Bad Behavior (26 page)

The ring of a cell phone filled the air, and Sophie listened intently to one side of the conversation. “Yeah… Shit, now?… But… I thought you said it was soundproof… Yes, boss, right away.”

Sophie heard a resigned sigh followed by the sound of his heavy footsteps approaching her. The hairs on the back of her neck bristled, and her heart rate soared. Was he going to kill her now?

“You look thirsty,” he said ominously.

“No, please—” She struggled, feeling the rim of the glass forced to her lips again.

“Drink this!” he barked, spilling some of the liquid down her chin as she resisted.

Most of the drink went into her mouth, though. It was a sickeningly sweet orange juice, gagging her as it slid down her throat. The bitter aftertaste made her feel nauseated and light-headed, and she struggled to keep her head upright, feeling the walls close in on her, darkness fading to black.

He watched her body slump forward on the chair and couldn’t resist placing his large hand on the crown of her head, petting her mussed blond hair fondly.

“Sorry ’bout that,” he whispered. “But we got unexpected company raiding the compound, and nobody can know you’re down here.” He sighed. “You sure are pretty.”

***

It was a good thing they weren’t playing for money or Grant would’ve owed them a fortune by now. Not only did he lack experience playing poker, but his mind was far too preoccupied to focus on cards. A game of life-or-death was about to play out.

Tank shifted his body on the crate, wincing as he put pressure on his knee.

“Sorry about your knee,” Grant offered.

Glaring at him, Tank replied, “Your brother kicked me in the same fucking knee as you did, asshole.”

Mario smirked, and they resumed playing. Tank’s phone rang, and he reached into his pocket. He answered, but listened to the caller for a moment before speaking.

“What put us behind schedule?” Tank frowned. “No shit… They gone now?” His response showed his agitation. “We can’t go there! Are you fucking kidding me?… Of course I know about Ange… But surely Enzo didn’t know this would happen… Fuck… Make sure you get me a good driver is all I have to say.” He closed the phone.

Glancing at Mario and then glaring at Grant, Tank announced, “It’s time.”

An edge of desperation permeated the Gold Coast residence.

“Every room—the police searched every room, Jerry?” Will asked.

“Yes!” he snapped, collapsing into one of the luxuriant chairs surrounding Will Taylor’s dining room table.

Marilyn let out a guilty sigh. If she hadn’t suggested they turn off the audio in the first place, they’d never have allowed the Barberi family to kidnap Grant and Sophie right out from under their noses.

In a gentler tone, Jerry continued, “I’ve already told you, Mr. Taylor. The officers investigated every inch of that compound. They’re not going to hold Sophie in such an obvious place anyway.”

Standing beside the table, Will gripped the back of another chair and clenched his jaw. The ebullient hope he’d experienced prior to the raid had been replaced by a sick dread since discovering his daughter was missing.

FBI Agent Bounter watched the father’s pained expression, and then he looked across the table at Jerry, who appeared equally frustrated. He then resumed listening to the happenings at the warehouse as transmitted through the device Grant was wearing.

The state police detective, John Vidri, was on his cell phone in the kitchen.

“And they bought your cover story for searching there?” Joe asked from the corner of the room where he leaned against the hutch.

Jerry looked up. “Yeah. The detective explained that Sophie wasn’t there for my home visit, forcing me to put out an APB on her, and told them a cop thought he saw someone matching her description on the grounds of the Barberi house.”

“I hope they swallowed it,” Joe replied. “Did Angelo seem like he knew
anything
about Grant being wired?”

Jerry grimaced. “John didn’t think so, but Angelo Barberi wasn’t exactly up to saying much. He was in bed the whole time they were there, sounding like each breath he took could be his last. Apparently he doesn’t look so good.”

Joe shot a glance at Ben, who appeared to be the only one in the room slightly saddened by the news of the don’s impending demise. Joe had wanted to keep eyes on Ben at all times while this situation was sorted out, but he was beginning to question the wisdom of having the boy in such immediate proximity to the action. Ben had been horrified to hear Grant and Sophie were kidnapped, and he seemed close to tears upon learning the raid of the Barberi compound had failed to locate Sophie.

But thanks to the transmitter, at least they knew Grant was still alive.

“Can they search there again?” Will begged. “Maybe she’s hidden somewhere in the compound. It’s a big place, right?”

Marilyn bit her lip. “I doubt they could get another warrant. No judge wants to take on the Barberi family twice.”

Suddenly Ben bolted upright out of his chair. “The CC!”

The five adults stared at the teenager, and Joe asked, “The CC?”

“Carlo’s Crypt,” Ben responded quickly. “It’s a secret room in the basement Carlo showed me—he said that’s where they interrogated drug dealers who were trying to skim off the top.” He turned to Marilyn and Jerry. “Did they search there?”

Marilyn’s cheeks flushed with excitement. “I don’t think they found anything like that, Jer?”

Shaking his head, Jerry also appeared keyed up.

“Can they get back in there, Mar?”

Her green eyes took on a fierce glint. “They have to try. Ben, let’s get the detective so you can tell him everything you know about this room.”

“They’re on the move!” Lucas cut in, lunging for the audio console to turn on the speakers. John rushed in from the other room.

Everyone froze, listening intently to Grant’s unsteady voice. “
You don’t have to put me in the trunk. I told you I won’t try to escape
.”

“
Get your ass in there now, Madsen
,” Tank’s voice, slightly fainter in volume, transmitted.

“
It’s unnecessary
,” Grant countered.

They heard a gasp, and Lucas tightened his lips. “The bodyguard probably just pulled a gun on him,” he said.

There was a rustling sound on the audio, followed by panting breaths. Tank supplied a grim warning: “
You try anything cute, we hurt Sophie
.”

The rapid breathing continued.

“
Have a nice ride!”
Tank’s and Mario’s chuckles were cut off by the harsh slam of the trunk.

Now on a cell phone, Lucas instructed his men at the warehouse stakeout to keep a healthy distance when tailing the Mafia car. John also resumed his phone conversation.

With each of Grant’s panicked breaths coming over the airwaves, Joe’s expression became icier and more incensed. He wanted to rip Enzo’s fucking heart out for involving Grant in his little games—as if he hadn’t hurt his sons enough when he’d lived
outside
the prison walls.

Finally Grant’s breathing began to slow, though his voice trembled as he whispered into the microphone. “
They’re—they’re taking me somewhere. I think we’re getting the briefcase from Angelo first
.”

There were a few moments of silence before Grant resumed. “
I don’t know why they put me in the trunk… Maybe they don’t want me to see where they’re keeping Angelo
.”

It sounded like he was forcing himself to calm down, gulping big breaths. “
The only thing that’s keeping me going is the hope Sophie is safe. I know you’ve found her by now.
”

Grant’s faithful plea sliced into all of them. Will swiftly left the room, and Joe worriedly watched him go. After a beat, he followed him to the kitchen.

Marilyn exchanged a culpable glance with Jerry before resting her eyes on the sixteen year old biting his nails next to her. “We’re going to find her,” she promised.

***

Attempting to focus on the hum of the tires and ambient city noise—horns honking, rap songs blaring, pedestrians shouting—Grant compelled himself to relax in the darkened interior of the trunk. With only the hellish red glow of the brake lights as company, he considered the irony of his abduction providing him with plentiful practice using the grounding skills Dr. Hayes had taught him.

The night was turning cold, and he could not stop shivering. As the city sounds faded, Grant wondered if they’d reached the sedate mansions of the Gold Coast. He could faintly make out the bodyguards’ conversation from the backseat.

“This is horseshit,” Tank railed. “We gotta go to the compound when we’re certain the cops got their eagle eye on it? They’re gonna tail us for sure.”

“It’s what Enzo wants,” Mario suggested. “We gotta go to Ange, and Ange is too sick to relocate.”

“It’s still horseshit,” Tank muttered.

“Ah, Salvatore will lose ’em for sure. Won’tcha, Tory?”

Grant couldn’t hear the driver’s answer, but it made both bodyguards laugh.

“Look alive, gentlemen,” Tank warned as the car slowed and made a turn.

“I don’t see them,” Mario whined.

“There—that grey sedan at ten o’clock. Fucking unmarked. Fucking cops.”

After Tank’s identification of the stakeout vehicle, all was quiet. Then the car pulled to a stop. Grant heard the squeal of a garage door closing and suddenly he was blinded by light. Blinking furiously, he squinted up at the behemoth figure of Mario, who reached in and pulled him out by the plastic tie on his wrists, cutting him even deeper.

When Grant was standing and could open his eyes without pain, he looked down and was relieved to see that the wetness on his hands was only blood from his wrists. This would not be the time for another kind of wetness.

“Let’s go. We’re on a schedule,” Tank ordered, shoving Grant forward.

As the bodyguards led him through a maze of hallways, Grant noticed that the house had been redecorated since his last real visit—over twenty years ago—yet it still managed to convey an aging, unkempt milieu. Tank shoved him into a murky bedroom, the only source of illumination a copper bedside lamp that cast an eerie glow over his uncle’s pallid complexion. Angelo’s head lolled back on the pillows. A stale, fetid odor pervaded the room.

He appeared to have shrunk since Grant last saw him on the docks of the Chicago River. The oxygen tubing ascending into each nostril didn’t seem to assist his labored wheezing, and his intense black eyes were dulled and desperate. Grant looked slightly aghast at what his powerful uncle had become.

Tank dragged a chair over to the bed and roughly forced Grant onto the pale-yellow cushion. He nodded respectfully at Angelo and backed away, promising, “We’ll be right outside.”

“Free…his wrists,” Angelo demanded weakly.

Tank paused before approaching Grant. “Of course, Godfather.” The knife came out once again, and once again the plastic tie snapped off, providing a glorious range of movement for the captive.

Grant sat quietly once Tank and Mario had departed, entranced by his uncle’s arduous respiratory rhythm. He had a fleeting thought of grabbing a pillow and attempting to end the Barberi family regime. But his father would still be alive, and he was the one Grant
really
wanted to end. Realizing he was contemplating murder, Grant felt flooded by remorse.

Finally Angelo spoke. “Your father loves you, Grant.”

He couldn’t have said anything more surprising, and Grant recoiled.

“He does,” Angelo insisted. “He trusted…you…with this important…errand. That shows his love.”

Grant had no idea how to respond to the preposterous statement.

“I’m dying.” Angelo stated the obvious. “And when I’m…gone…your father will need you more than ever.”

Grant couldn’t stop the expression of disgust creeping onto his face.

“Why do you reject our family?” Angelo asked bluntly.

Grant hesitated before answering. “Because you hurt innocent people.”

A gleam of light shone in Angelo’s black eyes. “Like Sophie Taylor, hmm?”

Grant clenched his fists and averted his gaze, feeling murderous urges return.
You’ll get your chance to take them down,
he assured himself.

“So you admit to abducting Sophie?” he asked.

Angelo smiled. “She’ll be fine, as long as you—” he tried to cough and sounded like he was strangling for several seconds, eventually getting out “—continue cooperating.”

Grant was alarmed when Angelo slumped back against the pillows. But after closing his eyes for a few moments, appearing to marshal his energy, he instructed, “Reach under my bed.”

Grant got down on his knees and fumbled under the dust ruffle until his hands bumped into something solid. Carefully he extracted a heavy, locked briefcase and returned to his seat, setting it next to his chair.

“Take that to the car with Mario… Don’t let go of it… Tell Tank to come back…in here.”

When Grant rose, Angelo wheezed, “Wait. Give me…one dying wish, nephew.”

He looked down on the decrepit man with pity. “What’s that, uncle?”

“Make peace with your father.”

Grant attempted a poker face. Feeling the cool leather handle of the briefcase and the warm anticipation of destroying his father, he simply replied, “Yes, Uncle Angelo.”

He confidently exited the room and succumbed to Mario marching him back to the car, not even complaining when he was forced back into the trunk, clutching the briefcase.

Back in Angelo’s room, Tank listened to his boss. “He’s not ready to join…the family just yet,” Angelo said. His nephew was a horrible liar. “He needs more motivation.”

Tank nodded.

“After the drop,” Angelo wheezed, “secure him in the crypt.”

“What about the girl?”

“Put her in long-term storage.”

Tank grinned. “
She’s
the motivation, huh?”

“Grant’s ours as long as…she is too.”

“And when we let him out, he ain’t going to the cops because he’s on parole?”

Angelo feebly nodded. “Go…they’re waiting for you.”

“At the honeycomb, right? Apartment 1510?”

Angelo erupted in a coughing fit, his black eyes glazing over and his ashen complexion turning ruddy from the effort. All he could manage was a slight nod.

Tank was already at the door. “Take care, Ange.”

He bowed his head respectfully, but as he turned to leave, his fake sympathy morphed to a delighted grin.
Maybe you’ll die while I’m gone,
he thought as he headed toward the garage.
And whoops—maybe Madsen will die too before he makes it to the crypt. That’d be such a pity.

***

“Shit,” Jerry muttered, closing his phone with one hand while the other tightened its grip on the steering wheel.

“What is it?” Joe asked from the passenger seat.

“What happened?” Ben’s younger voice piped up from the back.

Jerry eased the car to a stop at the red light and sighed. “They lost them.”

“The FBI? They lost Grant?” Joe’s normally calm voice rose to a panic.

“Yeah, they lost the tail about five minutes after leaving the compound. Marilyn sounded devastated.”

Ben slumped back in his seat.

Joe was incensed. “How did that happen, damn it?”

Jerry glanced at Joe, and then proceeded through the green light. “They’re not sure—they were by the river, and suddenly the trail went cold. The car vanished.”

“Does Grant know we lost him?”

“Yeah. He could hear the whoops and hollers of the bodyguards.”

Ben leaned forward as Jerry parked the car on a tree-lined side street near the Barberi compound. “That means we gotta get Sophie out of there now!”

Turning to look at his great nephew, Joe warned, “No! It’s too dangerous.”

“C’mon, Gruncle! We gotta save her. I know the code!”

“There’s no way in hell I’m letting you in there with those killers.”

Joe turned back to Jerry, who’d been noticeably quiet during the argument. “We wait for them to get a new warrant, right?”

Jerry cleared his throat. “Marilyn doesn’t think they’ll get it, since they found no trace of Sophie the first time. And the team’s all spread out now, looking for Grant. There’s no manpower left to go in again.”

“Sophie could be dying!” Ben wailed. “We gotta get her.”

Joe ran one hand through his graying cropped hair, rubbing his head furiously. After a long sigh, he conceded, “Okay. We go in.”