The Money Game

by Michael A. Smith

  “Ace has brutalized Cathy Kennedy. Carmen’s words. She said they are in a motel out south. Then Ace took the phone and said they were leaving. That he’d get back to me with instructions. If you and I do a good job, there’ll be a cash reward, and I’ll get Carmen back — unfucked.”

  Marshon slammed the heel of his hand against the steering wheel and said, “I don’t want to get caught here, but I’m sticking around long enough to kill that motherfucker! What number did Ace call from?”

  Richey checked the call log, but he didn’t recognize the number. “I’ll gamble it was Cathy Kennedy’s phone.”

  Marshon appeared deep in thought. “After Cathy Kennedy calls her husband, Ace will dump her phone. So far, Ace hasn’t used any phone that can trace back to him. The next time he contacts us on my burner phone, I bet he uses a burner phone. This guy is way smarter than I originally thought he was.”

  “Yeah. He may have played both of us from the beginning.”

  The rain had turned to sleet and Richey looked out the windshield of the car and said, “Every hour you stay here increases the odds they will find you, Marshon. It’s a great day to put distance between you and the city.”

  Marshon nodded but said, “I’ve waited this long. Another few hours won’t make any difference.” They both knew that everything would be over in another few hours, perhaps including their lives.

  They sat in the car while Marshon took two bites of a bacon, egg and cheese biscuit and then washed down his antibiotics with hot coffee. “Let’s go over this again. Ace kidnaps Carmen and holds her over night before he kidnaps the Kennedy woman, presumably so he can involve you.”

  “His best chance of snatching Carmen was to catch her in the parking lot at The Shops,” Richey said. “He had this planned done to the hour.”

  “Then, he sees Jemmy parked near the Kennedy house and kills him, calls the cops and blames the kidnapping and killing on us, just to confuse things. Now, he’s on the road with both women. It’s probably a car he stole.”

  “The remaining question is what he wants from me,” Richey said, finally taking a bit of the fried potato. “You said he might want me to pick up the ransom, but he’s got an idiot sidekick, Country Long, who’s perfectly suited to do that. No, he wants me to do the negotiations with James Kennedy. Kennedy will surely involve the cops or the FBI, and they’ll have my voice on tape.”

  Marshon nodded. “Which they’ll analyze with voice recognition software. That will confirm the rumor Ace planted with the cops that all three of us are involved in the kidnapping. Jesus!” All of a sudden, the negotiated prison sentences that Mort Saperstein had suggested were fully acceptable to Marshon. Unfortunately, they probably weren’t on the table anymore.

  Richey said, “When Ace is done using me and gets his money, he’ll have no use for Carmen or Cathy Kennedy, no matter what he says. He’s probably got them in the trunk of a car. I think I know exactly what he has in mind.”

  Richey vomited into the McDonald’s sack, although there wasn’t much in his stomach. He hadn’t eaten for nearly twenty-four hours. He never ate before a performance. He and Carmen had planned a feast at Barney’s following the opening night party. His vomit smelled primarily like vodka, with an added strong aroma of ammonia.

  Marshon took the sack and said, “Give me your cell phone.” He put the cell phone in the sack, along with the battery from the burner phone Jemmy first gave him at the hospital. He got out of the car and put the sack into a trash receptacle. He still had one of the two burner phones he’d bought at the Hyatt, but now Ace had that number. Marshon couldn’t think of any reason for Ace to give that number to the police, so long as Richey used it in the ransom negotiations.

  Back in the car, Marshon asked, “Where do you think Ace will have Kennedy drop the money.” Marshon had to think ahead. They were caught up in this maelstrom against their will, but maybe he could turn it to their advantage. He wanted to help Richey rescue Carmen, and he wanted to avenge Jemmy Shoemaker. If he could accomplish all this and divert all or part of the ransom to his own use, everything could still work out. It might be cold to some people, but to Marshon it was simple contingency planning. Life was constant conflict and challenge. How one reacted, and how well one reacted, always meant the difference between failure and success, survival and death. Once again, as always, it was about money, the common denominator of all human activity.

  “I told you Ace talked about ransom drops and how the police always have that spot staked out,” Richey said.

  “Did he mention a place? A type of place?”

  Richey shook his head as if to clear away the cobwebs. “I’m trying to remember. Ace was fascinated with a real life crime in LA. Not a kidnapping, but a bank robbery. A couple of construction workers got into the storm sewer system and tunneled beneath a bank. Cut a hole in the floor and took the money out through the underground drainage system. I think I told him a great movie plot would be one in which the ransom was dropped into a trash can sitting over a manhole cover leading into an underground drainage system.”

  Marshon looked chagrined and Richey dropped his chin onto his chest. They both realized he might have given Ace the nugget of an idea that completed his kidnapping plan.

  “So, you think that is Ace’s plan?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Where’s the drop?”

  “I don’t know. Somewhere in the area with big diameter drainage pipes that Country could get into. It could be anywhere. A mall, business park, hospital complex. Anywhere with a lot of buildings and land.”

  Marshon’s cell phone rang and Richey picked it up and punched the talk button. “Hello?”

  “Call James Kennedy at this phone number,” Ace said, reading off the number. “He knows I want the money in big bills in a Nike Sports bag. Two million. When he comes out of the bank over on Melrose Avenue, just north of the bypass, you make sure he’s got that bag, Richey. Don’t let him take forever getting the money together. You and Marshon have Kennedy jump through some hoops so you can tell if he’s got a tail. Send him to that warehouse furniture store off Ninety-fifth, west of the interstate. Tell him to park near the IHOP. Someone will check the money there, using a counterfeit pen detector, and a metal detector.”

  “Who?”

  “That’s none of your business, Richey. Just make sure Kennedy understands what the consequences will be if there’s anything in with the money, like exploding dye packets or tracking devices. In that case, I’ll have a messenger service deliver to him one of his wife’s silicone tits. Then, we’ll start over. Tell him the next time I fuck her, I’ll be using a knife, and she won’t be any good to him after that.”

  Before Richey could respond, the phone went dead.

  “What’s he want now?”

  “He wants us to get Kennedy on the road with the money. The bank’s over on Melrose Avenue. Let’s drive over there and park somewhere we can see the bank. Kennedy’s supposed to come out of the bank carrying a sports bag, then drive to a warehouse on the other side of I-35, where someone will check the money.”

  “You know who?”

  Richey mulled over the possibilities. “It has to be Kandie Givens, Ace’s girlfriend. Ace doesn’t want the police to snatch him up, so he’ll be watching from a distance. Country isn’t smart enough to do the job. If Ace had Carmen check the money, she’d just run.”

  They drove over near the bank, and parked on the other side of the four-lane street, near a Walgreens drug store.

  Richey dialed Kennedy's number and a man answered curtly, “Who’s this?”

  “Are you James Kennedy?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m not the kidnapper, but I’m being forced by the kidnapper to deliver his messages,” Richey said.

  “What kind of people are you? My wife’s been terrorized, and raped! You people killed our maid. If I give you two million dollars, you’ll kill her anyway!”

  The original meaning of habeas corpus, Richey thought. N
o body, no crime. “We’ve got no choice,” Richey argued, subtly indicating they were in this together. He had to make an ally of James Kennedy. “If you don't come up with the money, Mr. Kennedy, your wife is certainly dead, right? With the money, you have a negotiating tool. You’ve got to leave the cops out of this.” Richey paused, waiting for a denial from Kennedy that didn’t come. If he were the banker, he’d have an FBI agent standing on each side, listening to their conversation.

  “Okay, okay,” Kennedy said impatiently. “Where do I deliver the money?”

  Richey answered with a question. “What make and model of car are you driving?”

  “The silver Lexus parked outside.”

  Richey was thinking as far ahead as possible. “Are you talking on a cell phone now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Take it with you, but also have another cell phone available. Your wife can’t know the other number.”

  “Okay.”

  “When you’re in your car with the money, I’ll call you and give you directions. Understand?”

  “I’ll need an hour,” Kennedy said.

  “I can’t stop you from stalling, Mr. Kennedy, but I gotta tell you your wife might suffer as a result. The kidnapper’s already warned me that if there’s anything in that sports bag except money, he’s gonna cut off a part of your wife’s anatomy. Somebody’s gonna check the money with a counterfeit pen detector and a metal detector. Take this man very seriously, Mr. Kennedy. He’s a killer. I know of at least five men he’s killed in the last month! He’s got nothing to lose.”

  Richey broke off the connection, too distressed to talk further with Kennedy.

  Marshon looked at Richey, but didn’t say a word. He got out of the car, pulled the collar of his overcoat tight around the neck and walked toward Walgreens. Ten minutes later, he returned, carrying a plastic bag. In the car, he placed two bottles of water in the front seat cup holders. He put several candy bars into the console caddy. Then, he tore the plastic packaging off a black case, opened it and took out a pair of binoculars. He also had purchased two more burner phones, and two prepaid AT&T calling cards, each credited with 100 minutes.

  “Not the best binoculars, but good enough so we can see what’s going on and stay at a distance,” Marshon said. He started the car, not only for the benefit of the heater, but to turn on the windshield wipers to clear off the icy slush. “Also, we gotta change phones at the first opportunity. Many people think the cops can only trace a phone when its being used, but I know for a fact there’s an app that allows you to locate a phone number. I’m not sure how exact that location is, but I’m betting the FBI may have something much more sophisticated.”

  “This weather could change Ace’s plan,” Marshon said, “if it floods the storm sewer drainpipe he was planning to use.”

  “I’ve been thinking about what’s likely to happen,” Richey said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Kandie checks the money and doesn’t find any exploding dye packs or listening devices. Maybe switches the money to another bag. She calls Ace and gives him the okay. He tells Kandie to give her burner phone to Kennedy. He directs Kennedy to the drop site and tells him not to get off the line. We can’t communicate with Kennedy anymore, and that’s the last we hear from Ace.”

  Neither one of them wanted to say what likely would then happen to Ace’s two hostages. He’d have no more use for them.

  Marshon unwrapped the two burner phones he’d purchased in Walgreens. He typed the number of each phone into the contact list of the other. He handed one to Richey. “We use these two phones only to communicate with each other. Also, here’s a long distance calling card.”

  After they’d been parked at Walgreens for about twenty-five minutes, Marshon saw a dark-colored sedan pull into the bank’s parking lot. The man who got out of the car carried an athletic bag, although Marshon couldn’t read the lettering on the side, even with the aid of the binoculars. The rain was coming down to hard. The man in the business suit carried an umbrella, but walked casually into the bank, as if he was in no hurry.

  “It could just be a customer, or it could be the FBI,” Marshon said. “I wonder if Ace considered that they might sew an electronic tracking device into the seams on the bag, so no one could easily find it.”

  “Jesus, I wouldn’t have thought of that,” Richey admitted.

  “Well, we got to think of something else Ace hasn’t thought of. He’s obviously come up with a very detailed plan. In addition, he’s shown that he can be very creative in dealing with unexpected developments, such as me and Jemmy appearing on the scene. He actually turned both situations to his advantage. But, there’s a hole in every plan. We got only a few minutes to find it.” Marshon looked at Richey. “Eat one of those candy bars, Richey. You’re gonna need the energy. You can’t be running on empty.”

  Richey took Marshon’s advice and reluctantly began tearing the wrapping off a Baby Ruth.

  Twenty minutes later, Kennedy came out of the bank carrying an umbrella that shielded an athletic bag similar to the one the customer brought into the bank. Marshon immediately started up the car and drove toward the street.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Since we know where we’re going, we’ll follow from the front. Get on the phone with Kennedy.”

  Richey called Kennedy. “You got the money?”

  “Yes,” the banker answered, sounding short of breath.

  “Real money, no funny money? Like I told you, Mr. Kennedy, someone’s gonna inspect the bag before you deliver it to the drop site.”

  Kennedy didn’t hesitate. “I heard you the first time. I want to talk to my wife before I’ll deliver this money anywhere.”

  The banker sounded determined. Richey understood, but there wasn’t much he could do except be honest. “I already talked to the kidnapper about that. It’s not possible. I’m not with him or your wife. I don’t even know where they are.”

  “Then my wife could already be dead,” Kennedy declared crisply. Richey detected a different sound to the banker’s voice — a newfound determination. A steely resolve had replaced the panic of forty-five minutes ago.

  “Follow my directions,” Richey said, “and keep this phone line open at all times. Never disconnect. Ignore your call waiting. You disconnect from me or put me on hold, you’re on your own. I won’t be able to help you save your wife. You have to believe that’s my only goal, Mr. Kennedy. Please.”

  Richey then directed Kennedy toward the checkpoint. He muted the phone and said to Marshon, “Ace wants me to see if Kennedy’s got a tail. I thought we’d turn him off onto several side streets along the way and bring him back in front of us so we can see if anyone’s following.”

  Marshon shook his head. “Bad idea. If he’s got a tail, he’s got a tail. We try to find out, we just expose ourselves. Believe me, the cops and the FBI are better at this game than we are. There’s a chopper up in the air somewhere, right now.”

  Before they crossed I-35, Marshon pulled into a Denny’s parking lot where they had an overview of the whole area. Ironically, Ace also watched as he sat in the Chevrolet Caprice parked near the Holiday Inn located on the other side of the street.

  “Listen carefully, Mr. Kennedy,” Richey said into the phone, after releasing the mute button. “I’m gonna try to save your wife’s life. The person who will check the ransom money will be a young, attractive woman. Early twenties, auburn hair. Her name is Kandie Givens. The kidnapper is Ace Semanski. He’s wanted for several murders and parole violation. Recently, he killed two men, put them in the trunk of their car and ran it in a lake. You may have heard about it on the news. If you don’t believe me, call this detective, Craig Sizemore, on your cell phone.” Richey read the detective’s phone number from the card he’d been carrying with him for days.

  “Why are you telling me this?” Kennedy asked.

  “Because Semanski has kidnapped my girlfriend, Carmen Salazar, who’s a friend of Kandie Givens. He’s forcing m
e to do these negotiations, otherwise he’ll kill Carmen. Also, this way, it’s my voice you or the FBI have been recording.”

  There was a telling silence on the line.

  “So, Mr. Kennedy, you tell all this to Kandie Givens. Tell her you know she’s checking the money for Ace Semanski, and that he’s kidnapped both your wife and Carmen Salazar. That the money is a ransom. See what you think of her reaction. I doubt she knows what’s really going on. She’ll have a phone with her. Tell her to tell all that to Ace. When she does, Ace will demand to talk to you. If you let him, Ace Semanski will frighten you into doing anything he wants. When he has your money, he’ll kill Cathy and Carmen. However, if you refuse to talk to him and call me on your other cell phone, we can get in control of this situation and turn the tables on Ace. Trust me, Mr. Kennedy. Please, in God’s name!” Richey ended the call.

  Marshon held out his hand for a fist bump with Richey and said, “Great fuckin’ speech, man. I think you found the weak point in Ace’s plan. He’s pulling everyone’s strings, but he can’t hide if everyone knows he’s the puppet master!”

  “We’ll know if it works in a few minutes,” Richey responded.

  As the Lexus pulled into the parking lot near the furniture warehouse and IHOP, Richey used the binoculars to watch the scene unfold. Kandie stood under an umbrella, holding a suitcase handle with her other hand. She bent at the waist so she could see through the rolled down passenger window and talk to Kennedy. The conversation in the rain and sleet took about thirty seconds. Richey and Marshon heard some of it over the open car phone line. Kennedy did as Richey had suggested. Then, Kandie dialed a number on her cell phone. She talked for a few moments and attempted to hand the phone to Kennedy. Instead, Kennedy rolled up the window and drove away, causing Kandie to jump back and look around in confusion.

  As Marshon pulled out to follow the Lexus, Richey answered an incoming call on Marshon’s phone from a number he didn’t recognize. It was James Kennedy, who said, “Okay, I’m dealing with you now, whoever you are.”