Frostbite (20 page)

Read Frostbite Online

Authors: Eric Pete

BOOK: Frostbite
9.38Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
35
 
Nathan Piatkowski arrived at Cleveland Hopkins International Airport. Flew in on Continental and, per my instructions that were waiting on him, took the taxi cab for the nine-mile trek downtown to the Ritz-Carlton Cleveland.
I’d avoided being anywhere near the airport. Remembered how much control he had back at Midway in Chicago, so instead guided him further and further beyond his comfort zone. When I got word that he’d arrived in the lobby of the Ritz, I sent a text on my phone to my friend at 4Shizzle.
OK to run it, I texted, referring to the story I’d sent to her previously.
Followed that up with a quick call to Arturo Diaz’s boys back at the warehouse in BMore.
“One hour,” I uttered, giving them instructions on when to release Piatkowski’s family.
Then the disposable phone in my pocket rang.
“All right. I’m at the Ritz,” he said, seeming weary and irritated. “And my wife and son better be here.”
“I can assure you that both Sara and Slade are here and they miss you,” I prodded. “But they’re not at the Ritz.”
“What the fuck!” he screamed.
“Change in plans. Walk over to the Renaissance Hotel. There will be a note left for you under the name of Robert James at the front desk,” I instructed. “And you better have my money,” I added to keep him misled about my intent. He was going to pay all right. Just not in the manner he expected.
After hanging up, I broke that phone and discarded it in the hotel lobby garbage can I’d just opened. Fifteen minutes later, the former Mr. Smith strolled in from off the street. He stopped less than four feet from me as I remained in my guise as a janitor—a pillow in my shirt simulating a gut and some makeup on my face for effect—going about changing out the remaining garbage cans. With the Cleveland Indians having a home game, foot traffic was heavy in the lobby. Had gathered two full trash bags in my hands as I watched him retrieve his note then follow its instructions.
I shuffled over to the restroom, abandoning my trash bags by the door as I entered. Walked over to the two stalls marked as out of order. One was already occupied by him, so I entered the adjacent one. Quickly removed the pillow from my shirt and peeled away the makeup on my face.
“Here,” I said, sliding a duffle bag under the divider. Had him switch out his clothes and into the set I’d provided. He held on to the money though, refusing to relinquish it without seeing his family first.
The two of us exited the lobby restroom, both wearing different clothing en route to the hotel elevator.
“You want to kill me,” I stated as I pushed the button to take us to the eleventh floor. Kept my back to him while I whistled a tune, letting him know how little I took him as a threat.
“Yep. Knew you were smart when I recruited you,” he snarkily commented.
“Recruit,” I repeated. “That’s what you call it? Felt more like a mandatory draft.”
“Just a job I needed done.”
“But why?” I asked, knowing he wouldn’t respond. “No matter,” I continued. “The DA’s not dead anyway.”
“What?” he blurted out, almost choking over my revelation.
“Oh. This is our floor. Let’s go get your family,” I stated, ignoring his shock and anger. Just another thing to give him a taste of the helplessness I’d felt at his hand.
At room 1106, I inserted the key and motioned for my guest to follow. He surveyed both ends of the hallway first, looking for anything amiss. When he was done, I motioned again then entered first. Entering the suite behind me and realizing it was empty, Piatkowski swung his money-filled duffle bag at my head. Frustration and anxiety taking their toll.
“Where are they?” he demanded as I blocked then ducked the hefty one hundred grand. A table lamp tumbled to the carpet from one of the swings.
“Calm down. Money first,” I said as I wrapped him in a bear hug to restrain him. “And not if you’re going to continue acting like a madman.”
When he ceased fighting, I released him. But not without him giving me a final shove on the break. “I don’t let go of this until I see them,” he chided.
“Fine,” I said as I strode to the connecting door of the adjacent suite. Unlocked it then opened to reveal what was just next door.
“Sara,” he gasped, dropping his duffle bag at the sight of his wife bound in a chair before the window with a hood over her head.
“Nathan?” she called out from beneath the hood.
“Yes, honey! It’s me!” he gushed, a genuine smile forming as he took a single cautious step into the suite. Looked like he wanted to cry. Then his distrustful nature kicked in as he looked for booby traps or some kind of setup. “Wait. Where’s my boy? Where’s Slade?” he asked, not taking a step farther.
“Here’s the deal. Your son’s in a different room in this hotel. You get your wife first,” I said as I motioned for him to hand over the bag. “She’ll tell you what room he’s in.”
“Nah. I’m holding on to the money until I make sure Sara’s okay. Then you can take your fuckin’ cash,” he said as he snatched up his duffle again and backed toward his wife.
“Suit yourself,” I relented. “But don’t think you’re leaving this room without giving me my money.”
Piatkowski glared at me. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a gun. The old double cross I’d been expecting. Looked to be a Sig Sauer P250.
“Think about your son, Nathan,” I reminded him as he took aim. “This can still go down without any complications.”
“Nathan?” the bound woman called out again as if on cue.
Piatkowski bit his lip and closed his eyes for a second as he refocused. Nodding at me, he lowered his gun slightly and continued to ease in her direction in front of the window. I stood immobile in the connecting doorway, my eyes cutting to the time on the clock.
He cautiously checked around his wife for any sort of wires or explosives before slowly raising the hood from off her head.
But things with me are rarely what they seem.
“A dummy,” he mumbled, eyes staring in disbelief.
From behind my back, I pushed the tiny remote again.
“Nathan?” the speaker stowed inside the dummy called out again, mocking him.
A recording.
“Where is she?” he screamed, a little too loud for my comfort as he dropped the duffle bag and brought the gun sight back on me, taking steady aim with both hands.
The other connecting door along the opposite wall clicked at that moment, Piatkowski torn between two potential targets now. From the other suite entered five well-dressed and rather large armed men. The third one to fill the doorframe I knew well, having scrapped with the tree trunk a year ago in a South Beach pool.
But I’d seen him more recently than that.
Mere days ago.
During my layover at the Fort Lauderdale Airport when I was en route from New Orleans to BWI.
When I proposed burying the hatchet and making amends.
Amends with the tall, robed figure who just entered the suite.
Prince Abdel Al-Bin Sada.
A hush fell over the room as the towering yet wiry Arab stood at command behind a wall of Hugo Boss and Armani-covered bulk. I stood my ground and nodded at him.
He demanded that he be here for this perceived reckoning.
Piatkowski stared in disbelief at what was unfolding courtesy of me.
“Is this the one?” Prince Al-Bin Sada asked me of Piatkowski.
“Yes. Yes, Your Highness,” I replied, faking humility as I averted my eyes. “He is my boss. Was my boss.”
“Huh?
What the fuck are you talking about?
” Piatkowski snarled at me, out of sorts. “And what does the prince have to do with this?”
“As I said, he employed me for the job, Your Highness. Then wouldn’t pay me. Most untrustworthy,” I offered.
“Wait! This is all about not paying you for the job?
All this?
” he said, waving his handgun indiscriminately at the gathered throng. No one flinched, which seemed to spook Piatkowski even more.
“Sounds like he just admitted hiring this man, Your Highness,” the HMIC—Head Monster in Charge—matter-of-factly offered to his boss. Most words I’d ever heard the man say.
The prince nodded, eyes flaring with hatred. “But where is my information?” he asked me while not taking his eyes off the man I’d just set up.
“It’s on him, Your Highness. The flash drive’s in his pocket,” I calmly pointed out.
Before Piatkowski could dispute what I was saying, two of the prince’s bodyguards rushed him. They were faster than their size would indicate, as I’d learned before. They drove both him and the faux Sara to the floor with a brutal, jarring thud, crushing his hand even as he still held on to his gun.
“Ow!” he yelped as several fingers snapped.
He was too overmatched beneath the seven-hundred-plus pounds of muscle to put up a fight as they pried the Sig Sauer from his swollen hand then removed a tiny flash drive from his pocket. A flash drive I’d deposited moments ago when I bear hugged him. And on that flash drive it held all that Sophia had
borrowed
from the prince, including passwords to access his diverted funds.
Piatkowski had done enough double crosses and dirty jobs in his life. Had to realize he’d been royally played so to speak. Straining to speak, he looked at me. “My ... my wi—” he tried to say.
“Is safe back home. Both she and your son. Unharmed,” I assured him.
Wasn’t totally evil.
He nodded, bowing down to his master with a faint smile that spoke of resignation.
“Are we done here, Your Highness?” I asked, daring to be insolent.
“Are there any copies?” Prince Al-Bin Sada inquired.
“No, Your Highness,” I answered.
Rather than addressing me further, HMIC took charge. “You can go,” he grunted as the prince left the suite with the flash drive secure in his hand. Was leaving his bodyguards behind to
disappear
Piatkowski, the man who, according to me, was the one behind Sophia’s stealing of the prince’s info. At our hasty meeting in the Fort Lauderdale Airport, I’d poured it on. Wove a tale of Piatkowski having coerced his favorite girl Aswad into betraying His Highness. The prince wanted to believe that someone had forced poor little Aswad into betraying him anyway. I just gave him a villain. Claimed the only way I could’ve gotten inside his compound in Miami was with the aid of someone like Piatkowski. Again, something he needed to hear ... and believe.
“And the money?” I asked, pointing at the duffel bag.
“Take it,” the prince said himself with a dismissive wave from the other room.
His imposing bodyguards paused their subduing of Piatkowski, graciously moving aside to allow me to snag the duffle bag. I squatted next to him as he attempted to get a hand on me; one final exercise in futility.
“This was never about the money,” I said low enough to be heard by his ears only as I snatched the bag. “Good-bye, Mr. Smith.”
Knowing he wasn’t long for this world, Piatkowski didn’t bother with any parting words as I left him to the prince’s not-so-kindly graces.
I knew not to trust him. Even if I’d killed the DA for him, he would always be a threat to Collette ... and to me.
But no more.
To his employers back in Langley, it would look like he suddenly up and ran off with a hundred grand of their money. Then once they got his wife to talk, she’d fill them in on what she overheard—a one-sided conversation where the men holding her appeared to argue with her husband over money he owed them. And where he told them to fuck off as he was skipping the country with his mistress.
Arturo Diaz’s boys knew to drop the word “Barbados” before leaving Sara and Slade Piatkowski alone and unharmed in the warehouse. As good a lead as any for the U.S. government to begin looking for Nathan and their money.
Another quick change of clothes, which included a pair of new running shoes, and I left the Renaissance Hotel via the connected Tower City Center wearing Cleveland Indians fan gear. Once inside the mall, I blended into the crowd of rowdy baseball fans en route to the indoor walkway that would take us to Progressive Field for the big game.
And then I was gone.
Merrily shouting, “Let’s go, Tribe!”
36
 
I left the ballpark, catching a cab to Cleveland Hopkins International Airport. When I got there, I planned on renting a car for the last leg of my trip. Pittsburgh was where I intended on stowing the money then flying out. In case the money was marked or something, I wasn’t crazy enough to risk going through airport screening with it.
As my cab pulled up to the drop-off point for departures, I told the driver I’d get my duffle bag out myself. Paid him fifty dollars for getting me here so quick. He thanked me for my generosity after confirming it wasn’t funny money.
“Ain’t you missin’ the game?” the mustached cabbie asked, acknowledging my baseball cap in his rearview mirror.
“Flight to catch. This trip was planned a long time ago and I ain’t payin’ no extra fees. Besides, did you see how they blew the lead last game? Believe me, I ain’t gettin’ my hopes up,” I joked, having learned about the Indians’ collapse only an hour ago.
“Yeah. You right. And I had money on dat game,” he said with a hearty laugh. As I fetched my bag from the trunk then waved bye, I looked for any signs of having been followed. Back downtown, I’d zigged and zagged enough to throw off even the most seasoned professional. All seemed fine now.
Rather than entering the airport, I made my way to the rental car pickup point. Boarded the bus with the other customers then told the driver the name under which I’d made the reservation. While seated, I did a quick check to ensure my ID matched.
Received a call from Sophia just then. Probably wanting to make sure I was okay after pleading with her to share with me what she’d stolen from the prince.
And thank God she did.
“Hey,” I said, answering as the bus prepared to pull away from the curb. For our listening pleasure, the driver hit the automated instructions which everyone proceeded to ignore.
“Is ... is everything going to be okay now?” she asked. Sounded throaty. Congested. Like she’d been crying. Or doing something else that involved her nose.
“Yeah. We’re good. Prince was appreciative to get his shit back,” I mumbled into the phone. People were in their own little worlds, probably focused on their trips to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame or just coming home, but I still kept my voice low.
A hand swatted at the side of the bus, startling everyone. Thought we’d run over something, but was just another customer too impatient to wait for the next bus. Big white dude with Oakley shades and a black golf shirt. From behind the mirrored orange lenses, he offered a quick apology to the rest of us then took a seat. When the driver asked him if he belonged to the ultra secret special privileges club, he said, “No.” It would be the front desk for him, to wait in a long line, when we arrived at the rental place.
“And are you appreciative, Truth?” Sophia asked pointedly.
“Huh?” I muttered, my focus back on the conversation. “Of course.”
“Then how come you don’t love me?” she pushed, coming outta nowhere with that.
“Uh ... can we talk later?”
“No! I’m tired of you putting me off unless you want something!” she yelled. Then just as quick, she dropped to a barely audible murmur. “No one’s ever loved me. Not my parents. Not you. Not even Ivan. Because if he did, he wouldn’t have left me,” she said, no longer restraining her sobs.
Now she had my full attention.
Depression and anxiety plus drugs were a dangerous mix.
We arrived at the rental agency. The driver instructed those of us who already had reservations to exit and look for our names on the board. I took my cue and exited along with five other folks, cradling the duffle bag full of money against my side as I continued my conversation with Sophia.
“Do you need me to go out there? I can be there late tonight. Seriously.”
“Naw, naw!” she ranted. “Just keep on playing your little games with people’s lives. With all your lies ’n’ shit. Because there will be one less person for you to fuck with.”
Her desperation pumped a sense of urgency into me. Made me go even faster toward my numbered slot. Was a row of SUVs. “Sophia, listen to me. Don’t talk like this,” I urged. “This ain’t you. You’re stronger than this.”
“Yeah. I’m stronger than a mofo, bitch,” she cursed. “Strong enough to decide when I wanna go.”
“And this ain’t the time,” I vowed as I slowed next to the Ford Explorer that was mine. “Hey ... remember what good times we had in London?” I asked, trying to evoke better times for Sophia as I opened the passenger door and tossed the duffle bag inside.
“Yeah. I’ll always remember them, baby. Always.”
“Sophia!” I yelled as she hung up. I prepared to redial her.
And at that very moment, caught a glint of metal in the Explorer’s window reflection.
I let the phone go, dropping flat to the pavement as whatever it was struck the bill of my baseball cap. As I rolled onto my back, the man’s momentum carried him forward, stumbling over me and banging into the SUV’s mirror. He couldn’t brace himself because his hands were entangled in something.
The shiny object strung between his hands, which I’d seen, was the exposed wire of a garrote.
If he’d gotten it over my head and around my neck, I would’ve been dead. No doubt about it.
No time to dwell on it, I kicked as hard as I could at the back of the man’s leg. When his leg buckled, I struck him with another kick, this time targeting his kidneys. As he grimaced from the pain, the garrote slipped from his grasp. Then he rolled from any further kicks of mine, gathering himself to get back to his feet. As he turned to come at me again, I got a look at his face.
Sunglasses and all.
Was the man in the Oakley shades from the airport bus.
But was also the unmarked security agent from Midway Airport. The one when I first met Mr. Smith. If he was helping Piatkowski then, he was probably the only one Piatkowski trusted with his secrets.
I’d gotten too cocky. Sloppy even. Knew Piatkowski came alone, but didn’t consider he’d have someone trailing behind. Probably came in on the next flight and had been tracking me through something in the duffle bag since I left the hotel.
As I crawled backward, my shoes digging in for traction, sunglasses grinned at me just as he did that day at Midway. He was intent on me not leaving this parking lot alive.
And he was a loose end for me.
“It’s over. You won’t be seeing your friend again. Feel like being reasonable?” I asked without moving. Maybe sharing some of the proceeds inside the SUV would suffice in reining in this trained attack dog.
His answer was to pull a short carbon fiber knife from his belt. Definite military background by his moves. As he took a cautious step forward, he stepped on my phone. Reminded me what I was doing when he attacked me.
And what I needed to do now.
I did a quick roll backward to get to my feet. Made him think I was going to make a run for it. Let him rush me with a knife thrust that caught me dead in the center of my gut, its ferocity lifting me off the ground. Prepared for his kill strike, I held on to his wrist for dear life, limiting how far he could drive the blade into my body. When he tried to retract the blade and thrust again, I still held on. His surprise over my still being among the living was brief, but allowed me all I needed. I launched toward him, landing a head butt dead in the center of his face. Took joy in the contact as I heard his nose crack. As he wobbled and loosened his grip on the blade, I released his wrist. Before he could pull his blade from out of my stomach, I cupped my hands, bringing them to bear across both his ears with a simultaneous pop. He howled from the double shock to his nervous system, bringing his hands up to weakly defend himself.
His blade fell to the ground, but absent any blood.
Knowing he planned on ending it as quickly as me, I kicked him in the nuts like I was going for a field goal. No glamour in fighting except in the movies. As he fell to one knee, I grasped the luggage rack on the Explorer and used it to vault over him. He swung wild, catching me with a lucky strike, but my momentum carried me. With one hop, I snatched up the garrote he’d tried to use on me and dove onto his back. Where he failed, I was successful in whipping the wire over his head, cinching it against his throat, pulling, then twisting. He reached back, trying to gouge my eyes, but I turned my face away and held on.
His adrenaline rocketed, knowing what it meant just as I did. We rolled along on the ground beside the Explorer, his feet kicking wildly as the struggle became more and more desperate. Fingers trying to find any slack as he gasped for air. But between the blood seeping down his throat from the broken nose and the tightening of the garrote, he found none. Seeing the feet of other rental customers coming down the aisle, I pulled him closer and wrapped my legs around him for control. Inched both of us beneath the SUV and as out of view as we could get as the fight left his body. He was much stronger than me and had the element of surprise at first. But it made him lazy, only taking one mistake to cost you everything.
Wondered if that thought went through his mind as his life ebbed then faded.
I counted the minutes down after his struggles ended, trying to regain some calm before fully releasing the garrote. The wire had dug into his throat, exposing raw flesh which I checked for signs of a pulse. I flexed my sore fingers as I dared to move away, muscles twitching and spent as I came down off my adrenaline rush.
Needed to get out from under the Explorer now, but I reached over his body for my phone instead. It was still intact, so I tried Sophia again.
No answer.
I repeated the action several more times, but to no avail.
Didn’t leave a message.
Instead, I hurriedly dialed the number to somebody in her area.
“It’s me,” I said when the person answered. Tried to sound calm and in control when I really wasn’t.
“Ain’t seen him around there in a minute,” he reported, referring to Ivan. And being one of the people I paid to monitor Sophia and Ivan’s bad habits.
“Look, I know that. Just listen. I need you to go by the apartment and check on her.”
“You mean like knock on the door?” he asked while I pulled the Oakley sunglasses under the Explorer. “’Cause I like to just stay back, y’know. Watch and report. Like we agreed.”
“Well I need you to knock on the door this time. Hell, kick the door open if you have to. I think she’s done something stupid.”
“Aww, man. Sorry to hear that. But listen ... I can’t make it around there today,” he said. “Kid’s birthday party. And everybody over.”
“Listen. I don’t care if it’s you or just someone you trust, but somebody needs to go there. Now,” I growled as I arose, wiping off the dust from my clothes and removing a pillow, which I’d used to alter my appearance and absorb the blade, from under my shirt. I opened the passenger door again, prepared to search through the duffle bag for whatever was used to track me here. I continued, “’Cause if something happens to her, then something’s going to happen to you. Am I clear?”
“Yeah, yeah. I gotcha. Roger that,” he replied nervously.
Fifteen minutes later, a man by the name of Andre Hollins from Milwaukee, Wisconsin, departed the rental car lot in a Ford Explorer, destined for Pittsburgh with his Oakley-wearing passenger
asleep
in the seat next to him.
But only the driver would arrive at the end of the trip.
Along the way, I still tried to reach Sophia.
But she never answered.

Other books

Ice Moon by Lisa Kessler
House of Fallen Trees by Gina Ranalli
La cacería by Alejandro Paternain
Lynch by Merrigan, Peter J
The Dark Inside by Rupert Wallis
Ready or Not by Thomas, Rachel