Pay Up and Die Page 11

  Chapter 31

  The tune that Martin whistled was random. It just flowed out of him in gleeful notes. He had no use for music, preferring to have full access to his thoughts. Music just distracted the weak mind. Even if he wanted to whistle a real song, he couldn’t. He never knew any.

  The large man bent into the back seat of the pickup truck. He was gathering tools for the party. His tools. The ones that served him well many times. Different sized knives. Some with wooden handles, others with polymer. A sawed-off scythe. Spools of piano wire. Needle-nose pliers. It was a literal toolbox of death. Martin took exceptional care of his tools. He made sure to sharpen blades after each job. He oiled mechanisms and polished steel and leather alike. In his death box there was a place for everything and everything was in its place.

  His member swelled again at the prospect of delicious bloodshed. He paused for a moment considering relieving his engorged condition but then thought better of it. He knew boxers fought better when they were full of semen. Football players had more edge during games. Even ancient gladiators saved up their “strength” for the victory harem. A man was more lethal when he was full up of his own seed.

  Stuffing his pockets with wares, Martin continued to whistle with delight. His heart felt like it kept skipping a beat. It reminded him of the first time he had a woman. The palpitations overwhelming his breathing as he lowered her panties. The anticipation dripping. The dry mouth. The fine edge of nervousness tempered by the power of conquest. It was intoxicating and yet extremely rare. This was the kind of feeling that only showed itself when something was new, or felt like newness. The delectable hint of fresh, first times.

  Martin straightened up and re-checked his pockets. His battle armaments were in place. His mouth almost tasted like the coppery tinge of blood, phantom preparation for the main course. He slammed the door shut and approached the bed of the truck. A long length of coiled rope lay under a sledgehammer. He hefted the sledgehammer, enjoying the uneven weight of it. Then he grabbed the rope and began walking along the darkened sidewalk. Everything was quiet on this street with folks tucked neatly into their little palaces. If they only knew how close death came to their little safe neighborhood. Well, they would find out by tomorrow morning.

  The Debt Collector approached a row of hedges which separated the Graves’ homestead from their neighbor’s. A black cat sat on its haunches and meowed at Martin as he passed. He stopped in his tracks and looked down at the feline observer. The cat sauntered over and began rubbing its side along the large man’s pant leg. He heard the purring and felt the vibration against his shin. Closing his eyes, Martin lifted his leg slowly and then thundered it down on the cat’s skull. A loud pop, like a bike tire, sounded as the fragments oozed from the sidewalk to the grass. He crouched down and inspected his handiwork as the furry spine continued to twitch, not yet aware of its own death. He smiled at his luck. Who knew he would get an appetizer before the feast?

  Chapter 32

  It felt like an eternity, waiting for someone to answer the door. He stared at the ornate oak door and wiped the last tears from his eyes. Michael took another deep breath to calm his nerves and keep himself from pummeling Derrick. He had to maintain control but it was becoming increasingly more difficult as his thoughts kept returning to Andrew. He hoped that Andrew was not hurt or worse, dead. Michael knew in his gut that all roads to Andrew ran through Derrick. That bastard had to have done it as retribution for his meeting with Human Resources and Legal. He wondered where Andrew could be, hoping in the back of his mind that Andrew was safe somewhere in Derrick’s house. Michael guessed he would find out soon. The deadbolt clicked and the front door opened.

  Derrick had answered the door himself. Michael noticed that Derrick’s expression went from one of inquisitive anger to utter shock. He stepped forward and glanced around as if he were looking for someone else. Then he settled his gaze upon Michael.

  “What are you doing here, Michael? This is my home.”

  “I know. I...wondered if I could just speak with you. About our...misunderstanding.” Michael struggled to remain calm and chose his words carefully. It took every fiber of his being to stay cool when all he wanted to do was lunge forward and gouge Graves’ eyes out with his own two hands.

  “Michael, this is an intrusion on my family and my personal time. Whatever you want to discuss can wait until tomorrow morning at the office. Goodnight.” He tried to close the door but Michael put his hand out to stop the door from shutting completely. He couldn’t let it end this quickly. The whole plan hinged on getting inside Derrick’s house. Where he could beat the information out of this sonuvabitch. And rescue Andrew.

  “Wait. Please. I’m...sorry. I know it is rude of me to come by your home and unannounced too. But I really must clear the air with you. Tonight. I...also need your help.” Michael looked down at his feet to summon more control. “Only you can help me. Please. I’m begging you.”

  Derrick stared at Michael for a few moments. His expression softened, for a second, as he scanned Michael’s eyes to detect his true purpose. He guessed that the help Michael sought had to do with kidnapping his son, Andrew. It suddenly occurred to Derrick that Michael may have no idea that he was behind his son’s disappearance and that it was more than just a subtle ploy to garner Michael’s compliance. Derrick couldn’t believe his fortune at not being discovered in the overhanded plot. But it also bothered him because the whole purpose of the kidnapping was to send a definitive message. However, if the message was not understood then maybe this offered Derrick another opportunity to take a more subtle approach in bending Michael to his will. He could act as the agent behind finding his son and then the hero who is owed a “favor” for bringing his son home alive. The end result would be the same. Michael would recant his complaint to the firm. And Derrick can continue as the prime candidate for the CEO role. It was certainly a change of plans but he felt he could make it work to his continued advantage. Derrick stepped back and extended his arm, indicating Michael to enter his home.

  Michael sighed relief within his mind that he had succeeded in gaining entry. His palms were moist with sweat as his adrenaline surged through his system. It was as if his fight response knew he was in range for action, like one’s bowels knew one was closer to a bathroom during an upset stomach. He stepped into the foyer which was large. A magnificent chandelier hung from the ceiling, sparkling rays of light upon the marble tile floor. Elaborate moldings adorned the intersection of the walls and ceilings, framing the art collection that revolved around the entrance. A large spiral staircase floated up to the second floor on the left side of the foyer. Michael tried to dismiss the beautiful home and focus himself on the mission. Derrick again motioned Michael to enter an enormous formal living room which ran along the front windows of the house. As he passed through the doorway he forced himself to take another deep breath.

  Michael was so full of nervous energy that he just plopped down on an antique sofa in the middle of the room. He then realized his presumption and apologized, instead asking for permission to sit. Graves said it was fine.

  Derrick preferred to remain standing so he subliminally maintained the power position over Michael. He leaned gently against an elaborate bookshelf and crossed his arms over his chest. He glowered down over Michael and continued to size him up. Derrick was a shrewd negotiator and he knew that the first one to speak was the person who was most desperate to obtain a deal. So he remained silent and his eye contact never wavered.

  “Thanks again for allowing me into your beautiful home for a few minutes.”

  Derrick smiled inside. The dance had begun and he was right where he wanted to be.

  Chapter 33

  Rachel shivered as a wisp of night air circulated from the foyer back to the kitchen. She was still standing in the kitchen in her damp bathrobe. Her fear about the prowler outside switched over to frustration when she overheard Derrick talking to Michael Wright. Rachel knew the Wrights from company events and
holiday parties. Of all the times to drop by unannounced, Michael chose to do it now, while they were being terrorized by a stranger.

  She pulled her robe tight to stave off the draught as she leaned on the corner of the kitchen wall. She could hear Michael begging to come in and talk about some argument they had at the office or something. And then he started asking about help. Rachel knew that when someone asked her husband for help they were usually looking for money. It went with the territory when you were a bank executive as she had seen the same situation played out many times with distant family and friends.

  Her mind returned to the figure she saw in the backyard. She was scared that someone was still out there and Derrick was now distracted by Michael. She thought of storming into the foyer to demand that Michael sit tight while Derrick checked out their yard but then thought better of it. After all, she was undressed and not particularly presentable. Plus, she didn’t want to advertise their concerns in case her fears were unfounded. That might cause Derrick embarrassment at the office and it would definitely cover her own face with egg.

  She strained to eavesdrop on the conversation in the other room while listening for any strange noises coming from the backyard. It was an exercise in futility as she couldn’t concentrate on either. Rachel decided she should try to handle this situation on her own even though she was scared. Seeing how Derrick was now too busy and time was of the essence when it came to home protection, she traipsed across the back part of the foyer to Derrick’s home office. Luckily, the door was unlocked. Sometimes Derrick locked his office to protect his business from the girls. Like any youngsters, their games of tag or hide and seek could take them to areas that were considered off limits. Rather than scold the children, Derrick opted to prevent any transgressions from taking place by locking things up. Rachel walked over to Derrick’s huge oak desk. She bent to open the lower right drawer where he kept his handgun. The gun safe sat alone at the bottom. It was coded for only his and her fingerprints to open. She placed her hand on the locking mechanism and the safe popped up once it matched her prints. As she picked up the large revolver, the weight of the weapon brought some comfort to her. She always felt empowered when she held a firearm. She enjoyed the days before the girls were born when Derrick would take her to the range to practice shooting. It had been a long time since she had last practiced.

  Rachel stuffed the pistol into her bathrobe pocket which immediately sagged under the weight. She closed the desk drawer and started to leave the room when she remembered the security monitor behind the credenza. The monitor was off even though the camera system recorded non-stop. She turned the switch and the bluish white picture came to life. It displayed several parts of the property, mostly the doors and the gate to the yard. Rachel pulled up the mini-keyboard and touched the rewind button. It shuffled backwards in time in a comical reverse motion fashion. After watching the screen for about a minute, Rachel saw what appeared to be a shadowy figure come through the back gate and then hunker down by the sliding glass door. The figure tried the door and then crouched below the kitchen sink window before approaching the garage door. Then the shadowy figure became one with the darkness and she could no longer make out who it was or where they might be.

  A chill tickled her spine and caused her to wiggle as she turned to go investigate. The butterflies fluttered in her stomach because her fear was now confirmed. There had been someone outside. Someone in their yard. Their private backyard. Someone who didn’t belong here. Someone who might do harm to their property, or more importantly, to her loved ones. She attempted to calm herself for the task that she had assumed. A thought ran past her mind that she ought to interrupt Derrick and Michael anyway, regardless of her appearance. Derrick could enlist Michael to help him search the premises for the intruder while she hid upstairs with the twins. But that would be too weak of her, she knew. As scared as she was, she felt a small thrill at the prospect of chasing someone off with the gun and proving to Derrick that she was a competent woman. People she could handle. Bugs were something else. She would have to keep working on that.

  Rachel left the office with some conviction in her step. But the fear was still present. She breathed deeply and closed the office door behind her.

  Chapter 34

  Murph had waited in a crouched position for several minutes. The loud scream almost made him shit himself. He assumed the woman in the window was Graves’ wife. Although, he thought to himself, she could be some kind of piece on the side. Murph didn’t think highly of Graves with what Mikey had told him. So he wouldn’t put it past the dirty bastard to be a womanizer too. Murph knew better. Graves’ wife had seen him outside the kitchen window and had sounded the alarm. He kept cursing himself for being so amateurish. It had been years since he had been on a mission but missteps like that got people killed overseas. His commander would toss him in the brig and throw away the key for sure.

  After waiting it out for a bit, Murph determined that nobody was going to actually follow up on the scream and step outside. If they were, it would have happened already. He re-checked his luminous watch and confirmed the five-minute mark. He felt fairly certain the coast was clear for the time being and he must continue forward with the plan. He began skulking along the siding of the house, through the landscaping, making his way to the rear entry of the garage port.

  Murph was still thinking about Andrew and how the kid must be holding up. Being taken hostage could shatter a grown man with fighting skills, let alone a young, innocent teenager. He hoped the boy was safe and being taken care of. Only a sick, worthless puke would harm a child and if Murph found out that Andrew had been harmed then he would personally dole out some serious retribution. His mind then shifted gears to Mikey. He wondered if Mikey had made it inside. Then he worried himself thinking that maybe the reason nobody came out back to check on the wife’s scream was because they had Mikey worked over. They knew the plot and were foiling it right now. These thoughts made Murph move a little faster. He reached the door to the back of the garage. He ducked down below the window. His hand gently traced the wooden door and the frame. Murph was relieved that it wasn’t a reinforced steel door. It made his entrance easier.

  Murph glanced up at the window and the garage lights were still off. He slowly raised himself to peer into the glass and check the garage. It was too dark to make anything out and the flimsy curtain obscured what little could be seen. As he reached for the knob to quietly twist it he saw a faint piece of fabric sticking out of the door frame. Murph reached for it and realized by touch that it was the flimsy curtain on the door. When someone had closed the door, the curtain must have drifted to the side and gotten caught between the door and the frame. Murph smiled to himself because he knew that meant the door probably wasn’t very secure. That would save him the risk of making noise trying to cut out or break a piece of the glass so that he could get into the garage. He blew on his fingertips for luck and slowly turned the knob while leaning his weight against the door. He pressed his shoulder against the fabric that stuck through the jamb. The door jimmied open without much fuss. Relieved, Murph dabbed the sweat on his bald forehead with the sleeve of his shirt.

  The door squeaked when he opened it beyond about thirty degrees. He winced at the sound. It was very soft but audible nonetheless. Rather than cause more ruckus by continuing to swing the door open, Murph decided to squeeze himself through the slightly ajar door. He figured he could suck in his mild beer gut for a few seconds if it meant he could gain access without making noise enough to be discovered. Slinking through the narrow space, his shoulder caught something and he froze instantaneously. Using his sixth sense he guessed that it was a stack of boxes that sat in the corner between the door and the wall. So he leaned his shoulder to the left, into the stack of boxes just enough to keep them from toppling over. He started to let out a silent breath of relief when he heard the sound of something wobbling over his head. Murph tensed up and he could feel something falling down without seeing it or hearing
it. Until it crashed on the cement floor of the garage.

  “Shit. Fuck!” He cursed under his breath. Murph didn’t move an inch. He waited for the sound of approaching steps and the light to be switched on as Graves or his bodyguard found Murph pissing himself in the dark garage. He wondered what the hell had fallen over. It sounded like a plastic bowl or something. He must have shifted it precariously when he leaned into the stack of boxes with his shoulder. The boxes remained steady but the motion must have been enough to dislodge the random item from the top of the stack. Once again, relief washed over Murph as nobody appeared to have heard his sloppy entrance. He was really angry with himself for being so clumsy. He used to be one of the elite soldiers in his platoon, capable of taking buildings down one at a time almost by himself. But riding a desk in an office for the last few decades had really diminished his stealthy skills.

  The garage was extremely dark. The only window in the garage was the one on the door to the backyard which he just entered through. Murph paused so that his eyes could adjust further to the darkened space. He knew from the exterior layout that the door from the garage into the house would be along the left wall. So he reached out to his left, first feeling his way along the stack of boxes that he brushed up against. He began to inch his way along the wall. After the boxes and then a shelf with what felt like Tupperware bins on it, Murph reached an empty space. He shuffled his feet forward, arms stretched further out. His hand brushed along a wooden door. He ran his hands along the sides, confirming a door frame. Then he slid his hand over to the knob.