GREED Box Set (Books 1-4)

by John W. Mefford

  “A cigarette?”

  “Close. Some ice cream. We passed a place on our way around the pond. Let's go.”

  Marisa's playful spontaneity was only surpassed by the incredible love and affection she'd shown me. Arm and arm, we ambled along the patterned stone sidewalk toward the ice cream shop. She, undoubtedly, was debating which crushed candy bar topping to add to her dessert. With a respectful gaze, I saw her cheeks still flushed against her bronze skin, her curly hair turning frizzy from our frolicking romp in the grass. My heart gushed with love.

  I eyed snake-like cracks in the pavers and allowed my mind to veer toward the unknown portion of the glass that was empty.

  Given my pending morning journey to a world fraught with unknown secrets and fragile alliances, had Marisa and I just made love for the last time?

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Andi was constantly reminded of the age difference. It felt more like twenty years, although it ranged from just four to five years. Maybe those are dog years, she joked with herself. She wanted to spend a few minutes to take in the setting, a low-hanging full moon shimmering off the calm waters of the Bay of Banderas. She could barely see the outline of the mountains, which curled around the bay to serve as a backdrop to this breathtaking scene. She'd heard a great deal about Puerto Vallarta, mostly from her parents who spent their honeymoon in the once small resort city many years ago. Her friends hardly noticed the surroundings as they passed around the cheap tequila in the crowded taxi.

  Andi took a swig herself, making it seem like she'd gulped a much larger portion than she had, a little trick she'd learned when she was a freshman in college and the frat boys were looking for any way to persuade the younger girls to drink alcohol like it was water. She wondered if the driver had been drinking. He seemed relaxed, his right wrist on top of the steering wheel, the other elbow perched on the side,—yet he was driving like a bat out of hell.

  “Look out,” shouted Andi, quickly realizing her statement was out of place. The driver popped up on a sidewalk for a few seconds, causing two dogs and a couple to scramble out of the way. They raised their fists, yelling Spanish obscenities. The rowdy girls in the car could care less about who was at the wheel or his driving prowess and didn't seem to notice Andi with her hands pushed against the roof of the cab in the front seat, hanging on for dear life.

  As they pulled up to the enormous building that overlooked the beach, the girls could hear the loud thumping of bass coming from the club. Andi felt like her heartbeat had been replaced by the pounding of the deep, rhythmic sound. The girls tossed their money at the taxi driver, likely more than was expected, especially given the roller coaster ride.

  They paid the cover charge, and Andi gazed upon their first spring break party, a sea of tan, dancing bodies. The girls looked like little kids, literally, standing in front of a candy shop with no one around to gauge their consumption.

  The group hit the dance floor. Andi followed and held her own against the younger crowd. She, like every other semi-attractive girl, was being watched by a gaggle of guys, all vying to determine whom they would, or could, go after. Andi could feel their eyes on her. She was used to it by now.

  “You want to get a drink?” asked one of the boys from her high school.

  “Sure,” she yelled back. They found a spot that wasn't quite as deafening as the middle of the dance floor. He'd already ordered two shot drinks.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “A Screaming Orgasm,” he said, smiling ear to ear. Subtle, she thought to herself. A couple of drinks later and admittedly feeling a bit tipsy, she was introduced in a spring break way to a boy from the private school. From behind, he grabbed her hips. She giggled, like he was tickling her. He meant something entirely different, of course, but was happy to break the ice.

  “Hi, I'm Zachary.”

  “Hey there, I'm Andi. You look familiar. Didn't I see you at the mall about a week ago?”

  “Maybe so,” he said, trying to be noncommittal or cool, she wasn't sure which.

  “You like it down here?” Andi asked, looking for another angle to get close, but not too close, in this setting.

  “Sure, but it's a bit lame. It's mostly high school kids at a rave. I'm more used to hanging out with the college crowd.”

  She could see him enjoying the separation of superiority he'd put between himself and the other kids. Andi thought he was full of shit, but she let it ride.

  “You want to take a walk out on the patio? I have something to share.” He displayed two joints in his hand. She debated it. There was something about him that seemed unsettling. Years ago, he was the type of guy she would have avoided like the plague, which is the exact reason her journalistic instincts told her to move forward with the conversation.

  Positioned in the far corner of the patio so they wouldn't flaunt their weed, the pair smoked their joints, and the conversation changed to a bit more philosophical.

  “Do you ever think about just leaving everything behind, moving to another place and starting over?” he queried, as if he was going through a midlife crisis.

  “At times, I guess.”

  The marijuana was starting to affect her inhibitions. She looked at Zachary and eyed him from head to toe. She tried to remind herself the objective of her assignment.

  “This isn't a pickup line, but you seem different than the other girls, more mature.”

  There's a reason for that, she thought, but didn't say.

  He touched her forehead and moved her hair out of her face. Then, without notice, he slipped his tongue in her mouth. She initially pulled back but didn't stop the kiss.

  She looked down and wiped her mouth, already wishing she could have taken that back.

  They both stared at the ocean water lapping against the wooden beams.

  She tried to refocus her dazed thoughts and get back to business.

  “Do you have any better shit than this joint?”

  “I can get anything, even down here. This joint is like chewing gum. Stay with me. I can get any type of drug you could dream of,” he boasted.

  Minutes later, the wooden deck began to swirl. Her vision blurred, then she saw two of everything, but almost at an angle. She took a step and fell to her right, eventually sliding down on her right shoulder. What had happened? In seconds, she'd gone from feeling a bit tipsy to not feeling her legs and losing her equilibrium.

  She slipped into the unconscious world.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Like a cold engine trying to turn over in the middle of winter, her brain attempted to function. Her first conscious thought was that her butt cheeks were stuck to something. Her mouth was parched to the point where she could hardly open her jaw without gagging on the lack of saliva. She felt exposed in some odd way. One eye opened, then the other. What the hell? She was naked...in a bathtub. She instantly became frightened and realized she was sore all over her body, especially her right side. She turned to her left. It appeared she was in...yes, it was her hotel room bathtub. Nude, not a lick of clothing on. Her butt was practically glued to the porcelain tub. Felt like it was tearing her skin as she pried one cheek, then the other, away from the hard surface.

  Sunlight lit up the adjoining room, so she knew it was daytime. Who knows what time of day, she thought, as she held her head with both hands, asking herself what took place back at that club. One minute she was hanging out with Zachary, gaining his confidence, and yes, smoking a joint, then seconds later, she couldn't feel her legs and everything went black.

  “Is anyone out there?” she called out, her voice sounding garbled. She needed water, desperately. She turned on the faucet and licked like a puppy, and then splashed her face. Using the walls as a crutch, she rose up on her two feet and carefully stepped over the side of the tub. She grabbed a hand towel and dried her face while walking into the room. No one was there. Her eyes focused on the clock. It was ten seventeen a.m., local time. Just then, the door swung open. She hurriedly tried to t
hrow the miniscule towel around her waist.

  “Oops, sorry. I didn't mean to startle you,” said Summer, appearing oblivious that Andi was nude.

  “Hey, do you know what happened to me last night?” Andi quickly looked for something, anything to pull over her body. Finally, she grabbed the flower covered comforter and swung it around her shoulders.

  “Hey, have you seen my cell phone?” asked Summer.

  “What?” Andi was baffled at Summer's indifference.

  “Oh yeah, last night...you passed out cold at the club,“ the younger blonde answered. ”At first, we thought you had too much to drink. Then Zachary told us about the joint, but we think someone slipped something in your drink. A ruffie.

  “But, like I told you before, we had your back.” Summer continued her search her cell phone.

  “So, how did I end up like this?”

  “After we dragged you into the taxi, you started puking. So, we started taking your clothes off, one by one, so you wouldn't ruin them. By the time we got here, you were naked as a jaybird, girlfriend,” Summer said with hint of laughter.

  Andi shuddered at the thought of who'd seen her minus certain articles of clothing. Summer exited the room and suggested Andi find her hottest bikini and join her and the other girls poolside.

  After another drink of water, Andi realized she owed her bosses a text. She didn't want to be branded as just another college party girl who couldn't withstand temptation and do her job. She'd have to fudge things a bit but still communicate the basic facts and let them know she was safe—by the grace of God, she thought.

  Late nite @ club, drinkin, some drugs. Nu kid, Zachary, private skool. Makin progress. More latr. A

  Andi released a deep breath, realizing she was lucky to be alive and, from what she could tell, not violated. She vowed to learn from her mistakes.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  “Once we hit our maximum altitude of just over twenty-five thousand feet, we'll reach a top speed of right around two hundred eighty-three miles per hour.” Francisco flipped pages on his clipboard, reviewing key data on the flight plan.

  The technical information was nice to know, especially for me, since I'd never flown in anything smaller than an MD-80. I stood next to the aircraft, enjoying my last respite of life on the ground as Francisco performed his final external checks on the Beechcraft King Air C90B, a smallish private turboprop. It couldn't happen fast enough. Arthur was digging a trench in the concrete, pacing back and forth, occasionally flipping his wrist to glance at his watch.

  The night before, we'd met with Francisco on a conference call, reviewing his thoughts on the assignment. While he seemed hesitant to dive too deeply into his past, Francisco reiterated that because of his relationship with Marisa's father, Edgar, he believed it was his duty and honor to be of assistance to us.

  “We must ensure that when we land and call the abductors—Benicio, as he called himself to me—that we arrange for the swap for Trudy in a public place. And it must be in the daytime.” The seasoned pilot sounded like he'd ridden this bull a few times.

  “But what happens if they dictate otherwise?” Arthur asked.

  “They might try to push and bully you, but you...we must hold strong. This is our only hope, at least our best hope of escaping this incident without harm to anyone,” Francisco reminded us. “It's hard to say how violent these men are. I've asked around and no one has heard of this Benicio person. That tells me his operation is most likely new, or he isn't the one calling the shots. Still, they probably just want the money, and that's the carrot we use to barter for Trudy's life, and our escape, God willing.”

  It sounded true and sincere, yet I spent my last night in bed with Marisa worrying about whether I should trust this guy and how naïve we must look to him and the kidnappers. I attempted to envision success: a quick trip down there, a brief swap of the money for Trudy, and a joyous reunion on the way home. But my mind instead veered toward the plethora of thoughts that ended poorly...a few making the leap to a fatal conclusion. It felt like I was on a roller coaster screaming through the night sky with no restraints. I couldn't stop the morbid images flashing by me on each unseen twist and turn. Never sharing another Margarita with Marisa. Never exchanging that unspoken look that shouted, “I don't care what other people say or think, we are the center of each other's universe.” Never unleashing that uncontrollable urge to make love to each other in a park flanked by shrubbery and a pair of frisky ducks.

  I rattled my head and tried to eradicate my annoying doubt.

  Francisco had a nervous self-assurance about him. He moved confidently, flowing from one preflight task to the next like this was his world. Thick from head to toe, Francisco appeared to be in good shape. His arms were solid, sticking out from his navy blue, short sleeve shirt. No more than five foot seven, he had a presence about him. Maybe it was the touch of gray, or his surprisingly long stride, each step in his hiking boots taken with purpose.

  Arthur had been remarkably quiet since we'd arrived at the Collin County Regional Airport this morning. No small talk or idle chitchat. He likely didn't want to ponder the countless ways this mission could fail. And I couldn't blame him one bit. There was no turning back.

  “How many miles do we have in front of us?” I asked as we buckled in, and Francisco revved the engines.

  “Just about eight hundred eighty nautical miles from airport to airport, but we may need to adjust given re-routes around other planes and any storms or headwinds that might affect us,” Francisco said matter-of-factly as he checked the instrument panel and guided the aircraft towards the seven thousand-foot runway. It was obvious he'd completed this routine hundreds, if not thousands of times.

  “I'm assuming this turboprop has enough fuel to get us there without stopping for a refuel?” I asked just as Francisco received the okay to begin his ascent.

  “We've got a range of just over twelve hundred miles, so we're safe. Sit back and relax. We'll need our focus and energy once we land.” The longtime aviator pulled out a cross from under his T-shirt and kissed it, then returned it back to its original hiding place.

  A gentle hum morphed into a loud growl as the plane sped down the runway, and seconds later, took us airborne. I heard the landing gear retract. After a night of little sleep and Arthur in silent mode, the purr of the jet engines soothed me, allowing my eyes to roll to the back of my head.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  I wasn't sure which woke me first, the extreme, almost violent jarring of the aircraft or Francisco yelling out to Arthur and me.

  “Hombres! Hombres!” the pilot screamed.

  My heart nearly vaulted out of my chest as I awoke with lights flashing and strange, horrible sounds coming from inside, maybe outside the plane. Arthur had apparently fallen asleep as well, and we both sat up, our eyes now wide open, looking around for answers to the predicament.

  “Mi amigos.” Francisco quickly flipped his head back to ensure he had our attention. “We've lost most of our power. We went through a storm, must have gotten hit by lightening, or very close to it. We can't maintain our altitude. We're headed downward.” Arthur and I peered toward the cockpit, only to see Francisco's stiff back and shaking arms.

  I glanced out the window, and despite it being in the middle of the day, darkness blanketed the sky. We were still aloft, although dropping at a severe angle. Engulfed by thick, menacing gray clouds, sheets of water pelted the windows, interrupted by periodic claps of thunder that felt like they were piercing the metal skin of the aircraft. The jarring become more intermittent, but we began to rock left and right, slightly at first, then more pronounced.

  “Francisco, are we close to Puerto Vallarta? Can you land us?” Arthur called out, his voice shaking as much as the aircraft.

  “Amigos, we're too far north to make it. We're dropping quickly, and my visibility is greatly reduced.” Sweat dripped down the side of his face.

  I quickly looked around the aircraft, realizing I couldn't do
a damn thing. I was helpless and scared beyond belief. I knew about the mountains surrounding Puerto Vallarta. I'd read numerous stories where poor visibility had caused planes to crash head-on into the sides of mountain ranges. I began to fear the same fate for us and caught myself holding my breath. I exhaled deliberately, closing my eyes for a brief second to see if all the noise and panic would subside. Another sudden drop in elevation caused my stomach to enter my throat.

  I had only one thought, my dear Marisa. We had made love the night before, next to a pond, with nature as our witness. My worrisome spirit had wondered if such a magical, intimate moment would indeed be our last. Now I thought that again: why did my mind go there? What purpose did it serve? Should I never have boarded this plane? I had no time to rethink my decision-making process.

  The rocking subsided, but the plane took a more severe angle downward. I turned my thoughts inward, clasped my hands, closed my eyes, and resisted a response to the dramatic surges of the plane. I thought more calmly about my one true love. Marisa, my rock, my foundation. The love of my life, who had patiently allowed me to understand who and what was important in this one shot at life on this planet, in this body, with this soul.

  “If now is my time, God, please take care of Marisa. Let her know that I love her with all my heart,” I said out loud as tears formed in my eyes, believing now was the last time I would say those words and consciously have these emotions.

  I let go of my fears as best I could, trying to drown out the horrific sounds and sinking feeling of dropping from the sky.

  Then, I felt something, some type of presence around me. I looked up. Arthur, sitting diagonally from me in the four-seat cabin, appeared to be praying, and both hands were in his lap. Who, what had touched me?

  “Amigos, we just broke from the thick clouds. I think I recognize this area. We're headed down quickly, but I believe there is an old airstrip from my first life,” Francisco exclaimed, still struggling with the aircraft. “We must hope it's there and cleared. I will try to land. Hold on for your life.”