Double Doublecross (26 page)

One thing was for certain. He had to take a look at Rick Jacobs and size him up. He might be the biggest obstacle of all.

The weekend passed quietly for Sara and Rick. On Monday morning Rick drove into work and sat at his desk, thinking about the sale of his house to Tom and Janet Hughes. In a way he almost regretted putting it up for sale and entering into the contract with Tom Hughes. He now had the money to cover the mortgages on the house and the apartments. In the meantime he had to figure out his schedule for the week with Pat James and Stan Turner.

“What's on the calendar for this week?” he called over to Pat.

“Not much today, Rick. Just a couple of showings and some budget items to address,” she remarked. “The showings are later this morning so we can take a look at the budget now if you and Stan are free.”

“Okay with you, Stan?” asked Rick.

“When you're ready,” he exclaimed.

They settled around Rick's table with a copy of the budget and spent the next hour going over the figures. Thanks to Rick and his infusion of capital, everything looked fine.

Phil Speed sat in his car just a few yards from Rick's office. He looked in his rearview mirror and picked out his tail a few spaces away. Opening up the morning paper, he pretended to read but locked his eyes on the front door of the office. He was determined to get a good look at Rick before he worked out a strategy to extract the money from him.

Eventually Rick came out of the office and walked over to his car, coming within a few feet of Phil Speed. He stared at Rick, noticing his tall stature, broad shoulders and athletic physique. It was immediately obvious to Speed a physical, hostile altercation with Rick was not the way to go. There had to be another way. He had to find his weak spot and play on it.

He had hoped that a beating might throw him into submission, but Speed came to the conclusion he could not handle it himself. Carl Regis was a coward and would be of no help. Now that he had sized up the opposition, he believed he had to channel his thoughts in another direction. He was pretty sure Rick would not scare easily and would not be intimidated by any threats.

He noted the two establishments on either side of the office. It was sandwiched between a dry cleaning establishment and a medium-sized upscale restaurant situated in an ‘L'-shaped strip mall with a large parking lot. Deliberating for a few seconds, he decided to take a closer look at all three businesses.

Starting up his car, he looked sideways as he went past his tail giving him a contemptuous smile and a finger.

“Up yours!” he said under his breath.

His adversary gave him a hard, stony stare.

He drove past the three stores in a slow, deliberate manner carefully noting the layout of all three. The restaurant
appeared to be partially full, and the dry cleaning store was practically empty. It was impossible to see inside the realty office as the blinds obstructed his view. He decided he must get closer to do that. He had to formulate a game plan to look at all three up close. Driving home, he gave it a lot of thought and had an embryo of an idea germinating in his mind as to how this could be achieved.

Meanwhile, Carl Regis was having second thoughts about bringing Phil Speed into the picture. His attitude in the restaurant indicated there was only one way to operate in these circumstances. It would be necessary to use some form of violent pressure, and Carl wanted no part of any act of violence leading to foul play, carnage or even murder.

For a brief moment, he thought of calling Sara to warn her of Phil Speed's involvement, but he decided against it for fear of repercussions from Speed. Now he was beginning to feel uncomfortable about the whole mess and wished he had never embarked on this foolish exploit. Nevertheless, he was in it up to his neck.

Sara sat in the family room wondering why they had not heard from Carl. She had half expected him to try at least one more time to rationalize with Rick, but they had heard nothing during the last few days, making her a little nervous and uncertain about the future. Rick was being very adamant about keeping the money.

In the morning of the following day, Phil Speed drove into the strip mall where the three stores were located and stepped out of his car carrying a sports bag and a large handful of clothing. Purposefully, he strode towards the dry cleaners,
knowing his shadow was watching him closely. He opened the door with a confident flourish, and casually dumped the clothes on the counter.

“How soon can you have these ready?” he asked.

“In two days,” the girl behind the counter replied.

“Fine,” he said taking a casual look around the shop, noticing the large rubber tree plant in one of the corners.

“What time do you close in the evening?”

“Six-thirty weekdays, seven on Saturdays and open ‘til four o'clock on Sundays,” the girl informed him.

“Good. I'll pick them up later. I'm in no hurry,” he said with a smile and a sideways glance at the plant.

Having finished his business in the cleaners, he walked past Rick's office, glancing in the window trying to get a look inside. Briefly he saw Pat James and Stan Turner working at their desks. He turned back and looked at the houses for sale on the various notices plastered in the window. For a moment he hesitated, then he opened the door and made his way to the desk of Pat James.

“Good morning. Can I help you?” she said with a friendly voice.

“I don't have much time at the moment, and I'd like to look at some properties. I can't stop today. What time do you close the office?”

“Usually at seven o'clock, give a minute or two.”

“Okay,” he said with a grin. “I'll try to look in maybe on Friday or Saturday.”

He walked towards the door, looking around casually as he left. Noticing Stan Turner, he glanced behind him trying to get a glimpse of Rick but he was out of luck. He wasn't in the office.

Phil Speed looked at his wristwatch. It was now fifteen
minutes to noon. Slowly, he strolled up to the restaurant and peered at the menu in the window, taking a further look inside. He opened the door and was immediately confronted by a receptionist who asked him if he wanted a table for one.

“Thanks,” he muttered, taking a quick look around the dining area.

“I'd like a booth if that's okay,” he said, pointing to a booth by the wall adjoining the realty office next door.

He ordered a club sandwich, fries and a cup of coffee. Slowly, he reached under the bench and placed an empty cigarette packet bound with duct tape as far back as he could reach and fixed it there with tape.

Eating slowly, he ate his lunch. After an hour, he reached under the bench seat once again and checked to see if the package was still in place. It was still there. He smiled to himself, paid the check and walked with a casual attitude to his car, grinning at his shadow as he opened the door and drove off in the direction of his apartment.

A plan was now taking shape. He needed some equipment, most of which he had in his garage.

Phil Speed stopped off at a hardware store on his way home. He purchased some double-sided adhesive tape, a clock mechanism, brown wrapping paper and a strong adhesive. He pulled into his apartment complex, giving his shadow a congenial but sarcastic wave of the hand and drove straight into his garage closing the door behind him.

Reaching into a large tool case, he extracted an oblong package wrapped in waxed paper. Unwrapping it, he exposed a soft, pliable, putty-like substance resembling a bar of white soap. He pressed a finger into the substance. It was C-4, an extremely powerful plastic explosive compound. He had obtained the C-4 from an underground source complete
with blasting caps and detonator fuses. All he needed to do was construct the small explosive device. With a grim look on his face, he started to carefully put together two small bombs with battery operated clockwork alarm mechanisms. Before completing the project, he extracted the batteries. He did not want any premature accidents.

The week had passed quickly and quietly from Sara's point of view. There was still no sign of further contact from Carl Regis. With a feeling of hope, she wondered what Rick would do with the rest of the small fortune lying somewhere out there where he had hidden it. That night as they were getting ready for bed, she made up her mind to broach the subject once more.

“I take it there still hasn't been any contact from Carl,” she said gently.

“No. I guess the little jerk knows where I stand, and he's given up the ghost.”

“Maybe so,” she muttered, but deep in her heart she believed Carl would not let the prize slip through his fingers.

They lay in bed in silence. Rick leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips.

“Don't worry about it. Everything is going to be fine.”

He ran his fingers gently over her breasts and reached for her body. She gave a shudder and responded to him. He kissed her face and worked his way down to her breasts. She panted breathlessly. He slowly and sensitively moved over her. They made love before falling into a peaceful sleep unaware of the mayhem awaiting them around the corner.

It was Saturday morning and life was taking its normal weekend path for Sara and Rick. Rick went to the office to
check on his schedule for the day. Sara went to the supermarket for the weekly food shopping and returned home to do some household chores.

Carl Regis sat in his kitchen drinking coffee and feeling agitated because there was no news from Phil Speed. No news was good news, but it also meant Speed might be planning something on his own—and that was disturbing to him.

Phil Speed worked diligently on his garage workbench. He was carefully assembling his bombs as he had done many times in the past when he was asked to perform a task requiring violent enforcement. Both of the small bombs were now completed, and the finishing touches to the timing mechanisms were being tested before attaching them to the small explosive devices. Phil enjoyed this type of work. To him it was exciting, dangerous and fulfilled his egotistical inner self. Especially in this case, as the final reward was to be financially beneficial to him.

He fitted the devices into a small canvas sports bag and lifted them off the bench. They were light in weight, and the bag looked inconspicuous as he walked around the garage, swinging it gently in a nonchalant manner.

Smiling to himself, he set the bag down on the bench. All he had to do now was set the timer and deposit them in the places he had planned. Going into to his kitchen, he sat down, lit a cigarette and planned out his schedule for the evening activity. Deep down he would be glad when this whole escapade was over and he had his hands on his share of the money.

He was tired of the constant round the clock surveillance; it had lasted far too long. Soon, with a bit of luck, it would be over, but there would be the problem of giving the shadows the slip. He might just have the answer to the problem but the solution would need some planning and could be addressed later.

The day had been particularly busy for the realty office. Dusk had come and gone. New inquiries had come in and a number of fresh properties were recorded on the multiple listing database system. Rick looked over to where Stan Turner was sitting, pouring over some paperwork.

“Are you ready to call it a day, Stan?” Rick said with a weary voice. “It's almost six-thirty. It's time to go home and enjoy the comforts of home cooking and a quiet evening.”

“Guess you're right, Rick,” Stan said. “Time to go home, get nagged for the things you haven't done, eat dinner, watch TV, go to bed, and get some sleep so I'm ready for the next day,” he said with a grin.

Rick turned to Pat James. “Are you ready to leave, Pat?”

“Not quite, Rick. You and Stan go on home. I'll stay for a little while and clear my desk and lock up.”

“Okay, see you in the morning,” and with that, Rick and Stan left the office and headed for their homes.

P
hil Speed drove carefully to the ‘L' shaped plaza. He looked at his watch and saw it was fifteen minutes to seven. In another five minutes he would put his scheme into motion. He sat in the car, motionless except for an occasional drag on his cigarette.

“This shit'll kill me. Got to give it up,” he muttered to himself nervously. He waited another five minutes, shifted his gaze to his shadow, who sat in his parked car a few spaces away—then he made his move.

Phil Speed entered the dry cleaners in a make believe hurry carrying the small sports bag.

“Sorry I'm a bit late,” he said in a mock breathless voice. “Am I too late to pick up my things?”

“No. We're just closing, but it's no problem,” the young girl behind the counter said.

Phil Speed fished in his wallet and pulled out the ticket. As he handed it over to her, he said. “Mind if I take a look at your rubber plant? I've got one just like it. They kind of cheer the place up, don't they?”

“Go ahead. It'll take a minute or two to get your shirts.”

Speed went over to the plant, unzipping the bag as he went. He looked down at the plant container and then back to the counter making sure he could not be seen.

Bending over the plant, he scooped a portion of the earth to one side and gently placed one of the explosive devices in the hole he had made. Quickly, he covered the package over and smoothed out the top of the earth. He returned to the counter, picked up his laundry and slowly walked out of the door, glancing casually at the rubber plant. Making his way to the car, he opened the door and put the laundry on the back seat. Closing the door, he then walked to the restaurant carrying the small sports bag.

Entering the restaurant, he looked over at the booth where he had previously sat earlier that week. It was empty. The early patrons had finished their meals, and the place was only half full.

“I'll take
that
booth, if that's okay with you?” he said to the young receptionist.