Neither Sean nor Johnny had spotted the unmarked police car following them. Sgt. Guerra had expected them to stop at a bank, although they had passed every ATM. Even more disappointing had been their stay on the heating grid, yet the desperate exchange between Johnny and the millionaire had rewarded the detective with a hunch about a greater crime than a bank scam was in the works and he had switched his surveillance to Charles Ames III, whom he tailed to Park Avenue.
The Lincoln halted at the curb and Charles Ames III entered the bank. His driver positioned himself by the car. The set-up had a hinky feel, although an armed bank robbery was unlikely considering the cast of characters and the detective opted to wait for the answer to unveil itself with the flow of time. Five minutes later Charles Ames emerged from the bank, carrying a case. It contained money and not just a few hundred dollars. The driver went to help the millionaire.
Before he reached Charles Ames III, a thin blonde in a calf-length leather coat confronted the millionaire on the steps. The driver intervened briefly, then Charles Ames waved him to the car and the girl began to shout at the millionaire. Sgt. Weinstein would have paid a week's salary to hear the blonde’s tirade and wouldn't have been disappointed either, for Caroline Ames was telling her brother exactly what she thought.
"You’re not seriously giving that money to someone in your band?"
"Caroline, people are watching?"
Most people were in a hurry to get out of the wind and Caroline declared, "Screw them.
All I care about is you and who gets that money."
"It’s none of your business." It was his money.
"If you give away your money, you’ll wind up penniless. You’ve seen it happen to the richest people. Then you'll come running to me." Mr. Simms had telephoned her about Charlie's withdrawal. Caroline suspected one band member had convinced her brother of an extraordinary need and her first choice was the silly little bitch, who held him in the palm of her fist. "I won’t let anyone screw you."
"You're not my mother."
“I know that.”
Charles’s mother had abnegated her maternal responsibilities in order to preserve her youth and their father had accordingly relegated their upbringing to a series of strict nannies to insure against any familial intrusions into his business life and social pursuits. Their lack of love for their aloof parents hadn’t prevented Caroline from caring about her brother and she said, "Tell me why you need the money and I won't stand in your way."
"Tammi was kidnapped."
The girl was a tramp. “Why’d anyone kidnap her?"
It was a valid question and its answer became apparent in the afternoon light. “They mistook her for you."
“Me?” Sean's lying on the ground behind the Bowery bar finally made sense.
“She was wearing a blonde wig.”
“Okay, but why aren't your 'friends' breaking their piggy banks to save Tammi?”
"They don't have $100,000."
"I doubt they have a thousand dollars between them.” Her father had instructed them to donate money to a charities for tax breaks. The old bastard was rarely mistaken on economic matters. She intended to follow his advice to the letter.
“So that leaves me.”
“Charles, do the math. How many girls would that much money buy?”
“I’m not looking to buy anyone.”
“Oh, yes, you are. Tammi might cost $100 a night. So $100,000 gets you 1000 nights of cheap sex."
"Tammi's not a whore." Charles tried to sidestep around his sister and she barred his way. "No, she's a fire pole ballerina with the Times Square Ballet. A slut from nowhere.”
"You’re with Sean. He's a car thief and____"
"I fucked him to help you and I want to return to being the same girl I was before your accident.” Anything had to better than what she had become. “If it’s not too late.”
“I can’t be that me.”
“No, maybe you can’t, but I’m not going to be like you and your punks either. They’re like any parasite. Only after our money.”
“We have millions,” Charles had shared her sentiment before GTH. “$100,000 won't change the way we live."
"There's no guarantee she'll love you." These people, Sean and Tammi, were strictly entertainment. "I’ll stop you.”
“No, you can’t.”
“That why we have the police.”
After the ransom was paid, the Ames were fair game for the conmen and thieves of America. She withdrew a thin coin from her fur coat. “I even have the dime."
"I'm not letting you ruin this." Charles Ames III held his sister's arm.
“You don’t have a choice.”
“Oh, yes, I do. You're coming with us."
"No, I'm not." Her brother’s strength was immaterial, for one scream would snap even the most jaded New Yorkers from their self-centered trances. Her shout for help was cut short by Charles’ driver right jab. Bobby caught her before she hit the ground and
Charles asked angrily, "Was that necessary?"
"We don’t need anyone nosing into our business." Bobby cocked his head at the wind-harried pedestrians and dumped the unconscious female on the backseat. He stopped Charles from joining her. "You been in a cage with a wildcat? Me, I'm staying in front and locking the doors."
Charles Ames III was well-acquainted with his sister's tantrums and joined Bobby in the front seat to hear the driver chuckled at the irony of kidnapping Caroline Ames today to insure the success of yesterday’s failure.
“What’s so funny?” Charles asked with a frown.
“Nothing.” The humor in this situation was lost on Chuckie. "Sorry.”
"She’s my sister." Charles placed the money on his lap.
“I held my punch.”
“Nothing was broken?”
“My knuckles barely grazed her.” Bobby stepped on the gas and the Lincoln sped from the curb with Bobby wondering why he hadn’t kidnapped Charles and Caroline. He knew the answer. Everything always screwed up at the pay-off.
Most officers would have arrested Charles and his driver on the spot, except Sgt. Weinstein's tailing a bank robbery suspect had led to the kidnapping of a millionairess and he followed the Lincoln to the luxury high-rise, parking after the black car entered the underground garage.
Violating NYPD’s SOP by failing to radio for back-up, Sgt. Weinstein contemplated the suspects' next moves. They had money. They had a girl. They brought both to the penthouse. Johnny and the bassist were waiting. It was all circumstantial, but Sgt. Weinstein decided a more serious crime was in the works. The only question was ‘when’.
His stomach grumbling announced another problem. A steam cart selling hot dogs was on the corner. No one was leaving the penthouse in the next five minutes and he walked down the sidewalk to order three hot dogs, then bought the NY Times from a street vendor. They would help kill the time before the suspects committed their next crime, which wouldn’t be long in coming, for nothing hid evil more thoroughly than darkness, especially on the shortest day of the year.
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