The King (8 page)

Chapter 34

Billy Stone woke up screaming as the adrenaline ripped through his body like an electric shock. He found himself in a nightmare, strapped naked to a cold, metal chair. He tried to move, but every joint had a leather strap affixed to it, from his ankles, to his knees, waist, neck, head, upper arms, elbows, wrists, and every one of his fingers. He tried to scream, but his voice just reverberated against the cement walls.

He tried looking around, but all he could see were the cement walls and floor, which had been painted in such a bright white that it reflected back into his eyes and gave him the impression that he was sitting in a room filled with nothingness. He looked to his right, and saw an IV attached to the side of the chair, draining liquid down into a line that fed into a vein in his arm.

Then he felt himself move. The chair slowly slid around to his right, enough to let him see a man, standing next to a wall that looked freshly built and painted.

“Who are you?” Billy said, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. “What is this? What are you doing?”

The man smiled, as if Billy’s desperate questions pleased him. Then he took a step forward and held up the remote in his hand. “Do you see this?” he said.

“What the fuck are you–”

The man moved quickly, taking three steps forward and savagely slapping Billy across the face. Then he stepped back again. “I’ll ask you again,” he said slowly, and Billy could tell by the look on his face that he had enjoyed hitting him. “Do you see this?”

“Yes.”

The man smiled again. “I want you to listen very closely to what happens when I push this button.”

He pushed it, and from somewhere outside Billy heard a rumbling explosion, followed by the sound of falling rocks, crashing against the freshly covered wall, making it buckle slightly, revealing the lines of cinder blocks under the plaster.

“What was that?” Billy said, not even trying to hide his terror.

“It was exactly what it sounded like”

“It sounded like...you buried us in here…”

The man nodded, the smile still on his face. “Very smart, Billy. You’re as smart as they say.”

“W-why would you do that?” Billy’s lips trembled, and he felt a tear make its way across his cheek.

“To make sure we’re not disturbed,” the man said, smiling. “I have...so much planned…” 

Chapter 35

Russell Scott was the best CPA in a wealthy community, and his house reflected his status. It was a six-bedroom, seven-bath, brick house with a black tile roof, sitting on an acre and a half lot, two hundred and fifty feet off of the main road. As Stevens looked at it, he thought it looked more and more like where Billy Stone could be being held. It was set away from the road, it was big, the plans said there was a big basement, and the neighbors were far enough away that they might not hear someone scream.

Stevens made a motion to the FBI Swat Commander to move into the upward position next to the house as he ran with his gun held out in front of him, going from tree to tree until he was within fifteen feet of the house. He could see past the drapes, and he could tell that this house was lived in, not dead like the others. Stevens was sure it was all connected, even though – no matter how many times, she tried – Sarah hadn’t been able to tie the empty houses to Russell Scott.

Yes, the two men who had died had been clients of Russell’s, but the only way that they’d been able to get that was from his signature on their tax returns. Other than that, he’d been able to keep his name off of any transaction that might have implicated him. It was in equal parts clever and disturbing.

Russell had fooled his doctors into releasing him, but Stevens was sure it was just a smoke screen, that the man’s obsessive-compulsive behavior in relationship to his daughter had shifted to Billy Stone. The psychologist who had been working with Russell said that that was a possibility, given his past behavior, but he’d given no indication of that in the sessions that had led up to his release from the institution.

Stevens had asked about follow up treatment, but the psychologist had said there hadn’t been any. He’d made several calls to Russell, but the man had said he was fine, busy, and didn’t have time to come in. The psychologist had taken that as a good sign – a sign that he wasn’t thinking about London. But Stevens guessed that it was so he could focus on getting his hands on Billy Stone.

The picture Stevens had in his head wasn’t a pretty one: an obsessive- compulsive CPA, whose job it was to focus on details, had been planning what he was going to do to Billy Stone for just over a year.

Stevens looked down at his watch – eight hours and fifteen minutes – he thought about all the things that could happen in that amount of time. He felt sure that they were too late, but he knew that they would go through the motions, like actors in a play who had stumbled on stage to witness the final act.

Stevens motioned to the Swat Commander to hit the door. The Commander pointed towards the men in front of him, and they smashed it with the battering ram. Identifying themselves as FBI, as they stormed into the house, guns out.

Stevens was right behind them, breaking from the group that was running up the stairs to go with the team hitting the basement door, adjacent to the kitchen. He was running behind as the battering ram blew the door off the hinges and they scrambled down the stairs to find nothing but boxes, gym equipment, and the washer and dryer.

No Russell Scott. No Billy Stone.

Stevens turned and ran back up the stairs. Emily Sarah and Emory Thomas were in the front room with the Swat Commander, who turned to him as he ran up.

“The house is clear,” the Commander said, shaking his head.

Stevens pointed at Sarah. “Come on!” They ran to the room that Scott had turned into his home office, and Stevens ushered Sarah to the computer. “We need to get into that thing, fast. Somewhere, there’s another dead client, and this one has a house in a secluded location.”

Stevens tore open one of the file cabinets and started going through the files. There were hundreds  – it was like looking for a needle in a haystack – but it was all they had. Suddenly, he looked up at Emory. “What about his phone or car?”

“You mean tracking them?”

“He’s got to be getting around, somehow.”

Emory pulled out his phone. “I’ll get someone on it.”

Stevens skimmed through the paper files. He wasn’t a numbers guy, and he could barely understand what he was looking at, but he had to burn off his frustration. He was just finishing up the first cabinet when Emily Sarah slammed her hands down on the keyboard.

“I’ve got something!” she said.

Chapter 36

Russell flipped another switch on the remote, and Billy’s chair rotated 45 degrees, far enough that he could see the tools, laid out on the table next to them. Russell watched his eyes as they moved from the bat, to the rubber-headed chisel that he’d had specially made, to the rubber-headed mallet, to the pliers, to the bottles of water, to the IV bags, to the different glass bottles filled with various medications, and finally to the syringes.

Billy looked up, his eyes filled with horror. “I have money,” he said.

Russell couldn’t help but smile. “I know,” he said, “you paid for all of this.”

“How...”

“You should really think before you have Tom Francis write those big checks.” As Russell watched, realization spread across Billy’s face, and with it, a rising panic.

“You’re London’s father,” Billy said, as if it were a death sentence.

“I’m surprised you remember her name. I thought to you she was ‘just another girl.’” Russell heard the rage in his own voice.

“I was mad at her,” Billy said, “for leaving.”

Something in his voice seemed off, somehow, as if... what was he playing at? “You gave her a check and booted her out the door!” Russell said.

Billy looked down at the ground. “She took the check,” he said, his voice a mixture of spite and defiance.

Russell took up the bat. “You bastard!”

Billy screamed as Russell raised the bat over his head and brought it down in the middle of Billy’s right thigh with enough force to break the bone.

Billy Screamed in pain, his eyes glazing over just before he passed out. Russell shook his head as he put down the bat and picked up one of the bottles of water. He poured it over Billy’s head, and after a few moments Billy came around, screaming in pain.

“Stay with me Billy,” Russell said, “we’ve got over two hundred bones to go.” Russell smiled, and reached for the rubber-headed mallet

“No – please God, no!”

Russell didn’t hesitate as he brought the mallet up and then back down with a resounding crack that reverberated through the cement room as the bones of Billy’s left forearm shattered.

Chapter 37

“What is that?” Emory Thomas said as he looked at the screen over Emily Sarah’s shoulder.

“It’s a room where Russell could get some alone time with Billy,” Stevens said.

“To do what?” Emory asked, but the look on his face said he already knew.

“Hurt him,” Stevens said. “Probably very slowly, and very painfully.”

“Where is it?”

Sarah shook her head. “The plans are here, but not the location. She pulled up a picture of a metal chair. “There’s this.”

Stevens looked at it, and the fact that there were straps near every joint in the body. “Very slowly,” Stevens said. “And very painfully.”

“Damn.” Emory said.

“Somebody had to have built the room and the chair,” Stevens said.  “That’s why he drew them out.”

Sarah nodded. “There had to have been a back and forth with the builders, and there has to be a record of it, somewhere.” Sarah started racing through files as Emory and Stevens watched, and after a few minutes she got a hit.

“RS1 Construction,” she said.

Stevens pulled out his cell and dialed the number, and after two rings a male voice answered

“RS1 Construction.”

“Who is this?”

“Ron Smiley, who’s this?”

“Agent Jon Stevens with the FBI.”

“What? The FBI? Why–”

“Did you build a room for Russell Scott?”

There was a pause. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because we need to find that room, now!”

“Don’t you need a warrant?”

“God damn it!” Stevens said. “Right now Russell Scott could be torturing a man to death in the room you built! If you don’t want to find yourself up on conspiracy to commit murder charges you’d better fucking tell us what we want to know!”

“Jesus... I didn’t know–”

“Where is it!”

“He has some property up near Riverbend Park, off Bootlegger Trail.”

“Riverbend Park, off Bootlegger Trail,” Stevens said to Sarah.

Sarah pulled up a Google Map that showed a heavily forested area.

“Where are you right now, Smiley?”

“Home.”

“Stay there,” Stevens said. “We’re going on a little drive.”

Chapter 38

The pain that radiated through his body was overwhelming, but Russell had pumped him so full of adrenaline each time he’d passed out that his heart was pounding like a kick drum. And still, Russell kept going. Russell had the pliers on his left thumb and as Billy watched he wrenched it to the side, snapping the bone.

Billy screamed.

Russell smiled.

Billy had pleaded, he’d begged. His mind was beyond coping. He barely knew what he was saying.

“I loved her!”

Russell’s eyes went wide. “Love?” he said. “How the hell can you say that?”

“It nearly killed me when she left!”

“You called her just another girl!”

“I felt betrayed. I was... devastated.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have kicked her out the door.” Russell looked over the tools on the table, wondering which to pick up.

“That was Tom Francis.”

“You made him do it, then,” Russell said, stepping away from the tray.

“He did it on his own.”

“He worked for you.”

“He said he was protecting me.”

“If you loved her so damn much,” Russell said, his shoulders slumping, “then why didn’t you go after her?”

Billy hung his head down. “Francis told me she took the money...”

“And you believed him?”

“I thought he was my friend...”

Russell looked down at Billy, at the tears running down his cheeks. Then he walked towards the wall he’d just put up. The wall that he’d buried them both behind. Russell sighed. His shoulders were still slumped, and for a few, precious seconds Billy hoped that he might live through this. But then Russell shook his head.

“No, no, no,” he said. “You’re not going to pull that shit. “You’re not going to say it was someone else’s fault. You’re not going to make me think I’m doing the wrong thing, going after the wrong man. You’re going to pay for what you did.”

“Wait, it’s all–”

Russell picked up the rubber-headed chisel and the mallet. “That’s enough talking from you,” he said, and then pushed the chisel into the side of Billy’s jaw and swung.