. She said it sounded like someone was covering something up, but had no other evidence, so Burns gave the standard ‘we’ll look into it’ response figuring the man would be home by breakfast.”

  “That is, until Nash had those plates run,” Detective Reeves added.

  “Right,” James confirmed. “So, we met with the wife and…Reeves?”

  Reeves stood on the side of the room and filled the group in on what he found. “We got the wife’s permission and traced his credit cards. Turns out he checked into a pretty nice hotel room downtown, so we figured it was just an affair. Coincidence. But when the uniforms searched the room, he wasn’t there. The place was trashed, Pocase was gone, and they found blood, cum, vomit, and a whole shitload of dope all over the place.”

  A few disgusted sounds came back, but mostly the crowed was quiet and looked back to James with rapt attention.

  “Thank you, Detective Reeves,” James said flatly. “We’re trying to give you all of this in some sort of chronological order, but it’s getting harder to pin down exactly what happened when.”

  “Well, where is Nash?” Officer Nopke asked. “Isn’t he a witness?”

  James sighed and nodded. “Right, Nopke, right. Uh…well, here’s where it gets even worse. A car crash took place a few blocks from where Nash last saw Pocase’s Charger, and Nash was the first on the scene. I won’t keep you in suspense: it was the same year’s black Charger. Knocked down a pole and almost killed a family, then the guy actually flips the Charger but survives.”

  “No shit?” Austen scoffed.

  “The family got out, took some video and–” The screen changed again to the captured digital video from the phones. “We see this guy. Looks like a Caucasian male from the few seconds his mask is up. He pulled it down quick. No good look at his face. Then…”Lieutenant James narrated as one of the videos continued. “Nash goes to arrest the driver and…”

  The police in the room gasped as the masked driver punched out Officer Nash.

  “I’m going to save you the rest for good taste and time, but this son of a bitch then torched his own car, locked up Nash, threw him in the trunk, and then stole Nash’s squad car.”

  Hall spoke up. “How the hell did he do that?” she asked, causing some more chuckles, this time with something of the gallows about them.

  James nodded. “We were as surprised as you are. For any of you who don’t know the man, Officer Nash is a very large, very strong cop. His nickname off and on has rightly been The Incredible Hulk for years, and the guy has earned it.”

  The crowd nodded and voiced their agreement in low voices. James went on. “Because he was able to take down Nash, we do know we’re clearly dealing with someone who has training. Now, we’re treading lightly because the license plates are missing, as is the VIN and the rest of the car is burned pretty damned well, but come on. How many guys in ski masks were driving around Fairfax in the same damn year, make, model, and color of a car?”

  Light chuckles and agreement followed.

  Gilley spoke back up, “Now, uh, that’s the latest that we know of, right?”

  The Lieutenant nodded and shrugged with his thumbs, indicating that was pretty much true.

  Gilley continued, “Now we’re running with the idea that whoever this…asshole…is, he’s probably not keeping the police car for long, so we’re working on tracing its GPS locator. But the problem with that is the database system had that bad upgrade six weeks ago, and we’re still trying to match GPS locators with squad cars. IT is on it, and we’ve set a fire under their asses to get it done, stat.”

  “Good luck with that,” Austen mumbled.

  James took back over. “Okay, boys and girls, we’re almost done here. With a court order, we’ve gotten access to some of Peterson’s bank accounts just now and…” He turned a page and continued. “…it looks like a lot of money is moving around fast. This lends credence to the younger Peterson’s ransom claims. We do know that all of this is connected to Anthony Peterson, but we’re not sure how.”

  “In short,” Gilley called out, “if this isn’t a kidnapping like the kid said, something is going on here anyway.”

  “Right,” Lieutenant James agreed. “So, we have to proceed with the assumption that this is a kidnapping perpetrated by someone with a grudge. We’re running with that. Anthony Peterson and his wife have been kidnapped and are apparently being kept at separate locations. Peterson’s friend and assistant Tom Pocase has also apparently been kidnapped, his car stolen, and his secrets used to rob certain Peterson properties, even as the same guys are extorting ransom from him.”

  Lieutenant James paused sorrowfully before continuing more slowly. “We’ve also got a homicide here. Security guard just doing his job. It’s a real tragedy. We’ve got a stolen police car, and, maybe worst of all, one of our own has been assaulted, kidnapped, and could be in serious danger. We don’t want our fellow policeman added to the homicide list. Needless to say, SWAT teams are on standby.”

  The crowd rapidly took notes.

  “We’re sending
all of this to your mobile devices. Treat this as priority one. Do not talk to the press. Refer them back to us if you get any questions. Hopefully, you won’t. Meantime, I want every storage facility checked. Get someone out to the docks. If you see a cargo crate in a backyard, knock on the door. Peterson could be anywhere in any container, and his wife could be anywhere else. Think outside the box, people. There’s a kidnapper and killer out there. We need to find this guy and anybody he’s working with and get the Petersons, Pocase, and Officer Nash home safe before they get popped like Americano.”

  The cops began closing their notebooks and readying themselves for duty.

  “Okay, then, let’s be careful out–”

  And with that, the door swung open, and Sergeant Burns ran inside.

  “What is it?”

  “You’ve got a call you’d better take.”

  “We’re almost done here–”

  “Sir! It’s Nash!”

  Lieutenant James’s eyes widened, and he ran to the nearest phone, followed by Gilley, Reeves, and Austen.

  26

  Transaction Transpires: 4:47 PM

  Anthony Peterson was winning like he knew he would. This would set him back by much more scratch than he could ever be comfortable with, but he would recover. He would make money again. He would find out who did this, and he would exact revenge. Someday, somehow.

  Don’t fuck with Anthony Peterson.

  He sat, watching the clock on his phone, waiting for a text to come through. It had to come through before the last minute.

  It was no longer 1 AM they were racing against. Now, Peterson knew it was the closing of the banks. Cash had to be confirmed and converted, and Tom had to explain a few things as to how he got it and why he needed it done so quickly. This wasn’t a midnight cash drop. This had to be done during business hours and that took time.