Chapter 24
A
t precisely four o'clock, Goebel told the hostess at Bubba Gump's he'd like a table facing the pier for a party of eleven. Since it wasn't yet dinnertime, she was able to show them to a table for large parties immediately.
Once they were seated and had placed an obligatory drink order, Goebel produced a small black pouch. He looked from side to side, making sure that no one was paying attention. “This is how we'll communicate.” He removed several mini two-way radios with earpieces from the pouch and handed one each to his and Chris's three buddies from the police department, whom they knew as Ron, Keith, and Jeff. “I'm sure you guys know how to use these, but let's check and make sure they work.” Goebel had every kind of surveillance equipment commercially available and some that wasn't.
Trying not to attract too much attention, each man slipped the earpiece in.
“Dave, you hear this?” Goebel asked as he squeezed the TALK button.
Dave replied, “Loud and clear.”
“Ron, Keith, Jeff?”
All three men nodded in the affirmative.
“Dave, I want you to be the one who puts the money inside the garbage can,” Goebel said.
“I checked out the place as soon as we arrived. The can is against the wall to the right of the door. You can't miss it,” Dave informed him.
“Keith, you're going to have a bad case of the squirts. I'll need someone inside the stall across from the trash can.”
“Figures, I always get the shitty jobs.”
“This isn't the time for jokes, my man. A woman's life is at stake,” Goebel admonished.
“Sorry,” Keith said. “Just cop talk.”
“Jeff, you and Ron blend in with the crowd. Wait for my signal to move in. After Rag retrieves the luggage containing the money, we'll grab him.”
Toots and Phil listened intently as Goebel orchestrated his plan.
“How do you plan to get him to talk? I want to know Abby's whereabouts the second you nab him.”
“Don't worry, Ms. Loudenberry. I've done this before. I promise we'll get him to talk,” Dave said.
The waitress arrived, carrying a large tray full of drinks. They'd all ordered Cokes to make it easy. This was anything but a social gathering.
Sophie spoke to the waitress. “Is there a Ping-Pong table nearby?”
The young girl, wearing denim shorts and a bright red T-shirt, laughed. “No Ping-Pong tables here. Did you ever see the movie
Forrest Gump?
Tom Hanks's character became a famous Ping-Pong player in the movie and started the Bubba Gump Shrimp Company. We use the paddles here for you to signal us if you need something. Red is for stop, and green is for go.”
Perplexed, Sophie said, “So what you're telling me is if we
don't
need anything, we still have to hold up the green paddle, telling you to keep going because we
don't
need anything?”
Toots was about to lose it. “Sophia Manchester, could you shut the fuck up?” She yanked the green paddle from Sophie's hand and placed it at the end of the table, so they wouldn't be disturbed.
Apparently embarrassed, the waitress hurried away.
“Sophie, I know you mean well, but please let's get Abby home. Then you can do whatever you want. You can play with all the Ping-Pong paddles you want.”
“And balls, too,” Sophie couldn't help but add.
Toots had to laugh. She knew her dearest friend was as concerned about Abby as she was. She just hid behind her humor even more so when times were rough. It was how she'd managed to survive her abusive marriage as well as she had.
Ida and Mavis, on the other hand, had yet to utter a word.
Ida couldn't seem to take her eyes away from Dave Thompson.
Well,
Toots thought,
I'm just as bad, because it was only a short while ago that I was making out in the parking lot with Phil.
“I want the rest of you to wait here. Phil, Chris, make sure they don't go anywhere. I'm going to get Chester out of the car now so we can get into position. You guys ready?”
Toots's hands were shaking like dry leaves in a fall breeze. “Goebel, please, whatever you do, find out where Abby is. I don't care what it takes. You know what I mean? I've got zillions of dollars and a stepson who just happens to be an attorney. You get my drift?” Toots didn't know any other way to say it. If it meant finding Abby, no cost was too high.
Not even the life of the perverted little son of a bitch who took her.
Chapter 25
R
ag arrived at the Santa Monica Pier with plenty of time to spare. He saw that there were still open parking spots on the pier itself. Lady Luck was in his hip pocket that day. A spot at the end of the parking area was open. Planning his escape, he backed the hunk of junk into the open spot. Grabbing his bag, he removed the red envelope and tucked it in his back pocket. He didn't want to be rummaging through his satchel inside the restroom. He planned to be in and out as quickly as possible.
The faded, uneven boards on the pier made it difficult to walk. He wondered just how heavy a suitcase containing one million dollars was. If he was lucky, maybe the suitcase would have wheels. Damn, he should've demanded that in his note.
Too late now,
he thought as he walked as quickly as he could toward the Marine Science Center.
As usual, the pier was crowded. People from all over the world could be found there. It was one of the reasons why he'd chosen the place. He wouldn't stand out among the crowd of bums, surfers, bikers, even Goth freaks, you name it, who could be found at the pier any time of day or night. Sometimes his genius amazed him.
Casually strolling past the pier, Rag almost tripped over the uneven boards when he spied the Santa Monica substation on the entrance side that led to the men's room in which he planned to pick up the first part of his winnings. Trying not to be too obvious, Rag scoped out the police officers promenading up and down and around the pier.
WTF? Have I been double-crossed somehow? If I have,
he thought,
prissy Miss Abby Simpson can kiss her ass good-bye.
Giving himself time to consider the matter, he continued walking toward the Marine Science Center.
Nice and easy, like you don't have a care in the world. Just out for an afternoon walk on the beach, like everyone else.
Rag crammed his hands in his pockets. Damn, the men and women in blue were all over the place!
Forcing himself to calm down, he reasoned that if the cops were here for him, they sure as hell wouldn't be wearing uniforms. Nope, they'd have the plainclothes crew out for him. He felt a burst of pride. They'd need the big guns to take him down. This was nothing more than a slight oversight on his part.
A minor flaw in phase three.
Once he'd located the men's room, as a precaution, he lingered outside the entrance for a couple of minutes just to make certain he wasn't being watched. The coast was clear. Rag went inside.
Continuing along in his mode of just a guy taking a stroll, now about to take a piss, by all appearances he was doing just that. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a father and son exit one of the three closed stalls. A pair of boot-clad feet in a second stall across from the garbage can was positioned in such a way that Rag knew the guy was going to be there for a while taking care of business, and doubted he'd even know anyone else was in the restroom, let alone someone in the midst of collecting the ransom from a kidnapping. Groans and grunts from the stall assured him that whoever was in there, he was concentrating on only one thing.
Quickly, before anyone else came inside, Rag removed the dark green plastic lid on the trash can, took the red envelope out of his back pocket, and inserted the corner of the envelope's edge at a seam along the base of the lid. Tape would've helped, he thought, but this would work. Placing the lid back on the can, he peered down and looked inside, just to make sure the envelope remained intact. It would totally ruin his day if LAT Enterprise, whoever the hell “they” were, failed to locate the note with the information about his offshore bank account.
Yep, it was exactly where it belonged. He quickly exited the bathroom, glad for the breath of fresh air. As he walked away from the stench, he briefly wondered if the guy wearing the boots had ever heard of a courtesy flush, because it smelled like something had crawled up his ass and died.
A short walk across the pier was an arcade that afforded him a bird's-eye view of the men's room. Looking at the carnival-style arcade, with all its noise, kids running around in circles, parents tossing away hundreds for two-dollar toys, Rag thought he couldn't have picked a more perfect location to monitor the comings and goings of those in need of a place to relieve themselves.
Â
While Rag was positioning himself, Goebel, with Chester at his side, was meeting Dave and the three cops at the base of the pier. The dog was beyond well disciplined, and for that he was thankful. He had his master's scent from a T-shirt Chris had found in the trunk of Abby's car. He hoped it wasn't necessary to use the dog's olfactory skills, but just in case, he was prepared. Something he'd learned after spending more than thirty years in the NYPD: never,
ever
enter into a situation unprepared.
All eyes were on the Louis Vuitton luggage containing one million dollars in cash. Goebel had removed it from Toots's Thunderbird when he took Chester out of the Escalade. Now it was their main focus.
He removed a small box about the size of a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. “Dave, you know what this is, don't you?”
“Yes, it's an ink bomb,” Dave said.
“This one is motion activated with a three-minute delay. This'll give him time to exit the bathroom and be out in the open when the device explodes. Hopefully, in all the confusion the Santa Monica police officers will be focused on crowd control, so we can jump in, grab the bastard, and whisk him away.”
“What if he suspects something and doesn't take the luggage?” Keith asked.
“Then it's going to be up to the rest of us to catch him. Remember, you're going to be inside, on the john, while all this is going down,” Goebel explained. “If you see anything, you'll radio us so we can surround the bathroom.”
The atmosphere pulsed with testosterone, each man more than willing to do his part, whatever it took, to capture the son of a bitch responsible for taking Abby.
“Keith, make sure you're in the stall before Dave goes in. We don't want anyone else to get his hands on that luggage,” Goebel said. “And we don't want anyone to spot it in the trash and report an abandoned suitcase to the authorities.”
“Dave, once he's inside, wait two minutes. Then put the luggage in the trash can. We know he's going to be watching for someone to come in there with a suitcase and leave empty-handed. It's imperative that you leave the area as fast as you can, so he feels secure enough to make the pickup.”
“Will do,” Dave responded.
“Have I left anything out?” Goebel asked, aware that he was human and knowing full well that there were times when input from someone else could point out omissions. No one said a word. Goebel looked at his watch. Four thirty-one. They had twenty-nine minutes before showtime. They scattered like ants to their designated positions.
“Good luck,” Goebel called out. They were going to need all the luck they could muster, and then some.
Abby's life was in their hands.
Chapter 26
A
bby struggled to contain her fear. She tried counting to one hundred, then a thousand. Nothing.
Panic-stricken, she counted seconds, then minutes, in order to calculate how long she'd been locked inside the small, sweltering closet. Guessing she'd been in the closet for about half an hour before she began counting, Abby tried inhaling through her nose, then slowly exhaling through her mouth. It was difficult given the three layers of duct tape around her mouth, but she managed to use her tongue to maneuver the tape away from her lips in order for a pocket of air to escape. It was just enough to keep her anxiety from overwhelming her. Never having suffered from claustrophobia, Abby felt a new sense of empathy for those who did.
Sweat trickled down her back, settling at the base of her spine. The skin around her wrists and ankles felt raw and bruised. She tried to kick off her shoes by ramming the heels of her sneakers against the legs of the chair and pushing up. Nothing. She wished now that she'd thought to wear socks as they would have helped to absorb some of the perspiration. She wiggled her toes every once in a while to keep her feet from falling asleep. She had to do something to get the hell out of this heat box, or else she would completely lose it.
Turning her neck from left to right, she managed to use the elasticity of the tape to force it away from her mouth. Finally, she could actually touch her top lip with her tongue. That gave her hope and reduced her anxiety to a manageable level.
Knowing that Goebel, her mother, and her godmothers were aware of her abduction, she realized that it could only be a matter of time before they found her. And her mother wouldn't stop until she did. Abby tried to keep the thought uppermost in her mind. Soon, she'd be out of this two-by-two closet, and home. Anywhere but here. Chester. He would wonder what had happened to her. They'd been together for five years. Poor thing, but again she assured herself that he was being well taken care of by someone in the family.
Then she thought about Chris and the time they had spent together.
Their last date.
Had it really only been a few hours ago that they'd walked the red carpet together? They'd both decked themselves out for the event just because Abby, as editor in chief of
The Informer,
which was close to overtaking the
National Enquirer
as the leading tabloid, had received an invitation for a stupid movie premiere! Just thinking about the senselessness and stupidity of the powers that be in Hollywood caused her stomach to churn. As much as she'd enjoyed all the fanfare and hoopla that went along with her job, and her lifestyle, she was absolutely ready to consider a new career. And it would definitely not be in Hollywood.
Wet with perspiration, Abby tried once again to find a position that didn't deaden her nerve endings any more than they were already. Shifting from one side of her butt to the other, hoping to relieve the numbness, she squeezed her glutes just the way she did at the gym. If anything, when she was found, she'd be able to get up and walk without assistance.
Abby tried to stretch the muscles in her lower back and felt a tinge of relief.
Hope, that was what she had to cling to. If not, she didn't even want to imagine how this nightmare would end.
Â
Toots and Phil hadn't said much since Goebel and Dave left Bubba Gump's to drop the luggage off at the arranged spot. Sophie chattered enough to keep them all entertained.
“Toots, have faith. Remember, Goebel is one of the best in the business. Like you, Phil, you're one of the best cardiologists in Charleston. We're going to find Abby, and when we do, we're all going to party like it's nineteen ninety-nine.”
“Please, Sophie. That is so yesterday,” Ida informed her. “We're going to thank the big man upstairs. Then we're going to party. Then we're all going to become movie stars.”
Toots looked at Ida like she had little green men coming out of her ears. “No thanks. This Hollywood stuff is going to be my downfall. When Abby is home, I plan to have a serious discussion with her about
The Informer.
I want to get rid of it, sell it to anyone who wants it for whatever they are willing to pay. I'll take a loss. I don't care. It's the root of all my troubles now.” Again, for the hundredth time, tears pooled in Toots's eyes as she thought of all the trouble owning the paper had brought her. It just wasn't worth it.
“I'm not so sure Abby will agree with that, and maybe she can buy the paper herself. It's been her baby for the past two years now,” Chris said, but he didn't sound convinced.
“No matter what we do, we'll all do it together. Toots, you can always join Ida and me. We could teach you how to dress the dead and make their final journey as pleasant as possible,” Mavis said, though Toots knew that dear old Mavis was just trying to cheer her up.
“What did you just say that you do?” Phil asked, doubting that he could have heard what he thought he had and suddenly more curious than ever about this group of women.
“They lay out dead people, and Ida paints their faces. Mavis dresses them and also sells a line of clothing called Good Mourning for the living. It's her philosophy that you should be able to wear mourning clothes to other places besides funerals. Toots has buried so manyâ”
“Not now, Sophia!” Toots warned her.
“Sorry. Anyway, we all started new careers when Toots sent for us two years ago.”
Phil smiled. “And you can fill me in on the details as soon as Abby is home. I can't wait to hear them.”
Toots asked, “What time is it now?”
“It's four fifty-five,” Chris said.
“That son of a bitch is here somewhere now, and I don't even know what he looked like when this all started, much less now. Maybe we should go outside and look, see if we spot anyone who looks suspicious.”
“No, Toots, that is the very last thing you need to do. Let Goebel and Dave, and my buddies on the LAPD handle this. They know what they're doing. Besides, if Rag spotted people searching the crowd, who knows what he might do? Let's wait here a little. It's going to be over soon, I promise,” Chris said, praying that his words were true.
“I'd just like to have five minutes with him. I guarantee you it would be the most memorable of what's left of his worthless life.”
“Toots,” Sophie said, “I tell you what. If I have the chance, I personally will whack that bastard's dick off, stuff it down his throat while Mavis shoves a bouquet of flowers up his ass, and Ida can tattoo his forehead with the word âuseless' with her permanent makeup kit. He ain't gonna be anything to look at when we're finished with him.” Sophie grinned, but Toots knew she was simply blabbering, saying anything to pass the time until they received word from Goebel that he'd found Abby's location.
Toots looked out the large window. Her heart did a double beat. “Oh my God, game's on. There go Goebel and Chester!”