Steven Gore - Power Blind

“What’s on it?” Brandon asked, voice shaking.

Anston shook his head. “We’re not getting into that. She may be wired. Like husband, like wife.” He peered at her sweater, with his eyes coming to rest on her breasts.

She smiled. “You want to check? Unlike your little amigo here, I doubt whether your bony little hands have touched anything like them in a generation.”

“You surprise me, my dear. You sound like a different woman.”

“One finally with power.”

“Or with somebody behind you.” Anston cast a glance toward the entrance. “Did Gage put you up to this?”

Brandon spoke fist. “He wouldn’t…”

Anston’s eyes shifted toward Brandon. “He wouldn’t what?”

“He wouldn’t…” Brandon knew panic showed on his face. He bit his lip, hoping it would fade. “He wouldn’t send an amateur.”

Anston paused, then nodded. “That’s true.” He looked at Socorro. “What do you want?”

“I told you, money.”

“Sounds like extortion.”

“It’s not for me. It’s for the TIMCO families and Moki Amaro’s mother and for all the other families you cheated.”

“If all you want is a little contribution to a charity of some kind…”

“I want all of it.”

“Are you going to throw in the nine million Charlie stole?”

“Every penny.”

“How generous.” Anston eyed the DVD. “Why don’t we get together at my office tomorrow to talk about it?”

Socorro’s face went blank. In that instant, they all recognized she hadn’t thought through what came next. And they all also recognized that was the difference between her and Charlie. She manipulated characters in children’s books, while he moved real people in the directions he wanted in real life, and they all knew she’d been too impulsive.

Anston smiled. “You didn’t expect me to pull out a checkbook right here and now, did you?”

Socorro returned the DVD to her purse. “Let’s go type up an agreement.” She looked back and forth between them. “And I want both of you to sign.”

Anston caught Brandon’s eye and nodded.

“That’s fine with me,” Brandon said.

“And don’t try anything. I’ve hidden two other copies of this thing.”

“And we get all three once you have your money?” Anston asked.

“I won’t need them anymore.”

Anston’s cell phone rang. He pulled it from his coat pocket and glanced at its face. “It’s my office. My secretary is working late.” He connected, then listened and said. “Sure, I’ll be right there. And check to make sure your assistant is standing by to do the thing we talked about.”

T his has gone far enough,” Gage said. “Let’s get her when they come out of the restaurant.”

“She’s out of her mind,” Viz said. “What was she thinking?”

Viz crawled past Gage, then into the cab and climbed down from the van. Gage slid to the rear and watched him cross the street. Viz walked down the block, then positioned himself against the brick wall ten feet west of the Tadich Grill entrance, on the route toward Anston’s office three blocks away.

Gage heard shuffling as Socorro, Brandon, and Anston rose from the table.

M y car is just outside,” Anston pointed at the crowd gathered in front of the reception station, blocking the entrance. “We’ll have to go out another way.”

G age heard “excuse mes” and “sorrys” as they worked their way through the restaurant. Then a cacophony of sizzles, dishes clacking, and pots rattling.

Gage hit redial. “Joe, they’re going out the back through the kitchen.”

He then punched in Viz’s number. “They’re coming out on the Halleck Street side.”

Viz sprinted west to circle the block as Gage pushed his way through the curtain into the cab and started the engine.

T he passenger doors of the silver Lexus SUV were already open in the alleylike street behind Tadich Grill.

“I didn’t know you had a driver,” Brandon said.

Anston ignored the comment. “You sit up front. Socorro and I’ll take the back.”

The driver’s face made Socorro uneasy, somehow familiar, and somehow frightening. She decided it was just nervousness, then climbed in.

The driver turned toward the back. “Everybody got their seat belts on?”

The Texas accent. That’s it, Socorro thought, he looks like that country singer.

Boots started the engine and began rolling toward the intersection. He jammed down the accelerator when he spotted a huge man at the end of the block trying to see inside the SUV.

“Stop,” Socorro yelled.

Boots reached into the console, pulled out a. 38 revolver, and then passed it back to Anston, who pointed it at Socorro. “Shut up.”

Brandon swung around in his seat as Boots charged down the alley.

“What are you doing?” Brandon’s voice rose to a desperate squeak. “Let her go. My God, Anston, I’m a federal judge.”

Anston didn’t take his eyes off Socorro. “Not another word, Brandon. Not another word.”

Then Socorro’s voice: “Take your hands off me. Take your hands off me…”

V iz held his ground as Boots bore down, then dived and rolled when the SUV hit the intersection, turning and skidding until it was pointed south. It blew past Gage stuck at the cross street, trapped behind cars and by oncoming traffic.

Gage called Casey’s cell phone.

“They didn’t come out my way,” Casey said.

“They went south. Boots Marnin was driving.”

“You want me to call Spike?”

“Hold on.” Gage conferenced in Viz. “You get a plate?”

“No. But I’m almost sure it’s the same SUV I saw after the burglary at Socorro’s.”

Gage’s phone signaled an incoming call. He switched to it. It was his office, where Tansy, Alex Z, and Shakir were standing by.

“A man just called,” Tansy said, her voice wavering. “He told me to tell you that you can have Socorro back tomorrow night. If you call the police, he’ll kill her. What’s going-”

“I’ll call you back.”

Gage reconnected to Viz and Casey and passed on the message.

“It’s my fault,” Viz said. “I shouldn’t have-”

“No, it isn’t,” Gage said. “Any one of us could’ve closed this thing down.”

Gage punched in Faith’s cell phone number. “Where are you?”

“At home. Is everything okay?”

“Things have gone sour. They’ve got Socorro.”

“Is she-”

“She’s all right for now. I need you to-”

“Hold on, there’s a knock-”

“Don’t answer it. Get out the back way. Take the trail down to Tully’s place, but stay connected to me.”

Gage put her on hold and called Casey.

“Contact the Oakland police, tell them there’s armed burglary in progress at my house.”

He reconnected to Faith. He heard her feet thudding on the narrow path, then caught his breath at the sound of crashing branches, fearing it was the crook catching up.

“Faith?”

He heard a distant explosion of wood and glass. He knew it had to be the crook kicking out the back door.

“Graham? I’m okay,” Faith’s breathing was heavy. “I slipped.”

More footfalls on the dirt and then on wood, pounding on a door, and finally Tully, the ex-cop, asking Faith, “Are you okay?”

A quick, gasping explanation, “Burglar… broke in… chasing me.”

Tully’s voice came on the phone, “What’s going on?” he asked Gage.

“There’s too much explain.”

“Shit, what was that?”

“What?”

“Sounds like he’s found the trail and is on his way down. I’ll handle him.”

Gage heard a rustle had he handed the phone back to Faith, then the pump action of Tully’s shotgun ripped the silence.