For the rest of that night and all the next day, Jack repeatedly went over the plan with Brittany until she could recite all the details, and any possible contingency, flawlessly from memory. Looking over their options, Jack figured the best time to implement the plan would be Saturday, right after Santos' usual round of golf with a couple of his cronies.
Santos and his group usually tee off at ten. Jack arrived a little before that, and found Santos hitting balls on the driving range. Jack watched him from behind a row of hedges until the group started down the first fairway. After that, he waited and watched for them on the clubhouse veranda, having coffee.
About two hours later, Jack spotted Santos' group coming up the ninth fairway. Staying out of sight as they make the turn into the back nine, he called Brittany to make sure she was ready.
"He just made the turn. I figure we still have another two hours before I set things in motion. It's not too late to back out. You can always go the conventional route and get a lawyer; although, there's still no guarantee he won't come after you after the divorce."
Brittany didn't hesitate to answer, "I know him. He will. I want him out of my life, and prison is the best way."
"I want to remind you that if I push the right buttons, it will get rough for you; probably very rough."
There was only a slight hesitation on the other end of the line before Jack heard Brittany's voice, again, and this time, full of confidence, "I know. I've gone over this in my head for days, now. I'm ready. Just make sure you're not late."
At two-thirty Jack spotted Santos' group making their way up the eighteenth fairway.
"It's time," he said quietly to himself, "No turning back now."
The evening before, he gave Brittany the procedure on how to disable the car alarm on Santos' Cadillac. Using a 'Slim Jim,' Jack popped the door lock without incident. Then he laid down on the floor in the back seat of the car, and waited.
It was about fifteen minutes later when Jack heard the trunk open and Santos placing his clubs inside.
As soon as Santos put the key in the ignition, Jack pounced.
Before Santos knew what was happening, Jack took a firm hold at the back of his collar and pulled his head back, cutting off his wind as well as pressing his head firmly against the headrest.
For a moment, Santos went wide-eyed in surprise and fear when he saw Jack in the rearview mirror. His fear only lasted a few seconds before he shifted into cop-mode at Dorn's brazenness. Reaching his hand up in order to pry Jack's away from his collar, he said with barely hidden contempt, "You've got one second to get out of my fucking car, you ass..."
Santos stopped his threat when Jack placed a taser close to his neck.
"Hello Santos," Jack said, with a tone of quiet malice, "It's time you answer for Ashante and Kellen. We can do this the easy way or the hard way."
"Fuck you, you..."
"Shut up. One more outburst and I will tase your ass, and then drive you to a place no one will ever find. For you, that would be the hard way. I prefer the easy way. With the easy way, everyone stays alive, but I'm more than capable of doing it hard if you make me. Now, you're going to want to listen to what I have to say, and I'm only going to say it once. So, are you ready to listen?" When Santos nodded his head, Jack continues, "Start your car. You know Braden's Café over on Fremont? Drive there as if it's your usual, lazy Saturday afternoon."
There were just enough people in the café to put Jack at ease. He chose a table instead of a booth, and sat so that he could watch the entrance.
Santos sat quietly, waiting for Jack to make his pitch. He would wait and bide his time. Put Jack at ease and not make any threats until he was safely away. He would let Jack have his fun. What difference did it make? Jack Dorn was a dead man. He just doesn't know it, yet. Santos stared back at the man with his hard, dark eyes, and smiled subtly at that thought.
Jack ordered them a coffee and Santos a Reuben sandwich to make their conversation look normal to the other patrons.
Taking a sip of his coffee, Santos commented, "First, heroin possession and now kidnapping a police lieutenant, you're moving up in the world, Dorn."
Jack didn't respond at first, but set a tape recorder on the table between them. "Shut up, and listen to this very carefully."
Santos recognized the voice on the tape immediately. It was Peter Fray, the former chief of forensics for Metro. The tape lasted all of fifteen minutes. When it was over, Santos' face was drained of color.
"Quite a story he had to tell," Jack began, with a touch of amusement in his voice, "I particularly liked the part where he said you were crying like a little bitch, begging him to help cover up Ashante's murder. I'm impressed you had that much cash on hand. A hundred thousand dollars isn't easy to come by, but it was money well spent given how things turned out for you."
Santos regained his composure, and scoffed, "What does this prove? That you got some kiddie-fucker to tell lies about me."
Jack ignored Santos' question, and continued, "He never did trust you, you know. Oh sure, Fray covered up your crimes and the crimes of your crew, buying your silence about what happened with Cathy Bateman, but he never trusted you. He knew it would just be a matter of time before you saw him as an untenable, loose thread, and took care of the matter." Jack pauses for effect, and then finished, "You really didn't think he destroyed the evidence, did you?"
