Breaking News (16 page)

Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: Breaking News

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Chapter 27

G
oebel held tightly to Chester's leash as he walked along the pier, trying to look as though he was just another old guy out for a walk with his best friend. He looked at his watch. Keying the mic, he asked, “Is everyone ready? It's showtime.”

“Roger,” Keith confirmed.

“All set,” Dave added.

“LA's finest ready,” Jeff said.

“Ditto,” Ron concurred.

“Okay, Dave, Keith's in position. Make the drop.” Goebel focused his binoculars on the Marine Science Center, trying to appear as though he was searching the ocean for dolphin activity.

Dave was amazed at how heavy the suitcase was. Lucky for him, it had wheels. It was difficult to make it appear lighter than it really was, and he didn't miss the few stares from passersby who noticed he was pulling a three-thousand-dollar piece of luggage along like it was nothing out of the ordinary. It would be tempting to some to take the money and just keep right on walking, but he wasn't that kind of guy. His integrity was on the line. Abby had been abducted on his watch. He took his duties seriously and wasn't about to screw this up.

People of all shapes, sizes, and colors walked the boardwalk and bought treats from many vendors. Children laden with stuffed animals and big, fluffy pink balls of cotton candy were oblivious to what was about to go down. Dave could only hope the operation went as smoothly as Goebel had planned. The last thing any of them needed was innocent bystanders getting hurt. For a moment, he almost radioed Goebel, to say there were children everywhere. But they were professionals, and a woman's life was on the line.

It was now or never.

The steel door to the men's room looked as if it had twenty-five coats of paint on it and still needed a few more. Dave wondered how many thousands of people came in and out of the area every day of the year. He wanted to search for the son of a bitch who was about to take a fortune and run with it, but there was no time.

Seeing that Keith was in the stall, he went into the stall next to him, where he hoisted the luggage across the toilet seat. Quickly, he opened the suitcase and placed the ink bomb in the middle of the stacks of hundred-dollar bills. It had been quite a while since he'd seen so much cash in one place. During his years with the Secret Service, he had occasionally worked at the United States Mint, where he'd had quite a few opportunities to see such large sums of money. Now,
that
was a place for cash. He closed the luggage, then carefully lifted it so as not to arm the motion detector, and quickly glanced over the top of the closed stall door just to make sure there wasn't anyone watching.

When he saw it was clear, he exited the stall and yanked the green plastic lid off the garbage can, saw the red envelope, then carefully placed the money inside the can. Just for good measure, he tore several towels from the dispenser and placed them on top of the luggage so that the can would appear to be filled with trash.

“The package is in place. I'm exiting the building,” Dave said into the small microphone hidden under his collar.

Once outside, Dave hurried toward the end of the pier like a football safety prepared to jump on anyone who got free from the cornerbacks.

Rag watched the tall man enter the men's room with a medium-sized suitcase. About three minutes later, he came out, walking at an unusually fast pace. Rag tried to follow him with his gaze, but he disappeared too quickly into the throngs of people. If the guy was smart, he'd get the hell out of there.

Rag had hit pay dirt this time around. Heart racing, he glanced around the arcade to make sure that no one leapt out of the corners to grab him. When he saw that all was clear, he left the arcade and casually walked across the pier to the men's room.

As luck would have it, there were three people inside the men's room. Someone was taking a dump in the first stall, and two men were standing at the urinals, their backs to him. Should he wait? Yes, he had no choice. He hoped that dude in the stall wasn't as smelly as that last asshole, because he was going to have to loiter inside for a few minutes, until the other two guys finished.

Impatiently, he drummed his fingers against his side. Damn, what the hell were those two guys doing? Were they taking a piss or jerking off?

Okay, come on, motherfuckers. You don't need to wash your hands. Get out, and don't come back.

He quickly peered out the door to see if anyone else was about to enter. Nothing.
So far so good.

Finally, the two jack-off artists washed and dried their hands and left.
Never mind the guy in the stall.
It was time to collect his prize.

When he removed the lid, he nearly crapped himself. All he saw were wads of wet paper towels. Reaching inside, he realized that the paper towels had been purposely placed on top of the luggage.
Pretty smart.
He lifted the designer suitcase out of the large can and said, “Yes! Wheels! This is my lucky day!”

He was almost home free. He could taste a fine bottle of wine and a sexy young girl. It was within his reach. Placing the luggage on the floor, he extended the handle and, using his back, pushed open the two-way door.

Suddenly, the weight of the door was gone.

“I see you've packed, motherfucker! Don't move.”

Rag felt cold, icy steel as the barrel of a gun was jammed into the middle of his back. “You'll never see Abby again if you don't let me go!” He heard the fear in his voice.

“Who the fuck is Abby?” the man with the gun asked.

“Who the fuck are you?” Rag demanded.

“Who we are is not important. What we want is your sorry ass to carefully walk away from the building and down the pier to the black Lexus waiting in the parking lot.”

“What?” It was then he recalled seeing a black Lexus parked across the street from his apartment.

The man shoved the gun harder against his back. “Let's just say you have a friend in Venezuela who wants to have a chat with you about his wife and some missing money.”

Rag felt his bowels loosen. “Wait! I can explain. How much are you being paid? I'll double it.”

The man with the gun leaned over his shoulder, his warm, foul breath blowing in Rag's ear. “The only money you ever had is what you stole from our boss. Move now, and don't try anything funny. Joey here has an itchy trigger finger. It's been a while since he's blown someone away.”

Rag could handle this. Once these assholes saw the pile of money he had, he'd be out of there. Leading the thugs toward the end of the pier with the nose of a gun to his back, he dragged the suitcase alongside as they walked toward the parking lot. “You know there are cops everywhere. You'll draw attention to us with that gun poking in my back,” Rag said.

“You make a wrong move, and the cops will be the least of your worries. What you'll need is a coroner. Keep walking, motherfucker.”

Damn,
Goebel thought,
this is not going down as I'd planned.
“Keith,” he said into his mic, “what's happening down there? Who are those two guys with Rag? Buddies of yours?”

Keith peered out the door. “I heard them come in but didn't want to make myself known. I think they're hoods. They sure as hell aren't cops. No one knows we're here. This is off the record, remember?”

“Stand by,” Goebel said. “That case is gonna blow any minute.”

The words were barely out of his mouth when a muffled explosion that sounded like a giant firecracker filled the air. Hundreds of black-inked bills exploded like confetti from the suitcase.

Rag's body went limp, and he dropped to the ground in a heap.

The two thugs, covered in ink and dazed, fell a few feet away from him.

“What the fuck did you do?”

“The gun went off, man. I didn't mean to shoot the asshole!”

Thundering footsteps approached from every direction.

“Freeze! Drop that gun now! Put your hands on your head! Now!” a police officer called out to the two thugs, spread-eagled on the ground.

“Okay, okay, man! Don't shoot!”

Looking through the binoculars, Goebel knew immediately that something had gone terribly wrong. “Move in. Rag is down.” With Chester running alongside him, Goebel ran as fast as he could. He had to get to Rag before anyone else did. As soon as he arrived at the scene, he saw Rag lying facedown on the ground. Blood streamed out of his back, and when Goebel rolled him over, he saw what was probably an exit wound on the side of his neck. Not caring, he yanked his collar, screaming, “Where is Abby? What did you do with her?”

Pinkish bubbles gurgled from Rag's mouth, but no audible sound came out.

“Where is she, you son of a bitch!” Goebel continued to scream at Rag, hoping against hope for an answer.

Before he knew what was happening, Goebel felt a heavy hand slam down hard on his back. “Freeze. You're under arrest!”

Racing footsteps broke through the crowd that had gathered at the scene. Keith, Ron, and Jeff, with badges out in front of them, shouted, “LAPD!”

Sweat dripped from the three guys as they pushed their way toward the gaggle of cops surrounding Goebel, Rag, and the two thugs.

“This man is working undercover. Let him go,” Keith said.

“The injured man is wanted in connection with a kidnapping that took place last night. We need him to talk.”

Sirens blazed as an ambulance drove up to the scene. The crowd parted to make room for the EMTs as they raced to the fallen man with a gurney between them.

The uniformed cop lowered his gun and said, “I don't think this guy is gonna be talking to anyone anytime soon, if at all.”

The EMTs quickly placed a backboard under Rag, carefully lifting him onto the gurney. “Start an IV. This guy's losing blood fast.”

“Wait,” Goebel shouted to the EMTs, who were lifting Rag into the back of the ambulance. “This man is wanted for kidnapping. I need to talk to him now!”

“Sorry, but if we don't get him to the hospital ASAP, he ain't gonna be talking to anyone but St. Peter.”

Chapter 28

E
very patron at Bubba Gump's gathered at the window to stare at the growing crowd on the boardwalk end of the pier.

“What's going on?” Sophie asked their waitress.

“The manager said someone was shot. Probably a gang thing or something,” she said as she strained to see out the window.

Toots sprang out of her chair. “Shot! Who? Chris, let's get out of here now.” Not waiting for the others, Toots raced out of the restaurant, fearing the worst.

An ambulance passed Toots as she raced toward the Marine Science Center, where a huge crowd stood, surrounded by dozens of police officers. Toots looked behind her, seeing Chris, Phil, and the godmothers.

“Goebel! Where is he?” Toots screamed into the crowd, as if someone had an answer.

“Wait, Toots!” Phil shouted from behind.

She turned around when she heard his voice. Chris was right beside him.

“Wait here, Tootsie. Let me see what's going on,” Chris said.

“No way! I'm coming with you,” Toots shouted.

Chris spied Keith talking to one of the uniformed officers. He hurried to his side. “What happened, and where in the hell is Goebel?”

“He's right there,” Keith said, pointing in the opposite direction.

“Oh my God, he's been shot,” Sophie cried out as she saw Goebel before Toots had a chance to turn around and see him covered in blood. “Quick, someone get Phil,” Sophie shouted.

Keith walked over to the hysterical Sophie. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Calm down, ma'am. That's not his blood. He's fine. He's just answering a few questions.”

“About what?” Sophie asked.

“Just calm down,” he said, before walking away to join Ron and Jeff.

Seconds later, Toots and Phil were at Goebel's side. Phil reached out to check the source of the blood that covered Goebel's shirt.

“Oh my God,” Toots cried. “What happened? Where is Abby? Did you find her? Please tell me she isn't hurt!”

“Rag was shot. This is his blood, Toots. He's in bad shape. I tried to get him to tell me where Abby was, but the bastard's lost so much blood, he's unconscious. He can't speak.”

Toots drew in a breath, then let it out in one giant swoosh. “Goebel, we have to make him tell us where she is. Let's go to the hospital now.”

Calmly, Goebel took Toots off to the side. “Listen, Abby is fine. I'm going to the hospital, and I'll wait until the son of a bitch wakes up, and I promise you, he'll tell me where she's at before the night is over. Trust me, Toots.”

About that time, Dave inserted himself into the conversation. “I still have a few connections, Goebel. I can have someone posted at the hospital to keep us updated. I'll tell them he's got a kidnap victim in an undisclosed location, and we need to know where to find her as soon as possible.”

“Good. Do it,” Goebel said succinctly.

By this time, Chris's buddies had gathered around Goebel. They talked among themselves for a few minutes; then Goebel filled Toots and the others in on what they'd just relayed to him.

“Apparently, we weren't the only ones looking for Rag. He was shot accidentally by one of the two hoods who were sent from Venezuela to get him. It seems Rag ripped off the husband of some broad he was having an affair with, and said husband wasn't too pleased. He sent his henchmen to bring him back. Jeff said they had narrowed those cell-phone pings down to an area in South Central LA, what used to be called Watts.”

Toots perked up at that news. “Abby told me that! She said something on the phone, remember? We've got to find her, Goebel. I will absolutely move heaven and earth, whatever it takes, to get her home safely. This can't end like all those stories we hear on the news. She has to be all right.”

“I'm familiar with the area. Not a place you'd want to be after dark, or during the day, for that matter, but remember, Abby is tough as nails,” Chris said.

Upon hearing his mistress's name, Chester made himself known. He'd lingered where Rag's body lay.

“Hey, boy, come over here,” Mavis called. She and Ida had remained totally silent throughout the entire episode. Chester trotted over to Mavis. She scratched between his ears and leaned down so he could lick her face. “I'll keep him with me.”

“Thanks, Mavis. In all the commotion, I didn't think about him,” Toots said. “Abby would have wanted us to take good care of him.” Toots teared up again as she caught herself thinking again of her daughter in the past tense.

“Jeff, how much of an area are we talking about with those pings? Can we cover the area on foot? Can we go door to door?” Chris asked, more worried than he let on. Toots was one hair from losing it. Someone had to remain calm in order to see this through to the end, meaning finding Abby. That night.

Goebel cleared a path, motioning for everyone to gather around. “We're not accomplishing anything here. Let's get back to the beach house, where we can regroup. Dave's buddy is already headed to the hospital. He'll keep us posted. The second Rag talks, we'll know.”

None of them had slept, eaten, or showered since the day before. They agreed and returned to their vehicles for a traffic-jammed drive back to Malibu.

An hour later, they were assembled at the beach house. Mavis made coffee, heated up some frozen pastries, while the rest took showers in the four bathrooms.

When they were all seated around the kitchen table, refreshed and caffeinated, Goebel's cell phone startled them all. He answered, and they watched and listened.

“I see. Okay. Let me know if there's any change.” Goebel clicked the
END
button on his cell and looked at Toots. “That was Dave's buddy calling from the hospital. Rag is in recovery but has slipped into a coma. They're not sure of anything now. It could be days. I'm so sorry, Toots. I wish I had better news.”

Toots looked at Sophie; then tears gushed from her eyes. Sophie sobbed, Mavis struggled to remain calm, and Ida wept uncontrollably.

“Now there is no one who can help us find Abby,” she said in a defeated voice.

Sophie grabbed a napkin from the holder in the middle of the table. She dried her eyes, then cleared her throat. “I know someone who can help us.”

“Who?” Toots asked.

“Abby's father,” Sophie said, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth.

“But I thought he was dead?” Phil asked, puzzled.

“He is, but that's never stopped us before,” Toots replied.