After Country took a ticket from the machine, and the gate opened, Ace squared away in his seat and directed Country toward an up ramp. During that time, Carmen undid the bottom two buttons of her suit coat, reached down and quickly picked up the gun case. She opened the zipper, cringing at its slight buzzing sound, took out the gun and put it behind the waistband of her skirt, terrified all the time that Ace would turn around, or that Country would look in the rear view mirror and see what she had done. She rebuttoned her jacket with trembling fingers, and used the toe of her shoe to push the empty case beneath the front passenger’s seat. Cathy Kennedy stared straight ahead, apparently having seen nothing, or having wisely chosen not to say anything, or ask a question.
As they drove up to the third level, Carmen struggled desperately to relive the gun range experience, so she could examine every minute detail of that event. She envisioned the gun manufactured by Smith and Wesson. Blue matte finish. One-inch barrel. Thirty-eight caliber ammunition. Five shots, not six like many guns. No safety to worry about. She replayed the salesman’s pitch when she and Richey had bought the gun. Double action. That meant she just had to pull the trigger and the hammer would automatically cock and slam into the shell, causing it to explode and fire the bullet. No need to cock the hammer separately. Just pull out the gun, aim, and fire.
She wouldn’t have “ears” on, so the noise would be startling. She had to remember not to let that distract her, or cause her aim to be off. There would be a sharp report. A brief flash erupting from the gun barrel. Carmen remembered the powder cloud, but that was after firing fifty rounds. She should be prepared only for the flash and the noise. She remembered that the gun didn’t jerk as much as she’d expected. She recalled salesman Renfro’s instructions: just aim, squeeze the trigger, and keep squeezing it in a fluid motion. Pull all the way through nice and steady until all the bullets are gone. Don’t jerk your arm and hand. Be steady. Aim for the largest target mass. She’d hit inside a paper target at about forty feet. It would be much, much closer today –– if she got a chance to fire.
Carmen focused her eyes directly on the back of Ace’s head, and considered drawing the gun now and firing.
Suddenly, Ace turned in his seat and looked directly at her. “You’re going to see Richey soon, Carmen. You can watch me kill him. Maybe I’ll cut off a certain body part as a souvenir for you. I’ve done that before. You can keep it in a jar — a tiny jar. Then you and I are going to have some fun later on. You’ll discover what it means to get brutalized by me.”
Carmen let out her breath and swallowed hard, hoping fear wouldn’t immobilize her.
Country parked the car as directed. Ace took the newspaper off the shotgun and handed it to Country. “You get out, open the back door and pull out the Kennedy women. Stand behind her. Do as I say. When I tell them to put down their guns, you don’t do it. Understand? Then get ready to shoot and we’ll be rich. You shoot Richey, understand.”
Even the dummy understood the gravity of the situation, as he had a grim look on his face. “Yes, sir, Ace.”
Ace then opened the back door on his side and pulled out Carmen.
“Over here!” someone said and Carmen recognized Richey’s voice. She turned toward the sound and saw two men wearing parkas standing about twenty feet away near a stairwell door. Richey stared directly at her. Marshon had his hand on a suitcase that moved on rollers. Carmen recognized him from the one time they’d met, plus his photograph on television.
Richey shouted at her, “Carmen, I love you!” She knew it was true beyond any doubt.
Ace positioned Carmen in front of him, holding the collar of her suit coat with his right hand. He told Country, “Move over there.” He pointed to a spot to his left, about ten feet away. Carmen could see that both Richey and Marshon had guns, and they were aiming them in their direction.
“I don’t have a gun,” Ace said, “so why don’t you guys put your guns away. Is that the money in the suitcases, Marshon?”
“Yes.”
“Then, this is simple. As you can see, the women are in good shape. Looking good! Let’s make the exchange and get out of here.”
About that time, Cathy Kennedy collapsed, causing Country to lower his shotgun and look at the fallen woman.
“I don’t trust you, Ace,” Marshon said. “Where are your knives?”
“I’m unarmed, as you can see.” All the time, he inched forward, getting closer.
“This suitcase has half the money in it,” Marshon said. “I’m gonna roll it toward you and you let the women go, okay?”
While they were talking, Carmen undid her suit coast button. Even with her wrists bound by rope, she got her right hand on the gun handle.
“Sounds good to me,” Ace said, and he let go of Carmen. He yelled, “Shoot, Country, shoot!”
Carmen pivoted on her left foot just as Ace prepared to throw a knife that magically appeared in his left hand. Although Ace was fast, Carmen was faster. She fired rapidly, three times. He turned his head toward her, looking surprised … and afraid. She saw a blood stain on the side of his security guard shirt. He grabbed at his side, and turned toward her. His knees buckled and he dropped to the floor. They locked eyes. Carmen aimed the gun at his forehead and fired twice more from a range of about eighteen inches. Bull’s-eye! She kept pulling the trigger but there was only a clicking sound, one after the other.
The shotgun exploded off to her right and Carmen winced in anticipation of steel pellets ripping painfully into her body. She turned and saw Richey shooting at Country, the barrel of his Sig Sauer jerking slightly with each of about eight shots that she could count. Country collapsed in a heap on the parking lot floor. Cathy Kennedy lay on the concrete floor, screaming loudly.
Then, police cars seemingly materialized out of nowhere, lights whirling and sirens screaming at eardrum breaking levels. Policemen shouted at Richey and Marshon to drop their guns!
“No, no!” Carmen screamed, running toward the police. They yelled at her, too, and pointed their guns at her. She dropped her gun and turned toward the stairwell. She saw Marshon roll the suitcase inside at the same time he grabbed Richey’s coat and pulled him through the open door. Two bullets ripped into the steel door and one plowed into the concrete block wall of the stairwell, causing bits of concrete to spray out like shrapnel.
Three policemen ran toward the stairwell door. They tried to pull open the door, but couldn’t. Carmen felt as if her feet were embedded in the floor. She lost control of her body and dropped to the floor; once again, darkness overtook her.
Carmen revived to find an EMT attending to her. It took her a few seconds to remember what had happened and then she immediately stood, although the EMT cautioned her about fainting again if she got up too quickly.
Carmen looked around until she saw a cop with two bars on his shirt collar. She approached him and said, “What happened to Richey and the other guy in the stairwell? They didn’t kidnap us. They were trying to rescue us!”
A man in a suit stepped forward. “I’m Captain Kemp. We had reports that Richey Stanton and Marshon Johnson were involved in the kidnapping. We know they collected the ransom from James Kennedy.”
“Yes, to rescue his wife and me from Ace Semanski! I killed him.” She turned and pointed toward his body. For a moment, Carmen couldn’t stop looking at him. She realized he would never hurt anyone else again, ever. “There’s my gun on the pavement,” she said, pointing.
“We need to talk,” Kemp said.
Carmen grew belligerent. “Are you stupid, or what! Don’t you know what happened here! Ace Semanski and that dumb ass Country Long kidnapped me and made Richey pick up the ransom — so it would look like he was involved. They killed some man and stole his car. His body is in the trunk.” Carmen looked around and saw James and Cathy Kennedy standing off to the side. Cathy had a blanket around her shoulder and another EMT attended to her. “Ace … brutalized her.”
“Yes, Ms. …?”
“
Salazar. Carmen Salazar!”
“We are somewhat confused and obviously you can help us understand,” Kemp said. “So, whenever you’re able, we’d like you to come with us to a police station and give a statement.”
“No, I won’t! Not until you tell me what happened to Richey and Marshon! Did you kill them, for God’s sake!”
“We have no idea what happened to them, Ms. Salazar. Right now, they are fugitives, wanted for questioning in a kidnapping and several murders.”
The vicissitudes of Carmen Salazar’s life over the last twenty-four hours had been exceptional. But, she had survived the nightmare and apparently so had Richey. She was hopeful. Yet, for Carmen, the worst was yet to come, near the site where they had celebrated one of Richey’s greatest performances.
26/Performance Of A Lifetime
As soon as Ace and Country were shot to death in the parking garage, Marshon rolled the big suitcase into the stairwell while sticking the thirty-eight behind his belt. He held open the door and raised his other hand to pacify the cops, who were angrily and loudly issuing various commands. “Grab your suitcase!” Marshon said, as he grabbed Richey’s collar and pulled him into the stairwell.
As bullets tore into the stairwell door and outside wall, Marshon turned the key and locked the door.
Marshon grabbed the smaller suitcase containing his overcoat and started down the stairs. He yelled over his shoulder, “Make a choice, Richey!”
The weight of the suitcase hurt his ribs and back so much that when Marshon reached the first landing, he kicked the bag down the stairs to the second level. He shrugged off the parka and let it drop to the floor.
Richey followed and talked, as much to himself as Marshon. “The cops think we had something to do with the kidnapping, otherwise why would they shoot at us! Jesus, how did they miss! I think I killed Country. They surely got me on video taking the ransom from Kennedy.”
“And, you aided and abetted me,” Marshon said, as they reached the ground floor level of the parking garage. He looked through the glass portion of the door. “I can see a cop car at the entrance to the garage. They’ll have keys to these doors any minute now.”
He kicked his suitcase down to the first underground level and unlocked the door. Marshon looked around before stepping halfway into the garage. “Gotta go, Richey. Ditch the parka. They seen it!”
Richey did as he was told and followed. “Okay, I made up my mind. I ain’t going to spend any time in jail.”
“And you got a million bucks in that suitcase. As far as I’m concerned, you earned it, several times over.”
“Where are you going?” Richey asked, as Marshon strode purposefully to the right, pulling the smaller suitcase.
“Like I said, to the Caribbean. Remember Dahlgren in Nassau. There’s an entrance on this level into the medical office building across from the Hyatt. I’m headed there and then I’ll decide.” He stopped and looked at Richey. “We should split up. It isn’t going to do you any good to be caught with me. I think you can still talk your way out of jail time. Tell ʼem you didn’t know who was shooting at you. Get rid of the gun.”
“Where should I go?”
Marshon pointed. “Take the tunnel under the street to the mall. Then, you got several options. You can get up to The Link. Or, get a room at the Westin with your fake I.D. Or, walk over to the convention center. Catch a cab. Hide out downtown in some fleabag hotel. Just avoid the cops. Do whatever your gut tells you. You got a clean phone. We’ll talk later!”
They fist-bumped and went their separate ways.
“Good luck!” Marshon shouted, actually believing they’d meet again. They had a new gambling operation to run.
Marshon immediately noticed a van parked near the basement entrance to the medical arts office building. It had the name of a nursing home painted on the side. An attendant wearing green scrubs operated a lift transferring patients from inside the van to wheelchairs parked on the pavement. He followed the attendant pushing a wheelchair into the elevator. It stopped on the ground floor of the building and two women got on. Marshon looked past the first floor security station and saw a uniformed cop standing on the sidewalk outside the entrance. It was snowing hard outside. He stayed on the elevator and got out on the second floor after the attendant exited.
Marshon hung back and watched the attendant wheel his patient into an office down the hallway. Within two or three minutes, the attendant came back into the hallway, pushing an empty wheelchair. Marshon seized the opportunity.
“What’s up, brother?” Marshon flashed his biggest smile. “What happened to the guy in the wheelchair?”
“Left him in the doctor’s waiting room,” the orderly said, jerking his head in the direction of one of the offices.
Marshon grabbed the orderly’s arm. “You work for the nursing home? Crestview?”
The orderly looked irritated, as the elevator doors closed. “Yeah, man. What do you want?”
“So there are more patients waiting down of the bus for you to bring ʼem up here to the doctor’s office?”
“Yeah.”
“I think we can do some business, brother.”
“Business?”
“Yeah. If I was to sit in the wheelchair, you could push me out onto The Link, and then across to the Hyatt. Take only a few minutes. I’d make it worth your while.”
The orderly narrowed his eyes. “I seen all the cops when the driver turned into the garage. Heard the sirens. They looking for you?”
“Well, I don’t know about that, but I got some warrants outstanding, if you know what I mean. Small-time shit. I just don’t want them checking my I.D. today.”
The attendant shook his head. “Naw, I ain’t getting involved.”
Marshon bent over, unzipped the suitcase, reached inside and extracted a wrapped bundle of cash. He held it up for the orderly to see. “Would you change your mind for fifty thousand dollars?”
The orderly looked at him in disbelief. “You’re fuckin’ kiddin’!”
Now, Marshon was irritated. “You got three seconds to make up your mind.”
“Sit down,” the orderly said, and Marshon did, as he handed over the cash. The orderly hefted the suitcase onto a rear platform attached to the wheelchair. He put a gray shawl over Marshon’s shoulders.
“Anybody stops us, I’m a patient at the nursing home,” Marshon said. “You know me. Caleb McDear. I got I.D. You’re taking me to the Hyatt to meet up with some relatives of mine who are staying there. Don’t get greedy or decide to be a hero, my friend, ʼcause I got a gun. Just gladly take what you got, which is a helluva lot more than you arrived here with, right?”
The orderly pushed the wheelchair and Marshon down the hallway to the double doors, which whished open as soon as they broke the electronic beam. The orderly turned right on The Link, and headed over to the Hyatt. Marshon looked ahead and could see a policeman standing in front of the electronic doors leading into the Hyatt. Marshon put his chin onto his chest, as if he was asleep.
As they approached the cop, the orderly said, “What’s going on, sir?”
“Kidnapping. You see anyone suspicious?”
“Naw, I got a bus load of people from the nursing home. Parked on the first basement level of the garage. I talked to the cops down there. This here patient’s meeting relatives in the Hyatt.”
The cop gave them a quick once-over and stepped aside. The orderly wheeled Marshon onto the mezzanine level of the hotel and then toward the balcony overlooking the atrium. Marshon stood, grabbed his suitcase and said, “Enjoy the cash, brother.”
He began walking around to his right, toward the escalators, reminding himself not to walk fast, or run. As he rounded one end of the railing, with only fifty feet to go before he got to the down escalator, he looked down to the lobby and saw several police officers. One was near the exit leading to the parking garage; the other two seemed to be scanning the crowd. Marshon veered over toward the wall, planning to follow the same route h
e had on Friday night, after leaving Gail.
About that time, Gail stepped off the escalator coming up from the lobby. They looked into each other’s eyes and their mouths dropped. Marshon put a finger to his lips.
She came closer and said, “I remember the yellow sweater.”
“Why are you here?”
She shrugged helplessly. “I tried to call a couple of times, but you didn’t answer.”
“I had to get rid of that phone,” he answered, without elaboration.
“That’s what I guessed, so I also threw away the phone you gave me. I decided to come back to the hotel and see if you were still here.”
It occurred to Marshon at the time that he was on a very lucky streak and he wasn’t about to blow it. “There’s a robbery or something going on here,” he said, hating that he had to lie to her once. “It’s making me very nervous. I stayed longer than I planned to get my wound looked at again. Can you help me, Gail? Will you help me?”
She looked slightly offended. “Would I be here if I was going to turn you in? What can I do?”
“Where’s your car?”
“In the garage.”
“Let’s get out of here. You pull the suitcase.” He got on the other side of Gail and put her other arm through his, so it looked like she was helping an old man. He played the role to the hilt, bending over slightly at the waist and shuffling. They walked to the elevator bank and went down to the lobby level. Twenty steps to the right and they exited into the parking garage. Gail had parked her Honda Accord against the far wall. Marshon felt the greatest relief of his life, as if someone had lifted the weight of the world from his shoulders. But, he knew significant challenges awaited them.
“Where to?” Gail asked, when they were in the car. “The airport is shut down, with the snowstorm. It’s moving through toward Chicago, according to the weather report.”
The Money Game Page 46