Frankie
“All right, all right.” Frankie’s baritone voice boomed across the dimly-lit back room of the Trifecta Lounge, a restaurant he was proud to have founded in the early eighties. Frankie conducted most of his business in this back room, away from prying eyes and itchy ears. “I’ve asked you all here today because I need your help.” The motley crew he’d gathered took their seats around the tables, and some stood leaning against the walls. “As you all know by now, my beloved granddaughter, Mollie, has been kidnapped. I need each of you to use your unique set of skills to help me find her.”
“We’ll do whatever we can to help, boss,” said Bruno, Frankie’s “muscle man.” Frankie often relied upon Bruno for handling matters which required more brawn than brains, for what Bruno lacked in intellect, he made up for in muscles.
“Thank you, Bruno. Now, the rest of you have certain…assets, which may be useful in our search for Mollie. I expect you each to work harder than you ever have for me. Further, I expect your absolute discretion, though I assume that goes without saying.”
“Of course, boss,” said Lynx, Frankie’s very own cyber sleuth. Lynx, though Frankie couldn’t imagine why on earth she’d chosen such a ridiculous moniker, was a spindly wisp of a girl with spiky blue hair, tattoos, and piercings all over, who had the ability to hack into any computer system, no matter how ostensibly secure, including those of government agencies.
“And last, but certainly not least, you should know the police are also trying to locate Mollie. But no matter what, do not share any information with them.” Frankie saw his employees were flummoxed. “Let me explain. While I do believe they mean well, I’ve decided this man who has taken Mollie deserves much worse than any so-called justice our government would allow. I’m sure you’ll agree. The last thing we want is for this lunatic to be released on bail while some sleazy criminal defense attorney works out a way to keep him free on a technicality. We take care of our own in this community, and we dole out justice as we see fit. Does everyone understand?”
Everyone in the room nodded and mumbled their assent.
“Good. Now, all we know currently is that Mollie was last seen leaving Macy’s after her shift last night. According to a source at the police department, grainy surveillance video shows the shadowy figure of a man shoving her into the back of her car and driving away. This all happened right around ten thirty. Another source has informed me that a strange man has been watching Mollie lately, so odds are, this strange man is who we’re looking for. My source also tells me forensics are working on trying to trace her phone, which stopped working about half an hour later. Lynx, I expect you can work your magic to find her phone?”
“Can do,” she replied, wiping a stray strand of blue hair from her brow. “I’m on it, boss. Just need her phone number. The police techs will take several hours to track her, but I can do it in half that time.”
“That’s why I keep you around,” Frankie said with a single nod. He took out his phone, read off Mollie’s phone number, and watched as Lynx opened her laptop and immediately began clicking and clacking away at on the keyboard.
“The rest of you, I expect you will reach out to your contacts and see what you can figure out. See if anyone has any theories, no matter how far-fetched, about who this lunatic may be. He’s taken several girls before Mollie, so surely to God someone out there has a hunch.”
Again, everyone nodded.
A young man with red hair and pale, freckled skin stepped forward with his scrawny finger held in the air. “Excuse me, sir.”
“Yes, Marty?”
“What can I do? I want to help find Mollie. Surely you can use me somehow?”
Frankie contemplated his options briefly. Martin O’Conner was his go-to guy for breaking and entering. Though Frankie had taught himself to pick locks years ago, Marty was the master of all locks, safes, and security systems. Frankie employed him, despite his tender age of nineteen, because the kid had proven his loyalty on more than one occasion. That, and the fact that Marty’s father had been one of Frankie’s most loyal henchmen until he’d been caught and imprisoned for life, mostly for refusing to roll on his employer.
“There will come a time when your skill set will come in very handy, Marty. But for now, I need you to be on standby until I call you. Capiche?”
The boy looked dejected, but nodded in agreement and leaned back against the wall. “Yes, sir.”
“Right, then. Unless anyone else has any ideas, let’s start pounding the pavement, knocking on doors, and calling in favors. Someone out there has to know something. Let’s bring my girl home. Report back to me with anything you find, no matter how small. You’re all dismissed.”
The sound of several chairs screeching across the tile floors echoed through the room as Frankie’s most loyal soldiers stood and filed out the back door. Only Lynx remained sitting at the table.
“Anything yet?” Frankie asked, looking over her shoulder.
Lynx didn’t look up from her screen. “Not yet, boss. But I’m getting close. Just a few more minutes.”
She concentrated on the codes and sequences before her, and her fingers moved swiftly across the keys. She was a strange bird, Lynx. He’d found this little gem when his home computer had crashed and a trusted friend had recommended her. The friend had warned him that she was odd, quiet, and a bit of a recluse, but extolled her virtues as a computer genius. Sure enough, she’d fixed his computer problem within seconds of sitting down at his desk. She’d further impressed him when she’d gone out of her way to warn him about a security breach she’d located and helped him identify a leak in his organization. From that day forward, he’d kept her on a generous retainer under the sole condition that she reserve her talents for Frankie and his organization.
Frankie’s cell phone vibrated in his hand, and he glanced down at the screen. He normally didn’t answer unknown numbers, but with Mollie out there somewhere, he wasn’t about to take any chances. With the phone held close to his ear, and hoping to hear his granddaughter’s voice on the other end, Frankie said, “Hello?”
“Is this Franklin Cartwright?” asked the voice on the other end in a smooth, even tone.
“Depends,” Frankie said. “I’m not speaking to reporters, so if you’re—”
“I’m not a reporter, Frankie,” the voice interrupted.
He felt a tightening in his chest and an increase in his heartrate. “Who is this?”
“You know who this is.”
“You sonofabitch,” Frankie spat. “Where is Mollie? Where’s my granddaughter?”
The laugh that came over the line made Frankie’s stomach roil. He snapped his fingers at Lynx, who jumped up from her chair and was standing next to Frankie within half a second. He pointed at the phone and mouthed the words, “It’s him.”
Lynx nodded tersely, grabbed the phone from Frankie’s hand, pushed the speaker button, and motioned for him to bring the phone over to the computer.
“Don’t worry, Frankie,” the voice said. “Mollie is safe and sound with me. I haven’t harmed a hair on her head…yet.”
He laughed again as Lynx connected a wire from her computer to the port in the bottom of Frankie’s phone. She made a motion with her hand for him to keep the man talking.
“Listen to me, you sick bastard. I—”
“No,” the man snapped, cutting Frankie off mid-sentence. “You listen to me.” The man paused, and Frankie looked at Lynx hopefully. She nodded as her fingers moved across the keyboard hurriedly. “Have you ever read The Count of Monte Cristo?”
“What? Have I read—”
“The Count of Monte Cristo, by Alexandre Dumas. The French author?”
Frankie wasn’t in the mood for riddles. What was this guy playing at? “No. I’ve never read it.” He looked at Lynx, who nodded without looking up from the screen. “Where is Mollie?”
“Dumas wrote The Count of Monte Cristo in 1844. Much better than The Three Musketeers, I think. Some people believe it was written by a ghost writer by the name of Auguste Maquet, but I don’t buy it. What do you think?”
“Stop jerking me around. Where is my granddaughter?”
“Well, you really must read it. It’s an enthralling story of hope, love, justice, and most importantly, revenge.”
The word “revenge” made Frankie’s breath stop short. It wasn’t the word itself so much as the way the caller emphasized it. So that was what this was about. Revenge. Somehow, Frankie had done something to this man to cause him to kidnap his favorite grandchild to get back at him. But that wasn’t much of a clue, because Frankie couldn’t deny that over the years he’d pissed off dozens, if not hundreds of people. It was part of being a serious businessman. Especially one who operated outside the confines of the law.
“Don’t hurt her,” he said. “Whatever I did to you, I’m sorry. I’ll make it right. Just please, don’t—”
“Too late. What you did, there’s no making it right. The time for apologies is long past. Now, you’re at my mercy. Now, you will know what it’s like to lose someone you love.”
“Who is this?” Frankie looked desperately at Lynx, still typing furiously on the keyboard. “I swear to God, when I find you, I’ll—”
“No need for threats. You’re hardly in a position to make them, anyway. It’s time to search your soul. Think of all the wrongs you’ve done over the years, Frankie. If you think hard enough, I’m sure you’ll remember. I’ll give you one hint, and one hint only. Are you ready, Frankie? You might want to write this down.”
“I’m listening,” Frankie said through gritted teeth.
“Almost got him,” Lynx whispered.
“The hint is this…you thought you were doling out justice, but in reality, you were stealing a father away from his son. Chew on that for a while, Frankie. In the meantime, I think Mollie and I will have some fun…isn’t that right, love?”
In the background, Frankie heard the muffled sounds of his granddaughter crying. “Mollie! It’s Pops, Mollie! I’m coming to get you. Just stay strong!”
“Now, now, Pops,” the man said. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Goodbye for now, Frankie. Think back on the sins of your past. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll figure it out, and then we can meet and talk about how you can make amends. In the meantime, Mollie sends her love.”
The line went dead, and the tone that echoed through the phone made Frankie double over in agony. His past sins? How on earth was he supposed to single out one specific person he’d wronged? Admittedly, he’d had to step on so many necks on his climb to the top of the ladder. Many of them were probably fathers. But one “sin” in particular had apparently been so bad the son had sought him out all these years later for revenge. He looked over at Lynx, who was shaking her head.
“I’m sorry, boss. I was able to trace him to within a ten-mile radius, but that could be anywhere in Lexington. And it’s a burner phone. Not registered to anyone, and there’s no way of tracking the purchase. If I’d had more time, perhaps.”
He waved her off, but the words were caught in his throat. He grabbed the back of a chair to steady himself as his mind swam with images of all the things he’d done over the last thirty years or so. Some of the faces of his victims were still clear in his mind, but not many. Guilt was not an emotion Franklin Cartwright felt often. Every choice he’d made, he’d made for the furtherance of his family and his empire. Every choice, that was, except for one.
The memory slapped him in the face and left him breathless. In an instant, he knew why his granddaughter had been kidnapped. He knew what he had done to deserve this torment.
Once again, it all came back to Addie.