“Something is seriously wrong here. Who the fuck are they?”
Keep playing it deaf and dumb. It’s my ticket out of here.
“I can protect you and your family, Kevin. Tonight, you can already be in protective custody until we bring these motherfuckers down. Think about your children, man. I have no doubt you’re going to end up dead. So at least do it for them.”
He didn’t flinch a muscle, Walker’s words were true but hollow.
He’s probably ended up with his dick in his hand, that’s why he’s groveling for me to give him something. He doesn’t give a shit about protecting me or my family.
Walker raised his palms in resignation and sat down.
“OK, fine, let’s do it your way. I can tell you that for some unknown reason Marcel retraced his statement this afternoon, saying he was confused and must’ve seen you the day before. Clearly, he is being threatened and is shit-scared of something, exactly like you. I’m going to find the bogey man, with or without your help. The way I see it, you’re obstructing justice. So I’m going to make you pay for that. Get yourself comfortable, the autopsy report is expected to show foul play. You’re going nowhere.”
Suddenly the metal door swung open and a burly man with a thick chevron moustache entered. He walked confidently, his navy suit seamlessly tailored to his impressive frame. He had smooth black hair that was brushed to the side and sat atop his weathered forehead like a surf-able wave. A set of thick black eyebrows was perched above hostile dark-brown eyes. Walker nearly fell from his chair in surprise. “Hello, Chief,” he said, outstretching an arm. The chief ignored his handshake.
“Walker, I’m here to talk with Voss. Please escort yourself the fuck out of the room.”
Walker stood up meekly and snapped a quick look at Kevin. “Good luck. Like I said, I will do my job.”
He left the room and slammed the door shut. The chief got comfortable in Walker’s seat, pulling out a small grey envelope. He spoke with a gruff New York accent.
“I’m Special Agent Ryan Carter. Firstly, my sincere apologies for any misunderstandings that’ve occurred today. In this envelope I have the results of the autopsy. They’re inconclusive, so no legal grounds to assume that this case was anything other than an unfortunate suicide. Also, Marcel has retracted his statement.”
He paused and smiled wryly. Kevin could hardly contain his emotions, shivering in relief.
I’m going home. I’m going to get out of this without Lucy ever knowing anything.
Carter slipped the envelope in his jacket pocket, exposing the Bemberg purple rayon lining.
A Fed with a bespoke suit, that’s a first. He paid attention to detail.
Carter winked at him, “You did well in the interrogation. Proved that you can be trusted. Forget about Walker, he won’t bother you anymore. Marcel will be dealt with on a permanent basis, there’re consequences for making police statements. Case closed, you’re free to go. Have a good time, party boy.”
The words jolted his memory like a crack of thunder on a clear day. The early-morning sky, the whirring sound of helicopter rotors, his trembling bloody hand, and the distinctly familiar American voice.
They have the fucking FBI working with them.
He shuddered at the realization, overwhelmed by fear. Even the strongest, richest, and most ruthless drug cartels couldn’t manage to infiltrate U.S. law enforcement agencies. Whoever these guys were, he was beyond screwed. Carter stood up and called in the mountain.
“Officer, please make sure Mr. Voss is discharged as quickly as possible.”
The mountain seemed almost upset by the news. He placed a fibrous hand under Kevin’s armpit, dragging him to a standing position, like an angry father rebuking his child. He escorted him through the tedious discharge process. It felt good to be going home; a day in prison was hell. But only good to an extent. There was no knight in shining armor. He’d been saved by the devil and the price would be much worse than a life behind bars.
An hour later, he was out in the street wearing the same tracksuit and white sneakers. They never felt better. He took a deep breath of fresh air. “Ahhhhhh,” freedom smelled good. Carter’s words hung in the chilly breeze like burned coal; Marcel was next. I have to warn him. He pulled out his mobile and dialed.
Fuckkkkkk he’s not picking up.
He ran into the road and hailed a cab. “To the Four Seasons, drive like crazy,” he ordered and dropped the driver a fifty. Throughout the short, bumpy drive, Kevin dialed him non-stop.
Shit, he’s probably purposefully avoiding me because he feels guilty. Either that or he is already dead.
He hoped to God that it wasn’t too late. He dialed Tony.
“I need you to wait for me outside the Four Seasons and get a private jet ready at La Guardia. No time to shop around for prices, so just book whatever is available for international flight tonight.”
He hung up without giving Tony a chance to speak.
He saw the lofty hotel building up ahead.
“Stop here,” he shouted and jumped out of the taxi while it slowed down. He rolled on the stony tarmac, bruising his elbow and shoulder. The driver stared in disbelief.
“Are you OK, mister?” he shouted. Kevin rose like a jaguar that had fallen off a high tree. He ran like a madman. Within a minute, he charged passed the hotel doormen, like a wide receiver going for a Hail Mary pass.
“Hey, sir, stop right there! Where’re you going?” shouted the doorman, alerting security.
The doorman has never stopped me in the past or asked questions. It must be the fucking tracksuit.
He dashed past the reception, toward Marcel’s office in the far corner. There was a huge commotion in the lobby as security personal raced in from every angle. A suited linebacker blocked his path. There was no time to fuck around. He charged at him like it was the fourth down and goal, with a second on the clock. Bulky arms gripped his waist, collapsing hard onto the marbled floor. They slid along the smooth surface and hit Marcel’s lacquered cherry wood door with a loud thud. Flipped like a burger, onto his stomach, arms stretched behind his back so rough that it made his shoulders pop.
“I’ve got him,” the guard said before he breathlessly radioed for backup.
Marcel swung open the heavy office door. “What the hell is going on?”
Kevin arched his head from the cold surface; he could only see up to the GG of his gold belt buckle. Cascaded by relief, he saw that his friend was alive.
“Marcel, I need to talk to you. I’m not angry, everything is OK. I know you felt you had no choice. Please, just hear me out.”
The guard smashed Kevin’s face into the stony floor. After surprising numbness and a cerebral silence, his nose turned into a bloody waterfall.
“You shut the fuck up and lay still,” the guard shouted. The gory taste of blood flooded his mouth and pooled around his face. Marcel stood motionless and silent.
“Please, Marcel, your life depends on it,” Kevin gasped, choking on his own blood. The guard yanked the back of his hair and lifted his head up, ready to smash him again into the hard surface. He shut his eyes, tensing his facial muscles for impact.
“WAIT!” shouted Marcel. “I know this man, help him up.”
The guard hesitated. “Are you sure, sir?”
Marcel bent down and grabbed Kevin by the shoulders, “Yes, I’m fucking sure,” he yelled. They carried Kevin into the office, his feet incongruently sliding along the surface. He couldn’t stand, head spinning like he’d just stepped off a high-speed pendulum ride. They gently lowered him onto the chair.
“Was that really necessary? Sometimes I think that you got blessed with gorgeous biceps instead of brains. Go get some cold towels and a bottle of water,” Marcel barked at the brutish guard. He held Kevin’s head back to slow the nose bleed and stroked his hair. He broke down in tears. “I’m so sorry, Kevin, I made a terrible mistake. I was afraid. The police were asking all sorts of questions. Please forgive me.”
/> The guard sprinted in with a set of towels and a bottle of water.
“Thank you, you can leave us now,” Marcel ordered.
Kevin hissed in pain, the cold towel felt like a sharp ice pick jammed against his nose. His eyes rolled in their sockets, almost fainting from the pain. Marcel slowly poured water over his face and hair, washing away the blood. Eventually, he sat up sluggishly as the spinning turned to mild disorientation. He didn’t feel well but they had to get the fuck out of there.
“Marcel, it’s OK. I didn’t come here to discuss what happened.”
He grimaced, gritting his teeth, jolts of pain accompanying every word.
“You need to leave the country right now, they’re going to kill you and I think it’s going to happen tonight.”
Marcel burst into tears, weeping hysterically like a schoolgirl that just broke up with her boyfriend.
“My job, my friends, my family, and my entire life is here. I can’t leave,” he shrieked. In desperate times it’s easy to tell the order of a man’s priorities. Kevin struggled to his feet and hugged him tightly.
“If you don’t leave, you won’t have any life at all. This is just a temporary move until I can work out a plan. You have to trust me on this.”
Marcel nodded, his face ashen. He opened the double-door mahogany cupboard that matched his lavish desk. It contained a small metal safe, the size of an average deposit box. He opened it with tears streaming down his face and emptied its contents into an orange designer satchel.
“OK. I’ve got some cash and my passport. I’ll stop by my apartment to pack a bag and
go to the airport.”
Kevin grabbed the satchel.
“Let’s move, there is no time, you’re going to the airport right now.”
They scurried toward the hotel exit. Tony hooted as soon as he saw Kevin. They jumped into the back seat of the Mercedes and sped off toward La Guardia.
“Tony, where is the jet flying?” Kevin asked.
“It’s going to Nassau, Bahamas, is that OK, Sir?”
Kevin turned toward Marcel, smiled, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“That’s perfect, Tony. Thank you.”
Forty minutes later, Marcel and Kevin stood on the tarmac at the foot of the jet’s staircase. “I’ll contact you when it’s safe, but don’t call me or anybody until then. These fuckers will try to trace you. Just keep a low profile and move around every couple days. Pay cash only,” Kevin instructed him.
“I’m sorry, Kevin, for everything. I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me. You’ve always been a true friend to me. Thank you.”
Marcel sobbed hysterically as they hugged goodbye. Kevin stayed behind on the tarmac, watching the jet take-off. When it glided into the night, he lifted both arms in the air, like a weary boxer that’s been declared the winner. He let out a scream of relief and joy.
“I got him out!”
It was already well past midnight, time to go home.
23
Senseless
He opened his eyes to an empty bed, the pillow drenched in blood.
Fuck, I’m still bleeding.
He stood up wearily, his face throbbing with pain. He hobbled into the bathroom, splashing water onto his lifeless face.
My face feels like a fucking mask.
The swiveling mixture of blood and water in the white oval sink made him nauseous. He peeked at the mirror.
Oh, my fuck!
He looked like he’d been smacked a couple times with a hammer. Like someone tried to decide where to bang a nail in his face so that he could hang up a picture between his eyes. His nose was swollen and mushed, resembling more of a bull’s nose than a humans. His nostrils were facing up, exposing his nasal cavities like a two-way highway tunnel. He inhaled deeply through his nostrils; it hurt so bad. Dark purple bruising lined his upper right cheekbone and below the eye. He gently touched his nose; the swelling gave off the illusion that it was a prosthesis. He screamed out in pain, an electric bolt shot through his cheekbones and spread throughout his skull. He grabbed his head, reeling, dropping to his knees, oh, the pain was unbearable. It took his breath away, and he wheezed heavily to get air in his lungs. The pain was coming at him like the tide in the ocean.
“Oh my God, baby, what happened to you?” Lucy screamed in shock.
She ran up to him and hugged him tightly.
“Let me see, Kev,” she said and gently pulled his hands away.
“Jesus Christ, baby, that’s terrible,” she yelled in horror. “How did that happen?”
He placed his hand on the granite surface atop the teak wood bathroom cabinet and dragged himself to his feet.
“I was in the office until late last night, so I took a cab home. Some drunken idiot jumped a traffic light and smashed into the taxi head on.”
The positive side of his face being so badly smashed was that he didn’t have to concentrate when telling a lie. He had only one recognizable facial expression: “fucked up.”
“Thank God you’re alive, baby, that’s so scary. I can’t believe it. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”
She dashed to get the medical kit.
He stepped into the shower and turned the golden knob to lukewarm. He rested his head against the marble wall and let the water gently trickle over his upper back and shoulders. He shifted his thoughts to Marcel and smiled. He imagined him in a floral button shirt, white shorts, and moccasins, soaking in the Caribbean sun. He had foiled their plans once again, a small victory that carried a lot of significance. They couldn’t kill who they wanted, when they wanted. He reached for the Egyptian cotton towel and got out, feeling refreshed. He glanced at the mirror expecting to see a less gruesome site.
Unbelievable, it looks worse.
The hot water caused his face to appear even more puffy and bruised. The dark purple now contained shades of red, pink and orangey yellow. He heard Lucy shout from the kitchen, “I have the medical kit here, babe, come to the lounge. I’m making you lunch first.”
He glanced at his watch.
Did she say lunch?
It was 1 p.m., he’d slept through the entire morning.
Wow, was I sleeping or unconscious?
He slipped on a black hooded robe with a grey trim, tightened the fleece belt around his waist, and staggered to the lounge. He eased himself onto the sofa and raised his bare feet onto the rectangular ottoman.
Lucy bent down to place a silver tray on the glass coffee table. It contained a salmon bagel, a glass of orange juice, and an espresso. She wore stilettos and a figure-hugging mini skirt that left nothing to the imagination. He pinched her ass as she walked by.
“You’re injured, behave,” she teased him.
He laughed out loud with a wry smile, “Lus, you know how if someone goes blind, then their other senses become sharper. Like they can hear and feel more acutely?”
She nodded, raising her finely lined eyebrows.
“Well I think that because of my broken nose, my dick has become more potent. It’s called the protruding body parts effect.” He burst into a fit of pain-inducing laughter.
“Ha ha, very funny,” she said with a smirk and sat down next to him, fiddling through the medical kit. “OK, you have a few cuts and abrasions, so I’m going to pour some alcohol on a cotton swab and apply it gently. It might sting a bit, so watch some TV or something.” She switched on the TV and gently padded his wounds.
“Ah fuckkkk!” he screamed in agony.
“Just a few more dabs. Try to relax, Kev.”
She poured more isopropyl alcohol on a fresh cotton swab and pressed it down on his cheekbone.
Please stop, it hurts so bad.
He focused his attention to the news blaring from the TV.
“A private jet heading to the Bahamas crashed last night shortly after take-off from La Guardia airport.”
He sprung to his feet fixated on the images of the jet’s debris.
“No, n
o, no, this can’t be happening. I can’t take it anymore,” he shouted and paced around the lounge in panic. She stared at him, baffled. “What’s wrong with you? Relax, we’re almost done.” He ignored her and ran to the bedroom to get his mobile. He dialed Marcel in desperation.
“Hi, you’ve reached Marcel, please leave a message after the beep.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed and broke down in tears. There was no escaping, outwitting, or resisting. Carter had purposefully told him about Marcel, they had figured him out. He’d planned Marcel’s murder for them, another convenient accidental death. An unavoidable, senseless tragedy, case closed.
24
Walker’s Case
Walker charged into Carter’s gloomy government office. He hadn’t slept the whole night. Carter had humiliated him and undeservedly so. It was his case, and he wasn’t one to give up on anything.
Time to grow a pair of balls, I need answers.
“Sir, I would like to know why I’ve been reassigned from the Voss case?”
Carter bulged his eyes impatiently; he didn’t even bother to look up from the paperwork. “Because I fucking said so, that’s why. Is that good enough for you?”
Walker glared at him with steely eyes; he had expected this response.
“Sir, there is evidence to suggest that Mr. Marcel Dubois was on the crashed aircraft that left La Guardia last night. This is too coincidental. The NTSB is currently investigating the reasons for the crash. I believe that the deaths of Amalia, Mai, and Marcel are all connected, and I’m sure Voss will be next. He is also afraid to talk, typical case of organized crime. Whoever is behind this may be a threat to our national security. I urge you to immediately escalate the manpower and resources for this investigation.”
Carter neatly organized the paperwork and shoved it into a metal drawer, sliding it shut with a loud clank. He stood up from the cracked black leather chair and rolled his shoulders. He wore a shiny light-blue button shirt with a white collar and sleeves. He flexed his suspenders. “Walker, we’re the Federal Bureau of investigations, so we fucking investigate properly before getting ahead of ourselves. So far, the evidence shows that Mai committed suicide and Marcel crashed in a plane. The only real murder here is that of Amalia. Are you telling me that the murder of a fucking maid is a matter of national security?”
The Voss Coin Page 19