Gregory Malloy, master con artist, professional gambler, and sometime petty thief, sat securely bound to a straight-backed chair in a dingy room somewhere on the outskirts of Dallas. His captors were in an adjoining room where he could hear them talking, but couldn’t tell what they were saying.
He knew why he was there and struggled in the semidarkness to free his hands while rebuking himself, “I had everything planned to the tiniest detail. That is, until the Feds got involved. Why? They didn’t have anything to do with my scheme, and how did Butterfield’s henchmen know where to find me?”
The duct-tape bindings reduced the circulation in his hands and feet, and after they became numb, he stopped struggling. As time progressed, he began to reflect and wonder how cheating and stealing had become his way of life. He remembered his father going to work every morning, coming home late, always too tired to do anything, and his mother’s continual grousing about never having enough money. At the tender age of eight, he decided there had to be an easier way to acquire money. Con games and gambling developed into Gregory’s way of life and since he had never been caught cheating or arrested for extortion these past forty-two years, he believed himself infallible, yet here he was.
His son, who he hadn’t seen for two years, came to him six weeks ago with a scheme. “Hi Pop.”
“Don’t hi Pop, me – Mike. Where the hell have you been the past two years?”
“I was fed up with your bickering with Mom about your gambling, and after you hit me for saying so, I left.”
“So – what brings you back?”
“I met a girl. Her father’s filthy rich, and she thought you could help us fleece the old bastard.”
“I see my influence hasn’t been a total loss.”
“On the contrary, I’ve done quite well.”
“You can tell me about that later. Right now, I want to know about the girl.”
“We were hoping you’d say that. She’s out in the car. I’ll get her.”
When Mike returned with Janice Butterfield, a buxom red-haired beauty, Gregory said, “I see you’ve got your old-man’s taste in….”
“Hands off – Janice is mine and this is a professional visit.”
“Easy son – that was just a harmless comment about your good choice in femininity. Now, what’s your professional proposal?”
Mike explained, “I met Janice in the Greyhound bus station. She happened to be running away from her abusive father the same night I left. We were on our way to Mexico, but only made it to San Antonio before her father’s henchmen found her and drug us back to Dallas. In the few days we spent together we became very close – we now confide in each other.”
Janice said, “I promised the miserable bastard that I wouldn’t try to run away again if he would let Mike stay on the ranch. He made that concession, but even with all his billions of dollars worth of oil wells, life there is like living in a concentration camp.”
Mike said, “We’ve had lots of time to talk and I eventually told her about the many scams you’ve pulled off. That’s when she talked me into this visit. Will you help us?”
“Help you do what?”
Janice said, “To get away from him, and go somewhere he can’t find us; and of course, with enough money to live comfortably.”
“That’s a tall order, Missy. I’ll have to give it some thought. Can you come back next Sunday?”
“Sure.” Mike said, “We’ve got the old man believing we’re going to church. That’s the only place his watchdogs don’t follow us.”
Gregory considered several plans and decided on a fake kidnapping. The next Sunday when the kids got there, he laid out his plan. “Janice, I have friends in Belize and, if you approve on my plan, I will made all the arrangements for a safe haven. I will meet you outside the church next Sunday at ten and take you to the Fort Worth airport for the noon flight. I will have a one-way ticket along with your passport and visitors visa in the name of Margaret Whiting. My friend Manvel is already expecting you and will be waiting at customs.”
“Wait a minute Pop. What about me?”
“You and two friends of mine are going to be the eyewitnesses to the kidnapping. You will identify the vehicle as a silver van and give them the license number, BIG JOE.”
Janice guffawed, “That’s daddy’s biggest rival!”
Mike said, “I still don’t like it. I should be going with her.”
“Why would Big Joe kidnap both of you? Besides, that would make it look like you two ran off together. It’s up to you to convince the old boy the truth of the happening.”
“When will I get to join her in Belize?”
“You won’t. After I get the three million ransom, we’ll meet her in Rio de Janeiro.”
“What do you mean, we’ll meet her?”
“You don’t expect me to do all this work and stay here while you two run off with three million dollars. Do you both agree on the plan?”
Everything went off as planned, Margaret Whiting boarded the plane and Gregory watched it take off. When Mike returned to the ranch without Janice, the henchmen retrieved the other two witnesses. While they were giving their report, the ransom demand arrived taped inside the lid of a pizza box. The high school age delivery kid had no knowledge of a note, or how it got there.
The FBI had been monitoring the suspected movements of drugs in and out of the Butterfield ranch for months. They also knew about a large transaction that was soon to take place. After the pizza truck left, the AIC (agent in charge) observed the placing of a large suitcase into a custom van. He naturally suspected that the deal was about to take place. He immediately dispatched his eye-in-the-sky chopper with orders to follow the van and keep him apprised of its location while three operatives followed it from a discreet distance. If this proved to be the big one they suspected, they would return to the ranch where his ground team would apprehend everyone upon their arrival.
Thirty minutes passed before the observer aboard the chopper reported, “I have located the drop point but there doesn’t seem to be any transfer of materials because the van has left.”
The FBI AIC said, “Stand by, and see if anyone else shows up.”
“Hold one,” came the reply, “I see a car approaching the area. It stopped at the drop point and a man is picking up the suitcase.”
The AIC radioed the chase car, “Move in and pick up the suspect. Take him to the office, I’ll interrogate him there.”
Leaving the engine running, Gregory made the pickup. He placed the money-laden suitcase in a false compartment behind the back seat. The one of equal weight filled with telephone books sat on the seat beside him. He was about to drive off when he heard; “FBI – get out of the car – you’re under arrest for drug smuggling.”
“Damn, “Gregory thought, “How’d I get mixed up in the mob?” He slowly got out of his car while another agent removed the suitcase from the front seat.
Gregory knew that old man Butterfield would send men to follow the money and he had contingency plans for that. What he hadn’t planned for was the FBI showing up. He was spread-eagled over the hood of his car when Butterfield’s men, driving their high speed van, kicked up clouds of dust as it encircle them before it slid to a stop. Three men jumped out and bullets began flying.
During the exchange of gunfire, Gregory flattened himself on his stomach and slithered back to the driver’s side of his car. He was halfway down the dirt road when he saw, in his rearview mirror, the FBI car disappear in a cloud of dust as Butterfield’s men forced it off the road. He slid around the next bend in the road, pulled off, and stopped on the far side of a culvert where he waited until the henchmen passed. He then backed out and went in the opposite direction and made it to the freeway.
An hour later he was back in the city and went to see his contact in the bank. Gregory gave the banker the suitcase, “Hi Frank, I’ve got the money I told you about. Take out your usual ten percent and wire the rest to my numbered account in Rio. Then destroy the suitcase, we can’t afford to have any connection to it.”
He left the bank and went home to pick up his tickets and passport. When he stepped out the front door, one of the henchmen poked a gun in his ribs and without a word, directed him to get in their bullet-ridden van. It was not long before he found himself tied to the chair wondering what the hell went wrong.
He was half asleep when the adjoining door opened, flooding the room with light. Suddenly a huge figure of a man stood silhouetted in the doorway, “Where’s my daughter and my money?”
Gregory squinted against the bright light, “I don’t know anything about a daughter, and if there was money in that bag, the FBI’s got it.”
“You know god-damn well there was money in that bag. You kidnapped my daughter to get it.”
“I did no such thing.”
“Then why’d you make the pickup?”
“Some guy offered me a grand to pickup a package; five hundred then, and five hundred on delivery. I guess that means I’ll never see….”
“Tomorrow... neither you nor your son, unless you tell me where you’re holding my daughter.”
That’s when Gregory knew how they found him so quickly but continued his bluff, “I already told you. I don’t know anything about your daughter,” when suddenly the outer door to the adjoining room burst open.
“FBI – everybody freeze – the building’s surrounded.”
After Butterfield and his men were taken away, agent Downey cut him loose from the chair, saying, “You’re under arrest for drug trafficking.”
Once Gregory, smooth talking con artist that he was, convinced the AIC that he had nothing to do with drugs and that the only connection he had with Butterfield was his misguided belief that Gregory had something to do with a kidnapping.
When Gregory asked Downey how he happened to come to his rescue, the agent said, “I received an anonymous phone call, but I knew it was your kid. He told me where Butterfield had gone to kill someone.”
“That’s my boy.”
“We know all about him – and Butterfield’s daughter. Even though we don’t know where she is, we don’t believe she’s been kidnapped. You’re free to go, but I’m holding your plane ticket and passport so don’t even think about leaving town.”
When Gregory got home, Mike was waiting for him, “How did it go, Pop, is Janice safe? Did you get the money?”
“Everything went almost as planned and yes, Margaret Whiting is fine and yes, we have the money.”
“Then let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Tomorrow, I have to arrange for another passport and more tickets.”
At two in the morning, three days later, Gregory and Mike got into a rented car and drove to Ardmore, Oklahoma where they boarded a chartered flight to Mexico City; and from there, to Rio de Janeiro.
Margaret ran and through her arms around both of them as they exited customs. “Mike, your Dad’s a genius. From the time I boarded that plane in Fort Worth, and met Manvel in Belize everything went unbelievably smooth, and now, here you are in Rio with me. Not only that, I saw on TV where the old bastard was finally arrested for drug trafficking.”
She looked at Gregory and said, “I’ll just bet you had something to do with that too.”
Gregory just smiled and said, “It’s time to go home to my villa overlooking the sea.”