by William Mark
Curt stewed inside of his car, nervously rubbing the small St. Anthony’s medallion between his fingers. He was unable to shake the revenge plot that was formulating in his head. Finally, a limousine pulled up to the University Club doors, and out stepped Thomas Pittman, sharply dressed in a shiny, black tuxedo. An equally formally dressed couple followed Pittman out of the limo along with another woman, Pittman’s date. She had short, brown hair, a small, fit, and attractive body that was outlined by a silky, green dress. An odd sense of recognition came to Curt as he looked at Pittman’s date from afar. She was much too young for him, but she still clung to his arm as they walked up to the entrance.
Curt slid out of his car and made it up to the interior road that encircled the stadium. He paused and watched them walk toward the doors while he stood in the shadows of the Unconquered statue. It depicts Chief Osceola on the back of Renegade rearing high into the sky, holding a flaming spear triumphantly in the air. He watched Pittman with disgust and repulsion. His head was foggy and distant as the hatred drove him to find his revenge. He slowly slid his trench coat to the side and set his hand on the handle of his Glock. The fine line between morality and justice was approaching fast, and once he crossed it, he knew he would never be able to step back. For the past three years, the image of Josh’s innocent face fueled Curt’s quest to find him, but now, as he stood on an empty shell of desperation, the only image that came to mind was that of Josh cowering in the apartment of Tobias Helton, crying helplessly. This image incited a murderous rage inside him, to the point that there was no other decision to make.
He whipped out the gun in one quick, fluid motion and held it down by his side. He stared across the street at the man responsible for his son’s abduction. As the limo slowly pulled away, Curt took a step into the road to get a better shot. Everything was moving in slow motion. His mind wound down, slow enough that he could hear each thump of his heartbeat and the intake of each breath. A calmness engulfed him, giving him a peace he didn’t anticipate. The decision was made—Pittman was going to die. As Curt crossed the road, Pittman’s date stopped abruptly as they reached the door and looked straight back at Curt, locking eyes with him, as if she knew he was there. The young face staring back at him was Beth Young.
Curt hesitated and snapped out of his vengeful trance as confusion grew to an unexpected level of bewilderment. Just as Pittman felt the tug at his arm, he looked at his date and followed her gaze back toward the parking lot trying to figure out the source of her attention. Curt panicked as the element of surprise was sure to disappear and the opportunity wasted. He had to move, but there was nowhere to hide in an open parking lot.
Before Curt could turn and run, a huge shadow surrounded him as this massive, black flash crossed in front of him, coming between him and Pittman. It knocked him backwards, and he fell to the ground.
Curt focused on the giant shadow before him, realizing it was the broad side of the Mercedes Sprinter, mere inches away from where he stood. The huge sliding side door withdrew with purpose, and inside sat Rachel Goodwin staring down at him with disappointment.
“Get in,” Rachel said with urgency.
“No, I’m here to take care of something.”
“Don’t do it. Just get in.”
He grew angry at her interference. “What the hell are you doing here? I don’t need your help!”
“What are we doing here? Well, we’re certainly not here to kill Thomas Pittman in a fit of rage like you are.”
Curt was taken aback at her statement. He shamefully hid the Glock that was still in his hand. “Huh?”
“Yeah, we know about Pittman. Now get in.”
“Why should I? He has to pay for what he’s done. He’s gotten away with it for far too long.”
“Why should you listen to me? Hmmm. How about the reason why he took your son; would that be worth anything to you?”
Curt’s jaw dropped, and his eyes grew wide. “But…but, how?”
“Get in the van, Curtis.”
“Goddammit.” Curt holstered the gun and looked around for any witnesses.
“Fine,” he added.
With no one around, he stepped into the van and took a seat in the back. The door slammed shut, and Melinda Dalton punched the gas, driving the van away in a hurry.
Beth Young quickly focused on the heel of her shoe instead of the commotion out in the street to draw Pittman’s attention away to her minor inconvenience. She fixed the phantom issue with the shoe and told her date to proceed with the escort to the fundraiser. He smiled and obliged, leading her through the doors and into the lobby of the University Club.
***
Jeremy Stephens stood at the entrance of the fundraiser, waiting anxiously for his employer, the Senator from Panama City. Stephens had received news from the law firm not more than ten minutes earlier, and he was eager to share the information with the Senator. Pittman followed Priscilla Harvey off the elevator, and they made their way toward the ballroom. Pittman had finished explaining the appeal of his latest bill in Congress when he saw the worried look on Stephens’ face.
“Uh, give me a minute dear, would you?”
“Sure. Don’t be long.”
Pittman smiled, reading the flirtatious smile and its implications on Miss Harvey’s face and stepped over to Stephens.
“What?”
“He came to your office looking for you.”
The worry immediately transferred over to Pittman’s face.
“What did he say?”
“Nothing. He grabbed a flyer for this event and stormed out of there.”
“Fuck!” The reaction, although said in a hushed tone, caught the attention of his date who looked over curiously. Pittman turned the façade back on and met her with another smile. She looked away, took out a compact mirror from her clutch, and checked her make-up.
“So, he knows then?” Pittman assessed.
“Yes. Looks that way. What do we do now?”
“What did you find out about that thing in Vail? Did you talk to your guy at the police department yet?”
“Oh, yes. I talked to him this morning. Walker’s their suspect. They’re flying in to talk with him as we speak. Should I call them? Tell them he’s here and to go ahead and make the arrest?”
“Yes, get them here fast. I know him well enough that if he knows I’m here, he’ll come straight here, and that could ruin everything.”
“I’m on it.”
Stephens headed for the elevator as he pulled out his cell phone making a call.
Chapter 44
Alexis Vanderhill watched the drama unfold at the Stadium from the driver’s seat of her car. As Curtis Walker hesitantly climbed into the Mercedes Sprinter, she checked herself in the rearview mirror and stepped out of the car. She headed to the same entrance that she had watched Thomas Pittman escort Priscilla Harvey through on their way up to the University Club. She hung back in the lobby, waiting for someone else.
She stood impatiently, checking her watch. Her elegance and beauty were accented by her sparkling, silver dress with a revealing, low cut in the front. The mid-thigh length showed off her stunningly long and lithe legs. She dangled a beautiful diamond necklace around her neck with matching earrings, defining her stylish ambience. She caught the eye of every other partygoer on their way to the elevator as she waited in the lobby and created dissention among the female guests.
After ten minutes of waiting, she grew irritated, knowing it shouldn’t have taken this long, not so much for the tardiness or possible absence of her guest but for the fact that it threw a wrench into the plan.
Tony Mason pulled the glass door open and walked into the cavernous lobby. With no sense of urgency, he stuffed both hands in his pockets and leisurely looked around the large room, purposely avoiding eye contact with Alexis. This only angered her more, which he found himself enjoying immensely.
Clutching her small matching purse by her side, she stood angrily with her other arm on her hip as
she waited for Mason to stop acting immature.
“Are you done?” she said testily.
He looked past her to see that the lobby led out to the actual football field. The glimpse of green grass and garnet painted letters sent him back to a boyhood fascination, but he’d had his fun and addressed Alexis.
“Ehh. Probably not. I’m not really in the business of catering to Alexis Vanderhill, so….”
“Fair enough, but you’ll like what I have to say. I promise.”
“Sorry if I don’t trust a single word you say. I’m only here because my flight doesn’t leave until the morning, and I have nothing else better to do in this humid-filled crap hole. I hate this place. I figured I would at least let you look me in the eye as you try to ruin my career.”
Alexis ignored the harsh words from the bitter reporter. He had every right to be mad about how his article was killed, and he would be even more livid if he knew the truth of how his prized expose got scrubbed. That was why she asked him to come to the Stadium, to make amends.
Alexis was overly protective of her team and their mission, just as she was a dogged journalist seeking the truth to report. This was the sole motivation behind killing Mason’s feature. The journalist in her hated it, but there was a greater good to protect, and journalistic integrity had to be sacrificed. Nothing within her power was going to jeopardize the mission or the team.
As she remained behind the scenes, she maintained the persona of the team to the families they helped, and until the day before, she had never asked for anything from any of the families. Never asked for any favors and not once for any money, she only asked for their discretion in keeping their secret team, a secret.
After hearing about Mason’s visit to Curt’s home and the promise to move the story forward, she went into panic mode. Her only move was to re-contact one of the families and ask for help. It was her only option to keep the story out of print.
A few years before, Mason had caught wind of her clandestine team after they rescued a boy from a Northern Californian cult. He’d been missing for seven years, and after an extensive investigation, media campaign, and even private consultants, the team found him and returned him to his family. The kid needed a lot of therapy to reverse the brainwashing from the cult’s program, and the team helped him get back on track. Because it was the team who brought him back, the family was most thankful, and they honored her request of anonymity. However, the boy let the word slip out of his rescue and mentioned the team as his heroes. Mason came running for the scoop, but after a quick phone call from Vanderhill to the boy’s parents reminding them of their deal, the boy recanted his account to the reporter and ignored further attempts by Mason, much to his disappointment.
What Mason didn’t know was that the California boy’s father was the head of a major manufacturer of homemade goods in the Southwest United States and they also happened to own one of the biggest advertisement accounts with the LA Times. Unbeknownst to Mason, Vanderhill didn’t hesitate to contact the father of the boy and call in a favor. It was dirty pool but necessary to keep the team concealed. It was endearing that the father didn’t hesitate or even question the motivation behind her request. He gladly agreed to reach out to the head of the newspaper and have the piece squashed.
“I can never thank you enough Ms. Vanderhill; consider it done,” he said.
Now it was time to make nice with Tony Mason.
“So, you gonna piss on me and tell me it’s raining?” Mason asked.
“No, I have a story for you.”
“I had a story, but you already know that. Oh yeah, you ruined it for me. I don’t know how, but I gotta give it to you. I underestimated you, but just so you know, I’m publishing that article…one way or another.”
“That’s why I called you here. I want to more-or-less trade stories.”
“What? Trade? What the hell are you talking about? Why should I even entertain the idea?”
“You’re here, aren’t you?” Alexis smirked, throwing her perception in Mason’s face.
Sheepishly, he conceded to her point and stood listening.
“I’m not going to pretend you’re ignorant of what we do, so I’m just going to leave it at that. But there is something going on as we speak, and I think it will be worth your while. Plus, I can’t have you sniffing around and getting my team exposed.”
The bitterness remained steadfast, and Tony Mason loathed this woman, but he couldn’t walk away without listening to her “trade.” He admitted that he was intrigued. Alexis Vanderhill had proven herself a worthy adversary, and this made him curious.
He stuffed his hands back into his pockets and looked her in the eyes. He tried to ignore her beauty which he hid behind his hatred for her.
“I’m listening.”
“I can’t tell you everything….” Mason groaned and spun in his place like a petulant child. He grew annoyed, thinking she was once again playing him for a fool.
“Wait just a minute Tony, and hear me out.”
“Fine.”
“I can’t tell you everything because we are right in the middle of it, but it’s big. I need you to keep your nose out of it for now, but once it’s done, I will give you exclusive rights to the story, every single detail.”
“Okay, so what’s the story? I mean, you gotta give me something.”
“Well, let’s just say there’s more than meets the eye to the guest of honor at this fundraiser.” Alexis peered behind her toward the elevators. “We expect to have the proof to back that up real soon.”
Mason shot a glance over Alexis’ shoulder to the marquee sign by the elevators. He read Pittman’s name and let it bounce around in his head. He remembered reading the local paper and coming across the name. He remembered Pittman was a State Senator with a tough on crime platform. Was he corrupt? A degenerate? Criminal? He feared for any man who found himself in the crosshairs of Alexis Vanderhill. Mason was now, officially interested, because thanks to Bill Clinton, and many others, America loves a political scandal.
He nodded back at Alexis, understanding the target on which she had set her sights. “Scandal? Like lose his office big or federal prison big?”
“Prison big.”
“And I get the exclusive?”
“Yes, sir. In exchange, you drop this crusade you have for me and my team for good and forget about your story, deal?”
“UGH! I knew it. That’s a tall order, lady!”
“C’mon Tony, please?”
“This better be big Alexis, or so help me God, I will go through some trash rag like TMZ to get my story out.”
“You won’t be disappointed.” She stuck her hand out for him to shake. Mason hesitated but acquiesced and accepted the deal.
In a flash, Alexis turned and walked to the elevators. Her high heeled steps echoed in the massive lobby, and Mason studied her long and smooth legs as she walked away. He was always so focused on hating her that he never realized just how beautiful she was. As she waited for the ride up to the University Club, she looked back at the LA reporter and noticed that he was staring at her. She smiled at the attention, and he grew embarrassed at having been caught.
***
Mason ambled out of the lobby, wondering whether or not he should uphold his end of the deal. Alexis Vanderhill had royally screwed him several times in his career, so he thought about returning the favor. He stopped at the top of the stairs just outside of the University Club and saw the long shadows of the setting sun stretching far across the vast parking lot.
He looked over and saw a familiar face walking toward him with a purpose. A cigarette was burning in the corner of his mouth.
“Hey, Detective Rankin.”
“Reporter,” he acknowledged back. Tony was slightly insulted that Rankin didn’t remember his name. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Oh, I thought I’d just visit the school. Good journalism program. What brings you here?”
Rankin paused and looked back at
Mason with a look letting him know he wasn’t buying that answer for a second.
“Thinking of teaching are you?” Rankin said heavy with sarcasm. He left without waiting for a response, and his junior detective followed and gave the reporter a mocking smile.
***
The elevator dinged and Alexis stepped in, eager to get to the third floor. The doors were caught by an aged hand reaching in from just outside. The doors slid back open, and a haggard, older man stepped inside with her along with a younger man in a crumpled suit. The doors shut, and he punched the already lit three button. Alexis’ nostrils were bombarded by the overwhelming stench of cigarette smoke, and she held back a cough.
The men stayed silent, ignoring the elegant woman in the elevator with them. Alexis sized them up and knew they didn’t fit in at the hoity-toity fundraiser. They were there for something else altogether.
The younger man adjusted his stance, trying to catch another glance at Alexis. The shine of his badge glared back at her, and she read Vail Police Department engraved on it. She gasped just as the doors opened on the third floor. The older detective turned before he stepped out and looked Alexis over suspiciously; he then continued toward the ballroom without any further thought.
Chapter 45
Curtis Walker stood in the corner of the large banquet room, brooding. He watched Thomas Pittman work the room and jovially converse with the others like he was on top of the world, when in truth, he was a kidnapper. He forced back the swelling anger that wanted to explode into a violent beating of the politician. There was no elegance in that manner of justice but it was guaranteed to make him feel better. After beating Glenn Gregory unconscious, he’d felt a sense of satisfaction, but it was overshadowed at the time by the continued absence of his son.
Curt was on a mission, but now the mission had changed, and one way or another, Pittman was going to pay for what he did.
Curt started to move through the crowd, straight toward Pittman. He stalked him like a lion through tall grass on the Savanna, and the partygoers were his camouflage. As he neared the politician, his full-bellied and hearty laugh resonated outward and was infectious to those around him. It only made Curt nauseous. As he got closer with each step, thoughts of killing Pittman swirled around in his head. The Glock waited patiently on his hip, and at this point, it was just a matter of pulling the trigger.