J.M.J.
Author's note: Thank you for continuing to read! Thank you especially to ErinJordan, MargaretA66, Candylou, and max2013 for your reviews on the previous chapter and to everyone who has followed and/or favorited! We're getting close-ish to the end now: there are twenty-seven chapters total. I'm going to warn you again: not everything gets resolved in this book and not everything gets resolved happily. I hope you enjoy anyway and will stick around to read the final story in this series! God bless!
Chapter XXI
Joe was tired as he walked up to the apartment with Shaun behind him. Gomez had given them a ride back. Joe's pride hadn't wanted to accept the offer, but with Shaun's Jeep out of commission and—whatever Gomez said—an assassin on the loose, Joe knew the wisest course was to just take the ride. It was only mid-afternoon, but Joe felt like he was already ready to crawl into bed and sleep until this was over. It wasn't like anyone was letting him do anything, anyway.
They were pounced on at the door by Phil and Mario, who were very excited and talking over one another. They only stopped when Phil abruptly observed, "Hey, Shaun, what happened to your nose? It's all swollen. Are you okay?"
"No," Shaun moaned. "If my Jeep's not totaled, it's going to cost thousands to fix it. I'll never be able to afford it."
"Wait, what happened?" Mario asked.
"Some bozo took a potshot at us and I crashed my Jeep," Shaun said. "The front end's all crumpled."
"Someone shot at you?" Phil asked.
Joe nodded. "Yeah. And you'd better be careful, or Captain Gomez is going to think the two of you did it."
"Huh? Why would he think that?" Phil raised an eyebrow.
"When I get my hands on the sleezeball who basically murdered my Jeep…" Shaun went on.
"Enough with the Jeep." Phil waved at him to be quiet and let Joe talk. "Your insurance will cover it, anyway. What's this about getting shot at?"
Joe shrugged. "That's basically it. We got shot at and they missed, obviously, and Shaun crashed his Jeep, and Gomez isn't any help. What were you guys saying when we came in?"
"We have a lead," Mario announced, "and a good lead, I think." He explained briefly how they had learned about the connection between Angelo and Darcy and everything Darcy had told Phil. "The best part," Mario concluded, "was that before Phil left, Darcy gave him a phone number that she's been able to contact Angelo with. It must be for his permanent phone, instead of a burner phone like he used to call Callie."
"Why didn't you go straight to Gomez with this?" Joe asked.
Mario shifted his feet uncomfortably before glancing at Phil as if to ask him to take this question. Phil stepped in readily enough.
"We weren't sure who would be best to go to," Phil admitted. "The police keep making mistakes. In any case, if we told you first, Gomez can't try to keep us from telling you."
Joe actually smiled slightly. "Okay. So what's the number?"
Phil handed him a note which he had written the number on. Shaun asked whether Joe was going to try the number now, but Joe said he wouldn't. Angelo probably only answered this phone if it was a call he was expecting, or at least from a number he knew. If he got a sudden influx of calls from strange numbers, he would probably get suspicious and trash the phone, so it would be best to leave things open for the police to call him if they wanted to try it.
"Besides," Joe added, "he probably has all of your numbers. He obviously went through my contacts list on my phone when he stole it. If I called him from any of your phones, he might figure out where we got the information from." He sighed. "Well, now I guess we'd better tell Gomez about this."
HBHBHBHBHB
Stake-outs certainly weren't the most exciting or glamorous part of detective work. They could last obscenely long periods of time and at the worst hours of the day or night and usually involved being cramped into a car or sitting next to an upstairs window. Sometimes inclement weather was also a factor in them. Oddly enough, though, Frank really didn't mind them. They were a good chance to think. Usually, Frank used them as a chance to put facts together and organize his thoughts about a case. He tried to now, while he was sitting in the back of Gomez's car in the middle of the night and waiting to see whether Angelo showed up to his own meeting, but instead he found himself replaying in his brain over and over all the mistakes he had made on this case so far.
There had been plenty. Most of them had to do with Joe, with the biggest one being, of course, his constant cutting Joe out of the case. He didn't really think he couldn't trust his brother. He kept saying it, but that was more to convince himself than the people he was talking to. It wasn't even so much that he didn't want to risk Joe getting hurt. As if he hadn't been with Joe for a few risks before this! Not to mention that Joe wasn't really any safer not working on the case. When it came down to it, Frank had to admit that he was angry with Joe. For a long time, Frank had had a good idea what his life was going to look like: he and Callie were going to get married and stay in Bayport to be close to both sets of parents and Joe, Frank was going to work with his dad and brother—after spending a few years on the police force to learn that side of things—and they'd see a lot of each other. Then Joe had ruined everything by quitting the detective business and moving as far away as he could get and never even calling or texting. It hit Frank then that all this time, he'd been lonely. He'd missed Joe, who had always been his best friend, as well as his brother. But that had mostly manifested itself as anger with his little brother.
With a cold shock, Frank realized that the reason he had wanted Joe out of this mystery so much was to punish him. The thought had formed in the back of his mind, almost without him noticing it, that if Joe was kept out of this case, maybe he'd rethink quitting detective work. After all, it was one thing to give something up voluntarily; it was another to have it dangled in front of one's face and snatched away every time one reached for it.
Yet, what had this programme of punishment accomplished? Nothing but divided trust from the police, missed opportunities to catch Angelo, and worst of all, Tony being kidnapped. The memory of what Frank had said to Joe, about Tony's kidnapping being Joe's fault, came back to him, and he couldn't have felt more ashamed if he had suddenly realized he'd forgotten to put clothes on. He had meant it in the heat of the moment. To some extent, he still believed that it was partly on Joe, but now he realized that much of the blame was his own. If he wouldn't have been focusing on his supposed grievances against Joe and taking some cheap, petty revenge for them, he might have convinced Gomez to let Joe go to the first meeting, or at least to this one. Even if he couldn't have done that, he could have stood by Joe and they would have come up with something. They always had before, when they had been working together.
Frank glanced at his phone for the time. It was almost one. Angelo would be showing up any time now, or not at all. By the time it was five after one, Frank was thinking that it was going to be not at all.
"He may just be planning on coming a few minutes late," Gomez said, guessing that Frank might be becoming impatient. "He wouldn't want to wait around here for Joe and Callie, so he might stay away long enough to be sure they're here."
"And when he doesn't see them where he told them to be, he'll turn right around and go back,' Frank concluded.
"In that case, my officers will see him and follow him. Either way, we'll get him."
Frank wished he could be so confident. Yet, as time passed, he became more and more certain that Angelo wasn't going to appear.
They waited until two, but still no one showed up. Finally, they gave it up. Gomez gave Frank a ride back to Joe's apartment. It was all dark, and Frank was glad he had been given a key to use in his comings and goings. As quietly as he could, he unlocked the door and went inside.
There were two noises the second he stepped inside. The first was Callie asking, "Frank, is that you?" and the second was his phone buzzing.
"Yeah, it's me, honey," Frank replied. "Why aren't you asleep?"
"I couldn't." Callie turned on a lamp, revealing her and Frank to be the only ones in the room.
That didn't last long, as the bedroom doors opened, and three young men descended on Frank, asking him what had happened and whether they had found Tony. Only Joe hung back, but he was still listening.
"No," Frank admitted dolefully. "We didn't get Tony back. Angelo didn't show up."
"Doesn't surprise me," Joe said with his arms crossed.
Frank tried to remember the remorse he'd had and the decision to try to make things up with Joe. Honestly, Joe had a good reason for being so annoyed, but that didn't stop Frank from continuing to be annoyed with him, anyway. Frank distracted himself for a moment by checking the notification he had gotten on his phone. At least, he had expected the distraction to only last a moment, but instead it absorbed his entire attention.
It was another email, from an address that was a random jumble of letters. There was no subject or text in the body, but there was a fairly large audio file.
"Everybody, quiet," Frank ordered them as he pressed the play symbol.
Hey, rise and shine. It was Angelo's voice, and it was punctuated by a soft impact, like he had just kicked someone.
There was a groan.
Not much of a morning person, are you? Angelo's tone was mocking.
What time is it? Everyone in the room felt a leap of excitement but also a tightening in their chests at these words. It was Tony who said them.
Glad you brought that up. It's exactly one-twenty-six in the morning. I wanted to mention the time anyway.
What is that?
This? A microphone, obviously. We're going to do a little audio recording here. You see, ladies and gentlemen, that the location we're in is completely dark apart from one lantern, and so you wouldn't be able to see anything if I took a video, anyway. You'll get the gist just by hearing us.
I know a microphone when I see it. I meant, what's that?
Oh, that. You'll see in a few minutes. About the microphone, though: I'm planning on sending the recording to your buddies the Hardys. I think they'll enjoy seeing what your repayment for them tricking me will be. Aren't you going to scream for help from someone?
No.
Why not? It's a golden opportunity to let your friends know exactly what you're going through. It might spur them into moving faster.
Tony actually summoned the spunk to snort derisively at this. You said it's a recording. You'll just edit out anything I say that you don't want them to hear.
Oh, certainly not. There's nothing you can say that can really damage me. Anyway, I want them to know the reason for this. Joe and Callie were supposed to meet me. They weren't there, but practically a whole army of cops was. They said they'd be there. They broke their word twice now. There has to be consequences.. You're the consequences."
What are you going to do? For the first time, the listeners could detect fear in Tony's voice. Are…are you going to kill me?
Not quite yet. I'll give them one more chance, and they'd better show up, or I'm putting a bullet in your brain. Now, for that object you were asking about, Tony. It's a cattle prod. You can administer a mild electric shock with it. Of course, I've had it altered so the shock isn't so mild. Aw, cheer up. It's not like being in the electric chair, not this time.
There was a soft zap and a grunt. Someone—Angelo, no doubt—chuckled.
What do you think? Angelo taunted.
"Turn it off," Callie requested, a pained look on her face.
Frank hit the pause symbol. "I'm sorry, Callie. I've got to listen to the rest of it. Can I go in your bedroom, Joe?"
Joe shrugged. He didn't ask to come along, which surprised Frank. He went into the bedroom and closed the door. Then he took a deep breath to collect himself and started the audio again.
He was glad there was no video. He could imagine well enough what the scene looked like from the sounds. It went on for several minutes. At first, Tony stood his ground and said nothing in response to the zaps. Then, gradually, his resistance wore down and each zap of the cattle prod was accompanied by some sound of distress from Tony. Then Angelo apparently abandoned the prod and switched to kicking Tony. Just when Frank didn't think he could take listening any longer, Angelo stopped.
Your buddy's tough, Hardys. It was Angelo's voice again. He sounded slightly out of breath, like he would have after an intense workout. That won't help him if you mess up again. One more attempt to trick me, and he's dead. Got it? The audio cut out.
HBHBHBHBHB
Callie was standing on the porch of Joe's apartment, watching the sunrise a few hours later. She hadn't gotten an instant's sleep since then. Frank, of course, had headed back to the police precinct as soon as he had finished listening to the recording. Callie wondered if he was as sick of that place as she was. It seemed like he was going there every five minutes. But just at the moment, Callie didn't totally care what Frank was thinking. For the first time in her life, she was truly furious with him.
She heard the door open and close and then Joe say, "Maybe you'd better come inside. It's not safe."
"I don't care." Callie didn't look at Joe as she said it.
"It's a free country, for some people, anyway." She could practically hear the shrug that Joe had undoubtedly accompanied his words with. "If you want to help capture insane killers that you're in a better position to help capture than literally anyone else, it's not, but otherwise…"
Callie suddenly turned to him. "It wasn't right."
"What?" Joe asked, losing his flippant tone immediately. He must have recognized the intensity in Callie's voice.
"They should have let us go. Angelo asked for us. They should have known sending no one wouldn't work. It would have been dangerous, but the police would have been right there. Chances are good we would have walked away, with Angelo in custody."
Joe shrugged again. "Preaching to the choir."
"I wonder if Angelo's going to contact us again and try one more time."
"Probably not, unless he thinks three times will be the charm." Joe frowned slightly. "If we contacted him, maybe we could get somewhere."
"How would we do that? The number he called me from was a burner phone or something."
Joe hesitated. When he spoke again, it was in a low, conspiratorial sort of voice. "You're willing to take some risks to get Tony back, right?"
Callie nodded.
"Are you willing to go behind Frank's back? I have Angelo's phone number. The police do, too; Phil and Mario gave it to them, but I doubt they've used it. Gomez seems determined to outsmart Angelo, so he's not going anything quite so obvious. If we called Angelo and set up another meeting, we couldn't tell Frank about it, because he'd tell Gomez and Gomez wouldn't let us go through with it."
"That's okay," Callie said, her anger with Frank lending a sharpness to her voice that surprised even her. "If it's the only way, it's the only way."
"Okay. Let's go to the car. I don't want Phil or Shaun or Mario to hear this, either. I can't guarantee they'd understand, and they might go to Frank."
Fortunately, Frank had taken Phil's car to the precinct, so Joe's was still sitting in its customary spot in front of the duplex. They climbed into the front seat, with Joe in the driver's seat. Then he gave Callie the number while she dialed it, turning her phone on speaker. It rang a few times and then Angelo's voice came on.
"What do you want?"
"It's Joe," Joe told him. "Callie's here, too, just so everything's above board and transparent. Frank doesn't know we're calling and neither do any of the local police."
"Mm-hmm. So you want to make another meeting?" Angelo asked. "You're going to pinkie swear that you're going to follow directions this time, and I meet you and then the police show up, right?"
"Wrong. Listen, the other two times were out of our hands. If you can meet us right now, we can guarantee the police won't show up. All we want is to get Tony back, nothing else. At this point, we don't care if you get away, just as long as we get Tony back safe."
"Hmm. Well, I did intend to give you one more chance. Right now, you say?"
"Frank's at police headquarters," Joe explained to him. "We've got to leave before he comes back. Otherwise, there's no guarantee when or if we can get away from here without him knowing about it."
"Okay. Here's the deal, though. This is your last chance. You're two seconds late or anyone besides you and Callie sets foot within a mile of the meeting spot or you deviate from the agreement in the smallest detail, your friend is dead, got it?"
Joe and Callie looked at one another.
"Yeah. We've got it," Joe said.
