“Thanks, Guster. I actually do have a plan that’s a bit less obvious, but does have key elements of your plan. I’d like you to give me a five minute head start, and then I want you to do exactly what you outlined. Walk to the van and engage.”
“Damn it, Nick! I’m bait again? I… here come the girls.”
The waitress arrived with Nick’s credit card statement, thanking him profusely for his tip. “Thank you. The food was excellent.”
Rachel’s brow furrowed in anticipation. “I smell a rat. I read Gus like a ‘Fun With Dick and Jane’ primer. What have you got him into now, Nickster?”
“We need you three to shop a little, my treat, anything you want. Gus and I need to go talk with some people. I’ll call you when the meeting’s done.”
This time Tina’s mouth tightened. “Gus… is Nick using you for bait again? You could tell him to take a hike. It’s not like he’s Tony Soprano.”
“Good thoughts, Tina,” Nick spoke before Gus had a chance. “I need to get that ‘Sopranos’ theme music for my ringtone. We’ll be right back. C’mon, Gus.”
Gus kissed Tina. “Be right back, babe.”
“Be careful, Dad.”
“I will kid,” Nick said over his shoulder. “Did you tell Tina I’ve been using you for bait?”
“You have, and I did,” Gus answered. “I’m going to ask Tina to marry me. She has to know a bit more information concerning our business partnership before I pop the question.”
“I never thought you’d ever ask her,” Nick replied. “Congratulations. What the hell made you decide to forego the bachelor life you’ve been guarding for forty years?”
“Partnering with you had a lot to do with it. The fact you’ve been happier than I’ve ever seen you since marrying Rachel and adopting Jean. I figured if a psycho like you could make a marriage work, I needed to give it a try. Now, what’s the plan other than making Tina a widower before she’s even a wife?”
“Walk slowly, and give me five minutes - then approach the van. Engage the occupants in conversation from the front of the van. That’s all you’ll have to do. I’ll handle any other interaction after that.”
“I trust you implicitly. Did I mention I want you to be my best man, and you can’t do that if I’m dead?”
“Noted. Walk slowly. Stay in plain sight dead center from the concourse. Walk straight for the Escalade, and on to the van. Engage the people in the van from the front. Don’t approach the doors.”
“On it, Boss.”
*
Gus watched Nick jog away with the familiar tense rush of adrenaline streaming from head to toe. He began moving in a deliberate manner geared to make his approach to the van at least five minutes away. People streamed by him, either rushing to the parking lot, or on their way to frequent the souvenir shops and restaurants. They worked to calm Gus’s accelerated heart rate as he cleared the buildings. He stared directly at the van as he moved toward it. By the time Gus reached the van’s front grill, he had his hand on the Beretta 9mm handgun at his back.
“Hey there… can I talk to you. We know you followed us over to the Wharf, and you’re still here parked behind my friend’s Escalade. I’d like to ask someone in there what’s going on.”
The driver’s door opened. A tall, heavily built man in a Navy blue suit, with graying short cut hair exited the van. He moved around the door with a Taser gun. In the next moment a hand gripped his chin, yanked his head back, and jammed a knife blade against his throat. The man dropped the Taser, voicing a startled yelp.
“Don’t kill him, Nick!” A familiar voice screamed out from inside the van.
“I’ll consider your request, Grace.” Nick’s blade began to draw a thin line of blood. “You, Timmy, and Lassie come on out in front of the van next to Gus. Then we’ll see if the suit gets to live or not. Touch Gus, and I slit the suit’s neck, and draw on the three of you for the last time. Tell me you understand, Grace!”
“We’re coming out, Nick! Slow and easy. Don’t do anything rash. I can explain.”
Grace Stanwick, Tim Reinhold, and a thin, blonde haired woman left the van on the passenger side with their hands in plain sight. They walked over to stand near Gus, where he, Grace, and Tim exchanged nods of recognition.
“What’s the suit’s name, Grace?”
“Cal Sorenson.”
“Cal… put your hands on the top of the door frame, and hold onto it like your life depended on it, because it will.”
Sorenson gripped the van’s upper door frame, carefully avoiding any movement at the neck level. Nick’s knife moved away from Sorenson’s neck. In the next split second, he had his .45 Colt auto in hand, jammed into Sorenson’s kidney.