Rachel wanted to know how to go about hiring a hit man to kill her sister.
You could have knocked me over with a feather! My intention had been to have Mary meet Sam and tell him about the affair. Then we were going to orchestrate an entire drama around his trying to catch Rachel in the act. We had all sorts of twists and turns to confuse him.
But Rachel had taken things into her own hands.
I told Sal to let it slide. The original plan would work, and no one had to die. Sal wanted the forty grand he was going to charge Rachel for the hit. He wanted me to take the contract and split the fee. I told him if he insisted on killing Rachel’s sister, he’d have to cut the fee to twenty grand and we’d give the entire sum to Jimmy Squint, because I didn’t want Rachel to pay any more than she had to. Sal is not the sort to leave money on the table, but after I reminded him that his take of the heist would be five hundred million dollars, he reluctantly agreed to the twenty g’s.
Karen told Chuck that Rachel’s boyfriend was unstable and that he might harm Mary if she met with Sam. She thought Sam and Mary should meet in a public place, like Seneca Park, and Sam shouldn’t know what the meeting was about beforehand. Karen said she’d talk to Sam and make sure he showed.
At the last minute, Chuck talked Mary into letting him come to the meeting at the park. He had an authentic police uniform he’d bought for a costume party and felt that wearing the uniform might discourage Rachel’s unstable boyfriend from making a scene—which is why the twenty grand suddenly had to cover two killings instead of one. Jimmy Squint didn’t mind. He was in the middle of a financial drought and thankful to get whatever I could give him.
We planned for Sam’s meeting with Mary to coincide with Sam’s first sexual encounter with Karen. This was simple to arrange, since Karen controlled both the meeting with Mary and the hotel room with Sam.
Rachel and I explored all realms of her sexuality, and I found a use for the photograph I had taken of her rape fantasy several months ago, where she pretended to be tied down in her bra and panties. I drew the “K” and “V” on her cups with a marker to identify her as my property, and later on, when making the decision to rob Sam’s clients, I gave Callie the name Karen Vogel in order to match the initials.
As we got close to the big event, Sal Bonadello learned his part, and we hired some grifters to play the parts of Aiden Fry and the other camera crew members. We rehearsed in the underground parking lot Victor had purchased.
Speaking of Victor, he always goes all out with these productions. I assured him that all we had to do was build a few soundproof cells in his parking garage. But he had this wild idea of building soundproofed Lucite containers, equipping them with vacuum pumps, and fitting them to flatbed trucks! He barely got the trucks finished in time, but I never doubted he would, having worked with him successfully several times in the past.
Then, with everyone and everything in place, we decided to give Sam a proper mind fuck.
The wild card was Rachel. We had no idea how she would react to being kidnapped. I was concerned about her, so Lou (the voice Sam and Rachel would hear in their cells) kept me constantly informed as to her physical and emotional state.
I had a bit of trepidation allowing Callie and me to be placed into the Lucite containers, so I had prearranged a number of safeguards with Lou Kelly, Callie, Sal Bonadello, and even Victor. You can never be certain about the people working a heist with you, but I figured with so much money to share, we’d be able to trust each other. Plus, we had a history of working together, and that counts for a lot.
From the moment Rachel and Sam were locked in Lucite, I was able to hear everything they said and heard. The only thing I didn’t get to see was Callie getting naked for Sam. I’ve known Callie a third of her life, and I can tell you, I’m jealous that Sam managed to bang my ultimate fantasy girl, something I’ve never managed to do.
Not that it matters, and it’s not even relative to the discussion, but Callie’s a lesbian. She has a wonderful live-in relationship with a female trapeze artist in Las Vegas, so I know it wasn’t easy for her to sneak away for three months and seduce Sam Case.
Actually, it wasn’t that hard. Callie’s hopelessly in love with her girlfriend, Eva LeSage, but I expect she’d seduce a rabid grizzly bear for a billion dollars.
I know I would.
Which brings us to the present, where Sam, Rachel, and I are in our containers, and Rachel has just chosen me to live and sentenced her husband to die. I’m dressed in a business suit, pretending to be Kevin Vaughn, and Sam is pretending he doesn’t know I’m Donovan Creed.
Chapter 37
I admit Rachel’s attitude toward Sam is giving me pause.
I’ve always said the way to really know a woman is to lock her in a cage and poke her with a stick. This isn’t quite the same, but it’s close. And what I’ve learned about my girlfriend, Rachel, during this short period of captivity is revealing and more than a little disturbing. Starting with the obvious, she doesn’t appear to be an overly compassionate person. Her colorful vocabulary could benefit from a makeover. The fact that she was entirely convincing when begging Sam to choose her over Karen tells me she’s not just a capable liar but probably a pathological one as well. Her ability to be completely sensual and loving one moment and capable of murdering her sister or husband the next suggests an undiagnosed schizophrenic personality disorder.
Then again, I kill people for a living, so which of us is perfect?
I’m crazy about Rachel. And while crazy might be the operative word, I’m already looking forward to seeing how we click when it’s just the two of us living in her attic.
Okay, so let me catch you up in real time: Lou Kelly (the voice) has just said, “Sorry for the delay. We’re good to go. Make your peace, Sam. I’ll give you ten seconds.”
Sam said, “You get nine billion dollars, and I get ten seconds, huh?”
Lou: “Doesn’t hardly seem fair, does it?”
Sam: “When does the countdown begin?”
Lou: “Now … unless anyone has a final comment … No? In that case—”
I clear my throat and say, “Actually, if I may, I’d like to ask Sam a quick question.”
Sam looks up at me. So does Rachel. She looks worried and says, “Kevin, we’re so close. Please, hon, let’s just end this and go home.”
Sam says to me, “What’s your question?”
I answer, “Did you type my code last?”
Rachel says, “What?”
“It was all happening so fast,” Sam says, “but yes. I entered your code last, like we discussed.”
“Good man.”
Rachel begins screaming incoherently, something about, “You know him? What the hell is going on here? What the fuck does this mean? Answer me! Answer me, you son of a bitch—” That sort of thing.
I turn to her, knowing what to look for. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about dating relationships, it’s that being able to predict your partner’s moods is of paramount importance. In Rachel’s case (pardon the play on words), her face is her barometer, so I am reassured to see her neck, ears, and face gaining color quickly. I’ve noticed her face only turns crimson when she’s furious or craving sex, and I’ve been teaching myself to know which is which. It’s these little things you learn about the people you’re dating that mean so much down the road.
I let her yammer on awhile before focusing on her husband.
“Sam,” I say, “There’s no way to dance around the issue. I’m in love with your wife.”
Rachel immediately stops screaming. “What? Wait—did you just say you’re in love with me?”
I smile. “I am. Hopelessly.”
She settles down and places her hand on the glass in a loving manner, while her face remains bright red. See what I mean? From furious to sensual in nothing flat—what a woman!
Sam says, “I find that impossible to believe.”
Rachel says, “Shut up, Sam. Shut up and die.”
>
Like I said, Rachel ain’t perfect.
Sam says, “Rachel, you might want to ask Kevin what his real name is.”
I say, “Sam, with all due respect, that’s a matter between Rachel and me.”
“Fuck you both,” he says.
“Sam, I was hoping we could all leave here as friends.”
He looks at me as if I come from another dimension, a place where we all look normal, but nothing we say makes sense.
“Friends? You want to be friends?”
I nod.
“Let’s see if I’ve got this right,” he says. “I agreed to protect your blood money. In return, you broke into my house, hacked into my computer, monitored my every move, fucked my wife, set me up with a hooker, drugged and kidnapped me twice, murdered my wife’s sister and at least one innocent man, kept me and my wife imprisoned for two days, nearly killing Rachel in the process, forced me to sentence Karen to die, stole more than nine billion dollars from my clients—which means even if you let me go, my life expectancy is now what, three days? Wait, don’t answer. I’m not finished. You put me out of business, put me through mental and physical anguish, forced me to learn my wife has been having a six-month affair with my own client, made me endure the humiliation of having my own wife sentence me to die, and now you tell me you’re in love with my wife and plan to take her away from me, but you want us to be friends?”
“Yes, that’s it,” I say. “Except for the part about physical anguish. I think that’s a bit hyperbolic.”
“You do,” he says.
I nod.
“But other than that?”
“I’d say you have a good grasp on it. Except for one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m going to give you a quarter billion of the take.”
“Big deal. I’ll be dead within days.”
“I’ll help you get a new face, new identity, and a new life.”
“With Karen Vogel?”
“Get real, son.”
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll take it.” “Lou,” I say, “open the containers and let’s wrap things up. Rachel
and I have a lot to talk about.” Nothing happens. “Lou?”
Chapter 38
Some time goes by.
Too much time.
Finally, Lou says, “Uh, Donovan? We never talked about Sam getting a quarter billion dollars.”
“I’m giving it to him out of my part. I’m giving Rachel twenty-five million as well.”
Rachel looks at me and smiles.
“Thank you, Kevin,” she says.
I smile back.
Lou says, “We haven’t really discussed this, but do you think you could get out of that cage without my help?”
I say, “Lou, we’ve been together a long time.”
“True,” he says. “But your share is weighing heavy on me right now. Not saying I’m ungrateful or anything, but five hundred million dollars seemed a lot bigger to me when this plan was first hatched.”
“Half a billion dollars seems small to you?”
“Compared to you getting six times as much, and Sam getting half as much, and both of you being in a cage and all.”
“You figure to kill me and take my three billion?”
“I feel terrible about it,” Lou says. “You know I’ve always been a team player, but I’ve got two monitors in front of me. One shows three containers with helpless people inside. The other shows more than nine billion dollars sitting in a bank account, waiting to be accessed. I can’t help but notice that two clicks would change everything. One click and the vacuum pumps kill you in five minutes. A click on the bank account and your share—three billion dollars—goes into my personal account, along with the half billion we talked about.”
“Lou, I’m disappointed in you.”
“I was disappointed in you a couple years back, when you killed your best friend. I can only wonder how quickly you’d put a bullet in my head if I ever displeased you.”
“That’s totally unrelated, and you know it. You’re rationalizing.”
“Maybe so, but I guess it takes a certain amount of rationalizing to turn my back on the man who’s saved my life several times.”
“Don’t let that part weigh on you,” I say. “You’ve saved my life too.”
“Thanks for acknowledging it.”
I keep my voice even. “Lou, if it helps you decide, I guarantee I can get out of this cage in less than five minutes.”
He pauses a full minute, weighing my words. “I don’t think so,” he says. “I’ve gone over this a hundred times in my head. I spent several hours in one of the units the other day and tried to find a way out. There was none. Victor does great work, you know that.”
“You think Victor’s going to let you walk with my share? Or Sal?”
“No. But I think if you’re dead, they’d each take a billion not to come after me.”
“I’m not even dead yet, and the three billion you’re stealing is already down to one.”
“True,” Lou says. “But it’s still three times as much as I’ve got now. Every time I tell myself this is a horrible thing to do, I realize I can triple my take by pressing two buttons.”
“What about the midgets?”
“They’re on break until I tell them to come back and drive. I’m good for at least an hour.”
“You’re all alone?”
“All alone and getting greedier by the minute.”
“Victor is monitoring everything you’re doing,” I say.
“He was until I cut his live feed a couple of minutes ago.”
“Don’t do it, Lou.”
“I can’t help myself. I wish I could.”
“Will you at least set Sam and Rachel free?”
“No. It’s got to be all or none.”
Rachel says, “Kevin?”
“Not now, hon, I’m kind of busy.”
I know the clock is running. Every second counts. I kick off my shoes and pry the heels off. I catch Lou off guard, but he recovers quickly. He throws the switch, and the vacuum pump comes on in my cell.
Chapter 39
I pull the plastic explosives from the hollowed-out heels of my shoes, pull off my suit jacket, and remove my shirt and tie. I remove the wires from my shirt collar, where you’d normally find the collar stays.
Rachel says, “Kevin!”
“Not now, sweetheart,” I say. “But don’t worry. I’ll get you out in a couple of minutes.”
“You promise?”
I stop working for a second. I need to think it through. I take my promises seriously. I perform some calculations in my head.
“Kevin?” she says.
“Yes,” I say. “I promise I’ll save you.”
“Thank you. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
I place one of the charges above the check valve in the floor, the one that allows the air to flow in one direction at a time. I uncoil ten feet of the detonator wire I’d taken from one of my collars and push it into place.
Sam says, “Not to interrupt, but what about me?”
I stop long enough to look at him. Poor Sam, always sucking hind tit. Then again, he had sex with Callie, so he’s already gotten his break in life.
“Sorry, Sam, I’ve only got two charges.”
He nods and says, “Typical.”
The vacuum pump is doing its job, but it is at least a minute away from affecting me.
“Hey, Rachel?” I say.
“Yes?”
“Tell me when your pump comes on, okay?”
“Uh, it’s been on about thirty seconds.”
Shit!
“Really?”
“Really. Is that okay?”
I try to sound cheerful. “That’s perfect,” I say.
“See you soon then.”
“Okay.”
“Can’t hardly wait,” she says.
I grab the cooler, lift the lid, and check for the little hole in the hing
e I’d told Victor to install as a last resort, the one that covered the blasting cap. I find it, run the detonator wire through it, and wad up the balance of the wire to create extra friction. I slam the lid shut, creating enough energy to set off the chemical reaction.
The blast is instantaneous, and everything I’m about to tell you takes place in a half second. But here’s how it works: When the chemical reaction begins, C-4 decomposes to release nitrogen and carbon oxides. The gases expand over 26,000 feet per second, applying trauma force to anything in the immediate area.
That’s why I used such a small amount of C-4, just enough to do the job, not enough to blow myself to hell.
A C-4 explosion has two phases. In the first phase, the initial explosion blows the check valve open, rendering the vacuum pump ineffective. This phase creates an extreme low-pressure area at the point of origin which blows the gases outward, lifts me off my feet, and hurls me toward the back wall. In phase two, a millisecond later, the gases rush back into the partial vacuum, creating a second, less-destructive inward energy wave, sufficient to implode the Lucite walls, one of which knocks me to the floor and nearly renders me unconscious. My ears are ringing from the explosion, but I manage to hear something that sounds like Rachel’s voice.
“Oh my God, Kevin, are you all right?” Rachel says.
I’m not—not yet. But my speakers are blown, so how the hell can I hear her?
“Kevin? Kevin!”
“His name’s Donovan Creed,” Sam says.
“Fuck you, Sam!” Rachel says. Then she shouts, “You’re all right! Thank God! I see you moving!”
I am all right, but why am I able to hear everyone? Lou must be on the run, must have turned on the speakers throughout the garage so he could hear what was going on as he made his escape—unless he’s coming after me with a gun to finish me off!
No. Lou wouldn’t take that big of a chance. He knows the trucks have pump-action shotguns in the cabs.
I work my way out of the cage, not an easy thing to do with a thick wall of Lucite on my back. I look around. Unfortunately, I can’t find the rest of the plastic explosive. It has been knocked from my hand. I could probably find it eventually, but I’ve also lost the second detonator wire.