Friday – 5:25 p.m.
Bobby and the Agents remained by the monitors, entertained by the relaxed banter among Alex, Lewis and Dave. Bobby almost felt a pang of jealousy. He missed working side-by-side with Alex. Even though their days were usually hectic, they always found time to enjoy each other's company over a quick lunch. Friday nights were usually reserved for some after-work drinks at Carucci's or just kicking back at Alex's apartment, but tonight there'd be none of that. Yes, Bobby was actually looking forward to wrapping up this operation and getting back to life as usual.
Bobby continued watching as Alex and the guys began shutting off the computer, turning out the office lights and locking up. Lewis was heading home for the night; and, after a quick dinner break, Alex and Dave were supposed to join up with a couple of the Task Force guys in another monitoring van up the block for night surveillance.
5:30 p.m.
Agent Warren checked his watch and shot a knowing glance at Agent Lipinski. "Show time," he muttered, in barely a whisper.
Bobby's voice broke the silence, "Whoa, whoa, what the hell is this?" His adrenaline was already flowing.
Warren and Lipinski joined him at the window, each remembering to grab his binoculars, even if just for "show" purposes.
The three of them watched as two black, unmarked vans pulled into Lewis' driveway, blocking the bay doors.
"They've both got Rhode Island plates," Bobby exclaimed, unable to contain the excitement in his voice. "They're way too ahead of schedule. Looks like your informant gave you some bad information," he said, with a sideways glance at Warren. He wished there was time to warn Alex, Dave and Lewis of the approaching danger, but four large men had already exited the vans and were entering the front door of the garage.
"Just keep cool, guys," he thought to himself, quickly rounding the desk so he could observe the action on the monitors, "We're watchin' ya'." He wished that Greg and Dave were there for extra back up.
Warren and Lipinski remained at the window, watching. Within a few seconds, they heard Bobby's voice.
"What the hell?"
The Agents next heard Bobby's fist banging the monitors.
"Warren! What the hell's going on here?" his voice demanded, panic setting in.
He banged the monitors again. All he saw was static-snow. The transmission was lost.
Warren rounded the desk, while Lipinski stayed back. He banged them, too, and played with a couple of dials, also "for show." (What Bobby didn't know is that when Warren set up the surveillance monitors in the morning, he had installed a timing device to cut off the receiver power at precisely 5:30 p.m. For Warren, everything was going right according to plan).
Still nothing on the screens. "These guys might've been prepared," Warren offered, as if concerned. "If they suspected any bugging devices, they could've brought something to interfere – jam the receiver," he lied to cover his own deception.
Bobby walked swiftly back to the windows, joined by Agent Warren. Worry and panic were growing in his gut; he didn't like this one bit.
Several minutes passed. No activity could be seen.
"What the hell is goin' on in there", he asked rhetorically.
In a split second, his hand was yanking the Glock from the holster. "That was a gun shot!" he shouted as he turned and headed for the stairway. "C'mon!" he yelled to the two Agents.
Warren and Lipinski, at a much slower pace, trotted behind Bobby. Behind his back, Bobby couldn't see the evil sneer on Warren's face. Bobby was out the door and half-way across the street, while the Agents lagged behind, still in the stairway.
"I knew he wouldn't be able to resist playing 'hero'," he gloated. "He's running right into their arms."
Lipinski didn't return his grin. Fear and hesitancy were written all over his face.
"C'mon, Lipinski …our part of the "delivery" is almost complete."
5:41 p.m.
Bobby had taken cover against the garage, avoiding the window and pressing his back against the thick cement wall. His face almost bore a look of disbelief at the slowness of the two Agents who were just now jogging across the street to catch up to him.
Gun drawn and steadied with both hands, Bobby inched towards the door and slowly, gingerly tested the handle; it wasn't locked. He quickly rotated his body to get to the other side of the doorway and tossed his head towards the inside, signaling to Warren and Lipinski that he was ready to burst in –and that they should be ready to provide him with back up.
"Now!" he mouthed to the Agents, as he swung the door with a crashing bang and rushed into the garage. "Police and F.B.I.! Freeze!" his voice boomed.
As any cop knows, when bursting into a scene like that you've gotta' be prepared, because you never know what you're gonna' find on the other side of the door and you've got only a split second to react.
What Bobby wasn't expecting was the scene before his eyes: Lewis laid on the floor, wrists, ankles and mouth bound with duct tape; Alex and Dave, side-by-side, mouths duct-taped, with their arms behind them—Bobby assumed their wrists were similarly bound. One of the men from the vans was holding a gun, aimed at Alex and Dave. The other three stood by, nonchalantly, one of them even smoking a cigarette.
Throwing a quick glance over each shoulder, Bobby caught Warren and Lipinski out of the corners of his eyes, giving him reassurance that his back-up was right there behind him.
He was steadily aiming at the gunman with his two-handed grip. "Drop the weapon and get down on the floor!" Bobby commanded. The four men remained as they were.
His eyes met with Alex's for an instant; his look trying to reassure her that everything would be all right, but the message that her eyes returned conveyed anything but.
She was watching the events unfold with utter disbelief and fear – fear for the well-being of her partner at this instant. Fear for herself, Lewis and Dave was secondary. She widened her eyes, trying to warn Bobby, but it was too late.
Bobby's body went rigid as he felt the barrel of a gun pressed against the back of his head.
"I think it's you who should drop his weapon, Detective Goren," Warren sneered.
Bobby didn't move, at first. His mind was racing, as he silently put the pieces together, coming to the quick realization of what was happening. "It's all been a set up…I'm outnumbered six to one…he got rid of White and Friedland on purpose…the monitors went out on purpose…the gunshot, but nobody's wounded…they wanted to draw me in here…"
"Drop the gun, Goren, or I waste you, here and now," Warren threatened.
Bobby looked at Alex and Dave, then at Lewis and lowered his arms, defeated; his gun now dangling loosely in his left hand. Warren nodded at Lipinski, who approached Bobby and took the gun from his hand, then proceeded to handcuff Bobby.
"You can't think you're gonna' get away with this, Warren."
"That's not your problem, Goren. You've got a bigger problem on your hands now, don't ya' think?" he chuckled, mockingly. "Besides, there aren't going to be any witnesses…eventually…so, in answer to your question: yes, I promise you we're gonna' get away with it."
Warren stepped closer. "Get down!" he barked, as he kicked the backs of Bobby's knees, causing his legs to buckle. Bobby went down to the floor, coming to rest on his knees and shins.
The biggest guy of the four, the one who had been smoking, slowly walked over to Bobby and crouched before him. He held up the glowing stub of the cigarette, which he had smoked almost down to the filter.
The man aiming the gun and Alex and Dave finally spoke; apparently, he was the head of their crew. "I think you should put that thing out…you're stinkin' up the joint," he said with an evil chuckle.
The big man laughed but kept staring into Bobby's eyes as he slowly, firmly pressed the burning butt into the side of Bobby's neck.
It burned and stung, but Bobby wouldn't make a noise; he wouldn't give Warren or the rest of them the satisfaction.
Alex turned away, unable to watch.
Disappointed at having gotten no real reaction, the big man stood. "That's okay," he patronized Bobby, "By the time I'm done with you, you'll be squealing like the pig you are." He walked over to Lewis' workbench and grabbed a breaker bar. Standing behind Bobby, he swung with all his might.
The noise was sickening. Alex, Dave and Lewis looked on, horrified, as Bobby toppled over onto the cold cement floor, as blood began running from the wound.
"Open the bay doors, pull those vans in and get these idiots loaded in," the gunman shouted. "We're running short on time."
5:55 p.m.
Once the vans were pulled into the garage, four metal suitcases were unloaded and placed in Lewis' office.
Lewis watched the men walking back and forth, trying to remember their characteristics; no one used names. He was terrified for his friends and wasn't exactly thrilled with his own predicament. He continued watching as Alex and Dave were put into the back of one of the vans.
"Blindfold them for the trip," the head man ordered.
It took three of the men to lift Bobby and unceremoniously toss him into the back of the second van.
One of the men yelled to the boss of the crew, tossing his head in Lewis' direction, "What about this one?"
"Leave him there," the boss answered. "Mr. DeMarco still needs him."
It was a small relief to Lewis.
He watched as the men climbed into the vans and backed out of the garage. One of them returned to close the bay doors and Lewis concentrated on listening to the roar of the engines as both vans sped away.
He rolled and managed to get to his feet and, unsteady as he was, hopped to his office. He remembered the warnings from DeMarco's henchmen, 'no cops, or we'll kill you,' but Lewis wasn't afraid of that threat anymore. His friends were in deep trouble. He used his head to knock the telephone receiver from the cradle, then used his nose to press 9-1-1.
6:09 p.m.
White and Friedland jogged up the stairs, White holding a bag with two six packs of Coke; Friedland carrying Bobby's dinner.
"Hey guys!" Marc said, then stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of the empty room.
White was right behind him. "Where is everybody?" he wondered aloud.
"They ain't all down in the bathroom, I can tell ya' that," Friedland answered. His attempt at humor did nothing to dispel the knot of foreboding in his gut.
"Look at that!" White said, pointing to the "snowy" monitors.
"This isn't right," he muttered while striding over to the window and grabbing a pair of binoculars.
"Greg, take a look at this," Friedland said, while handing the binoculars to White.
"Am I missing something?"
"C'mon Greg, we've been staring across the street all week. Look harder."
Friedland watched White as the recognition set in.
"The door…it's dented. That dent wasn't there before," White said.
"And the tire marks in the street in front of the bay doors…they weren't there before either. Somebody left in a hurry. Let's go check it out."
The two men trotted back down the stairs, discretely drawing their weapons as they crossed the street and approached the garage.
Almost with exact mimicry of how Bobby had approached the garage earlier, Friedland followed in his footsteps, right down to testing the door handle and finding it unlocked.
He slowly pushed the door open, White following close behind.
Friedland held a hand up, halting White in his tracks. "You hear that?" he whispered.
The two listened intently, simultaneously arriving at the conclusion that sounds were coming from Lewis' office.
With weapons at the ready, they slowly approached the office door, almost giving Lewis a heart attack at the sight of two more armed men on his premises. (As ridiculous as it would later seem to him, the thought did cross his mind at the time that DeMarco and his men somehow knew that Lewis had dialed 9-1-1 and that the two men had come to kill him).
Friedland and White lowered their weapons and holstered them. Marc flashed his badge as he walked towards Lewis and reached for the duct tape covering his mouth.
"Hold still," Friedland said, as he ripped the tape off with a quick yank.
"Ouch!" Lewis yelled, as he rubbed his hand over his mouth.
"Where are Alex and Bobby?"
"A bunch of guys came and took them," Lewis blurted out, breathlessly. "Two black vans. They knocked Bobby out…he was bleedin'. Alex and Dave were tied up. They put 'em in the back of one of the vans…then threw Bobby in the back of the other and drove off." He tossed his head towards the phone, "I called 9-1-1."
"What about the two F.B.I. guys? Did they take them too?"
"There were two guys that came in with Bobby. They weren't one of the good guys though…the one guy, he's the one that made Bobby drop his gun, he was holdin' a gun to his head."
White had retrieved a pair of scissors from the desk and had freed Lewis' hands and ankles.
They heard the sirens approaching outside. (Obviously, even though Lewis couldn't speak when he called, they were able to trace the number of origin of the call and dispatch a unit to his address).
"How long ago did this happen?"
"Fifteen, twenty minutes," Lewis told them. "They headed north up the block. They had Rhode Island license plates."
"The bastards set us up," White said. "This hadda' be scheduled. Warren got rid of us at dinner time on purpose."
"We've gotta' call Command…and Major Case."
"They left those four cases," Lewis said, pointing at the corner.
The two Detectives met with the Officers from the responding unit and quickly explained the circumstances. They put out an A.P.B. and called a field unit to see if they could lift any prints from the cases.
As the patrol car pulled away, Friedland reached into his pocket and removed a quarter. "I'll flip ya," he said to White. "Loser gets to call Deakins."
END Chapter Thirteen