GREED Box Set (Books 1-4)

by John W. Mefford

  “It is you,” said the voice of the girl, who scrambled to roll off me.

  Despite my brain still moving in slow motion due to lack of sleep and the re-emergence of throbbing pain emanating from my left forearm, I finally connected the dots—it was Andi. As we both got to our feet, I saw that she was wearing a bikini, and I realized that her boobs had been in my face while I was holding her waist. If I'd been a celebrity, that shot would have gone viral on Instagram, Twitter, and every other social media train wreck.

  I tried to clean the fruit medley off me. “Andi, um, what are you doing running—?”

  “Uhh...my job, remember?” she said sarcastically.

  “Yes, right. Makes sense,” I said, regaining my mental equilibrium. I touched her elbow and guided her to a more secluded spot behind the buffet tables so we could have a quick conversation.

  “First, you're going to have to stop running into me like this,” I said mockingly. She looked down at my forearm, which I held close to my body.

  “Are you okay?” she asked. “Did I hurt you?” It was difficult to make out, given her gold tan, but I think her face turned a slight shade of red.

  “I'm fine. Small world, huh? I got your latest text this morning. Sounds like you're making good progress?”

  She nodded. “Don't be too obvious but look over my right shoulder. See that boy in the orange bathing suit and fancy sunglasses? That's Zachary, a kid from the private school.”

  “I recognize him from Courtney's funeral,” I said, remembering that somber day. “You're right. The photo of him in the paper was really creepy,” she said, reminding me again that she was still in college. “I thought about it last night when I was trying to fall asleep after another crazy night—don't ask, by the way.”

  “I'll reserve my comment for later.”

  “He always has people around him, but he still likes to stay a bit mysterious. The best I can read him is that he has to be in control, and he uses his money to manipulate people. They just dance around him.”

  “Yeah, I'm sure he's lived quite a privileged life,” I said.

  “And then there's Coach Wilson. He's a sick puppy, going after these high school girls, giving out drugs like candy,” Andi said. “I thought about Courtney playing on the soccer team.”

  I nodded, acknowledging the connection.

  “Andi, if Coach Wilson is who we think he might be, you can't be cavalier about your interactions with him. He'll sniff a snitch a mile away.”

  “I was born after you, but that doesn't mean I was born yesterday,” she replied with a bit of attitude, but smiling at the end.

  “I hear you. I'll stop there and not get into overprotective mode.”

  “Good, it wouldn't work anyway. I've made it this far, and no one's stopping me now. Stay tuned for more on the text toy. Later.”

  A confident Andi jogged off.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  It felt more like a third grade project than a plan to enable us to fool Trudy's kidnappers. Actually, the only scissors we could find were made for little kids, minus the sharp edge, and the finger openings were small, covered with rubber. I could barely squeeze my fingertips through.

  “You must make sure they are the exact same size as the dollar bill,” Francisco instructed.

  “I got that part. I'm just trying not to cut the dollar bill by accident.”

  Francisco had asked each of us to withdraw as much money as possible from ATM machines, in the largest denominations possible. Then, we purchased fatigue-green construction paper and cut out rectangles to match the exact proportions of the cash. We bundled them together with two rubber bands, leaving the real cash on both ends and a few bills scattered throughout the wad. We pulled together fifty wads of cash, the same number in the stolen backpack. While a tad creative, it seemed way too simplistic.

  “Francisco, I have to say, do we think these people are stupid? If they see we're trying to fool them, this whole damn thing could backfire. We could be putting all of us, Trudy included, in harm's way,” I said.

  Arthur entered our hotel room before Francisco could respond, holding a replacement gray backpack.

  “Nice, Arthur. This should work.” Francisco first inspected the bag then loaded it with the stacks of cash we'd created thus far.

  “Now, Michael, back to what you're saying. We all agree that we have no time to pull together a half million dollars, si? I've seen this trick a few times myself, and it has actually worked,” he recalled. “But something about this Benicio guy just doesn't make sense to me. I can't put my finger on it. I just don't get the sense he has a lot of experience in situations like these.”

  Arthur and I glanced at each other, not forgetting how the money was stolen. From any logical perspective, neither Arthur nor I could see how Francisco couldn't be involved, given how the robbery and mugging went down.

  Then I recalled a saying my Pop once told me: “Sometimes, even after you have all the facts, you just have to go with your instincts. Go with your gut.” I'd taken Arthur into the hallway to share my thoughts and concerns, and even Pop's words of wisdom.

  “I think you're asking me if we should use Pop's approach now,” Arthur said. “I miss Trudy more than anyone will ever know. Whether I'm desperate or too exhausted to make a wise decision, I don't know for sure, but I say we go with our gut.”

  I reached out and put my arm around Arthur's shoulder, relieved we came to the same conclusion.

  “So, are you boys going to make me walk the plank?” Francisco joked as we reentered the room.

  “Honestly, it's taken us a while to get here, Francisco. I think you understand. But from here on out, you're part of the team.” Francisco and I shook hands, and then he reached out to do the same with Arthur.

  Strengthened by our renewed solidarity, I still wondered if our plan to fool the kidnappers would be enough to secure the release of Trudy and allow us to leave the country unharmed. Energized from our renewed bond of trust, Arthur dialed the number to Benicio to set up the time and place for the swap.

  Chapter Sixty

  Hey baby, all is well. We're safe in PV. Will let you know when we have Trudy. Luv you, Michael

  Pulling into her driveway after a highly ineffective day at work, Marisa re-read the text she'd received earlier from her husband. She had little else to hold on to and, recalling the words, envisioning Michael saying those words out loud, helped sooth her nerves and lesson the fear of the unknown, at least to a degree.

  “Uh, Mama, what have you been up to?” asked Marisa, taking in the scent of fresh risotto with scallions, and seeing the table set and fresh pink roses resting in a crystal vase.

  “Oh my gosh, Mama! Where did you get this vase from? It's fabulous,” Marisa exclaimed.

  Emilia strolled out to the dining area wearing a stylish new apron. She even did a quick pirouette, so her daughter could check out the complete picture.

  The two ladies had come a long way in a short time. Over the last few days, Marisa had been able to accept her mother's reasoning for not burdening her daughter with the truth behind her father's occupation, and related death.

  “You just let me take care of dinner tonight.” Emilia gave her daughter a warm embrace, something she rarely did. Both women held on for an extra second. Marisa savored the feeling of her mother's love during this stressful time with Michael a world away.

  Marisa flipped on the evening news, then she went to change out of her work outfit. Just like that, her perspective and outlook had shifted. She even found herself humming, recalling fond memories of Michael romancing her with one of their favorite CDs, a Norah Jones classic. “I'm just waiting for you to come on home and turn me on,” she belted out, envisioning her husband's arms around her.

  Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted by a loud crash.

  “Mama, did you break one of my nice casserole dishes?” she called out, walking partially undressed into the living room.

  Emilia stood stone-faced, hands cover
ing her mouth, and a shattered dish at her feet. Marisa took one look at her and noticed she was staring at the TV.

  “Last night, one man was killed on the property where the homeowner was not home,” the newscaster read from the teleprompter. “Police have no clues, other than a trail of blood yards away from the body, as well as tire tracks in the yard and a destroyed fence. Police found no evidence of forced entry.”

  Neither woman moved.

  ***

  Emilia's brow furrowed, her heart sprinting at a pace she'd never experienced. She brought her hand to her chest, and she swayed slightly. The TV flashed images of yellow police tape, disheveled sod on the otherwise pristine lawn, a mauled wrought iron fence and splattered blood. Death on her property. Death on her hands.

  Emilia's thoughts raced through a myriad of questions she couldn't answer. What could she say?

  “Oh my God, that's your house isn't it?” Marisa flipped her head from the TV back to her mother. “They don't think anyone broke in? What the hell is going on?”

  Emilia was frozen with fear. Moments ago, she'd felt like her relationship with Marisa had reached a new echelon, something she hadn't felt since she'd held her sweet, dimpled baby in her arms. The years flashed forward. Her past had finally grabbed her by the throat. How could she continue the deceit, the secret life that allowed her to live a privileged life at the expense of others?

  Confused, mortified, and incapable of processing her thoughts, Emilia walked briskly to her room and locked the door behind her. Sitting in her bedside chair, Emilia unleashed a tidal wave of emotions, weeping uncontrollably, tugging on her own hair, and raising her hands to the air, begging for an answer to her own inadequacies. “Why, why, why have I done this, shamed myself, my family, the only daughter I have, whom I love more than life itself?”

  “Mother, who are you talking to?” asked Marisa, knocking repeatedly on the bedroom door. “What is going on? Are you okay?”

  Emilia toned down her crying, but couldn't force herself to stop. In fact, she heaved with emotion, while grasping at a box of tissues, hoping they would mute the noise and evaporate the guilt.

  More knocking. “Mother?”

  Painful knots gripped every fiber of her gut as she slid off the chair, pulling on the bed skirt, grasping for anything to keep her life from falling into an abyss so deep she would never recover.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Still sprinkled with a plethora of early evening shoppers, El Mercado seemed an unusual place to swap a backpack full of cash, both real and counterfeit, for Trudy. Yet these had been Benicio's instructions earlier when Arthur made the call. Arthur had tried to ask a follow-up question, but the lead kidnapper had a more curse tone than in recent conversations, openly agitated. He'd hung up the phone abruptly after giving the instructions to Arthur, not answering any questions. While pleased with the public setting for our transaction, Francisco and I both caught on to Benicio's slight change of attitude.

  “I don't know Michael, but this guy, Benicio, just didn't sound right on that call,” Francisco said as we made our way toward the grouping of fruit stands.

  “I hear ya. I've been on these calls since Day One of this ordeal, and for a guy who's getting ready to finally get his hands on a half million dollars in cash, he definitely seemed annoyed at something, or someone.” Arthur wasn't listening to our conversation. His determined look was undeniable, and he didn't give a damn about the kidnapper's disposition or, for that matter, where we were meeting him. His mind, his heart, his soul was obviously focused on one thing—reuniting with his wife.

  The three of us stood at the corner of the fruit stands as dusk settled on Puerto Vallarta. Only Arthur would recognize the kidnapper, Benicio. Staring directly into the horizontal sun, we heard his familiar, accented voice before we saw his face.

  “Arthur Spanarkel,” the voice said, struggling a bit with the last name. The three of us swung around. I immediately looked down, noticing a dumpy man, covered with filth, his stomach protruding from his shirt that only had two or three buttons on it. His shorts sagged, and he was wearing worn red flip-flops. Not exactly the picture of a man I'd think of leading an international extortion and possible drug ring. Then again, Sam Walton used to drive an old pickup truck even after Walmart was raking in billions.

  “Where is my wife?” Arthur asked quickly, looking to either side of Benicio and behind him. “We have the money...see?” Arthur opened the bag and, from a distance, showed Benicio the wads of cash.

  Benicio wiped sweat from his crumpled forehead then looked directly at me, ignoring Arthur. “Are you Francisco?”

  I shook my head, my eyes not blinking.

  “Who is this? You were supposed to come alone with the pilot.”

  “He's just a friend here to help an old man.” Arthur's voice cracked.

  The portly kidnapper glared at me for another couple of seconds then turned to look off in the distance.

  “We will need to complete this arrangement at another location.” Benicio's eyes seemed to bounce back and forth between Arthur and the backpack.

  “Excuse me, what are you saying? What kind of trick do you think you're pulling on us?” Arthur said assertively, taking a step towards the kidnapper.

  Benicio raised his arms, not brandishing a weapon but instead providing a brace in case Arthur attacked him.

  “I have no tricks up my sleeve.” He held up each arm. “I will lead you to where we are going. It's in a garage up in the hills.”

  Francisco and I had put our arms on Arthur to ensure he didn't cross the line with Benicio, potentially creating a bigger scene, drawing unwanted attention to our mission.

  “It's okay. We will follow you.” I patted Arthur on the back then extended my good arm, offering Benicio to lead the group. “Vamos.”

  “I don't like this,” Francisco observed quietly as we walked behind Benicio and Arthur. “But we don't have another choice at this point. Stay alert.”

  Questions darted through my mind, with no real answers on what this all meant for Trudy, for getting all of us home safely.

  Looking beyond the moving arms flashing colorful trinkets, handmade ponchos, and sombreros, we cut through the throngs of vendors and shoppers on the cobblestone streets, and then the smells and sounds from El Mercado faded behind us.

  I couldn't predict what we'd find at this garage. I only prepared myself to expect the unexpected.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  “Hash tag partybitches!” screamed Summer as she hit the dance floor. Despite the constant party environment, Andi was slightly shocked to see the teenage beauty acting like nothing out of the ordinary had happened to her at the Jungle last night. In reality, the attractive blonde was fortunate that Andi had sent her back to the hotel when she had, before she snorted more powder up her nose than her tight little body could ever handle. She either had a short memory or a powerful addiction. Andi tried to keep one eye on her new little sister and the other eye on the school of sharks.

  She'd spoken with Brandon earlier in the day, providing a more detailed version of the information she'd given to Michael when she clumsily tackled him to the ground. I'm such a freakin' klutz, she thought.

  Opening her miniature mesh purse, Andi touched the Utilities icon on her iPhone, then clicked the Voice Memos button. She touched the red button to initiate the sound recording feature. She'd tested the sound earlier in the bathroom. A voice could be heard, although it sounded a tad garbled. Here goes nothing, she thought.

  “Hey boys, what you in the mood for tonight?” she asked as suggestively as she could muster, winking specifically at one boy.

  Can I get any more obvious?

  “I don't know, just wanna chill a bit, maybe party a little bit, too,” Zachary said.

  Andi sauntered over to Zachary, grabbed his biceps, and acted like she was playfully biting his shoulder. They all laughed, but she didn't let go. She had laid claim to him for the night.

  Knowing she'd likely be
forced to consume an abundance of alcoholic beverages, she left the hotel room earlier and ate anything she could find. She was so full her belly stuck out—at least she thought it did. She passed on the outfit that would have exposed her midriff, instead relying on her smooth, long legs and whatever cleavage she could create to lure in her young target.

  Apparently, something was clicking, because Zachary wasn't nearly as guarded. In fact, the longer the night wore on, and the more drinks he downed, the more his hands started to wander. As a veteran of this setting, Andi casually yet teasingly altered the placement of her new mate's hands, without any awareness from the now-drunk teen.

  Zachary pulled out five joints and distributed them to his ring of so-called friends. Brazenly, they lit up in the middle of the club. Andi knew this place wasn't nearly as swanky as the previous night's party destination, which made her feel a bit uneasy. Still, she knew she couldn't make much headway without having some one-on-one time.

  “I know you must be tired of hanging out with all these guys. You want to take a walk on the beach?” Andi asked. Zachary inhaled one last drag, then set it out on the table. He tried to act cool, but his eagerness to get Andi alone was all too obvious.

  Minutes later, they held hands and waded through the surf as they ambled down the dimly lit beach.

  “How's it going at the new school?” he asked.

  “I guess pretty good. I've only been there for a week, so it's been a crash course on getting to know people.” They both had a brief chuckle but kept their heads down.

  Waves crashed against the shoreline, the remnants of a few crawling up to their ankles, then the foamy salt water retracted back into the ocean. The endless cycle of sounds filled the silence between them.