Try Darkness (30 page)
I sized him up. Pure punk. Then I remembered what I had in my pocket.
“I ask do you got any more,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said. “I do.”
“Then give it to me.”
I have never been in a knife fight. The closest I came was in seventh grade, when I faced a guy down with a bread stick.
But so much adrenaline was pumping through me now it didn’t matter. I put my hand in my pocket and pulled out B-2’s iProd. I held it out for the punk.
The moment he looked at it was my window.
In the split second it took him to blink, I kicked him in his classifieds. Kicked him square. A Butch Cassidy move. Paul Newman would have been proud.
He doubled over. I thumbed the iProd and pushed the business end into his neck. He screamed and dropped the knife, then dropped to his knees.
I kept it there until he was on his back and in spasm. I picked up the knife.
The phone rang. I ran to it. Put it to my ear.
“Way to go,” the voice said. “How’d you do that?”
“What now?” I said.
“This place is too much trouble. Give me your cell phone number and get going.”
I gave him the number. He hung up. I went back and fished out my credit cards and money from the punk’s shirt.
His eyes were wide and frozen, like he was Bambi and I was halogen headlights. I thought about strapping him to my hood. But I just left him to contemplate phone etiquette and got to my car and left.
BACK AT ST
. Monica’s I met with Father Robert and Sister Mary outside the trailers, near the basketball court. Fitting, as I was being played big-time.
When I told them what happened, ending with the knife incident, they gave me an appropriate breathless response.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” I said. “Let’s talk about the call. When I heard the voice the first time, it sounded like he was in a windy place. It could be anywhere. He altered his voice, and he has Kylie. Now, can you think of why he would tell me to drive out there to the pay phone, do this thing, and hang up on me?”
“Testing you?” Father Bob said.
“Yeah, a test run maybe,” I said. “To see if I’ll follow directions and not give him any back talk.”
“About the guy with the knife,” Sister Mary said.
“He’ll be all right,” I said. “His hair might be a tad frizzier.”
“What do we do now?”
“He’s got my cell. He’ll call me back. That’s when the real deal will be made.”
“What kind of deal do you think it will be?”
I shrugged. “Monetary, but the how and when of it is up for grabs. I mean, it’s not easy to get a ransom anymore. There are too many ways money can be traced. I’m going to assume this guy knows that.”
Assuming and waiting. Two uncertain things. It was the not knowing, and the not knowing how long it would take, that was so bad.
I’ve always thought I could work my way out of anything. Grit teeth, put in more hours than the next guy. But what do you do when you can’t even see the next guy?
Then he called.
“ALL RIGHT,” THE
voice said. “Get ready. I’m only going to say this once. Here it is. The price is five million dollars.”
“Five,” I said tonelessly.
“Now, this is how it’s going to be,” he said. “You talk to the Catholic church and you tell them to transfer the funds to the Sister of Divine Mercy in Guadalajara. They will be expecting it there. No worries—transactions between churches are out of the reach of the feds.”
“How do you expect—”
“Shut up. You always do that. Five million is not much for the church. You use your lawyer skills and convince them to do that. You let me worry about getting it out of them down in good old Mexico. I’ll take care of that part. And that’s it. The little girl comes back to you all safe and sound.”
I waited. He said nothing. I said, “What if they don’t—”
“Make sure they do.”
“How much time do I have?”
“I’ll call you tomorrow to check on your progress. There better be some.”
He hung up.
Sister Mary and Father Bob waited patiently for me to tell them what was what.
“He wants the Catholic church to pony up five million dollars. He wants it transferred to the church in Mexico. That way he avoids the feds. Is there any way to do this?”
“Five million?” Sister Mary said.
“That’s right,” I said.
“So we try to get the money,” Sister Mary said. “We talk to the superior.”
“Oh, that will be fun.”
Father Bob said, “Who would want to do this?”
“What are those seven deadly sins?” I asked Sister Mary.
“Lust, gluttony, avarice, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride.”
“Avarice,” I said.
“An inordinate love of riches,” Father Bob said.
“But maybe this is just the tip,” I said. “Someone wants something out of the church. Money. But maybe it’s more.”
“How so?” Sister Mary said.
“Maybe it’s just my intricate criminal mind, but what if the DeCosses are behind this? They put financial pressure on the church, the church answers out of concern for Kylie.”
Father Bob rubbed his head. “You’re saying that the whole thing is a plan to move some land deal?”
“I’m saying that’s one thing that springs to mind. I know I haven’t got any evidence to prove it. But somebody knew a lot about Kylie, about me, about this place, about where the best place to pull the snatch was.”
“There couldn’t be that many people who fit,” Sister Mary said.
“No,” I said. “There couldn’t.”
My cell bleeped.
“
THIS IS LIEUTENANT
Brosia. I’m not disturbing you any, am I?”
I looked at Father Bob and Sister Mary. “No, not at all.”
“I’d like to talk to the girl again. How’s she doing?”
“Fine.”
“Well that’s just great. Where is she?”
“Someone’s watching her.”
“I’d like to come see her.”
“Not right now,” I said. The rule from the Voice was no cops, and I wasn’t ready to violate that rule yet. Not with Kylie still out there.
“Why not?”
“I don’t want her disturbed yet, that’s all. Maybe later. Maybe I can—”
“Mr. Buchanan, I have this feeling that you’re not being—”
“Talk to me later.”
“I want to talk to the girl.”
“I’ll bring her to you when she’s ready.”
“Are you her doctor now?”
“I’m whoever it is that’s looking out for her, that’s who I am.”
“I can force the issue, you know.”
“I’m asking that you don’t.”
“I don’t like it when I think somebody’s hiding the ball.”
“I’ll hand you the ball, Lieutenant. I’ll hand you a whole playground-full. Just give me time.”
He paused. “I’d really like to believe you will. But I’m having trouble with that.”
“We’ve all got troubles,” I said.
IT WAS A
little before five in the morning. I’d managed to get a little more sleep, dreaming about monsters with big teeth. Seeing Kylie in the middle of them. They were monsters drawn in crayon.
I woke up to a pounding on my door.
Groggy, I opened it. Thought it might be Father Bob.
It was Sister Mary, standing out there in the dark. “Listen,” she said. “There was no wind in most of the city last night. I checked the weather reports, the National Weather Service, all the local news stations.”
“So maybe he’s far away?” I tried to shake the sleep out of my head. It stayed. I realized I was standing there in a T-shirt and boxers. I said, “I’m not decent.”
“It’s just like a basketball uniform. A bad one. Don’t worry about it. But if there wasn’t any wind, I mean around the city, I thought I’d check outlying areas.”
“It could be anywhere. But you’re on the right track.”
“I wish I had more resources. All we’ve got is a single desktop.”
I rubbed my eyes. “I know a guy,” I said. “A guy who can help.”
I TOOK SISTER
Mary with me to DuPar’s. I needed pancakes and plenty of coffee. At eight o’clock we were back in traffic, heading to the west side.
To the offices of Jonathan Blake Blumberg.
He saw me immediately. I introduced him to Sister Mary.
“We use your security cameras at the abbey,” she said.
“My stuff?”
“It’s the best,” she said. “I was the one who picked it out.”
A big smile spread across his face. “I like you,” he said.
“You’re two for two, Q,” I said. “Your tracker is tracking and that little iProd worked wonders.” I had him sit down—not easy to get him to do—and told him everything. His face remained impassive as he listened. Like this was not something surprising or outrageous.
There was a rumor that Jonathan Blake Blumberg had once been a shooter for the CIA. He told me as much himself. The CIA would never confirm this, of course. But I couldn’t help feeling that it was true.
When I finished he tapped his lips with his index finger a couple of times. He swiveled in his chair and looked out his office window toward Santa Monica and the ocean.
He stayed that way for half a minute, then swiveled back.
“I’m going to give you something,” he said. “A digital stick to record your calls. I want you to get this guy’s voice, then bring it to me. The moment he calls you and you get the voice, I want you to contact me. Because time is running out on the girl. Tell him you can only get eighty-five thousand right now, but you’ll keep working on the rest. I will arrange the transfer of the money. It will come from offshore right into the coffers of that church in Mexico.”
“I can’t ask you to do that,” I said.
“I’m not asking you to ask me,” he said.
BLUMBERG SHOWED ME
how to attach the device to my phone. Now it was a matter of waiting for the call.
I drove to the beach, near the Santa Monica pier. If Sister Mary and I had to wait, why not wait where there was some life going on?
We found a bench and looked down at the sea. Rollerbladers and old couples passed in front of us. On the sand people threw Frisbees, while the pier buzzed with tourists. Life was going on. I envied all of them.
Sister Mary was pensive. Silent.
“We’ve got to believe we’ll get her back,” I said.
She managed a smile.
“Look who I’m telling to believe,” I said.
“There’s hope for you yet.”
“I’m not taking that to the bank just yet, but thanks.”
The breeze was nice and it wasn’t too warm, and we sat for another hour or so. Then the call came.
“
WHEN CAN I
expect a transfer?” the voice asked.
“A couple days,” I said.
“That’s not soon enough.”
“You’re talking about a lot of money. You can’t just walk up to the cardinal and say, ‘Do it, please.’ And this abbey doesn’t have the resources on its own.”
“That’s why I had you drive out to the pay phone,” he said. “I saw what you can do when you put your mind to something.”
“I want to talk to Kylie.”
“We’ve been over that—”
“You want money? Give me Kylie. You’re going to be a rich man. You can be benevolent.”
“I can be what?”
“You can throw me a bone. Come on.”
“Shut up.”
“You shut up.” I said it before I thought about it. “Let me talk to Kylie and I’ll get you money. I can get you eighty-five large right now. You owe me an exchange.”
“I don’t owe you a thing, man.”
“You want the money, I talk to her now.”
He hung up.
“
I HOPE I
didn’t blow it,” I said. “And I hope I got his voice on this thing.”
I handed the digi stick to Sister Mary.
“He didn’t understand the word ‘benevolent,’” I said. “We’re not dealing with an educated guy.”
“What do we do with that?”
“It’s just more data to put in the pan.” I stopped because of the picture in my mind. “If anything happens to her . . .”
Sister Mary put her hand on mine. A good, strong hand.
My phone buzzed again.
“I’m going to be right here,” the voice said.
Then I heard, “Ty?”
“Kylie, are you okay?”
“I don’t like this place. Come get me.”
Voice said, “That’s all.”
In the background I heard Kylie yell, “No!”
“Six o’clock,” Voice said. “If the eighty-five isn’t there, well, then that’ll be that.”
I sensed he was bluffing. He was this close to getting some serious money and wasn’t going to kill Kylie. Yet.
“What about the big money?” I said.
“I’m going to give you a couple of days longer for that,” he said. “If you come through now.”
“You’re not going to get anything until we decide how the exchange is going to take place.”
“I’ll tell you that later.”
“Just so you know, just so there are no surprises, you’re going to bring Kylie to a place where I can see her. I will okay the transfer, and then you will let Kylie go.”
He clicked off.
I CALLED B-2
with the transfer numbers. Then he told us to meet him at his house in Marina del Rey.
House? That’s like calling Disneyland a playground.
The elaborate security system outside looked like a TV studio. Made me think of Sam DeCosse’s place on steroids. Inside the walls it was a juiced Steven Spielberg movie. Part landing pad from
Close Encounters
and landscaping by Indiana Jones.
Inside it was
A.I.
A young guy in black jeans, who said he was part of Blumberg’s R & D team, let us inside the ultramodern abode. He took us to the second floor, where B-2 had about a thousand square feet of office space designed in techno. You got the feeling the world was controlled here, by touch screen.
“Welcome,” B-2 said.
I gave Blumberg the stick and he plugged it into a laptop that was sitting on a desk that could’ve roofed a single-family dwelling. He told us to look up at the flat screen monitor on the wall.
Up popped a screen with tracks and lines and something that looked like an equalizer.
“This is a voice analysis program the FBI doesn’t even have yet,” Blumberg said. “It’s still in development, but watch what it can do.”
