by Chuck Buda
Michael ran to Steph without holding the door for Murph, who let himself in. The detective excused himself to allow Michael and Stephanie to catch up for a moment. He reconvened with the uniformed officers on their tactics to locate the missing child. Murph stood awkwardly just inside the doorway from the foyer to the living room.
Michael held Stephanie’s head in his hands as their foreheads came together. She cried even harder now that Michael was here. She felt somewhat relieved that he was around now to help. It was so difficult for her handling the problem by herself earlier but she saw no need to get Michael involved since Andrew was probably at one of his friend’s houses.
“I’m here now, Steph. I’m here. We’ll find Andrew, I swear. What have the cops said? Do they have any clues or ideas? How long do they think it will be before we can find him?” It all blurted out in seconds.
Steph sniffled and tried her best to catch her breath. Her sobs were so strong that she was hyperventilating and her words came out in gasps. “They...don’t know...how long...but it usually...takes twenty-four hours...just to find...clues.” She struggled to command her breathing but just threw her head into Michael’s shoulder and cried aloud again.
Michael saw the officers and detective staring at him. He glanced over at Murph, who nodded his understanding. Murph went over and took hold of Stephanie from Michael so he could talk to the detective. Michael ushered the three men into the kitchen so they could speak out of earshot of Stephanie.
“Thanks for coming over. Do we know anything yet? How can we find where my son is,” he blurted out in a hushed voice.
“Mr. Wright, I’m Detective Walsh and this is Lieutenant Petrillo and Patrolman Ross. We are very sorry about your boy. But we have a lot of work to do in order to find him as soon as possible. Can we ask you some questions?”
“Sure. Uh, what do you want to know?” Michael made eye contact with each man.
“Where were you this morning around 8 to 8:15 a.m.?” Detective Walsh asked Michael with no accusatory tone whatsoever.
“What? You think I had something to do with this? I would never do anything to harm my son or anyone else in my family. How could you think it was me?” He was getting anxious and his voice was rising to the tension he felt.
“Mr. Wright, we have to make sure that we cover all bases and most abductions or missing children cases are due to a relative or close family friend.” Detective Walsh tried reassuring Michael.
Patrolman Ross spoke up. “Mr. Wright, you were involved in an altercation and homicide several days ago. Is it possible that this may be related? I was the officer who responded to the scene on that night. Maybe the suspect figured you could identify them and wanted to use your son as a bargaining chip?”
“I, I don’t know. I mean, no. I really don’t remember too much from that night, at least in terms of faces or anything. Why would they take my boy?” Michael pleaded with the patrolman.
The detective intervened, “So Mr. Wright, where were you this morning around 8?”
“I was at work. My friend in the living room can corroborate that I picked him up and we drove to work together. I mean, he doesn’t work with me but his company is located in the same building as my bank.”
“I appreciate your assistance. We are doing all we can to find your son.” The detective looked down at his notes and sighed. “Unfortunately, we don’t have a lot to go on just yet. We spoke to the neighbors and some folks up the block by the bus stop but nobody saw anything that was out of the ordinary. We are going to canvas the neighborhood with several officers going door to door. We have uploaded some photos of your son so that the local news can run a special to ask for any information. And,” again the detective sighed, “of course we have put the local hospitals and morgues on alert. But, I assure these are all precautions we use for each case.” The detective extended his business card. “Here’s my information if you need to get a hold of me with any information you may have forgotten or should a ransom contact be made. Otherwise, we will be pounding the pavement for your boy.” He shook Michael’s hand and the three men left via the kitchen door so as not to upset Stephanie further. Michael sat down on a kitchen chair without saying a word. How could this be happening?
Murph came into the kitchen and pulled out a chair next to Michael. “Stephanie is okay. She ran upstairs to freshen up. What did they say? You told them about Graves’ threats, right?”
“No. I didn’t.”
“Are you fucking crazy?” Murph was incredulous. “Why wouldn’t you tell them about Graves? Then they will know exactly where to go and who to question. Michael, now is not the time to be a fucking cowboy hero. You gotta get your son back.” Murph pounded the kitchen table with his large fist.
“Don’t you get it, Murph? The police can’t do anything. They will go over and question Graves in his huge house with his fancy cars and suits and he will sweet talk them like he does to everyone. And he will bring up my erratic behavior of late just like he did with the attorneys and HR. He is bulletproof. He planned it out and all the arrows point to me.” Michael slammed the kitchen table himself with his frustration. “My back is against the wall and now he has my son. My son! Not only is he going to kill my daughter without the loan but now he is harming my son as an insurance policy. The only way to handle this is to fight him myself. I have to find Andrew and then end this with Graves once and for all.”
Murph settled back in his chair realizing Michael was right. Graves was slick and he had played his hand well. “What can I do?”
“You can show me how to kill this bastard. Right now.” Michael breathed heavily.
“All right. Go tell Steph we are going out to look for Andrew. While she thinks we are hitting the streets, we’ll go hit Graves. Hard.”
Michael smiled at Murph. He slapped him on the shoulder and ran past Murph to go upstairs. While Michael lied to Stephanie about their plan, Murph thought how everything was about to change. Forever.
Chapter 21
Murph’s basement was part man cave, part DIY workshop, part boot locker. Tin signs littered the walls. One had a golden eagle and said “Strength and honor. Keep America Free.” Another said, “If you can read this sign then you are in range.” The words were within the sights of a gun. One more tin sign declared that the owner did not dial 911, intimating with the huge revolver pointed at the viewer that there would be shooting first and questions would come later. A couple of neon beer signs hummed along the walls, especially in the corner by the worn out pool table. Opposite the pool table was a wall covered with shelves. Each shelf was loaded to capacity with military ammo cans, food rations, water, canned goods and emergency supplies from blankets to first aid kits. Next to those shelves was a huge gun safe. It was black and scratched up a bit. It looked like it was big enough to house a Gatling gun or cannon.
The basement smelled more like cleaning oils than a typical, musty basement. The low ceiling beams would be an impediment to playing pool or doing any comfortable upright activity. Clearly, it didn’t stop Murph from using it fully.
“Jeez. This place is, different.” Michael admitted. He had never been down here before. Murph affectionately referred to the basement as “The Bunker” and it was even off limits to his wife. Now Michael understood why. Murph was prepared for anything and it was his own secret.
“Fuck you, civvy. This is Shangri La.” He boasted proudly as a new father over his son. “You have entered where no living man dares set foot. So be respectful.” Murph still found room for humor even in the direst of situations.
Michael continued to take it all in. His testosterone levels shot up several degrees just breathing in this manly place. No wonder Murph was so much of a man. How can a guy not strut with confidence knowing he is backed up to survive nuclear Armageddon.
Murph dialed the combination lock on the gun safe making sure his body blocked sight of the numbers. When the tumblers clicked he swung the massive door open and stepped aside. Michael couldn’t
believe his eyes. The inside of the safe door held about ten handguns. The belly of the safe stored many rifles. Michael didn’t know much about guns other than what he saw in movies. But he knew enough to understand that his friend was a one-man wrecking crew.
Murph pulled out each weapon, racking the slide and inspecting the chamber. “Pick your poison, soldier. For handguns we have the Glock 19 Gen 3 9mm or the Sig Sauer P226. Both light and easy to conceal. Maybe a revolver is more your speed. How about the Smith & Wesson .38 Special or the Dan Wesson .357 Magnum. More power and more kick. Personally, I prefer guns with more stopping power. I like the Taurus Raging Bull 454 Casull or the Kimber Custom 10mm. Of course, the tried and true works. The Remington 1911 .45 ACP or the Springfield XDS in .45 ACP. But if you want to bring down a tank with a handgun you could opt for the Desert Eagle .50 caliber.” Murph looked at Michael who appeared to be a deer in the headlights. “The Glock 9mm will be fine for you.” Murph handed the pistol to Michael and then dumped a handful of loaded clips into his arms. He tucked the Remington 1911 into his back waistband and then stuffed the Kimber Custom into a holster around his ankle. Michael blinked at the hidden compartment on his friend’s leg.
“Now we move on to the heavy artillery. Shotguns work best in smaller environments or close range. We have the Remington Versa Max 12 gauge or the Mossberg 590 Cruiser without shoulder stock.” Murph swung this shorter shotgun around his finger several times. He clearly enjoyed his hardware. “For flexibility and speed we have the AR’s. Smith & Wesson M&P15 or the Ruger AR-556. Or the Bushmaster M4 carbine.” He laid each rifle down on the table with a reverence. “If you fancy yourself a terrorist I also have a Century AK47. If you think we need longer range strikes then we should probably bring out the Browning X-Bolt 30.06 or the Springfield M1A .308. Ah, a classic. I think the CZ 550 Magnum 338 Lapua would be too much firepower for tonight. But it will fill some skivvies with shit for sure.” He beamed as he held this long rifle up under the lights. “Shotguns would be good. I’ll take the Mossberg. You grab the Versa Max.” Murph pointed to the guns on the table.
Michael finally came around to speaking. “I think the handgun is enough for me. You know. For tonight.” He swallowed loudly and Murph started laughing. He punched Michael in the shoulder with little effort and yet Michael’s shoulder felt as if it crumbled into a hundred pieces underneath the skin. His friend was brutally strong.
“Now. How do you want to do this? Should we kick in the door and go all guns ablazing? Or do you want me to set up along the perimeter for a head shot?” Murph was in his element and enjoyed the new mission. He was the ultimate warrior.
“Uh, I guess I will just start by knocking on his door and then take it from there.”
Michael was met with Murph’s blue eyes in shock. His bald head wrinkled up in disgust. “Why don’t you invite him to tea while you’re at it? So much for the element of surprise.” Murph deflated at the prospect of losing an opportunity to send lead down range.
They stuffed their pockets with ammo clips and shells. Murph even tied a tactical survival knife on his hip. As they prepared to leave the basement, Murph stopped Michael on the stairs. “If you mention what you’ve seen here tonight to anyone, I’ll be forced to take you out.” Michael grinned as he thought Murph was joking around like he always did. Murph didn’t smile back. “I’m serious.” He held Michael’s gaze for a long moment and then turned to continue up the stairs. Michael swallowed hard again. What had he gotten himself into, he thought.
Chapter 22
“Please, please, please, Daddy!” The twins pleaded in unison. Every so often the girls would cajole Derrick into either telling them a bedtime story or reading them a book. Tonight they wanted a book.
“Oh, how can I deny these precious little faces.” Derrick gave in and squeezed in between his two princesses. Chloe was on his left and Madison on his right. “Which book did you choose?” Derrick asked the girls in a voice reminiscent of Pee Wee Herman.
“This one!” Again in unison. It was so cute to Derrick how the girls almost shared a brain. They finished each other’s sentences and seemed to say similar things at the same time. Although their personalities were completely different. Madison raised the book up from under the sheets. It was a dog-eared copy of Junie B. Jones and the Yucky Blucky Fruitcake. He rolled his eyes.
“Okay but this book is a little beneath your reading levels. I know it is one of your all-time favorites. So maybe what we’ll do tonight is share the reading duties. Chloe, why don’t you start and then Madison can take over after a few chapters. Sound like a plan?” Derrick bargained for some help. He didn’t think he could stomach reading the book for a one hundredth time.
“Yay!” The girls responded. Chloe took the book from Madison and opened to the first page. She began reading in her little voice and Derrick lost himself in the moment, snuggled between his babies with their soft pajamas and fresh-out-of-the-tub shampoo scent.
A vision of Michael Wright flashed across Derrick’s mind. He grumbled to himself that he couldn’t even get a break to put his girls to bed without thinking about that rat. He was so steamed that Michael had the audacity to tell on him like a little school girl. It wasn’t enough that he defied his authority and embarrassed him in front of a client. A dead beat client which was even worse. But then he brought others into the mix, potentially tarnishing his reputation and ruining his opportunity at landing the CEO job. The traitor!
Chloe had finished the first chapter and handed the book over to Madison to read the next one. Derrick smiled approvingly down at Chloe who soaked it up. She ate up her daddy’s affection more so than Madison.
Madison began to read the second chapter in her more adult voice. Derrick noted the difference between the girls briefly before returning his thoughts to Michael.
Derrick reflected on several instances over the years where he had taken care of Michael. He brought Michael to several charity golf outings where he could rub elbows with important people and enjoy a relaxing day out of the office. The credit extensions he got Michael a few years back when one of their cars died and their roof leaked. Both of those events occurred within a week of each other and really set Michael and Stephanie back financially. The time Derrick promoted Michael to Supervisor before he was actually ready to lead others. Derrick took care of Michael because he knew the promotion brought a small raise which was desperately needed at the time. Then he backed Michael’s promotion to Manager a year ago. He felt confident in Michael’s ability to get the job done as a leader when he went for the promotion. He just preferred to work with Anna who was smoking hot. However, his sympathy for Michael won over and he recommended Michael get the promotion. More recently, Michael broke down about needing more money to get treatments for his sickly daughter. He had complained to Derrick that his credit situation was dire but he needed the money and was there anything that Derrick could do to jimmy his loan application through. Like a sucker, Derrick agreed to put in a word on his behalf. He liked Michael and knew he always struggled with money so it was the least he could do. And for what? To get stabbed in the back? To be ratted out like a criminal when all he wanted to do was help his fellow man up? He cursed that man and his bad luck for crossing paths with him.
Madison finished the last sentence and looked up at Derrick. “Your turn, Daddy.” Derrick snapped back to the present.
“Why don’t we do one more round and then I will read two back to back?”
“Deal.” The girls agreed simultaneously because that meant they would get to read twice as many chapters tonight. Madison handed the book across his lap to Chloe. As Chloe dove into the third chapter Derrick fell back into his mind.
He was glad now that he had Martin Pike abduct Michael’s son. It was originally a small ploy to send a message but now it had become an benefit to protect his downside. Michael may have risked things when his sickly daughter’s life was on the line but he would never be foolish enough to continue risking his son’s life.
After all, Allison was expendable and Michael knew it. Even with the experimental treatments there was no assurance that it would even work. She was as good as dead and that stupid loan was just throwing bad money after good. It was a no-win situation for Michael. Especially now that Derrick held the trump card. He would make Michael pay for this. He chuckled to himself that Michael is going to wish he got off as easily as Ray Thomas did. No such luck this time around. Derrick licked his lips at the thought of Andrew Wright whimpering in his clutches. Now that Michael pissed him off so good, he was going to have a little fun with the boy. It was time for him to get his own hands dirty, just like Pike said. He was going to hurt that stupid kid so when it was all over the message would be very clear, crystal clear in fact, for Michael Wright. It was his fault that his own children would be harmed now. Derrick stared off into space, dreaming about his plans for the boy. Chloe’s voice blurred around his more important reverie.
Chapter 23
“If you struggle less, you will last longer.” The Debt Collector spoke directly toward the duck pond. He was sitting on the bench in the gazebo, throwing crackers to ducks that still weren’t on the water. The night air swirled around his head, lifting the smell of the cooked meat to his nostrils. He closed his eyes and inhaled the rich aroma. Then he reached down and flipped the slab over as the portable hibachi sizzled.
Above the Debt Collector, a body which was still living was affixed to the ceiling of the gazebo. The nail gun made short work of suspending the victim, piercing flesh and sinews and musculature. The face stared down in horror at the large man from its unlikely perch. Snot and spittle leaking from the top and sides of the duct tape around the mouth. Blood dripped slowly from thousands of holes, splashing down to the concrete floor of the gazebo and even landing on the large man. It took thousands of nails to hang this much weight above the ground. He didn’t seem to mind the blood dripping on him or all the nails he went through.