Queens Ransom (Sofie Metropolis)

by Carrington, Tori

  ‘Too late,’ I whispered as much to him as myself.

  Another shotgun blast. I scrambled backward on my hands and knees, praying as I went, my cell phone sliding across the floor out of reach. The legs of my side table spat splinters at me, nearly catching me in the eye, the stinging of my cheeks telling me I’d eaten a few.

  ‘You’re not going to get away with this, you know,’ I shouted. ‘Everyone and his brother is on their way here now. You’re going to end up back in prison for the rest of your unnatural life.’

  Another blast, this time farther away.

  I figured either he was trying to bait me out of my hiding place, or pain was blurring his focus.

  I really wasn’t all that interested in finding out which it was.

  ‘I ain’t going back to no motherfucking prison cell. Ever!’

  ‘Well, you should have thought about that before kidnapping Abramopoulos’ daughter.’

  ‘She’s my niece, goddam it! Rich motherfucker took her away from her own mother, wouldn’t even let my sister visit with her. The way I see it, that bastard’s the one who should be in prison.’

  Call me crazy? But I didn’t have a problem with that logic.

  Movement outside the apartment door. I glanced hopefully in that direction. Until I realized it could just as easily be Mrs Nebitz as Pino or Pete.

  The barrier swung violently inward and there stood none other than Charles Chaney.

  ‘Put the gun down! Now!’ he shouted, bursting into the room, the apartment door slamming shut behind him. He looked like my aunt’s old, stained sofa with a perspiration problem and glasses. But he was holding a gun. A definite plus.

  My hero.

  Bubba aimed his shotgun at him.

  ‘Shit!’ Chaney swung back toward the door and took a blast straight to his overstuffed ass.

  He made a sickening sound as he dropped to the floor.

  I winced. That had to hurt. But at least I was reasonably sure he would survive his injuries.

  What in the hell was he thinking? While a part of me wanted to applaud him for his almost heroic efforts, another wanted to bat him about the ears.

  At least he could have left me a clear path to the door when he’d created the diversion.

  Now he completely blocked it.

  I heard Bubba moving around. I chanced a peek around the bottom of the couch to find him tying off his ankle wound with a chocolate-colored neck scarf my mother had knitted for me. My favorite. Also ruined with his blood.

  The asinine direction of my thoughts helped distract me from the fact that fear was ballooning in me at the realization he was regaining his bearings.

  Tick-tock.

  I closed my eyes, trying to empty my mind so something useful could fill it. All I could hear was Chaney’s pitiful moans from the other side of the room, where I’m sure he was also bleeding on something I liked.

  Another shotgun cock.

  OK, maybe emptying my mind wasn’t an option.

  Instead I put my feet under me, took a deep breath, and slowly rose to my full height, my Glock held out in front of me, my right arm locked, my left hand supporting the gun’s weight.

  Bubba did the same thing on the other side of the couch. Only the shotgun was heavier and he didn’t have a chance to raise it before I squeezed off one round, then two, then three.

  The first shot hit him in his gun shoulder, causing him to drop it. The second, the neck, causing his head to lean at an awkward angle. And the third hit him right in the forehead.

  Bullseye.

  ‘Rule Number Three.’ I heard my uncle Spyros’ voice as clearly as if he were speaking right next to me. ‘If someone’s gunning for you? Don’t aim to injure: shoot to kill.’

  I stood frozen to the spot, watching as Robert ‘Bubba’ Canton collapsed on to my brand new sofa, his eyes wide open. In a ridiculous part of my brain that still worked, I imagined even in death he was saying, ‘Yeah, bitch, I got blood on your couch. What the fuck are you going to do about it?’

  The door swung inward again, windows shattered and, within a blink, my apartment was filled with SWAT members and FBI agents.

  I didn’t realize I was still standing with my gun held out in front of me, although my target had long since been eliminated, until the agent responsible for two of my snatch and grabs came up and put his hand over mine.

  ‘Whoa. It’s over. Why don’t you give that to me now?’

  I blinked at him, but couldn’t seem to bring myself to move otherwise.

  ‘First kill?’ he asked, waving to the others to stand down where they trained their firearms on me.

  I nodded.

  I was vaguely aware of another agent verifying Bubba’s death, and someone letting Muffy out of my bedroom closet; he ran to me, positioning himself next to my leg and growling and barking at anyone within nipping distance.

  My sidekick.

  I looked at him briefly to make sure he was OK, then stared at the FBI agent, just now realizing I didn’t know what to call him.

  ‘What’s your name?’ I asked stupidly.

  He smiled. ‘James. My name is James.’

  Not Agent Smith . . . or Jones . . . or Davis, just James.

  I finally released my grip on my gun, allowing him to take it.

  ‘Just so you know, Jimmy, I’ll need that back.’

  ‘James is my surname.’

  ‘Of course it is.’

  ‘Michael is my first.’

  I found myself smiling at him stupidly.

  Then my legs gave out.

  ‘Whoa.’ He helped move me to a chair where I dissolved into little more than a liquid puddle of spent adrenalin.

  My first kill . . .

  A sledgehammer would fail to dislodge the words from my brain at that moment.

  Or my question of whether or not there would be a second.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I heard a familiar female voice demand and imagined Mrs Nebitz taking aim at the officers with her cane, despite their superior firepower. ‘Why so many men to do the job of one? For shame! Look what you’ve done to the place! You’re tracking mud all over the apartment. And is somebody going to take care of this nice man lying in his own blood over here? He looks to be in a lot of pain.’

  God love Mrs Nebitz.

  She stepped over a moaning Chaney and headed in my direction.

  ‘Sofie? Sofie, are you OK, dear? These men haven’t hurt you?’

  I nodded, then shook my head, trying to reassure her as she bent over to peer into my face.

  ‘Not to rush you, dear, but when you’re feeling up to it? I’m still having that problem with the plumbing.’

  ‘Thank God,’ my cousin Pete said as he entered the place, stepping straight over Chaney, as well. ‘I thought I was too late.’

  The SWAT members and FBI didn’t seem to know what to do about those coming inside the open door.

  ‘Shit,’ Pete said, spotting where Bubba lay motionless on the sofa. Funny, Mrs Nebitz didn’t seem to give him a second glance. ‘Is he dead?’

  Pino’s voice: ‘Hey, hey! Step away from the crime scene. Police area starts here.’ He indicated the door. ‘Anyone not authorized needs to be outside. Now.’

  I was thinking that with SWAT and FBI here he probably also fell into that category. But I wasn’t saying anything. I just wanted someone to show me how to get off this crazy ride.

  I was dizzy.

  I was afraid I was about to be sick.

  But mostly I was terrified there was no exit to be had.

  Twenty-Nine

  Christmas Day was equally crazy, but in a far preferable way.

  Well, for the most part.

  Somehow I’d managed to return to moderate functionality directly after yesterday’s events. Michael – I mean, Agent James – had kept the questioning to a minimum, going easy on me so long as I promised to come back after the holiday. Which I found was only right, considering he’d used me as bait. Like Pino, he’d suspected
Bubba would be making a beeline straight for me, and had been shadowing my movements, waiting for the gun-loving madman to show himself. The monitoring of my phone had led to them hearing Pete’s call and – bam! – they’d been there at the fourth shot of my gun.

  Too bad they couldn’t have been there at the first or that I hadn’t known they were so close. Maybe now I wouldn’t be haunted by Bubba’s dead eyes staring at me accusingly, his voice echoing unsaid words into my ear:

  ‘Now you’ve gone and done it, bitch. Don’t even fucking think this is anywhere near over.’

  I couldn’t imagine what life had been like for his sister, Sara. I only hoped that, now she was free of him, she no longer felt he was the only one on whom she could rely. She could gather her wits about her and perhaps regain visiting rights to her daughter.

  In my bid to help her in that regard, I’d contacted my cousin, Nia, the first lawyer in the family, and laid the groundwork for putting her together with Sara, to see what could be done legally to help her.

  While Nia wasn’t that experienced, I knew she wouldn’t give in until she won. And right now I was thinking Sara needed someone like that in her corner.

  Well, someone like that who didn’t have a gun attached to his arm and thought kidnapping was the only way to go about it.

  What I found more curious? My post-killing interview with Michael revealed that the ransom monies hadn’t been recovered.

  Had Elizabeth somehow manage to access it? Her boyfriend, Danny, before he was picked up? Was it even now stashed somewhere, waiting for them to claim it when they got out of prison?

  Who knew? Wherever it was, it was one mystery I wasn’t interested in solving.

  Right now, I had bigger fish to fry.

  Or, rather, cabbage salad to make.

  I was in the kitchen with my mother and Yiayia, finishing up Christmas dinner preparations. Yiayia had poured the three of us glasses of wine in short, double shot-like glasses, which was Greek custom, signaling that after three hours of non-stop activity, our work was almost done, and this was to help us relax.

  Me? I liked sharing the quiet moment with them and could have easily enjoyed cod liver oil just as much.

  ‘Sten eyeia mas.’ My mother toasted our health, raising her glass.

  ‘Kala Christougenna.’ I wished them a Merry Christmas.

  Yiayia just grinned and clinked her glass with ours.

  The three of us drank the contents down straight, which was also custom, then stood smiling at each other.

  The doorbell rang. I finished squeezing lemon on top of the finely chopped cabbage and carrot shavings and volunteered to answer it.

  I hadn’t told my mother what had happened yesterday. And, with any luck, she wouldn’t find out. Not just today, on Christmas, but ever. I knew she was concerned about me, about the choices I was making in my life.

  As far as that went, so was I.

  I took my apron off and laid it on the counter before pushing open the kitchen door. Efi was busy setting the table. I paused and gave her a brief hug from behind and kissed the back of her neck before moving on past where my father read the newspaper in his recliner.

  ‘Hey, where’s mine?’ he asked.

  I smiled as I backtracked and kissed him on the cheek.

  ‘Thanks, koukla mou,’ he said. ‘Kala Christougenna.’

  The emotional warmth of the day helped chase back some of yesterday’s shadows . . . but not far. I knew they were there, lurking, ready to seep back in and threaten to consume me. But I was glad the experience helped me better appreciate today. Not just because of Christmas, although I’d always liked the quiet peace and family togetherness of the holiday. No, the darkness helped me better see the light. And it seemed to glow around those I loved.

  I opened the door to find Grandpa Kosmos standing on the porch.

  ‘What are you doing knocking?’ I asked, opening the door farther. ‘You never knock.’

  Then he stepped aside and I saw why.

  ‘Kala, um, is it Christougenna?’ Iris Liotta said, holding out an apple pie that looked to be made from scratch. ‘I hope you don’t mind my coming.’

  ‘No, no! Of course, not. Come in, come in,’ I said. ‘And you said it perfectly. Merry Christmas to you, too.’

  I kissed her on both cheeks and allowed her to pass, then hugged my grandfather hard, leaning back to give him a big smile.

  He winked at me. ‘Not a word.’

  ‘Did I say anything? I didn’t say anything. Nope, not a word.’

  He hugged me again. ‘No . . . not yet, anyway.’

  He came inside.

  I was just about to close the door when I saw my cousin Pete coming up the walkway.

  Hunh.

  He never came to these things.

  I was glad to see him.

  ‘Hey, you,’ I said, hugging him and exchanging Christmas wishes.

  ‘I can’t stay long,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to stop by to bring some of my mom’s home-made cookies . . . and to give you this . . .’

  He placed a large briefcase on the floor between us.

  I blinked hard. Then I reached behind him to close the door, suddenly feeling the need for extra safety.

  ‘Is that . . . I mean, what . . . Don’t tell me that’s the ransom money . . .?’

  He looked sheepish. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You brought twenty million dollars in bearer bonds to my parents’ house?’

  I nearly shouted the words, earning a ‘What’s going on?’ from my father, and the curiosity of my grandfather, his date and my sister.

  ‘Hi, Uncle Pericles. Merry Christmas.’

  ‘Merry Christmas, Pete. Come in and keep an old man company.’

  I heard my grandfather snort. Seemed the love of a good woman could only change so much.

  I lowered my voice. ‘What are you doing with this?’

  ‘Long story.’

  ‘Shorten it.’

  ‘Well, you know I was following Bubba the day before yesterday, right? Well, I tailed him straight to Flushing Meadows. I saw you make the drop. Waited for Bubba to go pick it up. Only something spooked him and he ran . . . and I got the money.’

  I squinted at him, trying to make sense of his words. ‘You . . . got . . . the . . . money.’

  He looked down at his shoes, his hands deep in the pockets of a nice, full-length camel coat.

  ‘And you sat on it for two days?’

  He gave me small smile. ‘Yeah.’

  The old Pete? Well, the old Pete would have made off with that money. Would have raised a hand and waved goodbye and disappeared into the sunset forever.

  And, it seemed, the new Pete had surrendered to the old one . . . for a couple of days, anyway.

  Christmas?

  Or was the change more permanent?

  The concept was too large for me to work my head around just then. Especially since it would have been oh so easy for him to have kept the money with no one any the wiser. He could have taken the bearer bonds to Greece – anywhere! – and lived out the rest of his life without having to worry about working another case: ever.

  I couldn’t say with any degree of certainty what I would have done had our roles been reversed.

  I grimaced. Yeah, I could. The prospect of keeping it would have never entered my mind.

  At least that’s my story. And I’m sticking to it.

  Of course, none of that had anything to do with the here and now and the fact that I was now in possession of twenty million dollars.

  I leaned forward and whispered urgently, ‘What you want me to do with it?’ I wasn’t sure I liked knowing I was going to be responsible for twenty million dollars.

  No, scratch that; I definitely didn’t like being responsible for twenty million dollars.

  ‘Keep it away from me,’ he said. ‘Temptation’s too damn great.’

  I stared at the briefcase. ‘I heard that.’

  Well, I guess that explained what Chaney was doing f
ollowing me around after the ransom drop. With the money still out there, he probably figured his best bet of finding it was through me.

  Instead, he’d caught a shotgun blast to the ass.

  I couldn’t help a small laugh.

  Pete pointed inside the house. ‘I’m, um, just going to say hi to everyone, OK? And give these cookies to your mom.’ He held up the plate in his hands.

  ‘OK . . .’

  I stood where I was for what seemed like forever before I guessed I needed to do something. I picked up the briefcase and moved it to sit next to my father, which I figured was the safest place in the house.

  ‘What’s this?’ he asked.

  ‘My life. Don’t open it.’

  He went back to reading his paper as I pulled out my cell phone and walked across the room to dial Agent Michael James’ work number.

  A receptionist answered. I asked that she have him contact me as soon as possible about an urgent matter.

  He called back nearly as fast as I disconnected.

  ‘Be right there,’ he said when I told him.

  I turned around to find my sister and father and grandfather had the case open and were looking at it.

  I gasped and crossed the room to take it from them.

  ‘That’s not what I think it is?’ Efi asked, mouth agape.

  ‘No. It’s part of a counterfeit scheme I’m working.’

  ‘What are you doing bringing work to the house? On Christmas Day?’ Grandpa Kosmos wanted to know.

  My mother came into the room with Iris. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said quickly. ‘Just some nosy-rosies who can’t keep their hands to themselves.’

  ‘How much is it?’ Dad wanted to know.

  ‘Would you guys stop? An FB . . . a friend is coming by to pick it up now.’ I stashed the case in the front closet, leaning against the door for good measure.

  ‘FB . . . as in I? FBI?’ Efi asked.

  ‘Is he staying for dinner?’ Mom asked.

  ‘No, he’s a friend. And, no, he’s not staying for dinner.’

  Thalia shrugged and walked back to the kitchen with Iris.

  Thankfully, everyone else also lost interest.

  But I wasn’t moving more than ten feet away from that door lest that interest reignite.