Frankie
He was still riding the wave of adrenaline that had coursed through his veins when he’d stormed the bunker on Collin McAllister’s property and shot the bastard before he could hurt Mollie. He felt like his insides were vibrating, and there was a bounce in his step as he walked through the back entrance to Trifecta. As soon as the door swung open, he saw Collin McAllister tied to a chair in the corner. Bruno was sitting at one of the tables staring him down. Frankie had to hand it to Bruno. He may not be the brightest bulb in the closet, but he did exactly as he was told.
“Hey, Bruno.”
Bruno startled and turned in his chair. “Oh, hey, boss. You scared me.”
“Sorry about that, kid. Has this asshole said anything yet?”
“Not a word.”
Frankie strode over to Collin, pulled out a chair, turned it backward, and sat facing him. Someone, presumably Bruno, had tended to the man’s gunshot wound by wrapping gauze around the oozing hole in his shoulder.
Frankie cleared his throat and pulled the rolled-up bandana out of his mouth. “So, Collin. Let me tell you what’s going to happen next. I’m sure you’re dying to know. Am I right?”
The psychopath just stared at Frankie without one iota of emotion on his face. He didn’t even blink.
Fine. If that’s how he wants to play it. “See, Collin…the way I see it, I have two options. I could turn you over to my detective buddy and let him lock you up and throw away the key. But if I do that, odds are you’ll hire some scumbag defense attorney who’ll get you a reduced sentence at some cushy five-star resort rather than the death penalty, which is what you deserve. The other option is for me to handle you myself. That way, we don’t waste the taxpayers’ hard-earned money and government resources on some lowlife murderer who doesn’t deserve it.” Frankie straightened his back and rubbed his chin. “Unfortunately for you, I’ve decided I like option two best.”
Collin smirked. “What are you going to do? Kill me?”
“Oh, no, son. It’s not going to be that simple for you. The way I see things, you and I have one thing in common. We fall on the wrong side of the law. We don’t follow the rules, or recognize government authority. We handle things ourselves.”
Collin said nothing. He worked his jaw as if he were chewing on what Frankie was feeding him.
“Yeah, I’m right. When we were in that bunker of yours, I was just about to blow your brains all over the cement wall. But then an idea came to me. And you’re going to want to listen. It’s a brilliant idea.” Frankie chuckled softly. “You’re still going to have a trial. But instead of a jury of twelve upstanding, law-abiding citizens who don’t know anything about this world of ours, I’m going to gather up some of the best criminals I know—your peers, so to speak—and they will decide your fate. It’s a stroke of genius, don’t you think?”
Collin smiled in a way that disturbed Frankie. “If you’re going to kill me anyway, why drag it out? Don’t forget…my father killed your precious Addie. And I took your precious granddaughter right out from under your nose.”
Frankie knew Collin was baiting him. He likely knew Frankie intended to kill him slowly and hoped that by reminding him of Addie’s murder, he’d take him out swiftly and painlessly. But Frankie was more patient than Collin gave him credit for.
Frankie lifted his chin and tried to keep his breathing steady. “Nice try. As I was saying, your peers will hear the evidence against you—you’ll have to represent yourself, unfortunately—and if you are found guilty, I will let the jury decide the appropriate punishment. It’s all very democratic. Do you have any questions?”
Collin scoffed. “And I assume you’ll be the judge?”
“How did you guess? Of course, I’ll be the judge.” Frankie’s cell phone rang in his pocket. He motioned for Bruno to place the gag back in Collin’s mouth. “Excuse me.” He held the phone to his ear. “Hello?’
“Damn it, Frankie. Where the hell are they?”
“Who?”
“Don’t screw around with me, Frankie. You know exactly who I’m talking about. I’m out on Collin McAllister’s farm, standing outside the bunker.”
“Wow,” Frankie said with a chuckle. “Who’s your cell phone provider? You’ve got a great signal all the way out there.”
There was a beat of silence, and Frankie took pleasure in imagining Kurt ready to hurl his phone into the forest. “Is Mollie okay?” Kurt asked finally.
“She’s fine. A little bumped and bruised, but she’s at home with Kitty, resting.”
“Thank God for that,” Kurt said.
“Yes. Thank God for that.”
“I swear, Frankie. If you hurt one hair on that sick bastard’s head, I’ll bring the full weight of the law down on you so fast you won’t know what hit you.”
Frankie looked at Collin. Though he was affecting stoicism, he saw a flicker of fear in his pale green eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Detective.”
“Don’t play coy with me. And don’t forget who you’re talking to. I know what you did to Julian McAllister. I looked the other way back then, but I’m not doing it this time. I won’t let you get away with murder. Not again.”
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken.” Frankie was careful, as always, never to admit to any crimes over the phone. “I’ve never killed anyone in my life. And I don’t know who you think I’m going to kill now, but I assure you, I’m just a regular, tax-paying, law-abiding citizen who—”
“Cut the crap, Frankie! You’re not fooling me. I know you found Mollie, and I’m glad she’s safe, don’t get me wrong. But I can’t let you handle this on your own. You have to bring Collin McAllister in. Let me take care of things this time. The right way.”
“The right way? You mean let you arrest him, throw him in some jail where he’ll get to watch cable TV, work out, and get a college education on the government’s dime? Let you put him through some bullshit trial where some sleazebag lawyer will work out a sweetheart deal, or even worse, get him off on a technicality?”
“Frankie, you’re exaggerating.”
“I don’t think so. I’m not saying I have this Collin McAllister fellow you’re talking about, but if I did, and he’s responsible for not only kidnapping Mollie but killing six innocent young girls, I certainly wouldn’t trust you and your government to make sure he gets what he deserves. Now, I’d love to stay on here and chat, but I’m afraid I have to call my granddaughter and make sure she’s all right.”
“Well, if you don’t have McAllister, how is Mollie safe at home?”
Nice try, old buddy.
“Funny thing. Someone dropped her off here at the lounge not an hour ago. I asked her to describe the man who took her, but surely you can understand how shaken up she is. I decided it was best not to push her right now.”
“I’m going to need to talk to her. Get her official statement,” Kurt said with a huff.
“Of course. But perhaps tomorrow. It’s late, and she needs some rest. I’ll have Kitty take her down to the precinct tomorrow afternoon. Goodbye, Detective.”
As Frankie pulled the phone from his ear, he heard Kurt yelling at him not to hang up, but he hung up anyway and slid the phone back into his pocket.
He motioned for Bruno take off Collin’s gag, and the big oaf quickly obeyed.
Collin glared at Frankie defiantly. “You’re hiding me from the police?”
“Well, someone’s paying attention,” Frankie said. “I’m sure you’d much rather I handed you over to my cop friend and take your chances with our so-called justice system. But as I’ve already told you, I have bigger plans for you. Bruno, we need to move this piece of shit before Kurt and his partner bang down our door and steal him out from under us. Take him to the warehouse. The one that’s in Kitty’s name, down off Manchester. Keep him tied nice and tight. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Rupert. Stanley. You two go with him.”
“Yes, sir,” said the three men in unison.
Bruno untied Collin from the chair and cut the rope at his feet so he could walk, but left his arms tied behind his back.
As Rupert and Stanley pulled Collin toward the back door, he tried to struggle free. Bruno punched him hard in the stomach, and Collin doubled over in pain. The two bodyguards dragged him through the doorway and out onto the back porch. Rupert turned and looked at Frankie over his shoulder. “You sure you won’t need us here, boss?”
“No,” Frankie said, shooing him away. “I expect Detective Jamison here any minute. He’ll want to check the restaurant to make sure I don’t have that scumbag here. I can handle him. Don’t let him out of your sight, but keep him alive. Understood?”
“Yes, boss.”
“I need you three to take shifts watching him. I probably won’t be able to get away and join you until morning.”
“Sure thing, boss,” Bruno said.
The door shut behind them, and Frankie pulled his phone back out of his pocket. It was time to gather his most trusted friends and call in a few favors. He needed a handful of them to serve as jurors if his plan was going to work. Most of them owed him something, and those who didn’t were on his permanent payroll, so he knew no one would refuse. It was simply a formality to remind them of their obligation and ensure their cooperation.
He didn’t need exactly twelve people. Six would probably do it. He wasn’t going to do things the same way they did in the American jurisprudence system, anyway. That system was screwed up and favored rich white men like himself. Not that he was concerned about Collin McAllister’s rights. After what had happened to Addie, and after what Frankie had done to Julian McAllister, something had to be done differently. Especially with Kurt breathing down his neck. There had to be a better way. And this idea of Frankie’s had to be it.
He called Lynx first. She’d been asleep in her tiny, sparsely furnished apartment when Frankie rang her, but she agreed to be at the warehouse first thing the next morning, as long as Frankie promised not to call her again tonight.
His next call was to Marty O’Connor. Frankie would never forget the huge part the redheaded Irish kid had played in saving Mollie. He wouldn’t have been able to pick the lock on the bunker’s door or unlatch the shackles around her ankles on his own. Marty, who had been playing cards with his father and uncles when Frankie called him, agreed to bring coffee for Frankie tomorrow morning when he came to the warehouse.
Next, Frankie called four other friends: former firefighter and current arsonist Alex Rodriguez; the man who ran his gambling operations, an Italian-American named Giovani Ricci; his friend Dr. Nareej Patesh, who’d lost his medical license thanks to a plastic surgery gone horribly wrong; and last but not least, F. Oliver Martin, Frankie’s long-time lawyer, who was the master of finding loopholes. All four had been more than willing to participate in the trial, once Frankie told them what Collin had done to Mollie. That, and the big, fat Christmas bonus he’d offered each of them if they helped out.
No sooner had he finished arranging for Oliver to act as the prosecutor against Collin than the door to the back room flung open and banged against the wall. Kurt stood in the doorway, breathing heavily. His partner Lonnie stood behind him, scanning the room.
“Where is he?” Kurt asked without preamble.
Frankie slowly stood from his chair with his hands held out in front of himself. He smiled at Kurt in a way he knew would get under his skin. “Well, hello, Kurt. If you’re talking about our mutual friend, I’m afraid you’re too late.”