Disclaimer: no legal rights to NCIS, no money being made.
Beta: Mike91848. So all mistakes are mine.
Warnings: same as Chapter One
A/N: To Guest Fred - Very discerning, try this next one.
DETERMINED TO HOLD
Chapter Eleven, About face (A Dinner Mystery)
Previously on NCIS
"Fornell!" Sacks rushed into his office urgently. "We've got something on DiNozzo, possibly who took him and why!"
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Tony sat the night in the same hard chair waiting for his guards and the boss man to return; getting out of his bindings was not happening but he kept trying. The good thing was Tony had been allowed to use the one-toilet dingy men's room once during the night. Even though the bathroom was nothing to brag about as the toilet hardly flushed, it beat peeing in his pants. And, as it was, one of the guards stayed in the room with him while he took care of business.
He was desperate for some liquid but not enough to drink the toilet water. His next best option, he looked at it with extreme distaste, but approached it anyway as the only water source. Tony gulped several handfuls of tepid tap water coming from the trickle released by the grungy spout of the grimy sink he considered his best new friend and thanked it for the water that tasted like nirvana. Too quickly, his goon guard for the morning urged him out and back to his own personal chair.
The bad thing, the rope he had been working on loosening from around his hands had been discovered so when they tied him up again it was brutally tight and confining. He still hadn't come up with a plan to escape and he didn't know how the crime boss expected to pull this off. Hold his father as hostage? Laughable. Threaten innocents if he didn't cooperate? More than likely to work.
By his reckoning it was around seven o'clock when there was activity in the warehouse and everyone woke up. Tony got up on stiffened legs once he was let loose of his bonds though they left his hands tied in front. He was marched to the bathroom again, given a cheap unused razor, new toothbrush, comb and a clean shirt and told to wash up while the thugs stood nearby. Tony looked at his bruised face in the cracked mirror but was more horrified at the item of clothing they had given him. Anyone who saw him and knew him would realize that he was acting under great duress by having to don the look of, the feel, and the quality of the cheap blue shirt they expected him to wear.
A breakfast burrito and cup of Gibbs-preferred black coffee later and the big boss arrived. As predicted, he threatened innocents at the bank if Tony didn't follow the script exactly; withdraw 1.5 million dollars, which is what Senior owed him, plus interest, leave the bank, get in the cab that will be waiting for him and his part would be over, he would be let go and his father's debt would be paid.
"You're going to let me go, just like that?" Tony sneered contemptuously.
"Of course. No one has been hurt. Yet!"
The confident man grinned and Tony noted the scar in the double chin of the well-dressed man in the dark blue suit and silk tie this morning. The kingpin gestured towards the front door to the car waiting outside but had his men blindfold Tony before they left the semi-lit warehouse. Didn't matter, Tony had enough clues that he was confident he could find the building again.
"This is just a business deal between two long-time friends, your father and I, that is. You follow the plan and it's all over in twenty minutes tops."
"And if I don't hand over anything to you?" Tony knew but just wanted it confirmed.
The hoodlum laughed dryly, he held all the cards. "Come on, Tony. May I call you that?" But he went on without waiting for an answer. "Don't pretend stupidity, now we've been getting along so well."
Tony recalled the subject of stupidity being spoken to him not too long ago by a wide-eyed, knowing Sacks. He wondered if Sacks was even aware that he was missing and whether he gave a hoot. Not that it mattered.
Boss Hoodlum was still talking. "This time of morning, lots of people cashing paychecks, mothers coming in with babies. I won't be there but I will have an airtight alibi. Now, if you don't come up with the money, well, I know for a fact that that particular bank will be robbed before noon today by several desperadoes who have no respect for human life and I can guarantee you that people will be hurt by flying bullets. Oh, and in case that's not motivation enough, I understand there are three little boys you're fond of, tragic how accidents happen to toddlers just learning to walk, drownings, falling out of windows, and their mothers can't..."
Tony's blood ran cold. He lunged at the voice coming from the SOB sitting across from him but didn't get far when the two muscled bookends sitting either side of him grabbed him firmly by the elbows and held him back.
"If you touch those kids..." Tony threatened, still struggling fruitlessly.
"What? What're you gonna do about it, Junior?" Tony could vision the stout man's florid face as he mockingly laughed at Tony's empty words and impotency.
"I know you'll do the right thing, your father says you're sappy with a do-gooder mentality. And you, Junior, won't be able to live with the fact that you'll be at fault as some little girl bleeds out on the bank floor."
As far as story line and movie plot were concerned, this was so ridiculous that it just might work, thought Tony bitterly. His father knew how to use his vulnerabilities against him. Whether the bank would be robbed or it was a well-played bluff, Tony didn't know and couldn't take the chance. Whether his father's partner in crime let him go after he gave in to his demands, again, unknown, but he'd be dammed if he'd take the chance with other peoples lives.
So he sat back pretending defeat in the comfortable luxury car seat and waited. He wondered where Senior was in all this mess but didn't ask. So typical, cause mayhem and mischief then stand back and watch as his greed caused many to lose their life savings, their pensions, their homes and businesses. Only this time, it wasn't material things that were at high stakes but people's lives that would be lost. His father had a lot to answer for and he, Tony, would be the one to make sure his punishment fit the crime, once and for all.
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An hour later, the limo pulled to the curb and parked and even in the confines of the well-insulated car, Tony could still hear the people noise from the busy street. Tony's hands were untied and the blindfold removed and he was handed a new leather briefcase.
"Take a walk," said his jailer. "You'll know where you are once you get out. Just walk a couple of blocks east to the bank and no need to repeat myself, you know what to do. Save some lives today, Tony."
Suddenly the man lost his jovial good humor. He reached over and wrapped his two hands around Tony's vulnerable neck and his thumbs pressed against his jugular while Tony was restrained by his guards. He tightened his hold as Tony labored to breathe and got in his face.
"Do as you're told and no one will get hurt!" And for the first time, Tony heard the menace in the voice of this very dangerous man.
"There'll be some of my men trailing you. Don't bother looking for them, you won't know them. Try anything, and others will get hurt." And he shook Tony by the neck like a hated mongrel dog before letting him go. Left to breathe again, Tony inhaled pretty much the car's quota of spare air and when he finally stopped gasping, he and the briefcase were unceremoniously booted out of the car and left standing there as the car sped away and people walked around him busy in their oblivious obliviousness at his plight.
He started walking. The coffee shop begged for his presence as the heady beans called his name but he kept walking pass the early morning crowd with crullers sitting outside on dewy wet chairs.
"Gimme a dollar, Mister," said a bedraggled, grey headed old man with days-old beard, eyeing him speculatively while digging in a garbage can as he passed by, but his shoes were too new.
Tony knew where he was and his destination was four more blocks ahead. By the time he got there it would be nine o'clock or close enough. He waited for the light then crossed his first intersection at a leisurely pace but still, he was bumped into from behind by a bald-headed biker type in a black leather jacket hurrying to get across the street before the light turned red again. Imagine that, someone actually wanted to obey the law. The guy didn't stop long enough to offer an excuse-me please for being a rude lout but Tony didn't mind as he pick-pocketed the guy's gun from his back pocket and hurriedly thrust it into his own belt hidden under his jacket.
The hotdog cart was out kind of early this morning but meat and bread were meat and bread to be eaten anytime of the day or night. A sale sign said one dog for a dollar fifty, two for three dollars and Tony thought, what a genius idea, wow, what a bargain.
His breakfast burrito was still a clumped mess in the pit of his stomach though so he wasn't even tempted. He could even hear McHaughty Disdain in his mind's ear berating the food choices as he walked by the vender, a tall, slender guy wearing an apron who had a look of distaste on his face that only Tony could see as he bent over the cart's vat of boiling wieners.
The African-American man dressed in a guard's uniform glared at him as he stepped through the bank doors, and Tony thought, geez, what was this guy's beef? He hadn't even caused a problem yet.
"I need to make a large withdrawal, is Mr Kravitch in today?"
"Yes. Have a seat at his desk, Sir, second one to your right. He'll be right with you," said the sulky guard as he tried not to squirm in his ill-fitting jacket.
Tony sat in the seat facing the door at Kravitch's desk and placed the empty briefcase on the floor by his chair. He watched people coming and going, mothers for sure but not too many children, actually, no children at all. Surprisingly, Kravitch, the senior executive came from the break room with two cups of hot coffee.
"I saw you come in, Mr DiNozzo, you look like you could use this. Now, what can I do for you this morning?" Kravitch asked, as he handed him the cup. Kravitch studiously tried to avoid looking at Tony's bruised mouth and diplomatic enough not to mention it out loud but Tony knew he had to be biting his tongue.
"I fell into a door," said Tony flippantly and then almost didn't avoid grimacing in pain as he took a sip of the steaming hot coffee and his cut lip complained.
"Sorry to hear that," said Kravitch solicitously and waited, and Tony got the impression the man just wanted him to state his business and go.
"Okay, well, I need to withdraw one and a half million dollars. In big bills, please."
Kravitch didn't blink an eye at the request. He was in the banking business where people removed large sums of money more frequently than one would expect; a horse with a winning streak, a grand tip on the Stock Market or just gambling the weekend away in Vegas, money came, money went. Kravitch still felt obligated to put up a token protest anyway even though he knew people with money begat money but not without taking risks or most times great loss.
"That's an awful lot of money to be walking around with, Mr DiNozzo, are you sure you..."
"Positive," said Tony cutting him off. "I've got it covered." And the saucy grin was there for any observing strangers.
"Just load it up in this briefcase, large bills on top, smaller ones on the bottom, break it up, make it more interesting."
Kravitch looked at Tony strangely but shrugged at the man's unusual instructions. Who cared? Wouldn't be his or the banks loss if this customer walked out of the bank with his briefcase full of money for anyone to see and got robbed for his stupidity.
"Very well. Give me a few minutes to get the money from the vault and in the meantime please sign these withdrawal forms."
Kravitch made a call to his Assistant to meet him at the vault than absconded with the papers Tony had signed only to return a short time later.
"Money's ready, Mr DiNozzo. Please follow me to the teller where we can count it out."
Tony thought irrelevantly about the fast money counters this bank must have to count out more than a million dollars in less than five minutes but he let the thought go and obligingly picked up his briefcase and followed the man to the bank teller who was going to assist him.
He stood in front of the teller's window and watched as stacks of bills were laid out on the counter next to her computer and when she was done she turned to him almost impatiently to start counting.
"I will start with the large denominations first. Please read and then initial each line on this sheet after I have counted the money out and noted their serial numbers."
The irritated teller instructed Tony in a no-nonsense tone of bossy voice and Tony raised his eyebrows at the woman grumping at him. He thought, how ironic getting stuck with a teller who didn't use contractions, was aggressive, domineering, and was eyeing him with contempt, as though it was a downright criminal shame that he wanted to take his own money out of the bank. In spite of that, the transaction went smoothly, the money was transferred from the counter into his briefcase, the papers were signed, countersigned, and he was ready to leave the bank.
"Nice doing business with you, Mr Kravitch, Ms Liza," he noted on the teller's nametag, and left.
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The yellow cab that pulled up outside was meant for him he assumed because he jumped into it without asking any questions. The cab driver started driving without any instructions from him and they drove around aimlessly for a while, presumably to drop a tail if there was one. Tony tried the doors, locked of course, and the partition separating him from his chauffeur was solidly locked in place.
"Hey, it's been way too long riding around in this dumpy, smelly cab. I got the money for your boss, you let me go, nobody gets hurt, that was the deal. What's changed?"
The driver pulled up behind a bakery truck ahead without answering him and three men got out of the back and headed for the cab. As they got close, the driver unlocked the back doors and two of the men climbed in. One man had a gun cocked and pointed at Tony's heart. The third guy reached in and snagged the briefcase and headed back to the bakery truck.
"You're kidding, right? Really?" Said Tony as he was shoved over to the middle.
"Don't I get a receipt for that money, or at least half a dozen Yumtum cupcakes?" He hollered to the disappearing man with fortune.
Ignoring him some more, deaf and dumb sitting in the back with him let the gun do their talking while the cab driver spoke quietly into his cell phone.
"Hey, you up front! Is that your real name on the ID card on the dashboard, 'cause with that red hair peeking out from under your cap and those blue eyes, you look more like Horatio Caine than 'Rajiv Mahatma'".
"Your choice," the driver said looking in the rearview mirror with a sneer, phone still at his ear.
"Dead or alive, that money belongs to the boss so shut up or we'll shut you up!"
"No, I'm just saying..." That's all Tony got out before he was punched in the stomach with what felt like brass knuckles but could have been the butt of a gun. He couldn't help the grunt that escaped his lips as he sagged into himself to ride out the pain. The bloke on his right took advantage of the quiet and stuffed a dirty cloth Tony hoped wasn't a sock in his mouth and pulled a bag over his head while Nasty on his left tied his wrists together with rough rope. Trussed up again, all he could do was to bide his time and wait for his chance to make a move. And where was his team?
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The man's voice Tony recognized as the cab driver's suddenly spoke up.
"Your father's disappeared. The boss doesn't like that. Where is he?"
Tony grunted something unintelligible.
"Take that gag out of his mouth!" The red-headed cab driver ordered and one of the men roughly reached under the hood and quickly did as he was told.
"Now, where is DiNozzo? Something funny's going on and the boss want's answers. Now! Where is he?"
Tony knew he'd probably get rapped in the mouth again but he had no other answer.
"I DON'T KNOW WHERE HE IS!" Tony yelled.
"I've been locked up all night in that crappy dump, remember? I haven't been out of your sight. If he's disappeared it's par for the course for him and don't say I didn't warn your boss! Now, I got your money and like you said, nobody's been hurt. Why don't you just let me go?"
No answer. "Hey, anybody there?"
Tony was starting to get a bad feeling especially when the wet gag was suddenly reintroduced into his mouth and the vehicle picked up speed. He got the impression they were heading away from the decrepit warehouse going south on the freeway and towards a State Park he knew, a vast area large enough to hide his dead body.
He had gotten his hands loose enough that when the time came, he could reach the gun he'd stolen and since they weren't expecting it, he could probably take two of them out quickly. That, of course, depended on them being alone but realistically, another car had to be following them just to provide a ride back for the men once they got rid of him and set fire to the cab. Great. He'd been in the business too long that he could predict what the bad guys were going to do next. Tony only wished he could predict what his team was up to.
An hour later they arrived at their destination and Tony got ready. He was urged out of the cab and encouraged to start walking by a gun pressed into his back. He was still blindfolded and had to rely on the guy in front of him not to lead him over a precipice or to stumble down a crevasse but then again, maybe that was their intent. It was eerily quiet except for the birds who squawked at them in discontent as they went by.
Tony felt calm, not too anxious. They were going to murder him in cold blood out in the middle of nowhere and granted, it was not a bad place to breathe his last, the middle of the forest, but still, here and now, he wasn't ready to die. So if not him, the other men with him were going to give their lives as a sacrifice to the tree god's, and he would feel no regret at being their executioner.
Tony purposely stumbled over the forest undergrowth and further loosened his hands. Suddenly he was forced to a stop and turned around. The bag and gag were swiftly removed and he stood facing the cab driver who he suddenly realized had to be the hit-man for this gang of criminals.
"You don't have to do this, Mr Mahatma," said Tony.
"Oh, but I do," the assassin had an ugly smile as though he enjoyed his job tremendously, taking a life indiscriminately. "And my name's not Mahatma."
"Go figure," said Tony smartly.
"The boss has to teach others a lesson that no one can mess with him and get away with it especially trash like your father." The cab driver reached into his jacket and pulled a gun from his shoulder holster.
"What, no cigarette, a last meal? No last words?" Tony quipped as he braced himself.
"Yeah, I'll grant you a few more last words, Mr Smart guy." The hit-man stated, as he cocked the gun and aimed. "So, what are they?"
"NCIS, FBI! Drop your weapons!"
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