Along Came a Spider - James Patterson [127]
There was another short stretch of silent empty hallway. Then they were at a security door. This was where the shit would hit the fan, and Soneji/Murphy had to do his stuff. This was where Fishenauer would see if Gary Soneji/Murphy was as good as his reputation. Fishenauer didn’t have a key to the security door.
“Give me your gun now, Bobby. Just think about ten million dollars. I can do this next bit, so all you have to worry about is your part of the money.”
This was it. Soneji made it sound so easy. Do this, do that. Get a piece of ten million dollars. Fishenauer reluctantly handed over his revolver. He didn’t want to think about what he was doing anymore. This was his chance to get out of Fallston, too. His only chance. Otherwise, Fishenauer knew he would be at Fallston for the rest of his life.
“There’s nothing fancy here, Bobby, but this will work. You play everything to Kessler. Look real scared.”
“I am fucking scared.”
“You should be, Bobby. I have your gun.”
There were two prison guards on the other side of the security door. A waist-high Plexiglas window gave them a view of the unbelievable sight coming their way.
They saw Soneji/Murphy with a gun stuck to the left temple of supervisor Bob Fishenauer. Soneji/Murphy had on arm and leg cuffs, but he also had a gun. Both guards stood up fast. They held their riot shotguns above the glass. They didn’t have time to make another move.
“You’re gawking at a dead guard,” Gary screamed at the top of his voice, “unless you open that fucking door in about five seconds. No more than that!”
“Please!” Fishenauer suddenly screamed at his fellow guards. He was scared, all right. Soneji had the gun pressed hard against his temple. “He killed Volpi upstairs.”
It took less than five seconds for an older guard—Stephen Kessler—to make his decision. He turned the key that opened the security door. Kessler was a friend of Robert Fishenauer’s, and Soneji had counted on that. Soneji had thought of everything. He’d known that Robert Fishenauer was a “lifer” at the prison; that he was trapped there just like the inmates. He’d talked about Fishenauer’s anger and frustrations, and he’d been spot on. He was the smartest fucker Robert Fishenauer had ever met. He was going to make Fishenauer a millionaire.
The two of them headed for Fishenauer’s car. The Firebird was parked close to the front gate. Fishenauer had left the sports-car door unlocked.
They were inside the car in a flash.
“Very nice wheels, Bobby,” said Gary Soneji/Murphy. “Now you’ll be able to buy a Lamborghini. Two or three, if you want to make a statement.”
Soneji lay down across the backseat. He slid under a blanket that Fishenauer’s collie usually slept on. It smelled strongly of dog.
“Now let’s get out of this rattrap,” Soneji/Murphy said from the back. Robert Fishenauer started up the Firebird.
Less than a mile from the prison, they changed cars. A Bronco was parked on the street and they quickly jumped inside.
A few minutes later, they were on the highway. Light traffic, but more than enough for them to get lost in.
A little less than ninety minutes later, the Bronco turned onto the overgrown driveway of the old farm in rural Maryland. During the ride, Soneji/Murphy had allowed himself the small, but exquisite, pleasure of savoring his original master plan. He loved the idea that two years before, he’d actually thought to leave some cash hidden in the garage. Not the ransom money, of course. Just for this moment in time. How prescient of him.
“Are we there yet?” Gary Soneji/Murphy finally spoke up from under the blanket.
Fishenauer didn’t answer right away, but Gary knew that they were there by the bumps in the road. He sat up in the cramped backseat of the Bronco. He was almost home free home. He was invincible.
“It’s time to get rich,” he said and laughed out loud. “Do you plan to take off these matching cuffs at some point?”
Robert Fishenauer didn’t bother to turn around. As far as he was concerned, this was still a keeper/keepee relationship.