Driving along Park Avenue Bobby Vacca eyed the rearview mirror. Charles fidgeted in the seat. He was having reservations about this withdrawal for the ransom.
“I have a bad feeling about this.”
“I can’t blame you.” Bobby wasn’t letting him off the hook. "Tammi’s life is on the line and neither of us are trained for this.”
“You have any other suggestions?” Charles had spent the hours before dawn questioning this entire mad enterprise. He had been set up.
It could be anyone.
“Call the police.”
“No.” Tammi had rejected him like that townie girl, but if the situation was reversed, she wouldn’t walk away from him and he owed her the same loyalty.
Bobby loved hearing that word. “So I guess we do nothing for now.”
“Are you sacred?”
“Now, no. The money is no problem. Waiting for the phone call either. No one I know ever has been kidnapped, but in the movies there’s always a problem at the pay-off. Like with your friend, right?”
“You foresee a problem?”
“You never know.” Bobby hoped nothing erased the plan he had etched in stone, but Tammi’s being kidnapping was a major detour from his original scheme and all because he hadn’t done it himself.
“Why you think they took her?” Whoever had kidnapped Tammi hadn’t called her parents and abruptly he realized he knew very little about her other than she was in the band and stripper at the Dollhouse. The blanks had been filled by his fantasies. She had run away from a small town to escape her parents. Her past was unimportant, if she shared his future.
“Well, they want money.”
“From me. They didn’t call you.”
“No, I come from an Italian neighborhood and this is the best job I can get. You’re from the high-class part of town, went to top-class schools, and more important you have money. Money gives you power.”
“Power?”
“I’d give anything to have your money and you act like you’re penniless.” Bobby had to tell him that being Charles Ames III was an experience no one else would ever share, unless they were reborn as a millionaire.
“Money makes me a target.”
“You’re right. These people took Tammi to get to you.” Bobby was talking too much and one sure word could halt this conversation. Once more he offered, “It’s not too late to call the ‘police’.”
“No, we can handle this together.”
“It’s your call?” Bobby left it as a question.
His driver was on the money about his entire life having been preordained by wealth; schools, friends, vacations, expectations, and even how he spent his money. His trust fund came under his control at age twenty. His birthday was three months away and he exercised his new power by rapping on the seat. "Pull over in front of the bank."
"It says 'No Parking'." The Lincoln stopped on Park Avenue before a glass and steel skyscraper stretching into the brittle blue sky.
"That’s for other people." He climbed unaided from the car. "I'll be right out."
A silver-haired man in a gray flannel suit at the marbled entrance sternly regarded Charles' leather jacket and eight-ball cane. Mr. Simms had been managing Charles' trust fund nearly ten years. He usually greeted him with unwelcome comments and this morning was no exception. "You've switched your tailor."
Charles marked the overthrow of his tyrannical reign by saying, "Save the witticisms for your golf course friends."
"Mr. Ames, there’s no reason___"
"No reason to pretend we are friends. I am a customer. I have a portfolio of stocks and deposits of capital in this bank. If you care for me to use another bank, prepare the papers and my funds will be transferred the day I achieve my majority."
"That won't be necessary." The banker’s head lowered in acquiescence to his client's wishes.
"I thought so. We have to speak in private." Charles allowed his old nemesis to lead him into a wood-paneled office, where he announced, "I want $100,000 available for withdrawal in small bills out of sequence in one hour."
"This money is for a purchase?" Mr. Simms failed to hide his surprise.
"Actually it's none of your business."
"Yes____” The banker patted the strands of hair swept over his skull's bare patch.
As much as he disapproved of such an irregular request, Mr. Simms nodded with a conservative respect for wealth. "It might take time."
"I'll be back at Two O'clock." Charles motioned the banker to sit at his desk.
“I will see you then.” Their Ames’ father had asked to be informed of any emergency.
He had left town for Palm Beach and Mr. Simms decided to inform the sister. She would know what to do.
Once in the Lincoln Charles Ames III ecstatically explained, "You can't believe how satisfying that was."
"Oh, yes, I can." Putting a bullet into Sal Cucci was equally appealing to Bobby.
"Now what?"
"We go to the penthouse. The kidnappers might call us with another set of demands."
"For more money?" Charles asked with a growing annoyance.
"No, we have the money, they’ll inform us about the particulars of the drop."
“Such as?”
“Time and place.”
"Okay, it's home, Robert." Charles couldn’t call his driver ‘Bobby’.
The family history explained their family came to prominence, because his great-great-great-great-grandfather had the foresight to trade furs to the Chinese and rum to Africa. The truth of the opium and slave trade had been buried several generations before his birth and he had been raised with the lie. Bobby Vacca wasn’t so stupid to believe that the rich made or kept a fortune by hard work. That story was only for the squares. Stopping at the luxury high-rise on East 57th Street, he spotted two men huddled over a hot air vent. "You have company."
The new Charles wasn't as tolerant of the blonde's erratic behavior as the old. Still Johnny had helped him, when he was helpless. "Go park the car. I'll speak to them."
Charles limped across the sidewalk to the grating. Throughout his restless night he had reflected on Johnny’s having been a criminal in Times Square. His playing guitar hadn’t altered that fact, but it appeared that his conviction of abetting in this kidnapping might have been a little too premature. The tap of his cane startled Johnny. "Thank God, you’re back."
"Why are you here?" They appeared on their last legs and Charles suspected they were on drugs, which reminded him to take a painkiller at his penthouse.
"Sean was attacked behind CBGBs. He says Tammi is in trouble."
"And?" Neither man was in any condition to help Tammi or have kidnapped her, once more cloaking the kidnappers’ faces with anonymity.
"She's not at her friend's place or the Dollhouse." Johnny wasn’t keen on the new Charles. "Sean thought she might be with you."
"With me?" Charles had been worried about the redhead’s reunion with Sean and laughed at the irony of their sharing a mutual phobia.
“What so funny?”
“Nothing.”
"So you haven't seen her?"
"No." Charles was unable to answer Johnny's questions.
"Or heard from her?" Johnny sensed he was lying and seized his arm. "I can see right through you. Where’s Tammi."
"She’s been kidnapped." Charles blurted and Johnny whispered, "We can't talk about this now. We'll carry Sean upstairs."
Charles damned himself for telling Johnny the truth. It was none of his business and certainly none of Sean’s concern. A word to the doorman would bar their entrance, but
Charles said nothing and Johnny helped the bassist into the building.
On the elevator Johnny asked, "Tammi was 'kidnapped'?"
"She was taken after the show."
"Probably the same person slugged Sean."
"He see anything?"
Sean slouched against the elevator wall.
"Stars." The elevator decelerated and the doors slid open.
Johnny’s attempted to hold Sean steady, but the ex-hippie collapsed into the living room. Bobby Vacca caught him before he crashed into a glass cabinet housing a collection of Mayan artifacts. If Richie had blackjacked Sean any harder, he would be dead and he asked with feigned ignorance, "Sean run into another door?"
"Whoever snatched Tammi whacked him in the head." Johnny steered Sean onto the couch.
"Shit." Bobby glared at Charles Ames III. "You told him."
Charles shrugged weakly and Johnny cradled Sean's head. "Why shouldn't he tell us?"
"The more people know about this, the greater the risk to Tammi." Johnny Darling’s interference was more dangerous than the involvement of the police. Bobby had lost his fall guy and Sean was in no condition to come off the bench as the reliever.
"We can help." Tammi was penniless and had no family. Her kidnapping was senseless and
Johnny fingered the missing part of the puzzle, as Bobby Vacca said, "These men say they'll kill her, if the police are involved. Charles decided to pay the ransom."
"How much they ask?" Tammi had been wearing a blonde wig. She had been mistaken for Caroline Ames. Two years working in Times Square and a summer on Coney Island helped narrow the field of suspects to one.
"$100,000. I'm getting it within the hour from my bank."
Bobby and Johnny were in awe of his power to command so much money on short notice and ignorant that this single portfolio earning more in interest monthly and allowed him to gamble $100,000 on winning Tammi away from the bass player. It wasn’t a sure bet, only one he had to place to win.
"Why are you paying it?" Most kidnappings had an inside man.
"If I don’t, Tammi’s dead.” Plus he couldn’t be a hero.
Proving the driver’s participation was impossible. "When are you supposed to pay them off?"
"Tonight."
"Where?"
"We haven’t heard yet."
"I'm going too."
"They’re expecting one person." At this moment Bobby Vacca hated the little fagala more intensely than Gucci Cucci.
"I mean $100,000 is a temptation for criminals."
Money went quick in Manhattan, but he needed to buy Johnny’s silence. 10% would come out of his bonus, although eliminating the deadwood increased his earnings and he glared at Johnny Darling. "Can you protect me or Tammi?"
"I can be a human shield."
"You'd catch a bullet for me?" Bobby would love to pull the trigger.
"No, I was joking." A bullet putting him out of his misery was close to a blessing.
"Getting killed ain't no joking matter."
The telephone ringing ceased the argument and Charles signaled Bobby to answer the phone. The driver feared another mess-up, but his friend asked according to script,
"You have the money?"
"We will by 2pm." Bobby signaled he had the kidnappers on the line.
"Three hours from then, go to the telephone on 45th and 10th Avenue and wait for my instructions. Any questions?"
"Let me speak with Tammi."
"The girl's fine. Remember 5 with 100 Gs."
The phone clicked dead. "They want us to meet them at 5."
“Where?”
“A phone booth on the corner of West 44th and 10th Avenue.”
“Hell’s Kitchen, nice neighborhood.” Johnny asked urgently. "They say anything about Tammi?"
Bobby could have done without the overacting. "That she's okay."
"Bobby and I will get the money," Charles Ames III stated plainly, pulling on his leather jacket. "Johnny, you stay with Sean. And don’t answer the phone."
"What if the kidnappers call again?" Johnny decided to obey Charles’ orders to reinforce the fiction that the millionaire was in charge.
"They don’t need to hear another voice.”
Johnny accepted his role for the moment and sat with Sean.
Charles regarded the lolling head. "He won’t die, will he?"
"No," Johnny shook Sean, until his eyes swam into us. He held three fingers. "How many fingers you see?"
"Three." Sean guessed before the centrifuge of chaos pinned him to the sofa.
"He'll live." Johnny answered, as Charles said, “So we sit and wait until 1:30.”
“Anyone care for some tea or coffee? Bobby asked, wishing to get the guitarist alone, but he wasn’t leaving Sean’s side. “I’ll have a tea with milk and sugar. Two spoonfuls too.”
“Same for me.” Charles said and sat next to Johnny, Sean in between them. It was like a church painting and Bobby tensed his muscles, wanting to hurt someone, until he remembered that on their return $100,000 in cold cash would be in this room. More money than any of them other than Charles Ames III had seen in their lives. Johnny was thinking the same thing, although his cut would be in the low five figures, unless he stole the entire ransom. Tammi wasn’t really in danger. This was all a scam. Winter had barely started, but New York was getting too hot and an extra zero was always useful in getting as far from this island as possible.
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