Shell Game (Stand Alone 2) (37 page)

“Say hello to Annie,” Edward said. “Oh, and tell her your new position includes a fifty percent pay raise and stock options for another five percent of the company. And, one other thing, Nick. Take that Hawaiian vacation before you take over as president of the company.”

Edward got into his car before Nick responded. He felt as relieved and relaxed as he had in a long time. He dialed the number for Betsy’s hospital room and gave his wife the good news.

“I told you everything was going to be all right, didn’t I?”

“You sure did, Honey. But, candidly, I thought you were nuts.”

“You’d better start listening to me, Eddie. Mothers always know best.”

Folsom was so bitterly angry, he felt nauseous. Everything he had worked for was going down the drain. This morning, he was just a few million dollars short of being a billionaire; now that dream was shot.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” he screamed, his words bouncing off the walls of his vault. “I should have killed that OCC bitch, Abigail Makris, too. She took my money and now she’s got a guilty conscience. What a fuckin’ hypocrite!”

Folsom placed a canvas gym bag on a table and unzipped it. He yanked one of the drawers out of the cabinet and poured the gem stones from the drawer into the bag. Then he did the same with the drawers holding the gold coins. He ignored the drawers with the silver coins; there were some valuable pieces in those drawers, but the total value of the silver was maybe $150,000 and not enough to justify carrying the additional weight. The fire sale value of the jewels and the gold coins was probably $3 million.

He moved to the opposite wall and pulled on the left side of the gun rack, swinging the rack away from the wall and exposing a built-in safe. Thank God the cops hadn’t found it during their search. Dialing in the safe’s combination, he cranked the handle and opened it. There were five things there he would need: An unregistered .45 caliber pistol, with two extra magazines; a U.S. passport in his own name and a Panamanian passport issued to a George Domenico that had cost him $10,000 paid to a politician in Panama; ID and credit cards in Domenico’s name; $200,000 in cash; and $50 million in Swiss government bearer bonds.

Folsom stuck the pistol and the false ID in pockets of his casual zippered jacket. The rest of the items from the safe went into the canvas bag. With the bag packed to the brim, he zipped it, closed the safe, and secured the gun rack. After closing the vault door, he walked downstairs to his bedroom and picked up the black leather suitcase he’d packed earlier with a couple changes of clothes before loading the bags in his trunk and driving away.

After clearing the front gate, he called his pilot and told him to have the Gulfstream V ready to go at 1 a.m. Then he drove twenty minutes to the Northwest Marriott Hotel. He carried both bags into the hotel at 7:30 p.m. and used the Domenico credit card and ID to check in. He asked for a room on the tenth floor and was assigned to 1027.

Edward finally left the hospital at 8:45 p.m. when the maternity nurse chased him out. He called Carrie’s cell to let her know he was on his way.

“It’s getting awfully late,” Carrie told him. “Mom looks like she’s about to crash.”

“Don’t let her go to bed. I’ve got some news I want to tell her.”

“I hope it’s good news. She’s so stressed out she’s only been getting four or five hours sleep a night. Or less.”

Edward chuckled. “I think you’ll all like it.”

“What is it, Eddie? What’s going on?”

“You’ll find out in a few minutes. Be patient.”

“You’re a bastard, you know it?”

“I love you, too.”

Edward hung up and felt a chill go down his spine. He couldn’t wait to see his mother’s face when he told her the good news. He probably should have called her but the news was so important he wanted to share his happiness with her. Especially considering the Winter family’s history with Gerald Folsom. He felt like a parent on Christmas Eve, setting up for his family’s joy.

At 9, he parked outside the hotel, went inside, and took the elevator to the tenth floor. Carrie let him into the suite where his mother and Wendy were seated on the living room couch in muted light.

“Do you mind if I turn up the lights?” Edward asked. “I want to see your faces when I give you my news.”

“This better be good,” Katherine said, smiling. “I can barely keep my eyes open.”

Edward turned up the lights and looked at Katherine. “I got a call from the bank. They’re renewing our loan. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Katherine propelled herself off the couch and ran to Edward. She hugged him and cried out, “Thank you, Lord. Oh thank you, thank you, thank you.” She then went to Carrie and hugged her too.

“Did Gerald finally do the right thing?” Wendy asked, looking incredulous.

“No, Wendy,” Edward said. “The FDIC apparently forced the bank to make this move. I don’t know anything else, but I do know Folsom’s going down for breaking the law and bribing government officials. They took Broad Street National Bank back from him and he could go to prison for a very long time.”

Wendy laughed, and then her laughter became almost hysterical before dissolving into tears. “Perfect,” she said. “It’s absolutely perfect.”

A knock on the door quieted the group.

“That’s probably Paul,” Edward said.

Katherine went to the door and opened it. She threw herself against Paul and shouted, “Isn’t the news wonderful?”

“Not as wonderful as my reception,” he said.

Edward’s and Carrie’s eyes met and they smiled at one another.

Katherine backed away from Paul, turning red. He raised a bottle in the air and announced, “I have here a vintage bottle of Dom Perrignon I’ve been saving for an important occasion. I think this qualifies.”

Wendy went to the kitchen and found wine glasses. She placed them on the coffee table while Paul popped the cork on the champagne. When the glasses were filled, Edward raised his and toasted, “To a bright future for all of us.”

They each sipped their champagne. Then Wendy said, “And good riddance to Gerald Folsom. I hope none of us ever see his face again.”

“Here, here,” Katherine said.

Carrie’s cell phone rang.

“Hello?” she said.

“It’s Darren. Just wanted to let you know we’re here. Mike’s in his car watching the back; I’ve got the front.”

Folsom checked his watch. It was 9:50 p.m.

He took the .45 caliber pistol from his jacket and switched off the safety. He figured it would take him no more than two minutes to go down the emergency exit stairs to the first floor, so he’d leave the room at 9:58 to meet Toothpick Jefferson. He’d scoped out the floor layout earlier. The staircase to the east emergency exit door was to the right when he exited his room, past Room 1045, after a slight curve in the hallway.

He shoved the pistol into the back of his waistband and pulled his jacket down to cover it, putting on a baseball cap to hide his face. At 9:58, after downing a scotch—his third since checking in—straight from a miniature from the minibar, he left the room. When he reconnoitered the hallway earlier, he’d discovered security cameras in three locations on the floor: one each by the emergency doors at opposite ends of the hallway, and one by the elevator. Because of the curve in the hallway, the only camera that had line of sight to his room and Room 1045 was the one at the east end of the corridor, by the exit he would take to meet Jefferson. He lowered his head, gazing down at the carpet, pulled a wad of chewing gum from his mouth and tore off a piece. He pressed the gum on the camera lens at the east exit before entering the stairwell there and walking down ten floors. At the bottom of the staircase, he opened the emergency exit door and felt a wave of humid air rush over him. Crossing the lawn toward him from the parking lot to the building was Toothpick Jefferson, followed by two men. Folsom could hear Jefferson’s labored breathing already. A fleeting thought crossed Folsom’s mind: How the hell is the fat slob going to climb up ten stories? And then have the energy to fuck the blonde bitch?

Edward and Paul had finished their champagne and were saying their goodbyes when Carrie’s cell phone rang again.

“Yeah,” Carrie said.

“You got company,” Darren said. “They just entered the east emergency staircase.”

“Who are they?”

“Three black guys. Another guy let them in.”

“How do you know they’re here for us?” Carrie asked.

“The fat guy from the park is with them.”

“Aw, Jesus. We’re in Room 1045. I’m going to get everyone out of here. Can you follow them up the staircase?”

“Probably not. The door’s more than likely locked from the inside.”

“Hold on,” she told him.

“Everybody listen,” Carrie called out with authority. The room went silent. “We’ve got bad guys coming up the emergency stairwell just down the hall to the right of our room. Let’s get out in the hall. NOW!”

Edward led them out of the room and into the hall as Carrie spoke again into her cell phone.

“Darren, go to the west side of the building. We’ll come down the staircase there and meet you.

“Go,” Carrie told Edward. “I’ve got to get something from the room. Go left down the hall. Take everyone down the staircase there.”

Edward started to move back to the room, but Carrie shouted at him, “I’ll be right along. My two friends from the park will be waiting outside the door at the bottom. Take care of Mom.”

They ran to the end of the hall and Edward pounded the locking bar on the emergency exit door, throwing it open, crashing it into the wall. He held the door open as Wendy, then Katherine and Paul ran into the stairwell and began descending the stairs as fast as they could. Edward looked back down the hallway, but Carrie wasn’t in sight. He looked over the railing and saw the others were already two floors down.

“Keep going,” he shouted. “There are two of Carrie’s friends waiting for you at the bottom.”

Edward watched the others for a second and then turned around and ran back down the corridor toward Carrie. He was back in Room 1045 within a few moments and found the door open, the suite empty. He stepped back into the corridor and looked left and right.

“Dammit, Carrie. Where are you?”

Suddenly, someone grabbed the neck of his jacket and yanked him backwards.

“What the—”

“Keep quiet,” Carrie whispered as she closed the door to the linen storage room across from 1045.

“Why the hell didn’t you come with the rest of us?” he demanded.

“Because I’m tired of reacting to Folsom. It’s time I took charge.”

“How do you know these guys are connected to Folsom?”

“I don’t, but who the hell else would be behind this?”

She removed a .9 mm automatic pistol from a satchel and handed it to him. “It’s loaded and the safety’s on. Here’s another magazine.”

Edward’s eyebrows went up, but he accepted the weapon and pocketed the magazine without a word. Carrie smiled at him when he ejected the magazine, checked the load, and racked the magazine back into the pistol.

By the time they reached the seventh floor landing, Toothpick Jefferson was breathing like a rutting rhinoceros and sweating buckets.

Folsom looked back at Jefferson and thought the man might croak on the spot. All four men were now taking baby steps in their climb to the tenth floor since he had to pause every third or fourth step.

“Listen, Toothpick, why don’t you stay here and cover our backs? I’ll take your men with me.”

“No way. I got plans for that blonde up there. I ain’t missin’ out on that.”

Folsom figured that whatever Jefferson’s plans for Carrie Winter were, the man wouldn’t have the energy to perform, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

They trudged up the last three flights and waited on the landing on the tenth floor while Jefferson caught his breath and wiped his face with an already soaked handkerchief.

“Okay, I’m ready,” Jefferson gasped.

“Follow me,” Folsom said. “The room’s on the left, four doors down.” He looked at the larger of Jefferson’s two men and said, “You kick in the door. We’ll follow you.”

The big man grunted in affirmation.

“It’s a suite, so there are probably bedrooms left and right of the entry.” He pointed at the big guy. “You go left.” He told the other man to go right. “There are three women staying in the room.”

“Don’t . . . get . . . trigger . . . happy,” Jefferson wheezed. “We gonna . . . have . . . some . . . fun . . . first.”

“Okay, Boss,” the big man said.

“Ready?” Folsom asked. He checked to make sure the other three men had their pistols out.

The others nodded.

Folsom cracked open the door and stared down the hall’s length; no one was there. He pushed the door all the way open and quickly marched toward the suite.

“Hold it,” he whispered to the big man, placing a hand on his chest. “The door’s open.”

“What’s happening here, Jerry?” Jefferson demanded. “Is this another one of your clusterfucks?”

“Shh,” Folsom said as he peeked into the room. The suite was dark, the drapes closed. “Go on in,” he said quietly. “You left, you right.”