The suspicious thug, with combed hair and a business suit, entered the elevator after being buzzed in by the day watchman. He checked his watch, making sure he was on time. The elevator stopped at several floors, with people getting on and off. The office workers paid him no mind – the disguise made them assume he was simply another person to do business with the boss. Trump was the only one to ride to the top floor. The elevator doors opened to reveal a short hallway with two heavy walnut doors at the end. One door opened.

Mrs. Susan Reznichek greeted him. "Let's go into the foyer and discuss the job."

Trump followed, but open-mouthed.

"I'd ask to meet in my office, but I don't have one," Susan continued. "We're alone. My children just left for school, my husband is inspecting some new factories, and the servants won't be here until nine."

"I just expected someone…"

"Different?" she finished.

"So what's the new job? Why'd you ask me to crash a stolen car into an expensive Bentley anyway?"

"David Xanatos owns that Bentley. You did your job well."

"But he wasn't even in it. Just his majordomo and his little brat."

"Which is fine. I wasn't planning to kill Xanatos with that maneuver. Just shake that ice-cold composure of his."

"So what's the new plan?"

"You will have to get blood on your hands."

"Who do you want me to bump off?"

"In three days, the security system here will go off-line for upgrades, save for the surveillance cameras. My husband will be out all night inspecting some land he bought outside Purchaseville. I myself have a doctor's appointment. My two children will be alone in the penthouse. You're to kidnap my daughter, Eleanor, and take her to the Eyrie Building. You'll kill her and proceed to plant evidence pointing to David Xanatos making sure to make the crime scene gruesome enough to make even the most seasoned cop ill." She held out a silver platter on which a pen rested on an open checkbook. "You can write your own check."

Trump stared. "Name my price? Why kill your own kid? Why not kill his?"

"You see, my husband loves my daughter. You know the bond between a parent and a child is the most sacred of all. When my husband finds his nemesis 'killed' his firstborn child, he'll be outraged. The media will be all over the story, so Xanatos Enterprises employees will quit in disgust, not to mention they'll lose customers. My husband will finally have the opportunity and the drive to crush his rival's financial empire."

"But your own offspring! Don't you care about her?"

"Yes, I'll miss Eleanor? But when I'm sunning myself on my own private island in the Caribbean, I'll thank her for it. She's no use to me alive anymore."

The thug's face was white. "I'm no saint, but that's just sickening."

Susan stood up. "You have a moral objection to your assignment?"

"As a matter of fact, yes!"

"Very well. You're fired."

Trump backed off the rug and stood on the hardwood floor. "Excuse me?"

"I won't make you do anything you're morally opposed to," replied Mrs. Reznichek as she crossed to the fireplace. "But I can't have you informing the police."

"I wouldn't! Not with my criminal record!" Trump was cut off by his former employer pressing a button under the mantle. A trapdoor opened, causing the man to fall down an incline to the empty floor below. Empty, save for the incinerator. The henchman attempted to scream, but death came too suddenly.

Susan closed the trapdoor. "That's where garbage like you belongs." She sighed. "Good help is so hard to find these days."

XXX

(Two nights later)

Lexington joined Brooklyn at the RI building's window. "See anything?"

"Not much." Brooklyn peeked through a crack in the curtains. Harrison and Ellie were playing chess. "I'm starting to think he didn't do it. None of us have seen anything remotely suspicious."

"But who else?"

"I have no idea. Broadway had some theories, but some of them are ridiculous."

The green gargoyle was peeking through the windows. "The girl's kind of cute, isn't she? I saw her reading Oliver Twist. I liked that book."

"You think she's cute?"

"She seems sweet, from the few glances I've gotten of her."

Brooklyn rolled his eyes. "Just a crush. You'll get over it."

"Did you get over Angela? Or Maggie May?"

"Shut up!" was the reply. "And don't you dare let Malevola hear you say that!"

The window had been open a crack, allowing the two gargoyles to hear Harrison say "Checkmate."

"You could beat Kramnik," came Ellie's voice.

"She let him win," observed Brooklyn. "Most of her pieces were captured and none of Dad's were."

"Yeah, and two nights ago I saw her beat the computer," Lexington added. He glanced at the clock. "Our shift is over and I have to get Alex. We'll be late for the game."

"Taking a baby to a baseball game?" Brooklyn snorted. "Next thing, you'll be buying him a cap and foam hand!"

(Twenty minutes later)

Lexington set down the bassinet. The seats were somewhat distant from the game, but secluded. "What did Uncle Brook mean by the next thing?" He set a miniature baseball cap on Alex's head.

The infant cooed and waved his foam hand in the air.

"Yes, I'm glad the Mets are playing too, Alex."

XXX

The next morning, Susan had managed to find four more 'hired help.' "Gentlemen, we don't have much time. Listen carefully. If you do this job correctly, you will each receive one million. In cash. Tonight, our security system will be offline for maintenance. The cameras, however, will stay on. It'll look too suspicious if you break all the cameras, but that's what masks are for, right?"

"Right," chorused the four henchmen.

"You're to kidnap my daughter tonight. To get out of the building, either use the fire escape from her balcony, or the elevator. If you do use the elevator, slip out between 8:00 and 8:15. Our night guardsman is like clockwork when he takes his coffee and bathroom break." Susan put down two cards. "A few of our employees used to work for Xanatos Enterprises and I got their passcards. They've been deactivated, but I did some creative hacking and re-activated them. I also found these blueprints to the building itself." She pointed. "Ride their service elevator to the top floor. The dungeon of his restored castle doesn't have an elevator stop, but the original roof-access stairs lead right inside. It's pretty much a storage area now. Disguised as employees, you're to go inside the castle itself and see if you can find a recently worn set of Xanatos' clothing. Also see if you can find trace evidence, like hairs. Then once you've collected enough false clues, kill Eleanor."

"So you're setting up the Big Cheese to take the fall?" asked a short, thin thug whose name was Percy.

"So despicable, but I love it," chimed Bartholomew – Bart for short.

The third, Mitch, stayed silent.

"Though," Susan continued. "You can't wear his clothes. Your epithelials – skin cells – might be extracted and that'll prove someone else was wearing the suit. The blood will have to splatter on the clothes realistically."

"Rest assured, boss lady," the fourth, Caliban, interjected. His most distinctive feature was a three-inch linear scar down his left cheek. "I've been a butcher for the past five years. I know blood splatter patterns backwards and forwards."

"Excellent," replied Susan. "I do have a few rules about the method of execution. No guns. I used to be a crime scene investigator – specializing in ballistics. We can match striations from bullet to gun on almost any firearm imaginable. Also, nothing involving fire. That castle may be made of stone, but we'll assume there are smoke detectors."

"Boy, you must really hate him if you want to frame him for your child's murder," Mitch finally spoke. "Why? It must go beyond him being your husband's chief competitor."

"It does," she answered. "Simply put, my father had a small furniture store. Hand-painted, hand-crafted furniture. Except eight years ago, one of that slimeball's auxiliary companies began to sell mass-produced but less expensive products in our obscure little New Jersey town. The business that put me through college – my daddy's pride and joy – went under. My father never recovered and died soon after."

"But couldn't you simply hire a sniper?" Mitch suggested. "I mean, won't Mrs. Xanatos take over the company while the hubby's in jail?"

"I want Xanatos to suffer," Susan retorted. "The media will pick up on this and depict him as a heartless monster. In retrospect, I wanted Eleanor to be Miss America instead of America's Post-Mortem Sweetheart, but it's time her innocent charm was put to good use. My husband will be motivated enough to finally rise to the top where he belongs."

"Couldn't we just kill your daughter, your husband, and Xanatos himself, then pin it on Mrs. Xanatos?" suggested Bart. "You'd inherit all your hubby's money and Xanatos' wife won't be able to inherit the company on death row."

This was greeted by Susan's rueful laughter. "The wife-bumps-off-husband-to-collect-fortune-routine is old and cliché,"

"But she'd be taking the fall, not you," protested Bart. "It's genius."

"It's idiotic!" Mrs. Reznichek countered. "What motive would Fox Xanatos have for killing her husband?"

"How about we make it look like she caught her husband and your daughter together and killed them both in a jealous rage? Then we make your husband's death look like an accident?" Percy burst out.

Susan shook her head. "Several things wrong with that insight. First off, I won't have my daughter's name dragged through the mud like that. Second, Xanatos loves his wife. I saw the way they looked at each other at the party. And even if he was unfaithful, he wouldn't be stupid enough to cheat on her with a minor."

"My thoughts exactly," Caliban chipped in coolly.

"And I doubt Xanatos would be stupid enough to kill Eleanor on his property," Mitch argued.

"Trust me. The police will assume the sealed off dungeon was meant to conceal the remains until he could properly dispose of them. He is a busy man. The police can't investigate a missing person's report until that person has been missing for twenty-four hours – particularly teenagers. Tomorrow, the police will receive an 'anonymous tip' but it'll be too late. Even if you do leave evidence of yourselves, any investigators will assume it was an accomplice. And you'll be halfway across the world before that thought even chases its way through their heads. I'll leave the door open tonight, but make it look like you broke in. I want two to approach the front and the other two to enter via the glass door from the balcony. One last thing. If any of you so much as thinks of hurting my son, I'll make you regret it. Any questions?" Nothing. "You're dismissed."

(After sunset)

"Dispatch duty?" asked Officer Morgan.

Captain Chavez rubbed her temples wearily. "Almost everyone is in SoHo with that gas explosion. You and I have to hold the fort here. Rawlins!"

"Yes, Captain?"

"One of the day-shifters caught two teenagers joy-riding in a car that looks like it crawled from an accident. A white 1995 Buick. See if it's the vehicle from your hit and run."

Morgan sighed and headed to the switchboard.

XXX

At the castle, Hudson flipped through the TV channels. Nothing interesting. He pressed the off button on the remote. Goliath and the rest of the clan had gone to help at the recent gas explosion, leaving the elderly gargoyle and Bronx behind to guard the castle.

XXX

Mitch parked the thug's stolen green car in the parking lot below the Reznichek Industries office building. "She's a psychopath."

"Yeah, but she pays well, so shut up," snapped Percy.

"The money's just an added bonus," Caliban commented.

"Butcher, huh, Cal?" asked Bart. "I would have pegged you as a pro hitman or hired torturer in one of those third-world military dictatorships."

"Nah, an assassin hits its mark and disappears," Caliban replied as the foursome slipped through the shadows and through the back entrance of the building. They wore identical black outfits and full-face ski masks. "I like to prolong the death. The second one's intriguing, but my passport's expired." They climbed into the elevator, Caliban and Percy riding to the third-highest floor: an empty facility leading to the fire escape stairs…which led to the balcony. Mitch and Bart rode to the top.

Inside the penthouse, Collin yawned. "I was going to watch Scarface tonight, but I'm going to bed."

Ellie, in pink pajamas, shrugged. "You're not even allowed to watch R-rated movies."

"It's better than your idea of a good movie, and what the 'rents don't know won't hurt them." Collin yawned again. "I can barely keep my eyes open."

"7:50," Ellie read from the grandfather clock. "First time you ever want to go to bed before your bedtime." She got up and went to her room and pushed aside the stuffed animals that were on her plush recliner. "I'm almost done with Oliver Twist, but maybe I'll read something light." She went to her bookshelf and picked up Murder on the Orient Express.

The glass door from the balcony shattered.

Caliban stood in the empty frame, shards of glass glittering at his feet. "Hello, little princess. We're going for a little ride."

Before the girl could react, the bedroom door itself burst open, courtesy of Mitch and Bart. Ellie snatched a hardcover from her shelf and threw it at Caliban.

Bart pulled out a chloroform-laced rag and brought it toward the teenager's nose and mouth. "Struggle all you want –oof!" Ellie kicked him in the shins as hard as she could muster and reached for the cell phone on her nightstand. Mitch tripped over Percy.

Numbly, Ellie's fingers dialed 9-1-1. "Police, please." She faced the four assailants, walking backward. "Break-in and attempted…" She hadn't seen the small Percy crawl to her blind spot and stab her in the shoulder with a sedative dart. "Attempted kidnapp…" she sank to the floor, unconscious, the phone tumbling from her hand.

Caliban crushed the cell phone underfoot. "Make that a successful kidnapping."

TBC