A Necessary Evil(38)
“Frankie, you’re exaggerating.”
“I don’t think so. I’m not saying I have this Collin McAllister fellow you’re talking about, but if I did, and he’s responsible for not only kidnapping Mollie but killing six innocent young girls, I certainly wouldn’t trust you and your government to make sure he gets what he deserves. Now, I’d love to stay on here and chat, but I’m afraid I have to call my granddaughter and make sure she’s all right.”
“Well, if you don’t have McAllister, how is Mollie safe at home?”
Nice try, old buddy.
“Funny thing. Someone dropped her off here at the lounge not an hour ago. I asked her to describe the man who took her, but surely you can understand how shaken up she is. I decided it was best not to push her right now.”
“I’m going to need to talk to her. Get her official statement,” Kurt said with a huff.
“Of course. But perhaps tomorrow. It’s late, and she needs some rest. I’ll have Kitty take her down to the precinct tomorrow afternoon. Goodbye, Detective.”
As Frankie pulled the phone from his ear, he heard Kurt yelling at him not to hang up, but he hung up anyway and slid the phone back into his pocket.
He motioned for Bruno take off Collin’s gag, and the big oaf quickly obeyed.
Collin glared at Frankie defiantly. “You’re hiding me from the police?”
“Well, someone’s paying attention,” Frankie said. “I’m sure you’d much rather I handed you over to my cop friend and take your chances with our so-called justice system. But as I’ve already told you, I have bigger plans for you. Bruno, we need to move this piece of shit before Kurt and his partner bang down our door and steal him out from under us. Take him to the warehouse. The one that’s in Kitty’s name, down off Manchester. Keep him tied nice and tight. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Rupert. Stanley. You two go with him.”
“Yes, sir,” said the three men in unison.
Bruno untied Collin from the chair and cut the rope at his feet so he could walk, but left his arms tied behind his back.
As Rupert and Stanley pulled Collin toward the back door, he tried to struggle free. Bruno punched him hard in the stomach, and Collin doubled over in pain. The two bodyguards dragged him through the doorway and out onto the back porch. Rupert turned and looked at Frankie over his shoulder. “You sure you won’t need us here, boss?”
“No,” Frankie said, shooing him away. “I expect Detective Jamison here any minute. He’ll want to check the restaurant to make sure I don’t have that scumbag here. I can handle him. Don’t let him out of your sight, but keep him alive. Understood?”
“Yes, boss.”
“I need you three to take shifts watching him. I probably won’t be able to get away and join you until morning.”
“Sure thing, boss,” Bruno said.
The door shut behind them, and Frankie pulled his phone back out of his pocket. It was time to gather his most trusted friends and call in a few favors. He needed a handful of them to serve as jurors if his plan was going to work. Most of them owed him something, and those who didn’t were on his permanent payroll, so he knew no one would refuse. It was simply a formality to remind them of their obligation and ensure their cooperation.
He didn’t need exactly twelve people. Six would probably do it. He wasn’t going to do things the same way they did in the American jurisprudence system, anyway. That system was screwed up and favored rich white men like himself. Not that he was concerned about Collin McAllister’s rights. After what had happened to Addie, and after what Frankie had done to Julian McAllister, something had to be done differently. Especially with Kurt breathing down his neck. There had to be a better way. And this idea of Frankie’s had to be it.
He called Lynx first. She’d been asleep in her tiny, sparsely furnished apartment when Frankie rang her, but she agreed to be at the warehouse first thing the next morning, as long as Frankie promised not to call her again tonight.
His next call was to Marty O’Connor. Frankie would never forget the huge part the redheaded Irish kid had played in saving Mollie. He wouldn’t have been able to pick the lock on the bunker’s door or unlatch the shackles around her ankles on his own. Marty, who had been playing cards with his father and uncles when Frankie called him, agreed to bring coffee for Frankie tomorrow morning when he came to the warehouse.
Next, Frankie called four other friends: former firefighter and current arsonist Alex Rodriguez; the man who ran his gambling operations, an Italian-American named Giovani Ricci; his friend Dr. Nareej Patesh, who’d lost his medical license thanks to a plastic surgery gone horribly wrong; and last but not least, F. Oliver Martin, Frankie’s long-time lawyer, who was the master of finding loopholes. All four had been more than willing to participate in the trial, once Frankie told them what Collin had done to Mollie. That, and the big, fat Christmas bonus he’d offered each of them if they helped out.
No sooner had he finished arranging for Oliver to act as the prosecutor against Collin than the door to the back room flung open and banged against the wall. Kurt stood in the doorway, breathing heavily. His partner Lonnie stood behind him, scanning the room.
“Where is he?” Kurt asked without preamble.
Frankie slowly stood from his chair with his hands held out in front of himself. He smiled at Kurt in a way he knew would get under his skin. “Well, hello, Kurt. If you’re talking about our mutual friend, I’m afraid you’re too late.”