Paying The Piper (6 page)

The Piper had said to always answer the phone. There was enough hubbub in the house to disguise the cell’s vibrating, but a second’s lull, and someone would hear it. He couldn’t let it continue ringing. He had to switch it off, but if he did, the Piper would hurt Sammy. If someone discovered the phone on him, then Sammy was dead. The choice was simple. He slid a hand into his pocket and pressed the phone’s end key. The cell stopped vibrating, and he thought he’d puke.

“Can you get Rooker to meet with us?” George asked.

“We’re just leaving for the bank.”

“Can you bring him by afterwards?”

He needed time alone to find Redfern, and George had just given him his excuse. “Charles,” he called over his shoulder, “the
Independent
would like to interview you. Could you come by the paper after we’re done at the bank?”

“Why?” Sheils asked with suspicion.

“Because of Mr. Rooker’s generosity.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Rooker said. “I want people to know why I’m doing this.”

“We’ll meet you at the office,” Scott said to George, and hung up.

“I’ll have a car brought around,” Sheils said.

“No,” Jane said. “I don’t want Peter riding around in police cars with men with guns. He needs stability and familiarity. We’ll go in ours. You can follow.”

As they headed toward their cars, all Scott could think about was what the Piper was doing to Sammy.

S
cott stood at the entrance
of the bank vault. It looked utilitarian compared to the gleaming examples found in the movies. Still, Peter was getting a kick out of being allowed inside. Bank staff had taken him and Jane into the vault while Brannon supervised the two million being counted out and bagged. According to Sheils, the money would remain with the bank until the drop.

Sheils sidled up next to Scott. “Unbelievable, isn’t it?”

Scott thought he meant the immense amount of wealth being put aside for him, until he noticed Sheils’s gaze was on Rooker. The property developer was sitting at a desk behind the tellers. Rooker was on the phone while he and the bank manager examined a computer screen.

“What is?” Scott asked.

“That man is putting up the ransom for Sammy, despite what you did to his son.”

Scott guessed Sheils’s goading wasn’t going to let up. He kept a tight grip on his temper. He wouldn’t give Sheils the satisfaction of losing it in public.

“I didn’t do anything to his son.”

“You’re right. You didn’t. That’s what killed him.”

“There’s one thing we can both agree on.”

“And what’s that?”

“Charles Rooker is a better man than the both
of us put together.”

Rooker and the bank manager concluded their business with a joke. He rejoined Scott and Sheils. He clapped his hands together and smiled.

“We have the Piper’s ransom,” Rooker said. “Now, shall we tell your newspaper how he can choke on it?”

“Yes,” Scott said.

They drove to the
Independent
. As they entered the building, Peter said he was hungry, so Jane took him in search of a restaurant, with Brannon in tow. George Moran set Rooker up in the boardroom with the reporting team. He even managed to entice Sheils into the interview. Suddenly, Scott found himself unattended.

He’d been wondering how he’d wrangle some alone time to check out Mike Redfern’s whereabouts for the Piper, and now he had it. He estimated he had an hour at the most before George had enough to work up a story. Was an hour enough to find Redfern?

He grabbed a city directory and disappeared inside George’s office. Redfern had owned a house in Piedmont at the time of his conviction, but had sold it to pay his legal fees. Scott logged on to a website listing property information and ran a search for Mike Redfern. The database came up blank on all fifty states. Considering the kind of legal fees Redfern had run up, Scott doubted he could afford real estate anywhere.

The only person that had stood by Redfern was his younger brother, Richard. Richard was listed, and Scott called him on the Piper’s cell. The phone wouldn’t be traced back to Scott, and knowing the Piper, it wouldn’t trace back to him, either.

While the phone rang, he worked up a cover story. Considering the purpose of his call, he couldn’t identify himself.

“Richard Redfern.”

“Mr. Redfern, my name is Sims and I’m trying to locate your brother Mike Redfern regarding outstanding college loans.”

“College loans?” Richard
said skeptically.

“Yes, he obtained two loans in connection with his CPA accreditation.”

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m getting sick of you people harassing me. I know you want to talk to my brother about this damn Piper business. Leave us alone!”

Richard hung up before Scott could say anything more.

Of course he wasn’t the only one trying to find Redfern. No doubt every news organization in the country was seeking a quote from him.

Scott didn’t know who else to try. There were people he could contact—Redfern’s parole officer, staff writers at the
Independent
, even a couple of cops in the SFPD—but they were all off-limits. If he were to talk to any of those people, it would get back to Sheils.

Scott ran a search for Redfern on the
Independent
’s archives. All the stories kicked up by the search dated back to Redfern’s capture, arrest, and trial—except for one. The most recent story was from a year ago and covered Redfern’s release. The story went with a “man who hoaxed the
Independent
” slant; his colleague, Dale Murphy, had covered it.

A photograph accompanied the story. It showed Redfern being met at the prison gates by a man identified as Kenneth Katz. According to the story, Katz was a friend. The article featured a quote from Katz saying, “Mike has done his time and now he wants to live his life in peace.”

Katz sounded like a stand-up guy, until Scott ran a search on him. Katz had sold his story to the
Independent
. He wasn’t Redfern’s childhood buddy. He’d been his cellmate for three years. Katz was a small-time crook, and Redfern’s only friend.

Scott looked across the newsroom at Murphy’s desk. He wasn’t there. Scott went over and took a seat. He asked casually if Murphy was around and got a no. He feigned
disappointment. He didn’t want Murphy interrupting him.

Murphy was old-school. He kept all his contacts on two twin spindle Rolodexes—contact info for almost a thousand people. Scott looked up Katz. There was no address, just a San Francisco phone number. He scribbled the number down and dialed it when he returned to George’s office.

“Yeah.”

“Kenneth Katz?”

“Yeah. Who is this?”

“It’s the
Independent
. I wanted to talk to you about the latest Piper kidnapping.” Scott did his best to sound upbeat and professional and not like a parent coming apart at the seams.

“You mean you want to talk about Mike.” Sudden interest entered Katz’s tone.

“Yeah, I was hoping to get a quote from Mr. Redfern.”

“Five hundred bucks.”

“Excuse me?”

“You want Mike’s contact info, it’ll cost you five hundred bucks.”

Some pal you are
, Scott thought. “Okay. Come to the office, and I’ll have your money.”

“No, no, no. You come to me.”

Going to Katz wasn’t an option. Sheils and Rooker would be through with their interviews in less than half an hour, closing his window of opportunity. Scott didn’t know when he’d get the chance to be alone again.

“If it’s a question of transportation, I’ll spring for a cab to bring you here.”

“It don’t work that way, friend. You want something from me, you come to me.”

“I don’t really have the time to make the trip. It would be so much more convenient if you could swing by here.”

“No doubt you’d consider it a personal favor.”

“I would.”

“I don’t do favors. It don’t pay.”

What a prick. Scott couldn’t believe this guy was flexing
his muscles over five hundred bucks. His gut told him to blow the guy off, but he needed Redfern’s information.

He checked his watch. He guessed he had twenty-five minutes before Sheils came looking for him.

“Okay, where do you want to meet?”

Scott left George’s office and crossed the newsroom floor. He walked in the direction of the men’s room. No one engaged him beyond a head nod or smile. He returned the greetings while praying Sheils wouldn’t suddenly appear.

He took the stairs to avoid bumping into anyone and slipped from the building through the parking lot. He was thankful Jane had insisted on driving their own car to the bank. He got behind the wheel and drove to the location Katz had given him. He hit the ATM on the way and withdrew the five hundred.

Scott parked in a red zone on the corner of Bryant and Gilbert. He didn’t see Katz and couldn’t afford to wait. If he could get this over and done with, he stood a slim chance of getting back before Sheils finished his interview. He pulled out his cell and punched in Katz’s number.

“I can see you,” Katz said in his lazy tone.

Scott scanned for him and still didn’t see him. “Where are you?”

“Leave the wheels. I’m in the alley across the street.”

Scott spotted a service alley for a building. Dumpsters blocked a clear view of anyone lurking within. It bore all the hallmarks of a trap. Scott groaned.

He left his Honda with its hazard lights flashing. He jogged across the street, but slowed when he entered the alley. He called Katz’s name before venturing beyond the alley’s mouth.

Katz stepped out from behind a Dumpster.
He was an untidy mass of flesh, barrel-chested and thick-necked. He ambled toward Scott with his hands down and away from his sides.

Scott brought out the wad of bills from his pocket. “I’ve got your money.”

Katz snatched the money and counted through the bills. “I’m going to need more.”

“We agreed on five hundred.”

Katz pocketed the five hundred. “That was until I realized who you are. Your face is all over the news. Now, why would you be interested in contacting Mike Redfern when your kid is in the Piper’s clutches?” He shook his head. “It stinks, Scott. It stinks worse than this alley.”

Scott bridled. This small-time creep had put it all together in a matter of minutes. God knew how quickly Sheils would connect the dots if he got wind of this.

“How much do you want?”

“It depends what you want Mike for.”

“How much do you want?” Scott repeated.

“Watch the tone. Just remember who is calling the shots.”

“How much?”

“Ten thousand”—Katz smirked—“to begin with.”

The smirk and the “to begin with” tipped the balance. Scott was already living under one threat. He wouldn’t live under another, especially from the likes of Katz.

“No,” Scott said. “Five hundred is what we agreed to, and five hundred is all you’re getting.”

Katz’s smirk developed into something ugly, and he brushed past Scott on his way to the street.

It felt good when he drove his fist into Katz’s kidneys. Scott expected the big man to absorb the blow and turn on him, but instead, he crumpled, collapsing against the side of a Dumpster. Katz possessed more bravado than muscle. Scott pushed him down and kept him in place with a glare. “You’re going to give me Redfern’s address and phone number.”

Katz nodded
and reached into his jacket pocket, but pulled out a switchblade instead. He slashed the air with the knife, and Scott leapt out of the blade’s arc.

Scott had made an error. He’d jumped deeper into the alley, putting Katz between him and his escape. He knew he was faster than Katz, but the narrow alley and the Dumpster constricted the route, putting him in reach of Katz’s knife.

“You just doubled the payment,” Katz snarled and held the knife out at Scott.

Katz struggled to his feet, his bulk working against him. He rolled onto all fours, putting his knife hand on the ground. Scott saw his opportunity. He sped forward, stamped his foot on Katz’s knife hand, and kneed him in the side of the head. The impact cut Katz’s strings and he went down hard.

Scott dropped his weight on Katz’s back, forcing the air from his lungs. He wrenched the knife from his hand and pressed it against his throat.

“Got any other surprises?”

“No. Just the knife.”

Scott patted him down anyway and found nothing.

He yanked Katz’s head back by the hair and jammed the knife against the underside of his throat. He pressed so hard the blade nicked the skin. “There’s a man out there who has my son. He’s likely to kill him even if I pay him the ransom. Do you think I have time for your petty bullshit?”

Katz didn’t answer.

“I asked you a question.”

“No,” he stammered, “you don’t have time.”

“Now we understand each other. Do you have Redfern’s address?”

“Yes.”

“Then give it to me.”

Scott climbed off Katz’s back.

Katz rolled over and fumbled in his pocket. He yanked
out the cash he’d just extorted. His hands shook so badly he dropped the money. He gathered it up and offered it to Scott.

“I don’t want the money. All I want is Redfern.”

Katz reached into his pants pocket and brought out a folded scrap of paper. He held it out to Scott with a shaky hand.

Scott snatched the paper and unfolded it. It listed an address in Lebanon, Oregon, but the name on the paper confused him. “Who’s Ray Banks?”

“A new identity. That’s what I do. Social security numbers. Driver’s licenses. You come to me. Mike got threats after he got out. He needed a new start, and I gave him one.”

Scott stared him down. “This better be right.”

“It is. It’s golden.”

Katz looked too scared to be lying, but Scott had to make sure. He yanked him up into a sitting position and slammed him against the Dumpster.

“You aren’t going to warn him, and you aren’t going to tell anyone else. If you do, I’ll know and I’ll find you. Do you understand me?”

Scott left Katz slumped against the Dumpster, sitting in his cash. He tossed the switchblade in the Dumpster on the way back to his car. He got behind the wheel and started shaking. He’d done what the Piper had asked, but he didn’t like how he’d gotten it done. Intimidation was what the Piper did. Not him. He had to cling to that. No matter what happened from now on, he had to remain himself.

He reexamined the paper with Redfern’s new identity and address written on it. Never had a death warrant looked so cheap.

His cell phone chirped and he pulled it out. Time had run out. He had messages from George, Jane, and Sheils. There was no going back to the
Independent
building to pretend he’d been there all along. He had no excuse for his absence. He needed to be found elsewhere, and he thought he knew just the place to go.