Cheap Thrills (6 Thrilling reads) (40 page)

Thirty Four

‘Still no news, Sir. We have an APB out on Frank, but Boston PD can’t seem to get the guy’s ass on our radar. Not even a blip sir!’ Eddie Smith sits in his chair, contemplating having another drink. He stares deeper into the whisky bottle propped on his desk. ‘What do you suggest we do?’ The officer stands straight before him and Eddie is certain the junior officer hopes this might be his lucky break.  Eddie eyes the man and gives him a smile.

‘Well Officer…..’ ‘Mullins, Sir, Officer Mullins.’ the officer states his name.

‘Well, Officer Mullins, I suggest you keep on looking for the son of a bitch! What do you want from me? To go out there with you and reel him in?’

‘No sir I…’

‘I’m the District Attorney for Boston, Massachusetts. My job is to prosecute the criminals. You think I have the time to
 dedicate my entire resources to finding one AWOL detective?’

‘No, Sir, I don’t.’

‘I have you! Seeing that you are so gung-ho, I’m tasking you with this special little mission’

Officer Mullins swallows hard and avoids eye contact with the DA.

‘Aren’t you going to ask what special assignment I have for you?’

The silence in the room lasts only a few seconds

‘What’s my assignment sir?’

‘Do your fucking job. Is that clear, Officer Mullins?’ ‘Yes Sir.’ Mullins tries to compose himself.

‘Now get out there and search harder. Use the whole goddamn Boston PD Reserves if you have to. I want Frank McKenzie in custody as soon as possible. Is that clear?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Good. Get going.’

Officer Mullins leaves, hat in hand, and pride, non-existent. He closes the door behind him, leaving the DA sitting at his desk in silence.

Eddie breaths deeply and reaches into his coat jacket. He pulls out a brand new pack of twenty
Lucky Strikes
, unwraps the protective packaging and rips open the top half of the cigarette packet. Grabbing one cigarette he quickly lights up.

He blows smoke rings until the cigarette burns down to the filter and flicks the butt into the bin. Pouring himself another drink, he sighs and looks into the full glass of brown liquor.

‘End of the rainbow here I come.’ He raises his glass to his mouth and takes a sip.

Thirty Five

‘Were going live in two minutes, Chase.’ Connor nods at the bulky technician.

Using a crate as a makeshift seat, Connor stares hard into the camera lens. His reflection is distorted, bent through the shiny surface of the 30 x zoom 28 megapixel camera. The camera rests on a tripod, the feet are muddy due to the condition of the floor.

‘Not an ideal studio, ay, boys?’ Connor laughs.

The guards and technicians surrounding him don’t respond.

Connor surveys the DIY studio they have put together in the offices of the M.I.T Building. The place is a mess of loose wiring and clutter. Debris from the trashed computers that once occupied that area is still all over the place. The blood from the execution of Tasha has stained the floor, mixing with dirt and plastic trimmings. The white sheet used as a background is covered in blood.

‘I thought I told you guys to clean this place up. It looks like a slaughter house!’ One of the guards laughs. Connor walks over to the hired hand. ‘Is there something I’m missing?’

The guard shakes his head emphatically.

‘I could have sworn that I heard you laugh at my slaughter house remark.’

‘No, Sir.’ Connor grins.

‘You’re calling me a liar, then?’

The guard emphatically shakes his head again.

‘No, Sir, of course not.’

‘Of course not.’ Chase quickly grabs his gun from his holster, raises it and shoots. The bullet hits the burly man in the chest.  Blood trickles from the man’s mouth as he falls to the ground. The area fills with the deafening ringing sound.

‘Of course not,’ he repeats and holsters his weapon once more.

The witnesses stare at him, grim faced.

‘I don’t have time for people who question my actions. I do not have time for people who force me into questionable actions. This operation needs leaders. If you feel I lack those qualities, feel free to walk out. I have my reasons for being here and so do you. Your reasons may not match mine, but I shit you not, mine are the only ones that matter!’

‘When I tell you to do something, do it. I don’t want anyone watching thinking I’m some sort of maniac hell bent on killing people. That’s the wrong sort of message I’m trying to convey.’

‘What we want, gentleman is true freedom and privacy to do what we want, when we want. Our information is not currency. That’s what we are here for. Sometimes there are casualties of war. That is inevitable. So when I tell you to clean it up, it’s not because I want chores done, it’s because it could affect the way people see us. We killed and kill the people for one reason and one reason only. The government did not cooperate. If we have the place looking like a war zone, people won’t blame the government. They will call us terrorists, not revolutionaries! So clean this damn mess up!’

Connor brushes himself down and sits back on the crate.  He stares deep into the lens once more.

Thirty six

‘It was risky coming down here, Frank. They have an APB out on you.  If anyone reported you, you could go up like a Christmas tree and then what?’ Jacob pours himself a cup of coffee.

Frank sits facing Jacob’s official looking office desk. He looks around the room and notices the large painting of Jacob on the wall. The room resembles a stately home from the eighteen hundreds. Why so much grandeur, he wonders?

Frank has come across a lot of people in the political game in his career. All of them share the same characteristics. Cut from the poor, give to the rich. Media likes to portray politicians as “for the people,” but most of them don’t account for the enormous expenses these men and women need to furnish their buildings, and dress for their functions and ride in limos to the airport to hop aboard private jets for their globetrotting.

‘Nice office, Jacob.’ Jacob looks around his office. ‘Thanks,’ he replies.

‘It’s terribly stately wouldn’t you say?’ ‘It does the job.’

Frank shakes his head in disappointment and lights his second cigarette in twenty minutes. ‘Tell me something, Jacob. Why do you need all these pictures of yourself? Do you forget what you look like? Surely a mirror would do. No need for portraits.’

Jacob nods in agreement and sips his coffee.

‘Just my opinion,’ Frank adds.

‘It is what it is, Frank.’ He examines Frank with his eyes. ‘I’m a successful man. For all my hard work, I get certain perks. That’s life, Frank. Heck, that’s my life! Is it wrong to enjoy success that most people do not reach? No, it’s not. Is it wrong that the government wants to cut your pensions despite your hard work for the state? Yes. Do I give a rat’s ass? No. You’re here to discuss our agreement, not my lifestyle.’

Frank’s face lights with anger. He stretches.

‘You know what Jacob?’ Frank abruptly exhales.

‘What Frank?’

‘Let’s just get on with this. So how are you getting the gear that I need?’

Jacob paces the width of his desk and looks at Frank cautiously.

‘There is no gear Frank. Don’t expect magic from my ass. That’s not how it works. You need to give me time.’

Frank swats Jacob’s comment away with his hand.

‘Don’t give me that shit, Jacob. Why the hell did you agree to me coming here if you were not going to help me out?’

‘You can’t work that out, Frank, being a detective and all?’

Frank slams his fist on Jacobs’s desk. ‘Don’t Bullshit me, Jacob!’

‘I’m the damn Defence Minister of the United States of America. I have worked my way up the position since leaving the Marine Corp, seven years ago. I’m a black man doing a white man’s job and we may not get another black President any time soon, but I can assure you, if we do, it will be me. I can’t risk my career, helping a fugitive break into the M.I.T research building. I can’t help you on your personal revenge trip, Frank, even if you happen to be my best friend and former bunk mate at the Corp. Sorry Frank.’

‘You’re sorry? Is that supposed to make me feel any better? If you’re not going to help me? Then why am I here?’

Jacob looks Frank square in the eye. And then looks at the intercom on his desk.

Frank reacts. He covers the intercom so Jacob cannot operate it.

Jacob shakes his head in disappointment.

‘There’s no use trying to stop the inevitable, Frank. You’re going to get caught, sooner or later.’

Frank yanks the intercom chord. The room fills with a staticy buzz for a few seconds.

‘Like every master batsman, Jacob, you’re going to strike out, sooner or later.’

Nose to nose over the desk, the men stare each other down, their hands on the table, waiting for the other to react.

‘Looks like we have a problem,’ Jacob finally speaks. ‘Not only is there a warrant out for your arrest, you are locked down in a government building with highly trained men guarding it. You lay one finger on me, you will be taken down. You may recall me talking to the guard at the gate. I told him that if you are spotted by yourself in the building then they have permission to shoot on sight, you are not leaving here unless I let you go!’

Thirty Seven

Chief Shaw pours himself another double.

‘Whisky in the early afternoon helps me think.’ he tells Commissioner Alvarez, who remains seated reading the newspaper in Shaw’s office.

Alvarez is a slender, tall man of Mexican descent. He’s known for his loyalty to the working officers of the Boston PD.  He’s an every man’s man.

Chief Shaw overshadows Alvarez by demeanour and manner. Shaw’s New York Irish accent is worlds apart from Commissioner Alvarez’s well-spoken tone. The commissioner crosses his legs. His well-polished shiny shoes reflect the light in the room. His suit is well pressed. Alvarez rests the newspaper on his legs. Every action is as elegant as his $4000 suit. He looks up at the Chief of Police with a smile.

Shaw is surprised the man sitting across the room hasn’t got a gold tooth. He laughs.

‘What’s funny, Mr Shaw?’ Chief Shaw takes another swig of whisky. The ice hits his teeth and makes him cringe. He pours himself another double and clears his throat.

‘Nothing. It’s just been one of those days. I’m glad you made it down here. I heard they shut down the airport after Connor Chase made his way into our lives.’ Alvarez smiles and surveys the Chief over the rim of the cup. ‘I think you mean “minds” Chief Shaw.’

Shaw takes another sip, using his lips as a shield against the ice.

‘I don’t think I get you,’ says Shaw

‘Not many people do, Mr Shaw. When you said Connor Chase made his way into our lives, I think you meant into our minds.’

Shaw shakes his head

‘No, sir. I meant lives.’

Commissioner Alvarez gets up from his seat, walks over and puts his hand on Shaw’s shoulder.

‘If Connor Chase was in my life, I’d be scared to walk out of the door. I’d be looking over my shoulder every minute, watching and waiting for him to show up. Connor Chase is nothing more than fear in my head.’

Shaw looks Alvarez up and down. ‘I’m sure the people he’s holding hostage find Mr Chase very much in their lives.’

‘To me, he is just a number, a number that has to be eliminated from the equation. Life is a formula Shaw, and Connor Chase is fucking up the formula!’

Shaw is shocked at Alvarez’s outburst. ‘We are doing everything we can to capture Chase and his men.’ he says.

‘Obviously, you’re not doing enough, Chief.  You know where they are and still have not captured them!’

‘It’s not that easy sir. It’s a public building sir. There are hostages involved and heavy media coverage on the case. We cannot jeopardise the safety of the hostages by rushing the place. More lives will be lost.’

Alvarez turns his back on Shaw and walks to the drinks cabinet. He pours himself a double and drinks it in one shot then turns to face the Chief.

‘I did not tell you to bum rush the place. I want results. I want them fast! Washington is breathing down hard on me at the moment. They want this sorted out fast. They do not want a shit storm, so control it.’

Alvarez cracks a forced smile.

‘Look Shaw, you have ten hours to finalize this situation. If you don’t succeed, the FBI will take over.’

Shaw shakes his head as Alvarez puts his empty whisky glass on Shaw’s desk and makes his way to the door. He pats Shaw’s shoulder once more and walks out.

‘Asshole,’ mutters Shaw.

He reaches into his pocket and looks at the menu on his mobile phone in anticipation.

‘Still no messages. What’s going on, Nathan?’ he mutters.

He puts the phone back in his pocket and pours himself another drink.