Monster: Chapter 15
DISCLAIMER: None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you, Mr. Marlowe.
Day 14: Somewhere in New York City, 6:09 a.m.
The ringing phone – at this time of the morning – is an unwelcome noise in the ear of Rodney Simmons, who is sleeping off a long and prosperous evening. He reaches across to the nightstand to retrieve his cell phone, answering groggily.
"This had better be good, at this hour," he answers, not even bothering to check the caller ID.
"It's Frank, man," Frank Perkins replies quickly. The pilot has had a severe change of heart in the past twelve or so hours. He knows there is no place on earth he can hide from these people, but he is still going to try. But he also figures his chances are better if he can do something to make amends to them.
"What's up, Frank," Rodney asks, then suddenly stirs awake, the cobwebs of sleep falling off like icicles. Why is Frank calling him, instead of Jason? Knowing that something has gone wrong, Rodney Simmons is now alert and worried.
"We had a problem, man," Frank says nervously. "A big problem."
"Explain," Simmons says succinctly, wondering why the delay. If something had gone wrong, why is he only hearing about it now? These guys went out there yesterday, mid-afternoon.
"The writer . . . Castle . . . he was waiting for us," Perkins replies, the worry clear in his voice.
"Of course he was waiting for you!" Rodney explodes. "He had nowhere to go, nothing to do! What do you mean-"
"Rodney!" Franks says more forcefully, clearly agitated now. "He was waiting for us! It was a trap. He's the one who disabled the camera."
There is silence on the phone for a good five or six seconds as Rodney Simmons considers this new information. A trap. Not a storm-related outage. Not a simple malfunction. A deliberate attempt on the part of Mr. Richard Castle to lure them out to him. A successful attempt, at that.
"Okay, explain yourself, Frank," Rodney says, a little of the edge leaving his voice now.
"We got there and landed," Frank begins. "Jason and Perry hopped out to check things out. Castle was nowhere in sight. So Jason goes to the cabin while Perry goes over to the tree to check out the camera."
He pauses to catch his breath, get his thoughts straight, but Simmons is having none of it.
"And?" Simmons cries out, the edge creeping back into his voice. "And?"
"And he had booby trapped the door. Somehow Jason sliced his hand all up trying to open the door," Frank continues. "While he is screaming and falling all over the ground, Perry goes to the tree and apparently Castle had been hiding up in the tree. Somehow he's managed to get something sharp. He jumps down on him and he just carves poor Perry up, man. I swear there was blood spurting everywhere. Then he runs over to Jason and just pummels poor Jason to bits. I –"
"Hold on, man," Rodney says, stopping Frank's story in mid-sentence. "You're telling me that a fucking writer . . . not a soldier, not an athlete, not some closet-UFC fighter . . . but a writer . . . who, by the way, has been stranded on an island, with barely any food for two weeks . . . you're telling me this boy goes all Jason Bourne, Triple-X on our guys? That's what you're telling me?"
Right at this moment now, Frank Perkins is re-thinking his decision to circle back and make amends. Perhaps the brighter move would have been simply to disappear after all, letting everyone think that all three of them – Jason, Perry and Frank – perished somehow during their visit to the island compound. After all, he knows Perry was dead. Way too much blood being sprayed out of Perry's neck. And Jason? Well, once Frank had gotten the chopper back up in the air, there were two things he saw. One, he saw the writer running off into the brush.
The second thing? That was far worse. Circling back toward the compound to land and check on Jason, he had seen those huge monsters hauling Jason's body off into the brush. That was a sight he will take to his grave. And now this guy – Rodney – is sitting back in New York on his ass, giving him a hard time?
"You know what, Rodney," Frank says, summoning the courage and deciding – now once and for all – that he is out of here permanently, "here's what you need to know. You weren't there. You have no idea what went down. But I will tell you – and this is the really bad news – Castle is gone. During the scuffle, part of the fence came down, and he got away, and the lions got in there and got poor Jason. That's what happened. Good luck finding the guy."
Frank is about to hang up when Rodney's yelling stops him from hitting the END button on his phone.
"Wait a minute – wait a minute, Frank. You said he's gone? Gone where?"
"How should I know?" Perkins responds. "I was –"
Frank's explanation is cut short, he stops his words as he hears the commotion on the other end. He hears Rodney, and another voice as well. Rodney doesn't sound happy.
"Who the fuck are you and what are you doing in my place?" Rodney asks the visitor with indignation.
A hard slap from the head of a pistol across his forehead causes the mobster's son to bellow in pain and surprise, while Jackson Hunt takes the phone from him.
"I'm sorry, Frank – that is your name, correct?" Hunt says calmly into the phone.
"Uh . . . yeah, man, that's my-"
"Good, Frank. Now Rodney is a little busy at the moment. He's going to have to call you back. Well, maybe he will call you back."
Hunt backhands Rodney Simmons with the pistol again, this time with a little more force, as the man falls backwards onto the bed. There is blood flowing down onto his face now.
"Okay, I'll be honest with you, Frank. Rodney probably won't be making that call," Hunt chuckles. "Good talking to you, though."
With that, Jackson Hunt hangs up the phone. He's listened in on the conversation, and although he has only heard one side of the story, it's enough to put together a plausible explanation. No matter, Rodney will tell him the rest. Yeah, Rodney is getting ready to sing like a songbird.
Back in Miami, at the airport, Frank Perkins is now officially scared for his life. He's heard enough rumblings from his contacts in New York City to wager a guess as to the identity of the stranger on the phone. And judging by his parting words, Rodney Simmons' remaining time in this life just took a major hit. He considers his options, which run the gamut, for certain. He can disappear. That's what he wants to do, more than anything else.
The problem is – he knows the Brackens. More specifically, he knows Elizabeth Bracken. He has watched the elaborate scheme she put into place, all over a man who is simply associated with someone she considers her enemy. No, Elizabeth Bracken is not a person to make an enemy of, he knows this. So, in the end, there really is no choice. No choice at all, he decides, as he picks up the phone and makes the phone call he never dreamed he would have to make. Frank air-marks the sign of the cross on his chest as his hits SEND on his cell phone. He's going to need all the help he can get.
Day 14: At Rodney Simmons' Apartment in New York City, 6:15 a.m.
"You don't understand, man, she will kill me," Rodney Simmons pleads, wiping the heavy flow of blood that is pouring down his face from the pistol-whip wound on his forehead.
"No, Rodney, you don't seem to understand. I'm going to kill you," Jackson Hunt counters calmly no inflection in his voice. He has pulled a chair next to the bed and now sits there, legs crossed, his gun under his own cheek, as if scratching an itch.
"You shouldn't be worried about whoever 'she' is," he tells the frightened man. "You should be worried about me."
"Yeah," Rodney counters bravely, "but she'll feed me to her monsters."
"You still don't understand, Rodney," Hunt chuckles again, and his smile almost causes Rodney Simmons to lose his bowels. "I am a monster."
Like Frank Perkins, Rodney Simmons now considers his dwindling options, and decides that maybe getting killed is preferable to definitely getting killed. And he is definitely on the wrong end of things right now. He silently curses himself for even agreeing to get into this entire crapshoot. It sounded like such a good idea at first, karma for certain. He did it to honor his dad, in some ways. He now realizes, however, that this is exactly the sort of game his now-deceased father would have avoided at all costs.
"Personal vendettas never end well, son." It was something dear old dad Vulcan Simmons had tried to impart to his son many time, over many years. It is a shame that lesson didn't stick with Rodney.
"His name is Benny Chester," Rodney tells the man holding the gun – and his life – in his hand. "Silent Benny. He's a contractor we always use for . . . for clandestine operations."
Jackson Hunt, the long-time CIA spy and contractor himself, cannot help but laugh at Rodney's choice of words. As if this man cowering on the bed has any idea of what a truly clandestine operation looks like. Poor kid probably can't even spell the words, and he thinks he is a part of one? Oh, this is too rich, indeed.
Undeterred by Hunt's laughter, Rodney continues.
"I needed his opinion on moving a couple of lions."
His laughter dying down, Hunt is still chuckling as he interrupts Rodney's fantastic story.
"I can't believe this was all your idea, Rodney," he tells him. "No offense. But you mentioned a 'she'. Now Rodney, I am a well-traveled man, but I don't know any "she's" named Benny."
"Man, I can't!" Rodney exclaims, the fear evident in his voice. "You don't understand. She will absolutely –"
He reconsiders his words as he sees the darkening eyes of the man across from him, who is now slowly allowing the barrel of the gun to drop toward his . . .
"Oh, God, he is pointing that thing at my crotch."
"Okay, Okay, man," he whimpers, knowing that – either way now – he is a dead man. "It was Bracken."
"Bracken's in jail," Hunt says, warily, allowing the gun barrel to dip lower.
"Not him," Rodney explains, with a bit of actual disgust in his voice. "Her! Elizabeth Bracken."
"Do tell," Jackson Hunt replies, his eyebrows raised. This is curious, very interesting information. There have been rumblings of who really wore the pants in that power couple, but William Bracken's stature, just his physical presence usually was enough to render such musings moot. Now, however, here sits a man who knows his life is hanging in the balance, and he is clearly more fearful of the wife than he is the husband. Hell, he is almost as afraid of her as he is a man that is holding a gun on him.
Yeah, curious indeed.
"But I beg you man, don't tell her I said anything," Rodney pleads once again. Jackson Hunt simply smiles, nodding his head.
Day 14: At Miami International Airport, 6:16 a.m.
"Hello?" the female voice answers warily. Frank Perkins – for a brief instant – considers just hanging the phone up, and running to the jet bridge and boarding the plane headed for the Cayman Islands. Fortunately, not only has he been well paid, but well paid, in advance. A life of very questionable living is about to pay off nicely.
"This is Perkins," he tells the woman. "I know I am not supposed to call –"
"And yet that is precisely what you have done," Elizabeth Bracken states, calmly. Yeah, this was a mistake of epic proportions, calling her. Frank hears the initial boarding call for first class passengers for his flight, and is thankful for fate's small little favors.
"I'm calling because no one else can," he tells her, the strength returning to his voice. "Jason's dead, Perry's dead, and if what I just heard on the phone is accurate, Rodney's probably joining them."
Now clearly interested in what Frank Perkins has to say, Senator Bracken's wife softens her tone somewhat, enticing the man to continue.
"Explain, Frank," she tells him, using his first name as encouragement.
"I flew Jason and Perry into the compound yesterday, just as planned. But it was a trap. Castle was waiting for us, and somehow he had created some makeshift weapons," he says, talking quickly and eyeing the passengers who are now lined up at the gate, boarding the plane. The plane to freedom. He hears the second announcement, and begins to fidget.
"He killed Perry, sliced his neck. Had the cabin booby-trapped, and that got Jason. He tried jumping me in the chopper, but I shot him and kicked him out," he lies, trying to put himself in a better light. "I got up and out of there, but during our struggle, the chopper hit the top of the fence. Took part of it down. That's when the cats came in."
He stops talking now, allowing her to process what he has shared so far. After a few seconds of silence, he continues.
"Castle got away. He has a slug in the shoulder from where I got him as he tried to get away. The lions got Jason. I barely got out of there. I called Rodney to tell him, but as we were talking, someone showed up at his place. I think it is the guy leaving all the bodies, because the guy took the phone away from Rodney – and Rodney is a big guy. He told me Rodney probably wouldn't be calling me back. That's when I decided to call you."
A few more seconds pass, as Elizabeth Bracken considers the new information. Her husband's preliminary trial is set for tomorrow, and she sure as hell cannot have Richard Castle turning up – not after her carefully planned agenda has come off so flawlessly – she can't allow it to go to crap now at this late hour. She shakes herself out of those thoughts, remembering the man on the phone.
"Thank you, Frank," she tells him finally. "I will take care of things, and I truly appreciate the call," she says and is ready to sign off when she decides to add one last expression of gratitude.
"Oh, and Frank," she smiles, "I owe you one."
Frank Perkins suppresses a shudder as his listens to the dead air on his phone. Putting it away, he grabs his carry-on bag and runs to join the other passengers in line, anxious to put the mainland – and his former life – behind him.
Unknown to the unfortunate man, Elizabeth Bracken has heard the boarding announcements. It was apparent he was at an airport, and she glances down at the information she has written.
Miami to the Cayman Islands.
Smiling, she picks up the phone again, and this time dials another number. After three rings, a man answers the phone on the other end. He answers by hitting the pound button three times.
"Hello Benny," she greets the mute. His vocal chords damaged during an altercation, the man can no longer speak - hence the nickname 'Silent Benny'. But Benny has other ways of communicating, and while face-to-face meetings with the menacing man are usually preferred, phone conversations come off just fine, thank you very much.
Not waiting for a response she knows will not come, Elizabeth Bracken presses on. She knows he recognizes her voice.
"I have two problems Benny. First, the compound down in the bay. I need it to disappear. Immediately. Do you understand?"
She hears a single DTMF tone in her ear, and smiles.
"My second problem is Frank. He is running. And he is far too talkative. He is leaving right now for the Cayman Islands, from Miami. Can you take care of that also?"
Again, a single DTMF tone tells her that this is fine as well.
"Thank you, Benny. Same account as always?"
Another single DTMF tone acknowledges her request, and she gives him her final instructions.
"And Benny. If you encounter anyone, or anything on the island – use extreme prejudice."
A final DTMF tone is sent, and then both Benny and Elizabeth Bracken hang up. She considers the possibilities. Jason is dead, along with Perry. Frank will soon be joining them. In all likelihood, if Frank was telling the truth, then Rodney is dead as well. He is here in town, she will get someone to swing by his apartment. Or wait for the news report. Either way, that's not the priority.
The priority is Richard Castle. Her gut is telling her that he is alive – but her gut is also telling her that he didn't fly out. Frank kicked him out of the chopper, so he was on foot. On foot with a gunshot wound in the shoulder. Not a mortal wound, but running through the brush and marsh of an island, it's not exactly painless. No, most likely he is either still on the island somewhere, or, worst case, he found a boat and is somewhere in the bay. If he had been found, it would be all over the news, that much she knows. So although he is now free from her compound – he is probably far from truly free.
"I will worry about you in a couple of days, Mr. Castle," she says aloud, with a smile. For now, her focus returns to her husband, and his preliminary trial that begins tomorrow.