Merc paused, attempting to read him. “You’re in shock, Anthony. After what you’ve been through, you’re in shock and exhausted. I get that. We’ll get you out fast and–”
“The money?” Peterson asked, cutting Merc off.
Merc seemed to smile as he said “Every penny back, my friend. You are covered.”
“You did a hell of a job today, Merc,” Peterson said quietly. “Take your fee, plus a million on top of that.”
“Well, well, Mr. Generosity,” Merc laughed.
“Pay your men…and the rest…give to my children. Clear out the account, give it to them.”
“Will, do my friend! I’ll get it done just as soon as–”
Peterson abruptly, yet still flatly responded “Can you do it now?”
“Now?” Merc was surprised. “Anthony, you’re running out of–”
“I need you to do it now, Merc. I have the account and routing numbers memorized.”
“Well…okay,” Merc said, sounding suspicious. What could Peterson be up to? Why wasn’t he doing it himself after all of this?
“Thank you,” Peterson said and listened to Merc’s typing and clicking.
“Done,” Merc said. “I got mine, plus a million. Men have been paid their fees, plus the bonuses for the families of the casualties.”
“I’m sorry to hear about that.”
“It’s business, Anthony. Me too, but it is our business,” Merc said, “And your kids are now millionaires again. The account is empty.”
“Thank you, old friend.”
“Happy to help. But, uh…Anthony? That clears out the entire account…won’t you–” Merc seemed to sense something was deeply wrong, so he quickly said, “Listen, we’ll have you out of there in no time at all, so you just relax. Kick back and relax.”
“Listen Merc,” Peterson breathed and nodded to himself as if finally resigned. “No. I don’t want you coming here. I need you to make yourself scarce.”
“Scarce?” Merc’s seriousness shifted into the grave concern. “Why? What’s going on?”
Peterson took a deep breath and continued, “I’m gonna be calling the police as soon as I hang up here. I’m going to confess everything.”
“You’re what? Are you out of your fucking mind?”
“And I’m going to be turning state’s evidence on everyone…including you.”
“You what?” Merc cried, sounding betrayed and furious. He had every right to be. Soon, Merc calmed himself and responded, “Anthony, just…just calm down, okay? You’ve been through an ordeal. You’re in shock, and you’re not thinking straight.”
Peterson felt around his missing teeth with his tongue. “No, Merc. For the first time I actually am thinking straight. This is the way…and I’ve made up my mind. This is the only way. And once they investigate me, they’re going to find out about you.”
Merc was indignant. “So, you set me up. I did all this, and you set me up, you son of a bitch! Well, then why the fuck are you even telling me this?”
“Because you’re my friend, Merc,” Anthony said, with uncharacteristic sincerity. He remembered Tom’s words about the meaninglessness of friendship and shook his head. “I have to do this, but I want you to get a clean head start.”
“To what?” Merc scoffed. “Get lost? Get out of the country? Anthony! Why the fuck are you doing this?”
Peterson sucked in air through his damaged teeth and patiently answered, “I’m a…bad…guy, Merc. I know that now. Maybe I’ve always known that, but…now, I don’t have anything else out there.”
“Anthony,” Merc said, trying to contain himself and reason with his former friend. “You know what I’m gonna have to do if you do this.”
“Goodbye, Merc, and thanks. I gotta go make a call,” Peterson said, then paused and thought of Sully. “See you around.”
As Peterson reached for the hang up button, he heard Merc’s bloodthirsty cries of “Yeah? Well, not if I get there first, asshole.”
34
Disclosure in Blue: 11:22 PM
Anthony Peterson was still the subject of the day and with all of the chaos surrounding his disappearance, rightly so.
Desk Sergeant Burns had never seen anything quite like it and was unlikely ever to again. It was a wonder they managed to keep this out of the press so long. Maybe the unconnected nature of these separate incidents wasn’t quite hitting the reporters, especially as Peterson was not yet confirmed missing. Hell of a tale he would have to tell one day.
Luckily for all involved, overtime was approved. The day had turned to night, and the case was nowhere near resolved.
Detective Gilley ran through the main lobby again, dodging other cops and hopping over the half door. Burns took another good look at the Detective who – Burns could never not see it – looked a bit unstuck in time. With the bushy hair, mustache, western wear, and sideburns, Gilley could’ve been the lead on a cop show, albeit decades earlier.
Things had gone from strange to outright insane once Officer Nash had called in. The big guy had woken up butt-ass naked in the middle of an alleyway in a very bad area of town. Turns out when The Hulk had woken up, a couple of friendly hookers guided him, still naked as the day he was born, to a pay phone and gave him a quarter to call in. They had offered to let him borrow some of what they were wearing, but he flatly refused and stayed flapping in the wind until picked up.
Once Nash was confirmed okay, the story elicited no small amount of laughter from the precinct. It might even have continued if Nash hadn’t been such a giant. Nobody wanted to piss off Nash.
Oh, but somebody sure as hell had. Whomever it was that kidnapped Pocase and the Petersons and stole Pocase’s (and then Nash’s) car had really pissed Nash off, and he was champing at the bit to get into his clothes and go find the guy. Unfortunately, Nash’s rage-filled report didn’t include much that the task force didn’t already know, aside from the fact that Nash wasn’t as shy as the kidnapper had hoped or the rest of the precinct had believed.
Luckily, the GPS locator fiasco had been worked out, reportedly with a service revolver to the IT analyst’s head. From the look on Gilley’s exasperated face, however, the news was not quite the best that it could be.
Gilley walked back into the main room with Lieutenant James and Burns walked over to listen in.
“All right, Gilley, what’s the latest and the greatest?” James asked.
Gilley scoffed and looked over to Burns in annoyance with James’ question and reported.
“All right, the great latest then,” Gilley sighed. “So, we traced Nash’s squad car to a fence just outside of town.”
Lieutenant James gaped. “They fenced a cop car?”
Gilley chuckled. “Yeah, I couldn’t believe it either. Thing is, GPS worked. Nopke and I headed out there with a couple of squad cars to back us up.”
“You brought Nopke?” Burns asked.
“Yeah, the rookie seems obsessed with finding Peterson for some reason. Anyway, we get there and it’s this pawnshop-army surplus store called Dino’s run by some old hippie biker-type guy name of Daniel ‘Dino’ Dennison. He doesn’t answer the door, we pull around back and knock on his back gate of some…fenced-in area he’s got back there. He says they’re closed. I say I don’t care, we’ve got reason to believe he’s in possession of stolen goods.”
“Which I assume he was,” James said.
“That’s putting it mildly,” Gilley laughed. “So Nopke and I kick open the door – probable cause and all – and we find this guy Dennison literally working on removing and disabling the GPS right there in front of us. Red-handed, baby!”
Burns laughed.
“So, this guy, he knows he’s screwed, right? So, he doesn’t even bother with the old lame excuse. I was expecting something like ‘I just found it’ or ‘how was I supposed to know the cop car was hot?’ or some such stupid shit but no! He just puts up his hands and says we got him and that’s it. But he won’t say anything about the guy who sold h
im the car.”
“Of course not,” said James.
“Right. But the court order came through, see, the one about Pocase’s phone?”
“Peterson’s assistant?” Burns asked.
“Exactly, so Burns here has the boys send me over the PDF of Pocase’s calls, as an SMS attachment, you know? And hoo-boy, he’s been on the phone all day with one number in particular. Dennison says he’s got no idea whose number that is, right? I mean what else is he gonna say?”
“Well, what I’m gonna say is cut to the chase, Gilley.” Lieutenant James said. “I’m a busy man here.”
“Sure, so while we’re questioning this guy, Nopke over there starts casually fiddling with the guy’s phone. Landline. Cordless job with the LCD readout? He calls over to me to read the number back and bam, there it is right there on the caller ID. It’s the number Pocase has been on the line with all night and day. So, we say, hey, we know that number belongs to either Peterson or the people who’ve got him and he admits it, right there, but won’t give us any information. Figures he’s protecting an old buddy, I guess, I don’t know.”
Lieutenant James nodded. “So, you called the number?”
“I put another uniform on that. Officer Leahy. He kept dialing, but nobody’s picking up. If it’s the kidnappers, they’re not answering. If it’s Peterson, he’s not taking the call.”
“Or worse,” Burns added.
“Well, yes, and Leahy’s still calling, trying to get through but that’s when Hall comes out of the back with a big tray Dennison had been lookin’ at and maybe appraisin’? A couple million in jewelry right there.”
“You’re shittin’ me!” Burns said.
“And they matched what was taken from the Fairfax store. Some of them still had the goddam price tags on them.”
James laughed. “Guess they didn’t expect us to move so fast, did they?”
“Guess not. But the thing is, why does a pawnshop owner and part-time fence have a couple million lying around to buy all this crap? Nopke says two words to him, ‘mob money,’ and Dennison starts singing like a canary.”
“So, where’s Peterson?” Lieutenant James asked.
Gilley’s smile faded. “That’s the problem. We don’t know, still. Dennison claims he didn’t even know Peterson was in that kind of trouble. Says he ‘don’t ask no questions,’” Gilley said, affecting a dumb street thug-sounding voice. “But he does say he talked to the guy, so we know he’s alive. Then, Dennison describes the guy who sold him all the goods, and it just matched a bit too well.”
“Pocase?”
“Pocase. We showed him a digital pic the wife sent us, and, yep, Dennison confirmed that was the guy. Says he loaned Pocase a junker and sent him on his way. Claims the guy was heading to the bank, then home.”
Lieutenant James coughed again, then said in his dull voice, “And you believe him?”
Gilley scoffed again. “Lieutenant, this guy was so scared after the jewels got found, he’s willing to tell us if he likes wearing pink silky garter belts. Yeah, I believe him! Pocase is our man. That doesn’t mean he’s the kidnapper. Hell, maybe he’s helping Peterson, but we do have him for moving violations, selling stolen property, suspicion of two B&Es, and, let’s not forget, suspicion of murder.”
“We gotta pick him up, then!” Burns said excitedly.
James cleared his throat. “Let me guess, that’s what Nopke is doing right now.”
Gilley chuckled and nodded “Nopke insisted on it. So, Hall is booking Dennison right now for possession of stolen property just to start with.”
“Aren’t you going to interrogate him?” Lieutenant James asked.
“I’m hoping I won’t have to. I’m waiting for the next shoe to drop with Peterson.”
Lieutenant James raised his voice in annoyance. “Look, Gilley, I don’t care what your gut tells you. Dennison in there might be the next shoe.”
“I think it’s Pocase.” Gilley asserted.
“Pocase isn’t here yet. Officer Nopke is getting him. I want you focused on Dennison.”
“The guy is a dead end. He’s telling us all he kno–”
“Look, Gilley, we’ve got SWAT on standby. I need every lead chased as soon as possible. This is not something you can just throw on the back burner ‘cause you’ve got a feeling!”
Burns was riveted by both the revelations and the exchange, but had to break away because his phone was ringing. “Goddamn it. I’ll be back, guys,” he said and jogged through the desks back to his own as the other two men continued to argue.
Putting aside his excitement, Burns answered with a very professional “LAPD.”
On the other end of the line, the caller took a deep breath and spoke slowly as if trying to make this call as clear as he could.
“My name is Anthony Peterson,” the voice said.
“What’s the emergency?” Burns asked absently before the name registered. Then, his jaw dropped open.
“I’ve been kidnapped and held for ransom. My wife Susan was murdered by our abductors this evening. I then sent a group of hired mercenaries to eliminate those same abductors. They’re all dead now. All of my captors are now dead, thanks to these mercenaries. You will find the bodies in a compound in the mountains outside the city along with the body of my late wife.”
“Wait. Anthony Peterson? We’ve been looking for you, let me–”
But Peterson continued, oblivious to Burns’ words in a drone that Lieutenant James would have envied.
“I employed these same mercenaries for the murders of several people in South America ten years ago when a business deal went wrong. You would have seen this in the news. La Aldea Massacre. The culprits were never found, and my connection was never even suspected. You will find all of the details recorded in my personal files in my private office at my company’s headquarters.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down now, Mr. Peterson. We’ve been looking for you, let me get you over to–”
“Don’t transfer me. There isn’t time,” the voice said, and that was the first time Burns could be sure this wasn’t a recording. “Write this down and come quickly. I am trapped in a locked cargo container in an abandoned warehouse, building number six hundred and sixty-six in Los Angeles Harbor. Pier X. You should send a team to arrest me immediately.”
“Whoa, now, what? Who–?”
“Officer. I assure you this is not a joke and that time is of the essence. Pier X. Building six…six…six. Thank you.”
And with that, the phone went dead.
“Detective Gilley! Lieutenant James!” Burns called across the large room.
“Just a minute, now, Burns!” Lieutenant James barked and turned to continue his admonishment of Gilley.
“Oh, no, no, sir. You’re going to want to hear this one right away.” Burns said, holding up his note paper.
Nopke was going to hate that he missed this.
35
Dead Men Talking: 11:39 PM
Anthony Peterson coolly hung up the phone and breathed deeply. The cop got the message. Police calls were recorded, and this was to be his confession and testimonial.
And now, all there was left to do was wait.
He stood up, painfully on shaking legs and started to pace, one last time, perhaps only out of habit.
He would be dead soon anyway. What else was there to do but pass the time?
He had to ask.
The phone rang one last time. Was it the police calling back?
He brought the phone to his ear but did not answer.
“Anthony,” the voice said proudly.
“Sully,” Peterson responded emotionlessly.
“Tell me…how long have you known?”
Anthony shook his head in exhaustion. “Known what, Sully?”
“Well, who was behind all this, of course.”
Peterson grunted angrily. “I don’t know,” he said to the dead man. “Don’t you get it? I’m never going to know, Sully. I don’t want to know
anymore because it doesn’t fucking matter. I’m gonna…” Peterson paused and leaned against the wall and forced out the words. “… I’m gonna die not knowing because it doesn’t matter.”
“Doesn’t it?” Sully asked in that same, annoyingly pleasant tone.
“It really doesn’t. All that matters is what’s next. Payback.”
Sully chuckled. “Payback? But the kidnappers are all dead, aren’t they? You took care of things like you always do. They’re dead now.”
“That’s not what I meant, Sully,” Peterson sighed and then added, “It’s time for my payback.”
“Oh.” Sully said, far too pleasantly for the situation (for any of the situations) and took his sweet time thinking about that. Finally, he said, “Well, Anthony…looks like you’re gonna win after all.”
“In a matter of speaking,” Peterson mumbled, dejected.
Sully paused again for a few moments, and Anthony could tell, somehow, that Sully was smiling on the other end of the line.
“Atta boy!” Sully said.
Peterson violently threw the cell phone at the floor and heard it pop out of its sturdy case, then shatter against the metal wall.
“I’m not your boy!” he shouted.
And the rest was silence.
36
Gunmetal Grey: 12:00 AM
Anthony Peterson sat calmly in the dark with his back against the container wall.
His prison cell.
His forty-foot coffin.
He knew now that he was a bad guy. He knew now that a man could lose everything and still have more to lose.
He knew now that the nightmare of the previous day had never really ended.
And he knew he was ready to face his fate.
For the first time in what seemed like forever, he heard some sounds from beyond the container that did not come from his phone.
Cars, several of them, rushing to surround the building.
Eight cars? More? He couldn’t be sure. He heard many men getting out and shouting orders at each other. A heavy warehouse door was slid open with a loud, rusty screech.
Cargo: an edge of your seat thriller Page 23