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Chapter 4

Somewhere in rural California

"Your old man's a piece of work, you know that?" Marfisi broke the silence as he watched his hostage gingerly chew his sandwich.

Show no fear, Steve thought to managed a slight smirk, "Yeah, a real prize." Sounding more resigned than he would have preferred, Steve added, "How long do I have?"

Marfisi was surprised at his captive's calm. "You got til noon on Friday. Your old man has to come through or else. Simple as that."

"What did the old man do, anyway?" Steve asked. "If I'm going to get kidnapped, roughed up and killed, I'd like to at least know so I could come back and haunt the bastard."

"He owes the house fifty grand," Marfisi answered matter-of-factly.

"Terrific," Steve muttered. "What was the game?"

"Poker."

Steve nodded. There was always a con, he thought as he remembered back to his childhood. The man never earned an honest dollar.

Marfisi broke the silence again, "I'm betting you don't have that kind of money or know anybody that does?"

"Nah. It'd take a dozen people and quite a bit of time to pool that kind of money together." His appetite lost, Steve tossed the remainder of his sandwich in the campfire.

Mike was pacing in Rudy's office, waiting for the phone to ring. "We've got to have a back-up plan, Rudy. If this goes down wrong and something happens to Steve, I'll never forgive myself."

"It seems to me that you are doing everything you can, Mike. Does his dad have any money at all?"

"No, the guy's a real winner. He doesn't appear to have a responsible bone in his body. I guess I should be happy that he at least tried to warn Steve. But 'warning' doesn't get us any closer to getting Steve released."

"What about other family? Surely there's someone else."

"I left a message for his grandfather, but haven't heard back yet. If memory serves, Steve said his grandfather's been travelling abroad. I'm not sure how to get ahold of him. I may send one of the boys to Modesto to see what they can find out," Mike responded.

"We should be hearing back from the Chief soon. He's supposed to be securing city funds from the Mayor. It will help in the short term, but they're going to want someone to guarantee the cash."

"I've been working on that," Mike started. "Haseejian, Tanner and Healy each pledged two grand. I've got another ten in savings myself."

"We've been granted ten thousand from the budget," Rudy added. "And I'll chip in five. So that leaves us needing, what, nineteen grand? We're more than half way there."

Mike sat for a moment. "I've got that in equity in the house – maybe even more. When Helen died, I paid down the mortgage with the proceeds of her insurance policy."

"Mike," Rudy began as he thought about the sacrifice his subordinate was willing to make. Normally a ransom situation occurred when the victim or their family had the funds. That was clearly not the case here. And while there would be no intent of negotiating with the kidnappers, Rudy knew that the ability to produce the funds would play a key part in how the situation unfolded.

Mike read Rudy's thoughts, "I don't like it either, but if his dad can't show that he has the money, we may lose contact. I'm not handing off a stack of play money if Steve's life is at stake. What do you think about these casino guys anyway?"

"They're goons and they are usually ruthless, but once they get what they want, they leave. Say, have you told Jeannie yet?"

"Jeannie? Oh, no. She's finishing up her finals and not due home for another week. If I told her, she couldn't concentrate on her exams. That wouldn't do her or Steve any good."

Mike looked at his watch and realized that he needed to slip into Smith's hotel before noon. He explained to Rudy that he anticipated another call and wanted to monitor the call in person. The Captain waved his hand. "Get over there then and stay in touch."

Mike entered Haseejian's room. "Any news?"

"Nothing. Smith is in there playing solitaire and waiting for a call. I gotta tell you something, Mike. I don't trust that guy one bit. Steve's a good kid, and I can't even connect how those two are father and son."

"I guess he got his looks from his dad, but the things that count came from his mother's side. Speaking of, I'm still waiting to hear back from his grandfather although he may be out of the country."

"Yeah, and we're waiting to hear now on where to make the drop. Do you have a line on the ransom?" Haseejian inquired.

"Rudy's working on it," Mike began as he heard the phone ring in the adjoining room. He followed the sound to the next room and saw Clark Smith move over to pick up the receiver. Smith hesitated as he glanced over to Stone.

Mike lifted a finger to his lips as he instead picked up the line. "Hello," he answered in a low tone, similar to Smith.

"Smith, got the money?" This time it was Marfisi's voice on the line.

"I'll have it shortly," Mike answered.

"Good. Here's what we want you to do. At the back of the old abandoned warehouse on Fifth and Prescott, there's a line of barrels. Drop the money in the third barrel and then leave. No cops or your kid gets it on the spot."

Mike swallowed hard as Marfisi made the threat. "I want to talk to him."

"Thought you might." Standing next to in the phone booth of an empty gas station, Steve looked inconspicuous as he wore a spare jacket and shoes. At the order of Petit Jones, Marfisi and Bain had taken him away from the camp several miles away for the call, knowing that they'd be ask to provide proof of his wellbeing.

Marfisi put the phone up to Steve's ear. "Say something to your old man." Steve gritted his teeth and refused to speak.

"I said, say something to your old man." Marfisi repeated as he jabbed a hidden gun into Steve's side.

Anger and frustration, many years in the making, welled inside of the young man. There would be no pleading for help or exchange of sentimental thoughts today. "You bastard," Steve began. "If I make it out of here…"

"Easy, Buddy boy," Mike started. "Take a deep breath."

"I don't need to answer to…" Steve snapped defiantly and then realized to whom he was speaking. The sense of relief nearly overtook the young man.

"Are you okay?" Mike asked further.

Steve hesitated a second, "Yeah, I'm…"

Marfisi yanked the receiver away from Steve and slung it down. He quickly grabbed Steve's forearm and placed it alongside the metal doorframe of the phone booth. Bain swung an aluminum baseball bat and smashed Steve's left wrist. The young man cried out in pain.

"Steve!" Mike shouted into the phone.

"Your son's arm just met up with the business end of a baseball bat. If we don't have the money by noon tomorrow, the same thing will happen to his skull ten times over," Marfisi shouted back as he hung up the phone.

Mike kept the phone to his ear hoping against hope that the line was still connected. He never felt more helpless in his life. Haseejian broke the senior detective's train of thought. "Well, we got a little something, but not much, Mike. We don't have a number, but apparently they were calling out of the city. It's long distance."

Mike looked over to Smith. It took every thread of inner strength he had to not take Smith down. "What happened? You talked to Steve?" Clark asked.

"Yes, I talked to him," Mike's response was terse. "Right before they broke his arm."