“What made you decide?” Richey asked.
“A hunch,” Kennedy answered. “My wife told me the man holding her was going to, quote, ‘kill both of us.’ My wife also said, ‘Carmen is tied up and can’t help me.’”
“Now you understand why I’m involved,” Richey said.
“Then you’d better not fuck this up, buddy, for the sake of my wife and your girlfriend.”
Marshon interrupted. “Tell him to drive to the downtown convention center and park somewhere on the street. We’ll get back to him.”
Richey did as instructed and then saw that Ace was trying to call. “It’s Semanski,” he told Marshon.
“Give me the phone,” Marshon said. He punched the talk button. “Semanski, what can we do for you?”
“Think you’re pretty smart, huh, nigger!”
Marshon thought quickly about how to handle this conversation, based on his previous discussions with Ace, brief as they had been. “It wasn’t hard to outsmart you, now was it, Ace? You never even got to the grand finale, where Kennedy drops his bag of money in a dumpster sitting over an open manhole leading into the underground storm sewer system. Your idiot partner then brings out the money and gives it to you. Then, you kill him, run your car with the women in the trunk into a lake and head for the sunset, leaving poor Kandie Givens trying to figure out what the fuck happened.”
Ace laughed. “Sounds good to me, but not all is lost, Marshon. I’m gonna make out okay. I can hang around and take another run at the banker. Or, I got most of your ten thousand left and I can sell these two bitches. Put an ad on an Internet porn site. I figure to get as much as five grand for the two of them from some guys who want to have a little fun and make a snuff video. It’s not bad pay for a little effort. Plus, I got to fuck Cathy Kennedy.”
Intending to sound callous, Marshon laughed and replied, boldly, “I ain’t got a bitch in this game, Ace, so you do what you want. It’s what I would expect from a bush league player like you. Thinking fifteen thousand dollars is some kind of big haul. How pathetic! I lose that much money through the cracks every weekend. You’re not very good at planning anyway, as we’ve just seen.”
Ace let loose a tirade of curse words and racist threats, just as Marshon intended. He wanted to make Ace as mad as he had been when he heard about Jemmy’s death. A mad man acted irrationally.
“We now control Kennedy and he’s gonna give the ransom to us,” Marshon said, continuing to poke the bear. “We’ll send you a postcard from Cancun, Ace, as soon as we find out which prison you’re in.”
“So maybe you want to buy the women?” the calm Ace asked suddenly.
Marshon smiled; he played it just right. “If they’re not damaged, maybe. How much?”
“Half.”
“At the downtown convention center, there’s a parking garage across from The Shops, just beyond the outdoor skating rink. It’s between two office buildings. Park on the third level above ground, toward the south end. I’ll call you after we get the money from Kennedy. We’ll make the exchange there.” A plan was taking shape in Marshon’s mind.
Marshon ended the call. Neither said a word as Marshon drove north on Interstate 35 toward the downtown area. Presumably, Kennedy was somewhere ahead of them and Ace was somewhere behind them. Three cars carrying seven people to their destiny.
Marshon called Rinaldo Morgan, the head of security who’d helped him hide out in at the Hyatt for two nights. Morgan also was now the new executive officer of The Wheel.
“You hear about Jemmy?” he asked.
“Yeah, it came up on my smartphone news app. One of the local radio stations is speculating about a kidnapping. What’s going on, Marshon?”
“Jemmy was there to head off a guy,” Marshon replied, “and this guy is now creating a smokescreen, trying to link me to his action. I’m not involved in any kidnapping, Rinaldo, I’m just trying to get the fuck outta town. The last time we talked, you said you’d help me if I asked. I’m asking and I’ll sweeten the pot. If I get out of town in the next few hours without getting arrested, I’ll call you and give you the location of the gaming tables. You won’t have to pay me the $250,000 we agreed upon. You help me get away and I’ll still launder all your profits from running The Wheel.”
“What do you need, Marshon?”
“Lock all the stairwell doors in the south end of the parking garage behind the ice skating rink, from the first basement floor up through the fourth floor. Meet me there in fifteen minutes, on the fourth level near the Criterion Building. Give me a key for all those doors, and then you disappear. The doors only need to be locked for about a half hour. Chances are you will be able to lock them and unlock them before anyone complains. Besides, nearly everybody takes the elevator, anyway.”
“Anything else, Marshon?”
“I need another identity. Driver’s license and credit card, if possible. Older guy. Needs to be good only for a few days.” He thought furiously. Their disguises should be good, but … “A couple of parkas with hoods, if you can, for the snow. Two new cell phones, in the package. That’s it.”
“I can do the key, the phones and coats, but it’s a tight time line for the I.D. I’ll do my best.”
Richey half-listened to the conversation between Marshon and Morgan as he tried to imagine Carmen’s situation. Where was she now? Was she in a panic? Raped and beaten. Had she given up hope? If they survived, could they ever pick up the pieces and have a whole life, again? Travel the highways and byways of America, doing their thing? Tears rolled down Richey’s cheeks as Marshon drove them to their destiny. He hated himself for deceiving Carmen.
Marshon rolled down the car window and threw out the Hyatt cell phone he’d been using. From now on, he’d use the Walgreens cell phone. Gail couldn’t contact him, but he could call her — and he had Ace’s number. Marshon exited off I-35 and drove south on Main Street. The sleet had turned to snow and it was beginning to accumulate on the street. As Marshon drove past the Hyatt and through the intersection, Richey looked off to his right at the mall. On the third floor was the theater where he’d portrayed Willy Loman in Death of a Salesman, as well as the parking garage where Ace had kidnapped Carmen. On his left was a statue, placed on a small strip of grass between an office building and the street. It was Shiva, the Hindu God of Destruction and Regeneration. In retrospect, it was an omen, although neither Richey nor Marshon knew who would be destroyed, and who would be saved to continue pursuing their dream.
Marshon turned left into the parking garage across from The Shops. It had four levels above ground and three below. The parking garage was sandwiched between two office buildings. The building directly across from the Hyatt provided office space for a wide variety of health care professionals — doctors, dentists, home-care nurses, physical therapists, optometrists — as well as an imaging facility. The second floor of that building opened onto The Link. On the south side of the parking garage was The Criterion Building, which provided office space for an eclectic array of businesses. The terrain between the two buildings rose steeply toward the Criterion Building, so that the fourth level of the parking garage opened into the lobby of the Criterion Building.
Marshon took a ticket from the machine at the entrance, drove up to the fourth level and parked near the south stairwell. He turned off the ignition and they waited in silence. Ten minutes later, Rinaldo Morgan came out of the stairwell and looked around. Marshon got out of the car and walked over to the security guard. Richey watched through the windshield as the two men spoke.
“The stairwell doors are all locked, down to the first level below ground,” Morgan said, handing a key to Marshon. “This key opens the double-keyed locks on all the doors.” The security chief opened the stairwell door, and pointed at the floor. “Two coats, two packaged phones.”
“Great,” Marshon replied. He pointed to the glass bubbles attached to the ceiling. “It would help if the surveillance video in the garage gets erased during the time I’m here doing
business.”
“I’ve already turned the system off.”
About that time, the stairwell door opened, startling both of them. A security guard handed two pieces of plastic to his boss and said, “A credit card and driver’s license from an old guy who died in his room last night. Heart attack.”
Rinaldo passed the cards to Marshon, who said, “Thanks, Rinaldo. If I get out of this alive, I’ll keep my part of the deal. You have my word.”
“Good luck, Marshon.”
Marshon walked back to the car and slipped behind the driver’s wheel. He looked at the plastic before handing them to Richey. The driver’s license and credit card were both in the name of Alistair Murphy, who looked to be a man about Richey’s age or maybe older. Murphy even parted his hair in the middle like Richey’s version of Willy Loman.
“The I.D. should be good through the end of the day, maybe more,” Marshon explained. “If we get separated, use it if you have to. I’m headed to Miami. Use the phone card if you need to call my lawyer, Phillip Dahlgren, in Nassau. You can find his number online.”
“Okay.”
Marshon tore open the packaging and extracted the two new cell phones. He typed the number of each one into the contact list of the other. He handed one to Richey. “Use this only to call me. Use your Walgreens cell to call Kennedy, and then throw it away. I’ll keep my Walgreens phone for one or two more calls. Let’s do it. You get the suitcases out of the trunk and follow me.”
Richey rolled the large suitcase over to the stairwell. Marshon took the smaller suitcase out of the bigger one, unzipped both and left them lying open on the floor next to the coats. Then, they both left the stairwell and Marshon locked the door from the outside.
“It’s showtime, Richey. Call James Kennedy. Direct him to the Criterion Building. Tell him to turn into the circular drive and pull up to the building entrance.”
“What about Ace?”
“He should be on the third level by now, like I told him. Once we get the ransom money, I’ll call Ace, go down one floor and deal with him.”
Richey attempted to call Kennedy, but wasn’t getting a tower connection. They walked left toward the parking lot entrance to the first floor of the Criterion Building. As they entered the lobby, Richey got a connection and gave instructions to Kennedy.
Marshon’s heart raced as he saw a security desk and a security guard near the revolving doors leading to the circular drive. Marshon remembered his experience with the old security guard at Corporate Woods, who discovered Michael Williams’s body in a trash cart. Was it to be déjà vu all over again?
Marshon chatted up the guard about the worsening weather while Richey sat on a padded bench located near the entrance. It seemed forever before the silver Lexus pulled up out front. Richey walked out and talked through the passenger window with Kennedy. Then, he opened the back door and took out the sports bag. Marshon saw Richey struggle with the weight.
Marshon held his breath as Richey re-entered the building. If the guard intervened, Marshon figured to pull the thirty-eight from his overcoat pocket and force the guard into the garage, where he could tie him up. His whole plan could unravel. However, the guard was distracted by someone asking a question. Richey handed his cell phone to Marshon and headed toward the garage. Marshon dialed Ace’s number.
“We’ll be on the third floor with the money in a few minutes,” he said, and immediately disconnected.
After they entered the stairwell, Marshon opened the sports bag and dumped all the banded cash onto the floor. He froze for a moment, paralyzed at the sight of so much money! From his business of counting cash after an evening’s session of The Wheel, Marshon knew the dimensions well. All U. S. currency, regardless of the denomination, measures about two-and-a-half by six inches. At one gram per bill, one million dollars in one-hundred-dollar bills weighed about twenty-two pounds. The ransom looked to be about forty banded bunches of $50,000 each. Each bunch was about two inches thick.
Marshon knelt on the concrete floor and began thumbing through each batch — sometimes banging them against the concrete floor — before throwing it into a suitcase. He altered his throws, to divide the ransom in half. Richey joined in and they were soon done. It wasn’t as thorough as Ace’s original plan, but maybe the threat of that plan had persuaded Kennedy to deliver a clean ransom. They’d soon know. They zipped each suitcase shut, stood and looked at each other. Marshon dropped the Walgreens phone they’d just used to call Kennedy and Ace onto the floor. He crushed it with the heel of his shoe.
Marshon said, “Put on one of the coats. Put your gun in the front pocket.” Marshon demonstrated. “Now, take the bigger suitcase and we’ll go down a level. I’ll unlock the door and we’ll try to make a deal with Ace. I’ll offer him one of the suitcases in exchange for the women. I’ll roll it toward him. We use the rest of the money to get away.” Marshon stuffed his smelly overcoat with the Marcus Jones I.D. hidden in the lining into the smaller suitcase. He had a cell phone in each front pocket.
Richey looked to be in shock as they walked down the stairs.
“I’ll concentrate on Ace. The other guy is your responsibility, Richey. Use your gun and kill him if you have to.”
“They’ll use the women as shields,” Richey said.
Marshon shrugged. “I can’t predict how it will go, Richey. Just seize the opportunity when it presents itself.”
Richey took deep breaths and his facial features hardened. “I’m ready, Marshon. Do you really think we can pull this off? And that everyone will be okay?”
“Everyone ain’t gonna be okay, Richey, but we are going to put an end to Ace Semanski and his grand plan.”
Not much had been going Marshon’s way for some time. But, he had survived his run of bad luck and was due for a win — with critical help from an unlikely ally.
25/Aim, Squeeze, Pray
Sitting in the passenger’s seat of the Caprice parked at the front of the Hampton Inn, Ace had a perfect vantage point to look through binoculars and observe the conversation taking place about eight hundred yards away between Kandie and James Kennedy. He waited in great anticipation for her to call and tell him the money was clean. Then, he planned to dispatch both Kennedy and Country to Sweetwater Mall, where the banker would put the ransom into the clothes donation box. Country would approach through the large drainage pipe, pull the bag through the manhole, and take it to his pickup. He’d tell the dummy to wade through knee-deep water, if necessary. Ace would then order Country back to Rhonda’s mobile home. Ace would follow to make certain no one followed Country. He’d also tell Kandie to meet him there. If everything went as planned, Ace would then tie up a few loose ends. Rhonda’s grandfather owned ten acres, much of it grassland and woods, where three or four burial sites would be difficult to find.
Except that Kandie suddenly dropped her umbrella and held both arms out to the side in a gesture of exasperation and confusion. Meanwhile, the Lexus sped off, leaving Kandie standing in the rain and sleet.
“What the fuck!” Ace exclaimed.
“Somethin’ wrong, Ace?” Country asked.
Ace continued to watch Kandie, who finally punched a button on her cell phone, causing his burner phone to emit a doorbell sound.
“What happened, Kandie?”
“He wouldn’t let me see the money. He knew my name, and he knew your name. He knew about Hank and Melvin and the detective who asked me questions at The Stadium. Then, he just drove off. What should I do?”
“Get in your car and stay there,” Ace said. He ended the call and dialed Kennedy’s phone, but his call went to voice mail. Ace called Marshon’s phone and Marshon answered. They had a mutually insulting conversation that included Ace going berserk for nearly a minute. But, finally, they struck a deal. Marshon and Richey had turned Kennedy, who now would give them the ransom. Marshon would give Ace half in exchange for the women.
After the call ended, Ace sat silently, stunned. For the next thirty seconds, he visualiz
ed the script in his mind, as events unfolded logically from one planned scene to another. He’d considered every angle during nearly two years in prison, or so he thought. Nevertheless, in reality, it had fallen apart quickly. The actors flubbed their lines and the director was befuddled. Marshon’s role in the kidnapping was a wild card Ace had never anticipated. Ace admitted to himself that he hadn’t even considered the possibility that Richey, in cooperation with his nigger master, could disrupt the plan simply by persuading Kennedy to ignore the kidnapper who had raped his wife to insure his cooperation! Ace had brutalized the wrong woman, allowing Richey to calmly, unemotionally construct a counter offensive. They simply outed him! It never occurred to him that Kennedy would ignore his wife’s rape — even put her life in danger — and throw his lot in with Richey. The banker had more grit than Ace had imagined. Either that, or he cared more about his money than he cared about his wife. Ace could understand that, and now knew it was a major miscalculation in his melodrama. He’d been so involved in the mechanics of the plan, he ignored the human elements.
Ace suddenly laughed, softly at first, and then loudly, causing Country to catch the giggles also.
“What we gonna do now, Ace? Do I still drive down to Sweetwater Mall and get the money?”
“No, the plan has changed, Country. We’ll leave your pickup here and get it later. We’re going to a parking garage downtown and get our money there.”
Ace drove the Chevy to the hotel exit, and turned left to a stoplight on Ninety-Fifth Street. While the hotel parking lot was a great observation location, sitting on elevated ground as it did, getting to northbound I-35 to follow the Lexus meant taking a right turn and driving several blocks to make a legal U-turn to come back to the on-ramp. Instead, Ace followed the green arrow and turned left, taking the bridge across the interstate toward the furniture warehouse and Kandie’s parked car.
“Can we drive through Taco Bell and get some tacos, Ace?”
“Not right now,” Ace said, his head hot with the effort of recalibration. Then, his face brightened and he visibly relaxed. He had the women in the trunk. Sure, Kennedy still had the money and he was controlled by Richey and Marshon. Marshon had already agreed to give him half the ransom, but Ace would take it all. They couldn’t call the cops, not if they were planning on taking half of the ransom. First, Ace had to take care of Kandie, who now knew too much.
The Money Game Page 44