Twisted: Nick Stryker Series, Book Two The Shallow End Gals Page 6

  Travis swallowed the last of the scotch and dialed Alexia’s mother. While the phone rang he wondered how to tell her that Alexia had been murdered last night. When she answered, he decided to just blurt it out.

  After a full five minutes of wailing, Alexia’s mother got silent. “It took you 24 hours to tell me my daughter had been murdered? It was you. You had her killed!”

  Travis smiled, “Actually, the cops have proof that I didn’t. I passed a polygraph, Marie. But it’s real nice of you to think of me. Let me know when you have completed arrangements, of course I’ll pay for them.” Travis hung up and smiled. He wasn’t going to miss Alexia or her mother.

  His thoughts returned to his problem at Brookfield Place. It might be best to visit in person. Time was running out, he’d have to go in the morning. Dr. Elmhurst had to understand that paying the skim was not optional. Travis wasn’t going to leave without that money.

  He noticed the message light on his landline blinking. He listened as his secretary informed him the computer man had come today and made the updates he had requested. Travis felt a chill race up his spine. He hadn’t ordered any computer updates. Someone was searching his records. He could only think of one person that would be that bold: Dominick.

  * * *

  Dr. Elmhurst made sure his ID badge was clearly visible on his lapel. He didn’t want that stupid guard giving him the third degree again. He carried a stuffed pillowcase to his trunk. It was pitch black outside. He preferred to leave work earlier, but he needed the cover of dark tonight. The pharmacy delivery of narcotics had barely fit in the pillowcase. He figured Alex would pay close to three hundred grand for what he had tonight. The street value had to be at least four times that. This was so easy. He would requisition more from the state in the morning. It would be a year, if ever, before anyone noticed all of his duplicate orders. In 30 days, he’d be long gone and living in Belize.

  He honked loudly at the iron gate. The guard walked over and pointed his flashlight into the back seat and then waved him through. He chuckled to himself that the state couldn’t have designed a more screwed up prison system if that had been their intention. Nobody knew who was in charge of what and when it came to the mental prisoners, nobody wanted to know. As long as he was head administrator for Building D, everyone let him be.

  He drove five miles and pulled into the commuter ‘Ride Share’ parking lot. He parked next to a blue van, made sure there were no people near and hit the button to unlock his trunk. Jake Billow crawled out of the trunk and walked to the driver’s window. Elmhurst pointed to the pillowcase Jake carried and said, “We should get at least 300 grand for that. I’ll get my half in the morning when I pick you up here.”

  Jake smiled, unlocked the blue van driver’s door, got in and drove away.

  * * *

  The bus stop was only a block away from Frankie’s apartment and was often his preferred method of traveling to a job. His aging, bent body blended in with the other senior riders and offered an additional level of cover. Tonight, Artie rode the bus back to Frankie’s apartment, the blue cooler resting on his lap in front of his newspaper. It seemed the entire paper was devoted to crime stories. Most of them seemed due to heroin traffic. Twenty five years in prison had educated him on this new world. He studied the pictures of the suspects and marveled at how young they were. Punks.

  Two women riding in front of him gossiped about a friend who had highly insured the lives of her children and sent them to live with relatives in the hood. The plan paid off several times as the friend was currently living the good life in Hawaii and pregnant with twins. Artie looked at the cooler in his lap. Had this poor chap’s fate been any crueler than bearing children for the purpose of collecting insurance money?

  Artie made his way up the two flights of stairs to Frankie’s apartment door and let himself in. He sat the cooler on the counter and listened. Loud snoring escaped Frankie’s door and Artie sighed with relief. He was exhausted after working at Momma’s and carting that 15 pound head around Chicago.

  Artie removed the head from the cooler and placed it in Frankie’s freezer. He scratched out a Post-It note for the freezer door that simply said, “I can explain this.” He removed a yogurt and a bottle of water from the refrigerator, and headed for his room. He wasn’t looking forward to Frankie’s reaction.

  * * *

  Nick called Lacey on his way home to his townhouse. He was tired and emotionally drained. Lacey answered on the first ring. “Hey, handsome. Did I see you on TV at a bank robbery?”

  Nick chuckled, “You probably did. Good day though, no cops died. I’m heading to my place to crash, is that okay?” Nick still didn’t know what was expected of him from Lacey. He had told her he would make their relationship a priority, but it seemed his job got in the way more every day. Nick parked his car in his garage as he waited for Lacey’s reply.

  “No problem. I have some news. My sister Joyce’s daughter, Kamber, has come to stay with me for a bit. We’re getting reacquainted right now.”

  Nick asked, “This was a surprise and you can’t really talk, right?”

  “Handsome and smart! I’ll touch base tomorrow and we can adjust our plans.”

  Nick unlocked his townhouse door and threw his keys on the kitchen counter. “Adjust plans? Oh, I can’t be sleeping over can I?”

  Lacey giggled, “Not very easily, no.”

  Nick undressed to take a hot shower and noticed that his jeans and shirt had taken quite a beating in the robbery. There were blood stains on his shirt sleeves. Nick looked at his arms and found road burn from his wrists to his shoulders. He tossed his clothes in a trash bag, grateful he hadn’t been in a suit.

  The hot shower stung at first and then gently lulled him to relax. His head rested on the shower wall while the hot water beat on his shoulders and back. A realization struck him: he hadn’t been abandoned by his mom after all. She had been right to remove herself from their lives. It had saved them. She didn’t leave. She couldn’t stay.

  * * *

  Tommy Albergo and Anthony Jarrett sat in the back corner table of Cindy’s Pizza. “Remember when we used to meet here to collect the skim?” Tommy took a big bite from a pizza slice and let the grease run down his chin. “I’ve dreamt about this pizza for 25 years.”

  Anthony nodded as he swallowed. “Where did the crew put you up? I’m in a sleep cheap hotel on Washington. I was kind of thinkin’ I had earned somethin’ a little homier.”

  “Me too, I’m in Room 227 in the same hotel. At least we don’t have to bunk up like Artie. He got stuck roomin’ with Frankie Mullen.”

  Anthony rolled his eyes. “Artie best sleep with one eye open.”

  Tommy wiped his chin and nodded toward the door, “We’ve got company.”

  Anthony turned in time to see a man in a black suit, probably FBI, walk in and stride toward them.

  “You boys aren’t supposed to mingle. Remember?” Agent Phillips flashed his badge and sat at the small table. “You heard about Emil Carson, right?”

  Anthony leaned back in his chair and pointed his index finger at Agent Phillips. “Gettin’ popped two blocks from prison? Yeah, we heard. I figured it was FBI cleanin’ house.” Anthony lacked the edit button most people used when talking to authorities.

  Agent Phillips frowned, “We don’t work like that. I stopped by to let you boys know our info points to Dom.” He took a slice of their pizza and savored the greasy cheese almost as much as he savored the shocked expression on Tommy’s face. Agent Phillips grabbed a napkin from a pile on the table and stood to leave. “Watch your back.”

  They watched as Agent Phillips left the diner and Tommy whispered, “You think he’s right about Dom?” Suddenly Tommy felt sick to his stomach. It would be just like Dom to have them hit once they got out of prison. Save the crew the cost of keeping them around in their old age. Tommy glanced out the window as a new fear assaulted his thoughts: what if Dominick knows about the plan?

  Anthony t
ook another slice of pizza from the plate. “Think about it. Dom would have to have permission from the Outfit boss to hit us.” Anthony chuckled, “With what I’ve negotiated with Milo, there’s no way. More than likely, the government is screwin’ with us. Feds are like that. By the end of this week, it won’t matter.”

  * * *

  Momma placed a hot herbal tea next to her recliner chair. Her apartment above the sandwich shop was small but well appointed. She slid open a small drawer in the end table and removed an envelope taped to the underside. She opened the flap and removed a piece of yellowed paper. A quick sip of tea and she lifted her phone and dialed. She let it ring a few times and hung up. She took another sip of tea, replaced the envelope in its hiding place and waited.

  Her phone rang and Momma answered, “Darlin’, I might have something useful for you.” Momma proceeded to tell the story of the blue cooler and her rekindled friendship with Artie. After listening for a moment, Momma ended the call with, “You stay safe, love. Sophia? Let’s pray we’re almost done.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Wednesday 7:00 a.m.

  Renee tried each of her keys to unlock the door to Room 47. None of them fit. She spoke into her shoulder radio, “Ryan, answer.”

  A moment later her radio crackled back, “Ryan here, what cha need?”

  “I don’t seem to have a key for Room 47. Can you come here and let me in?”

  Ryan answered, “He’s not there anymore. Got transferred last night.”

  “Transferred where?”

  “I don’t know, just somewhere else. Was that it? I’ve got Jane running down the halls nude again.”

  Renee sighed, “Yeah, that’s all.”

  Ryan exhaled. He had moved the patient from Room 47 to another room in a different vacated ward. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep his secret. Too many eyes were peeking.

  * * *

  Renee had heard rumors that Building D had patients transferred out in the middle of the night. More than a few of the staff from Building A believed the patients were simply driven to the city and let go. Once the state transferred a prisoner to a private facility, most of the accountability vanished. Employees that transferred to Building D usually quit within the first week. Not just to transfer back to another building, quit the facility all together. Renee had made it nearly a month and was determined to stay until she had earned enough to buy a decent car.

  Blood curdling, animal like screams suddenly assaulted the air. Renee ran to the adjacent hall to see Ryan and two patients pull a man off from Jane’s nude, bleeding body. The knife wielding man’s name was Joshua. He was a schizophrenic and normally docile when taking his meds. He could often be found helping the grounds crew.

  The huge knife dripped Jane’s blood as Joshua screamed “whore”. Ryan and one of the patients frantically tended to Jane. The remaining patient struggled valiantly to hold Joshua back. Joshua glanced at Renee and froze. For just that brief moment she saw extraordinary sadness in his eyes. The next instant he twisted free of his captor, blew her a kiss and defiantly slit his own throat.

  * * *

  Frankie woke to the sound of dishes clattering and remembered he had a roommate now. His heart sunk when he also remembered his precious head was gone. Decades of protecting it, now lost forever. Frankie grabbed his robe from the closet and headed to the bathroom to shower. Just the fact that he had to put a robe on in his own house annoyed him. His depression made him feel even older. It seemed his legs weighed twice as much as yesterday. At least the place didn’t stink today.

  After he showered and dressed he went to the kitchen where Artie was cooking up a storm. “Good morning, sir. I made bacon and scrambled eggs. There’s plenty to share if you would like some?” Artie’s voice was far too cheery. Frankie found it annoying.

  Frankie poured himself a cup of coffee and grunted that food sounded okay. He noticed the note on his freezer door. “Explain what?”

  Artie winced, “Look in your freezer. We have company.”

  Frankie opened the freezer door and couldn’t believe his eyes. He blinked a couple of times and prayed his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him. His head! He pulled it out and held it up to the light. “What…where did you get this?” Frankie was so excited he wanted to kiss it. He imagined that would be hard to explain to Artie.

  Artie told him the story about Momma and feeding the tunnel people. Then he retold Sirus’ story about finding it in a dumpster. Artie pointed under the sink. “I put the cooler down there. I didn’t know where else to bring the head last night. I know it can’t stay here.”

  Frankie frowned, “Why not?”

  Artie smiled, “Well, for one, I expect a visit from my parole officer today or tomorrow. I’d rather not explain our partial guest.”

  Frankie had to hide the fact that he was practically giddy about his head being back. What a twist of fate. This did pose new problems though. Now Artie knew of the head’s existence. So did this person named Momma and her son and his buddy. Frankie sat down and realized the entire tunnel population knew, too. He couldn’t have Artie blabbing around Chicago that he had put the frozen head in Frankie’s freezer. At least, for now, the current location of the head was still secret. Frankie had to give this serious thought. Dom had entrusted Artie’s safety to him. He ate his breakfast in silence as Artie gushed about the wonders of the tunnels.

  Frankie’s dentures were having trouble with the bacon. Only one person knew the head was in his freezer. Frankie could only think of one solution. Artie had to die.

  * * *

  Travis Cummings checked his reflection in the mirror. His first order of business today was to view the office camera images of who had made changes to his computer. He also had to determine exactly what had been done. Travis looked at his watch: eight o’clock. Perfect. He had a couple of hours before he planned to arrive at Brookfield Place.

  * * *

  Nick and Jen sat in their car outside of Bruno’s Bar. Agent Phillips had said Dom held court here every morning with his crew. Jen looked at Nick, “If I understand this right, you’re hoping to provoke Dom into making some kind of mistake.”

  “That’s my goal.” Nick glanced at Jen and winked, “This might get physical. He probably has a couple of guards around him.”

  “Good, I haven’t had guard for breakfast in a long time.” Jen smiled. She was highly trained, mostly by Nick. He had wanted to be sure she could take care of herself. She had often proved herself to be a valuable backup. Her petite size and feminine appearance were a useful distraction.

  Nick put his hand on the door handle and stopped. He looked at Jen, “Help me watch his face. I’m going to give him some information I don’t think he knows somewhere in the conversation. It should cause him to show his ‘tell’. Watch his body language, too.”

  Jen smiled, “I love these body language studies.”

  “They could save your life. Closest thing to mind reading we have.”

  Nick and Jen walked into Bruno’s and walked straight to the back table. The group of six men at the table and two bouncers were the only non-employees there. Nick held up his badge, “Chicago Homicide.” He guessed which one was Dom by the positions of the chairs. He looked at Dom and said, “I need everyone but you to leave.”

  Dom leaned forward, “You can’t walk in here and tell my guests to leave.”

  “I was trying to be nice. It’s here or downtown.”

  Dom glared at Nick and then motioned for the men to leave. The guards stood firm.

  Nick looked at Jen, “Before we send these two out, check their carry permits. They’re both packin’.”

  Jen walked over to the larger of the two and held out her hand. “Let me see your permit.”

  The big man had a smile growing across his face as he stared down at her. He looked at Dom. Dom pointed at Nick. “These are my boys. I’m sure they have permits somewhere.”

  Nick shook his head. “Sorry. Not good enough.” Nick looked at Je
n, “Take their guns, issue citations and get them out of here.”

  Jen smiled. “No problem.”

  The big guy looked at Dom who stood. “What do you mean ‘take their guns’? Besides, it’s their job to stay with me at all times.”

  Nick stood, “They’re leaving without their guns. I don’t know what you think is so special about them. Anyone can see they’re useless.”

  Dom’s neck had turned red. He looked at the two guards and then snarled toward Nick, “Give her your guns.”

  The one big guy took a menacing step toward Jen. That was all she had been waiting for: any sign of aggression. Jen stepped forward and punched his groin. She removed his hand gun and tossed it on the bar as he doubled forward. When he bent over, she applied pressure just behind and below his ear that caused him to drop to his knees in pain. She chopped the inside of his elbow with the side of her hand and snapped cuffs on his wrist before he could recover.

  She twisted his other arm behind his back, cuffed that wrist and applied pressure just left of the base of his spine with her index and third finger. He went flat to the floor on his stomach, screaming in pain. Jen rested her boot in the small of his back and looked to the other guard. “Which way are you leaving here?”

  The second guard placed his gun on the bar and walked backwards to the door.

  Nick had returned to his seat and motioned for Dom to do the same. “Like I said, I don’t know what you think is so special about them. I have to admit I’m disappointed. It seems to me you would want skilled bodyguards protecting you.”

  Dom watched as Jen ushered the cuffed man to wait outdoors with the others. She returned to the table and sat to the side of Dom.