He’d taken only about six steps when he heard someone call out, loudly, “Willy Loman! Richey Stanton!” Richey turned toward the voice and immediately recognized the Johnson County Sheriff’s Detective, Craig Sizemore, who’d interviewed him and Kandie at The Stadium. He’d given the cop’s name to James Kennedy as a reference for Richey’s story about being forced into the ransom negotiations. Was that the reason Sizemore was in the mall? Kennedy had called him?
The bullnecked detective had assumed a shooter’s stance and had his gun pointed at Richey, who whirled and rushed back into the bar. The red-haired waitress who’d served him was in the processing of picking up the money he’d left on the table. He pulled out the Sig Sauer, grabbed the waitress and pulled her in front of him. He backed toward the bar so he could see both entrances. Customers saw the gun and began to shout and scatter, clearing him a path.
Sizemore appeared in the doorway to his left. “Richey, let’s talk. Don’t do anything foolish, not at this point, for God’s sake.” He holstered his gun. Richey glanced to his right and saw the other detective, Sizemore’s partner, the one with the Devil’s peak hairdo. Dick Cavett still had his gun pointed at Richey and he looked determined. In fact, he yelled, angrily, “Put down the gun, Stanton!”
That caused panic in the bar as customers began to flee. Most ran; someone knocked over a bar chair.
“Don’t hurt me, please!” the redhead said, startling Richey. It was as if he suddenly became aware that his shield was human. Young, twenties, pretty. He had his arm around her waist. Her well-rounded buttocks pressed against him. Her hair smelled like violets. Then, the image hit him like a blow. He was Ace and she was Carmen. The shame propelled him to action.
Richey maneuvered behind the bar. A bartender was crouched near the floor.
“What’s your name?” he asked the redhead.
“Beth.”
“I’m sorry for scaring you, Beth. You can go.”
She hesitated as if it were a trick, but then walked to his right. Then, she ran out the far door, passing by Cavett.
Richey put the barrel of the gun under his chin and looked down at the bartender.
“Pour me a glass of Absolut,” Richey told him, “and add some ice. A splash of vermouth. Then leave.”
Cavett again issued an order, but Sizemore told his partner, irritably, “Back off!”
The bartender did as told and leaned as far forward as possible to put the glass near Richey. The bartender’s hand trembled noticeably.
Sizemore walked slowly to the front of the bar, directly opposite Richey, who looked to his left and right. The bar had cleared out. Spectators and a few more cops filled the hallway outside. The cops all seemed to be talking into handheld radios. The civilians aimed cell phones at him, snapping photos and taking video.
Sizemore sat at the bar as Richey took a drink of vodka, while keeping the barrel pressed against the bottom of his jaw. It felt hard, cold, and indifferent.
“You don’t want to shoot yourself, or shoot me, Richey. Hell, you felt bad about the waitress. I could see that in your face.” Sizemore looked over both shoulders. “And you don’t want to start a gun battle here. Innocent people will be killed. That might include you, Richey. I think you’re innocent of a lot of things.”
“You apparently haven’t seen the television news reports,” Richey responded.
Sizemore laughed. “Those guys fuck everything up! And, we lie to them, anyway.”
“What are you doing here?” Richey asked, with genuine curiosity. “How did you know I was here? It was important for Richey to know if they knew about the bank.
Sizemore shook his head. “We were just lucky to spot you, Cavett and I. Simple dumb luck. We’re not even officially assigned to the case. In fact, I’m not sure who is in charge.” He laughed genuinely. “This is the biggest police circle jerk I’ve ever seen.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s a half-dozen police jurisdictions involved, at least. Semanski and his partner were killed over in the parking garage, which is in the city. Metro Central police division, Kansas City, Missouri. Cathy Kennedy was kidnapped from her house down by Tremont Plaza, which is in the jurisdiction of the Shawnee Mission police department. James Kennedy called the FBI to his bank office in Overland Park. Kandie Givens was killed within the city limits of Lenexa. Both of those places are in Johnson County, Kansas. Because the crime spilled across two states, it’s also now a multi-state FBI investigation.”
Richey felt sick. “Who killed Kandie? Why?”
“It looks like suicide, but I have my doubts. There’s a dead guy in the trunk of the car Semanski and his partner were driving. They’re still trying to figure out who he is. So, you see, Richey, this situation is FUBAR. I think you’re the only one who can straighten it out. And, maybe save yourself in the process. I hadn’t been privy to the police interviews conducted with Mrs. Kennedy and your girlfriend, Carmen Salazar, but rumor is they both identify you and Marshon Johnson as the heroes.”
“They catch Marshon?”
Sizemore just shook his head. “Not yet, or it would have been broadcast across every police jurisdiction.”
Richey took another drink, eying Cavett and the growing number of policemen outside the bar. Richey saw at least two who wore helmets, were dressed in combat black, and wielded military-style rifles.
“Cavett and I are only down here because we issued the first alert about Semanski for his role in the murder of Hendricks and Lucas. We were also called to the scene where they found Kandie Givens, since we could identify her. Kennedy also used my name when talking to the FBI. An agent there on the scene ordered us down here, thinking maybe we could identify others involved in the kidnapping.”
Richey shook his head dejectedly. “And, you did. My luck doesn’t really ever change,” he said, mainly to himself.
“C’mon, Richey, talk to me. You’re not going to shoot it out with us, for God’s sake. That would be suicide. Why kill yourself, anyway? You can beat this whole thing and maybe become a hero. We don’t have a lot of time. When the SWAT commander shows up, he’ll make me leave and bring this situation to a crisis point.”
Richey smiled. “No one knows shit, do they? Ace was successful in muddying the waters and leaving clues that point to everyone. Just the way he planned.”
“Yeah, but he just didn’t figure on Carmen,” Sizemore said. “Now, I’ve only seen photos of her and heard the rumors about what she did in the parking garage, but, God, Richey, you wouldn’t shoot yourself and abandon a woman like that! She sounds like one-in-a-million to me. Beauty, brains and more savvy and guts than half the cops I know!”
Richey couldn’t help but laugh and feel a sense of pride at the same time. “And you want to know what she’d doing with a has-been like me.”
Sizemore shook his head in a gesture of disagreement. “You probably never saw this morning’s Star, which ran a review of your performance last night as Willy Loman in Death of a Salesman. The reviewer said you were as good as Cobb or Hoffman, and maybe better. That you were the treasure of regional theater in the entire Midwest.”
“Are you shitting me?” Richey said, taking the barrel away from his jaw, so it pointed at the ceiling.
“No.” Sizemore looked around the bar. “I don’t see a newspaper. But, I can pull the article up on my smart phone … if you give me the gun.”
Richey lowered his hand and forearm, so the gun hung from his hand, below the level of the bar, which caused Cavett and the other cops to scramble for different vantage points as the loudly reissued various warnings and commands.
“Look, here’s how I figure it, Richey. Semanski kidnaps Carmen so he can get you to negotiate with Kennedy. He plans to have Kandie check the ransom money, but you throw a monkey wrench into that somehow. You team up with Marshon Johnson, for whatever reason. Then, you have Kennedy deliver the ransom to the parking garage, where Semanski and Long are killed, and the women freed. Unfortunately, th
e cops on the scene don’t know this and they start shooting at everyone with a gun. You give me your gun and come with me right now, and we’ll talk to one of those TV crews that are camped out in front of this hotel. You can set the record straight.”
“And you’ll be the cop hero!”
“Absolutely, Richey. I ain’t gonna shit you. If I crack this case, I’ll run for sheriff next year and win in a landslide! After that, I may be governor!” Sizemore’s genuine laugh caused Richey to chortle, too, which gave him the time he needed to use his left hand to get Alistair Murphy’s driver's license and credit card from his pocket. He dropped both into a trashcan under the bar.
Then, Richey took out the new cell phone Marshon got from Rinaldo Morgan. With his left thumb, he pressed the one button and waited until Marshon answered. He said, “I’m caught. Dump your phone.” Richey ended the call and placed the phone on the bar.
Sizemore smiled. “You’re a good friend, Richey.”
Richey asked one more question. “Won’t they try to link me to Marshon Johnson and say he and I and Jemmy Shoemaker were actually involved in this kidnapping from the beginning?”
Sizemore shrugged. “I don’t know about the relationship between you two guys. Yeah, Johnson’s wanted on a murder warrant and I’ve heard rumors about a grand jury investigation concerning his East Side gambling operation. Do either of those things have anything to do with this case?”
“Not really. Kinda. Marshon and I have been friends for a long time. I’ve worked for him off and on for years. I just asked for his help in rescuing Carmen. Jemmy Shoemaker was supposed to head off the kidnapping, but Ace killed him.”
“There you go. Sell that story. Cooperate with them in finding Johnson. He’s obviously got the ransom money, since you don’t have it, right?”
“I don’t have anything.” Then, thinking ahead, Richey amended his remarks. “Except for some money Marshon gave me.”
“Okay, Richey, hand me the gun and let’s start our round of press interviews.”
Even years after the event, there was disagreement about what happened next, despite the fact that several bystanders used their cell phones to videotape the action. This much, everyone agreed upon: Richey had the gun pointed at the floor, but then raised his arm to the level of the counter and extended the gun toward Sizemore, barrel first. Sizemore always maintained and always believed that Richey was handing over the gun. It was turned sideways and Richey didn’t have his finger on the trigger. He saw the real intent in Richey’s face.
Either Richey wasn’t knowledgeable about police procedures, or he wasn’t thinking straight at the moment. Sure, maybe the other cops had shouted for him to grab the barrel and hand over the gun butt first, as they maintained later during the investigation. It was standard protocol. Apparently, Richey never heard them. He was listening intently to Sizemore part of the time; plus, as usual, his alter ego was conducting a conversation inside his head. Richey couldn’t listen to everyone at the same time.
When Richey appeared to point the gun barrel at Sizemore, Cavett and the other cops unleashed a barrage of gunshots that killed Richey, wounded Sizemore in the left arm and shattered the bar glass and several dozen bottles of liquor and wine.
There were many smart phone videos taken that evening and analysis of them was never conclusive on the issue of whether Richey was handing over the gun, barrel first, or whether he intended to shoot his way out of the situation.
Richey didn’t die behind the bar. He took his last breath in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. He didn’t see any bright light or a welcoming group gathered in the distance, but his synaptic neurons were still firing, although not at their normal wattage. The light of life grew dim.
Richey had always lived in his head, even as a kid. Many times in his life, the dreams — those that occurred during the day as well as the night — were much more vivid than real life experiences; and often more enjoyable and memorable. It’s why he’d always wanted to be an actor. He’d played many roles, some real and many imagined. A few, he’d performed very well.
His final, fading dream resembled a photographic slideshow. Maybe that’s what those who’ve had a near-death experience describe as “their life flashing in front of them.”
It began with an misty image of Carmen, as if she was there, but not there. She reached out to him and he tried to take her hand, but couldn’t.
Then, Richey was very young and his father was throwing him in the air in a swimming pool. He stood by a creek and watched tadpoles. His mother held his hand as he lay in bed with the chickenpox. He played basketball on a dirt court, sat in a theater during his senior year in high school with his arm around a classmate, posed in his Army uniform, stood at the altar with Shirley, held Ethan for the first time, and first beheld Carmen painting on a canvas.
The slide show speeded up until it was so fast that the individual pictures were indistinguishable and appeared only as a streaking trail of light absorbed by a shiny computer disk that spun around and around from the impact of the images, the information, the memories. Suddenly, the disk stopped spinning and oriented itself as if viewed from the side. The thin, almost imperceptible disk moved slowly toward a thin, dark, horizontal opening, entered and disappeared into the void. The curtain came down on this part of Richey’s life.
27/Leaving Kansas City
After they drove out of the snow storm and picked up speed on Interstate 70 heading toward St. Louis, Gail began to bombard Marshon with questions, reluctantly at first but then with increasing boldness. She had to know; there were important decisions yet to be made, and she needed to know everything.
“Does all that hullaballoo back there at the convention center have anything to do with Jemmy’s death? I heard cops in the hotel lobby talking about a kidnapping and a shootout.”
“Yes.” He sighed, trying to think of a way to make this a short and safe conversation. The last thing he wanted was for Gail to get mad and dump him on the interstate — or call the cops. “There’s this guy, Ace Semanski, who worked at Biederman’s when Richey was there. You may remember him from that time we sat with Richey and Carmen in that shitty bar out south. He gave us the evil eye.”
“I remember.”
“Ace came to The Wheel one Friday night and created a crisis.”
“Does that have something to do with the grand jury investigation?”
“How do you know about that?”
“My dad told me on Wednesday.”
“Ace used throwing knives to kill two guys who apparently were going to rob us. I didn’t have anything to do with it. I was in the john. Actually, the whole thing is on surveillance video, which apparently someone gave to the grand jury. If you don’t believe me, ask your dad. We talked about it at the fund-raiser for Dewhurst.”
Gail’s mouth dropped open, signaling her surprise at his answer to her question. She didn’t know her dad and Marshon had talked about this subject.
“Ace was bad news. Prison and all that. Apparently, he concocted a kidnapping/ransom plot. First, he kidnapped Carmen Salazar, Richey’s girlfriend, to force Richey to do the ransom negotiations. Ace wanted to cast suspicion on Richey. Ace also kidnapped Cathy Kennedy, a banker’s wife. Richey figured out who the kidnapping victim was by remembering a newspaper photograph and article that Ace showed him about James and Cathy Kennedy. Friday evening after you left the Hyatt, I got paranoid about some police activity in the lobby, and went to hide out at Richey’s house. Richey asked me to help and I involved Jemmy, who was going to intercept Ace before he could kidnap the Kennedy woman.”
“Oh, my God, Ace killed Jemmy!”
“Yes, but then Richey and I persuaded James Kennedy to drop the money in a parking lot at the convention center instead of where Ace wanted him to make the payoff, which we figured was a trap. Kennedy obviously involved the FBI or police and they were waiting in the parking lot. There was a shootout and Ace and his partner were killed. And, no, again, I didn’t kill
anyone!”
“And the women?”
“Freed, unharmed, or at least they looked okay from the brief glimpse I got of them.”
“You were there?”
“With Richey. He shot and killed some guy named Country Long, who was helping Ace. Carmen got hold of a gun and killed Ace. I didn’t stick around after that to explain my presence to the cops, especially after they started shooting at us.”
“Oh, my God! Wouldn’t you be better off to turn yourself in? Get a good lawyer?”
“I have a good lawyer! Mort Saperstein. Had dealings with him for years. I talked to him last Wednesday, and he is negotiating for me right now.” His explanation to Gail was about ninety percent true. He wasn’t about to bring up the ransom money. “Until they come to some agreement I can accept, I intend to lie low. I got some clothes and other belongings in the suitcase, and I’m going to get out of town for a couple of weeks.” Marshon hated lying to Gail, but he wasn’t certain she’d help him if she knew he had the cash. She’d undoubtedly insist he return it. In her mind, keeping the money meant he was, in fact, part of the kidnapping. Marshon wasn’t certain he could effectively argue the opposite point of view.
They rode in silence for several minutes, each with their own thoughts. Gail wanted to believe Marshon and he wanted her to believe his version of events — at least for today. After she read the newspapers tomorrow, she could conclude that he lied to her, or didn’t tell the whole truth. In truth, he didn’t know everything. Besides, Marshon didn’t believe in the whole truth. There was a degree of doubt in everything that humans knew, or thought they knew. The truth oftentimes depended on your viewpoint.
“How’s the gunshot wound?”
Marshon looked startled, as if she’d reminded him of some minor incident he’d forgotten. It had been nearly four days since Williams shot him and Max the Knife patched him up. They stitches could have torn loose, especially when he was maneuvering the suitcase down the stairs of the parking garage.
The Money Game Page 48