Ransom Page 12

  “The kids would love it. Allan took them out on boats a number of times. I get seasick.” She had hated Allan's yacht, although he loved it. She got sick just standing on the dock. And now the mere mention of boats reminded her of how Allan had died. She never wanted to see a boat again.

  “We'll think of something else,” he said kindly. They spent the next two hours going over business matters, and finished the last of their paperwork shortly before noon. She had a good understanding of all of it, and she was being responsible about the decisions she made. There was nothing frivolous about her. He just wished that there was more he could do.

  He invited her out to lunch, but she said she had some errands to do, and a dentist appointment that afternoon. In truth, the time she spent with him was so stressful, talking about how dire her situation was, that after seeing him, she felt as though she needed a breather and some time to herself. Inevitably, if they went to lunch, they would talk about her problems and Allan's debts. She knew Jack felt sorry for her, which was kind of him. But it made her feel waiflike and pathetic. She was relieved when she said good-bye to him, and drove back to Pacific Heights on her own. She heaved an enormous sigh, and tried to get rid of the sensation of panic in her stomach. She had a knot in it the size of a fist whenever she left his office, which was why she had declined his invitation to lunch. Instead, he had volunteered to come to dinner the following week, and promised to call her. At least seeing him with the children would buffer the horror of facing the grim realities with him. He was a very pragmatic person, and he spelled things out much too clearly. She would have been shocked to realize he had romantic intentions toward her. It had never even occurred to her in the course of their many meetings. She had always thought Jack was wonderful, and as solid as a rock, and she had been sorry for him that he had never remarried. He always claimed to her and Allan that he hadn't met the right person. She knew how much he had loved his wife, and Allan had warned her several times not to bug him about fixing him up with friends, so she hadn't. It never even dawned on her that she might wind up with him one day. She had been deeply in love with Allan, and still was. And for all his failings, and the mess he'd made of things in the end, she thought he was a great husband. She had no desire to replace him, in fact the reverse. She could imagine herself feeling married to him for the rest of her life, and never dating anyone else. And she had said as much to her children, which in some ways comforted them, particularly Sam, but it also made them sad for her.

  Ashley had talked to Will about it several times when they were alone, if her mother was out with Sam, or busy doing something else.

  “I don't want her to be alone forever,” Ashley had said to her older brother, who was always startled when she brought it up. He tried not to think of his mother involved with someone other than his dad. Ashley was a born matchmaker, like her mother, and far more romantic.

  “Dad just died,” Will always said, looking upset when she talked about it. “Give her time. Did Mom say something?” Will had asked, looking worried.

  “Yeah, she says she doesn't want to go out with anyone. She wants to be married to him forever. That's so sad.” She still wore her wedding band. And she never went out at night anymore, except with them, for a movie or a pizza. And a couple of times they had gone to Mel's Diner after Will's ballgames. “I hope she meets someone and falls in love one day,” Ashley concluded as Will rolled his eyes.

  “It's none of our business,” Will said sternly.

  “Yes, it is. What about Jack Waterman?” Ashley had suggested, being far more perceptive than her mother. “I think he likes her.”

  “Don't be stupid, Ash. They're just friends.”

  “Well, you never know. His wife died too. And he never remarried.” And then she suddenly looked worried. “Do you think he's gay?”

  “Of course not. He's had a bunch of girlfriends. And you're disgusting,” Will said, and stormed out of the room, as he always did when she brought up the subject of their mother's nonexistent love life. He didn't like thinking of his mother in that context. She was his mother, and he didn't see anything wrong with her staying alone, if she was happy that way, and she said she was. That was good enough for him. His sister was far more astute, even at her tender age.

  They spent the weekend engaged in their usual pursuits, and while Fernanda sat in the bleachers, watching Will play lacrosse in Marin on Saturday, Peter Morgan was on his way to Modesto on a bus. He was wearing some of the new clothes he'd bought with the money Addison had given him. And he looked respectable and discreet. The person who had answered the phone at the halfway house told him Carlton Waters was registered there. It was the second one he had called. He had no idea what he was going to say when he got there. He needed to feel Waters out and see how things were going for him. And even if Waters didn't want to do the job himself, after twenty-four years in prison, with a conviction for murder, he would certainly know who would. How Peter was going to get the information from him was another story, particularly if he didn't want to do the job himself, or took umbrage at being asked. The “research,” as Addison had referred to it, wasn't as easy as it looked. Peter was thinking about how to approach it, as he rode to Modesto on the bus.

  As it turned out, the halfway house was only a few blocks from the bus station, and he walked there in the late spring heat. Peter took his leather baseball jacket off, and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. And by the time he got to the address they'd given him on the phone, his new shoes were covered with dust. But he still looked like a businessman when he walked up the front steps and inside to the desk.

  When he asked for Waters, he was told he had gone out, and Peter went back outside to wait. They had no idea where he'd gone or when he was due back. The man at the desk said he had family in the area and might have gone there, or he might have gone almost anywhere with friends. All he would confirm was that curfew was at nine o'clock, and he'd be back by then.

  Peter sat on the porch waiting for a long time, and at five o'clock, he was thinking about getting something to eat, when he saw a familiar figure sauntering slowly down the street, with two other men. Waters was an imposing figure. He looked like a basketball player, or a linebacker. He was powerfully built, both tall and broad, and he had spent years in prison bodybuilding with impressive results. In the wrong place, at the wrong time, Peter knew he would be a frightening man, although he also knew that in twenty-four years, he had had no history of violence in prison. He found that information only slightly reassuring. There was a good chance that the offer Peter wanted to make to him would infuriate him, and he might beat the hell out of Peter for even asking. Peter wasn't looking forward to broaching it with him.

  Waters was looking straight at Peter as he walked slowly across the street. They recognized each other instantly, although they had never been friends. He was exactly who and what Addison wanted him to find, a pro as opposed to an amateur criminal like Peter Morgan. Although now, thanks to Addison, he was in the big leagues too, and Peter was anything but proud of it. In fact, he hated what he was doing, but had no choice.

  The two men nodded at each other, as Peter stood watching him from the porch, and Waters looked him in the eye with a hostile expression as he came up the steps. Peter wasn't reassured.

  “You looking for someone?” Waters asked him, and Peter nodded, but didn't volunteer who it was.

  “How've you been?” They were circling each other like pit bulls, and Peter was afraid that Waters would attack. The other two men, Malcolm Stark and Jim Free, hung slightly back, watching to see what would happen.

  “I've been fine. You?” Peter nodded in answer, and their eyes never left each other, like magnets that were glued to metal, and could not release. Peter wasn't sure what to say to him, but he had the feeling Waters knew he had come to talk to him, and without saying anything to Peter, he turned to Malcolm Stark and Jim Free. “I'll be inside in a minute.” They looked at Peter as they walked by, and let the screen door sla
m, as Waters looked back at Peter again, with a question in his eyes this time. “You want to talk to me?” Peter nodded again, and sighed. This was harder than he thought, and a lot scarier. But there was also a lot of money on the table. It was hard to predict how Waters would react, or what he'd say. And this wasn't the place to talk about it. Waters sensed easily that it was important. It had to be. The two men hadn't exchanged ten words in prison in the four years they'd both been there at the same time, and now he had ridden all the way from San Francisco to talk to him. Waters was curious to hear what it was about, to bring Peter up three hours on a bus from the city, and have him wait all day. Peter looked like a man with something important on his mind.

  “Can we talk somewhere?” he said simply, and Waters nodded.

  “There's a park down the street.” He sensed correctly that Peter didn't want to go to a bar or a restaurant, or the living room in the halfway house, where they might be overheard.

  “That'll do,” Peter said tersely, and followed him down the steps off the porch.

  He was hungry and nervous, and he had a rock in his stomach as they walked down the street without saying a word to each other. It was a full ten minutes before they reached the park, and Peter sat down on a bench, as Waters hesitated for a long moment and then lowered himself onto the bench next to him. He sat there, and took some chewing tobacco out of his pocket. It was a habit he had acquired in prison, and he didn't offer any to Peter. He just sat there, and finally looked at him, half annoyed and half curious.

  Peter was exactly the kind of convict he had no respect for. He was some fool with money who had gotten himself busted out of sheer stupidity, and then kissed the warden's ass to get a job in the office. Waters had done hard time, and spent a lot of time in solitary. He hung around with murderers and rapists and kidnappers, and guys who had done a lot of time. Peter's little four-year stint meant nothing to him compared to his twenty-four. And Waters had claimed he was innocent to the end, and still did. Whatever his history, his innocence or guilt, he had spent most of his life in prison, and he had no interest in Peter Morgan. But if the man had come all the way from San Francisco to see him, he was going to listen to him, but that was all he was going to do. It was written all over him as he spat a wad of tobacco several feet and turned to look at Peter. Waters's eyes nearly made Peter shiver, as they had when he saw him in the warden's office. He was waiting, and there was no avoiding it. Peter knew he had to talk, he just didn't know what to say, as Waters spat again.

  “What's on your mind?” Waters asked him, looking him right in the eye. The force of his stare took Peter's breath away. He was in it now.

  “Someone offered me a business deal,” Peter started as Waters watched him. Waters could see that his hands were shaking, and he had noticed the new clothes. The jacket looked expensive, and so did the shoes. He was obviously doing okay. Waters was loading boxes at the tomato farm, for minimum wage. He wanted a job in the office, but they had told him it was too soon. “I don't know if you'd be interested, but I wanted to talk to you. I need your advice.” As soon as he said that, Waters knew he was up to no good. He leaned back against the bench and frowned.

  “What makes you think I'd be interested, or want to help you?” he said cautiously.

  “I don't. I have no idea.” He decided to be honest with him, it was the only way to go with someone as dangerous as he was. He figured it was the only shot he had. “I've got my ass on the line. I owed someone money when I went to prison, a couple of hundred thousand dollars, and I walked right into his arms. He says he can have me killed anytime he wants, which is probably about right, although he hasn't till now. He offered me a deal. I have no choice. If I don't do this for him now, he says he'll kill my kids, and I think he would.”

  “Nice people you're hanging out with,” Waters commented, stretched out his legs, and looked at his dusty cowboy boots. “Has he got the guts to do it?” Waters was curious, and felt sorry for him.

  “Yeah. I think he would. So I'm in this up to my ass. He wants me to do a job for him.”

  “What kind of job?” His voice was noncommittal, as he continued to observe his boots.

  “A big job. A very big job. There's a lot of money on the table. Five million bucks to you, if you're in. A hundred thousand in cash up front, the rest on the back end.” Peter decided as he said it to him that maybe it wasn't as insulting as he had at first feared. Even if Waters didn't want it, it was a hell of an offer. For either of them. Waters nodded, he had figured that out too, but he didn't look impressed. He was very cool.

  “How much to you?”

  Honesty again. It was the only way to go here. Honor among thieves. “Ten on completion. Two hundred thousand cash up front. He wants me to put it together and hire the guys for him.”

  “How many?”

  “Three, including you. If you do it.”

  “Drugs?” He couldn't even imagine how much heroin that represented, or cocaine. He couldn't think of anything else that would generate that much income. But that was high even for a drug deal, unless it was incredibly high risk, which it had to be, if anyone was offering to pay that much. But as Waters looked at him, Peter shook his head.

  “Worse. Or better. Depending on how you look at it. In theory, it's pretty clean. They want us to kidnap someone, sit on them for a couple of weeks, collect the ransom, send them home, and split. With luck, no one gets hurt.”

  “Who the fuck is it?” Waters bellowed at him. “The president?”

  Peter almost smiled but didn't. This was serious business, for both of them. “Three kids. Or as many as we can get. One'll do.”

  “Is he crazy? He's paying us twenty-five million bucks between the four of us to nab three kids, and send them home. What's in it for him? How much is the ransom?”

  Peter was nervous giving him all the details, but he had to tell him enough to rope him in. “A hundred million. He keeps seventy-five. It's his idea.” Waters whistled and stared at Peter for a long moment, and then with no warning, he reached across the bench and grabbed Peter so hard by the throat with one hand, he nearly choked the life out of him. Peter could feel his veins and arteries exploding in his viselike grip as Waters moved his face to within an inch of Peter's.

  “If you're fucking with me, I'll kill you, you know that, don't you?” With his free hand, he ripped Peter's shirt open and tore all the buttons off to see if he'd been wired by the cops, but he hadn't been.

  “This is for real,” Peter managed to choke out with the last of his breath. Waters held him there until Peter saw stars and nearly lost consciousness, and then let go, and lay back against the bench again, looking unconcerned.

  “Who's the guy?”

  “I can't tell you,” Peter said, rubbing his neck. He could still feel Waters's hand on his throat. “That's part of the deal.” Waters nodded. It sounded right to him.

  “Who're the kids?”

  “I can't tell you that either, until I know you're in. But you'll know soon, if you are. He wants us watching them for a month or six weeks, so we know what we're doing, their routine, and when to grab them. And I have to set up a place for us to go.”

  “I can't do surveillance. I've got a job,” Carl Waters said practically, as though he were organizing a work schedule or a car pool. “I can do it on weekends. Where is it, Frisco?” Peter nodded.

  “I could do it during the week. It's probably less noticeable if we mix it up a little.” That made sense to both of them.

  “They've really got that kind of money? Or is this guy dreaming?”

  “They had half a billion dollars a year ago. It's hard to spend that kind of money in a year. The guy died. We're hitting his wife up for the ransom. She'll pay to keep her kids.” Waters nodded. That made sense to him too.

  “You realize we could get the death penalty if they catch us,” Waters said matter-of-factly. “Who's to say this guy won't sell our asses out if we do it. I don't trust people I don't know.” He didn't say it, but
he trusted Peter, although he also thought he was naïve. He'd always heard he was okay in prison. He was no hardass, but he had done his time and stayed clean. That meant a lot to him.

  “I think we'd all need to figure out where to go afterward. I guess we do it, and we're on our own. If anyone talks, we're all screwed,” Peter said quietly.

  “Yeah, and so is he, if you do. He must trust you.”

  “Maybe. Greedy fucker. I had no choice. I can't risk my kids.” Waters nodded again, that much he understood, although he had none of his own.

  “Who else have you talked to?”

  “No one. I started with you. I figured if you didn't want to do it, you'd give me some ideas. Unless you beat the shit out of me and told me to get fucked.” They exchanged a smile on that one, and Waters laughed.

  “You've got a lot of balls asking me something like this. I could have beaten the crap out of you.”

  “Or choked me,” Peter teased, and Waters laughed again. It was a deep rumble that went with his looks. “What do you think?”

  “I think this guy's a lunatic, or he has some mighty rich friends. You know the hit?”

  “I know who they are.”

  “And they're for real?”

  “Very much so,” Peter reassured him, and Waters looked impressed. He'd never heard of that kind of money except on drug deals, and Peter was right, this sounded clean. “I still have to find a place for us to go, with the kids.”

  “That's not hard. All you need is a mountain cabin, or an RV parked in the desert somewhere. Hell, how complicated is it to baby-sit three kids? How old are they?”

  “Six, twelve, and sixteen.”

  “Shit, what a pain in the ass. But I guess for five million bucks I could baby-sit Dracula and his kids.”

  “But the deal is we don't hurt them. They go back untouched. That's the deal,” Peter reminded him.