BEFORE THE GREED GETS RID OF YOU

- The prince, the pauper, and the P.I.

A Noah Milano short story

by J. Vandersteen

The two people in my office were as much alike as Bruce Springsteen and Frank Sinatra. The man who'd introduced himself as Anthony Wilder III was dressed in a suit that looked as though it cost more than my entire office. His salt and pepper hair was slicked back with brylcream that made it shine as much as his 100 dollar cufflinks.

The man beside him, Sam Evans was dressed in faded jeans, a plaid workshirt and the mop of sandy colored hair on his head hadn't seen the scissors of a barber in months.

As security specialist / private investigator you get to meet all sorts of people. It's one of the perks of the job. What comes with it, unfortunately are frequent beatings, clashes with unfriendly cops and a bank account that's holds more red ink than my old school reports used to.

When I asked the two what I could do for them Evans answered me, “You gotta help me get my son back, mister Milano. You gotta.”

“What happened to him?” I asked before I sipped some coffee from a paper cup. I'd treated my guests to the expensive china. Actually that consisted of Powerpuff girls mug and a Garfield one without an ear.

“He got kidnapped in front of Joey's comics store just this morning. Two guys just got out of a van and grabbed him.”

“How do you know this?”

Wilder piped in. Where Evans' accent was all American drawl, his was the sort of accent you pick up in Harvard. “My son witnessed the event. They were just leaving the store to pick up some of their comics magazines as it happened.”

“Your sons are good friends?”

“Yes, they met each other on the internet,” Evans said. “They shared the same tastes in comics. Not many of their original friends did. My boy Tommy' buddies were just into baseball and Marcus' friends are into golf.”

Golf? Kids were into golf these days. As the son of the most successful mob bosses of L.A. I grew up with a shitload of money, but we weren't into golf. Playboy, cars, rock music, yeah. But surely not golf.

“Kidnappings aren't really my thing, sir. I do the occasional missing person case, but when it turns out to be something like this the FBI is a hell of a lot better equipped to deal with it than I am.”

“If I call the cops they'll kill my Tommy. The kidnappers told Andrew's kid that when they snatched him.”

“Wait a minute. The kidnappers actually spoke to Marcus. Did he get a good look at them?”

“I don't want my son to get too involved in this, mister Milano. I agreed to come with mister Evans and pay for your services to track down his son, but that's where our involvement ends.”

“With all due respect, mister Wilder, but the only way I can think of to get the boy back is through a good witness statement from your son. As I told you, I don't have the recourses the FBI have got. What I do have though, are contacts which might recognize the description he can give me of the kidnappers.”

Evans put a pleading hand on Wilders' forearm. “Please Andy, you gotta help me. What can it hurt if your son talks to mister Milano.”

When Evans removed his hand I almost expected Wilder to brush his suit's arm. He obviously held little respect for his companion, bound only through their son's friendship. They reminded me of my own friendship with Minnie, a cop's daughter. Not exactly the kind of company a mobster wants his kid to keep. “All right then. As long as I can be present. I expected you to come up with the FBI, but I also heard you are sometimes a bit looser with the general rules of your trade than your colleagues.”

“Yeah that's me, Rebel without a cause,” I dunked my empty paper cup in the waste basket, which is outfitted with a basketball net. Some people commend my office looks like a dorm room Maybe I should start wearing a toga and smoke weed. “It's no problem for you to be present when I talk to your kid, as long as you let me do the talking.”

Obviously Wilder wasn't used to people talking to him like that. His yes-men in the boardroom probably licked his Gucci loafers at his every whim. He reminded me of my dad. “All right then. But I would appreciate it if you would watch your tone of voice. Remember that I will be the one paying your tab.”

I raised my hands in surrender. “You're the boss.” If I wasn't so eager to save Evan's kid I probably would've told him to stick the tab where the sun don't shine. As I grow older I do get better at containing myself though.

“Mister Evans, is there any reason you can think of they kidnapped Tommy? Playing debts, bad divorce, stuff like that?”

“No, that's what's so damned odd about this whole business. I ain't got no money, no enemies no nothing. I'm an honest, hardworking man, mister Milano.”

That could leave a few reasons for kidnapping I didn't like thinking of. Hollywood had its fair share of chickenhawks. “I'll go talk to Marcus. If you can think of anything that might help just call me on my cellphone.” I handed Evans a yellow post-it that doubled as my business card until I had enough cash to have them printed again. “Have you a picture of your son?”

“Yeah, I do,” he said. “It was made last Christmas.” He handed me a polaroid from his wallet. It captured a smiling young boy, about ten years old, with bright green eyes and his dad's sandy colored hair, opening his presents. There was no way in hell I would have anyone blow out the light those eyes held.

“Cute kid,” I told him and I turned to Wilder. “Can we go to your kid right now? The first 24 hours are essential in a case like this.”

“Yes, I guess that's all right. I will just call the office to tell them our four o'clock boardmeeting will have to be postponed.” Mister Important showing of his power. I started to develop a sharp pain in the neck.

*

Andrew Wilder's Beverly Hills mansion was the kind that would be put to better use as an ice hockey stadium. All white, way too big and cold. Expensive paintings and designer furniture meant to give it ambiance but failed as much muzak in an elevator.

Marcus was a lanky with a good smile and green eyes that missed the brightness in Tommy's though. We were sitting by their private pool. His dad introduced us. The mention of my profession gave his eyes some more shine. It was probably a welcome diversion from the usual accountants, CEO's or other business sorts he usually got introduced to.

I shook his hand. “Hi kid. I'm here to talk to you about Tommy. I heard you saw what happened?”

He nodded.

“You can help me get Tommy back if you describe to me what happened in the most detail you can. Think you can do that?”

Another nod. I went with him through the whole affair. He and Tommy had gone to visit Joey's comics as they did every Tuesday to pick up their weekly stash of comics. I asked him for the titles, to get him to remember everything as detailed as possible. The trick was getting him there with his mind as if it was happening again. With their copies of Green Lantern, Thor and Detective Comics they'd left Joey's, ready to get on their bikes and go for some ice cream. Marcus had allowed his friend to ride his new mountain bike, because Tommy still had to peddle around on his old BMX. When they turned the corner a black van appeared out of a driveway and stopped in front of them with screeching brakes. A big guy, wearing a bomber jacket and a black ski-mask got out and snatched Tommy. Marcus fell from the BMX, too scared to yell, frozen in fear. As he was clearly feeling shame for this I ensured him I'd be pretty shook up about it as well, and I was a tough guy shamus. The kidnapper had told him to make sure the kid's dad didn't phone the cops, or they'd chop him to pieces.

Marcus was unable to make out either the kidnapper's skin color or the car's license plate.

I wondered once again why the kidnappers snatched a working class kid like Tommy in broad daylight. If it was about money, why didn't they opt for a rich kid like Marcus? If it was about something more vile, why didn't they snatch one of the many runaways littering the streets of nightly Hollywood Boulevard ?

Right then, a phone call answered my question.

Wilder's cell phone chirped. Irritated he fished it out of his jacket pocket and answered it. Probably some of his account managers without the balls to make their own decisions, he grumbled. The look on his face told me different soon enough. He went pale and his voice became hoarse. “That's ridiculous. I can't raise that kind of money at such short notice.”

It didn't look like it was about a business transaction. I had to keep myself from snatching the phone from him, as some pieces of the puzzle suddenly fit together.

Dazzled, he lowered the phone. “That was Tommy's kidnapper. He wants me to pay half a million dollars to get him back. But he told me he had MY kid.”

I nodded. “The kidnappers mistook Evan's kid for yours because they switched bikes. They look pretty much alike and they probably knew what kind of bike your kid rides.”

“They kidnapped Tommy because they thought he was me?” The guilt was hauntingly audible in Marcus' voice. “Because I offered him my bike. But that makes it my fault!”

“Nothing wrong with doing a friend a favor by borrowing him your stuff, kid. And now we've made contact with the kidnappers everything will be okay.”

“Wait a minute! I agreed to pay your bill but there's no way I'm coughing up half a mill to save some other guy's kid.” Wilder's Harvard accent was suddenly gone.

“But dad, he's my best friend,” Marcus said shocked.

“Just a moment with your dad,” I told the kid and grabbed Wilder by the arm. I lead him away from the pool.

“Listen to me very carefully Uncle Scrooge. You're going to do everything in your power to get that kid back or I'm going to make you feel very sorry.” I gave him the stare I used to reserve for my dad's clients who didn't want to pay up, way back in the day when I was a grand A-asshole. It seemed to do the trick.

“I'm not as haeartless as you seem to think I am, Milano. I will cooperate with the kidnappers for now, but not because of your rude threats.”

“Whatever. Just tell me exactly what the kidnapper just told you.”

The kidnapper had told Wilder to meet him the following morning at 05:00 across the street from Lucky Toys at Vermont and Eighth in the Koreantown Business District to ex change the boy for the money. He wasn't allowed to contact the police and had to show up alone and unarmed. Any failure to follow those commands would get Tommy killed. In short, all the usual crap.

*

What bothered me about the whole affair was the question how the kidnappers knew where to snatch the kid. They probably hadn't been following him, because if they had they wouldn't have kidnapped the wrong kid. Maybe one of Wilder's employees tipped the kidnappers of. Maybe one of the people at Joey's Comics? After all they probably knew the boy usually showed up every Wednesday. That thought took me to the comics store.

Joey's Comics windows were filled with posters depicting various superheroes and voluptuous comic book vixens. Sex sells, especially if a large part of your audience consists of pre-pubescents. It was good to see they had a ‘Flash' stand-up there as well. The really good old heroes never seem to die.

I entered the store and walked right into the middle of a discussion which comics were better, Marvel's or DC's. Some things never change. The debaters were a lanky, spotted sixteen-year old wearing a Korn T-shirt and a punkrocker with a nosering that could be set on fire and used to have tigers jump through.

Behind the corner was a hippie-type with a shaggy beard, long unwashed hair and a Fabulous Freak Brothers T-shirt.

“Joey, I presume?” I asked him.

“Yeah. What can I do for you?”

I showed him Tommy's picture. “Do you know this kid?”

“Sure. Comes in here every Wednesday with his buddy. Good kids. Anything happened to them or something? You a cop or something?” He seemed honestly surprised and concerned.

“Or something. Are you the only employee here?”

“No, I got some college kid filling in for me every now and then when I got a gig with my band.”

“Tell me about him and I promise I'll come and watch your next gig.”

Joey smiled. “Buy some comics as well and I'll even give you his address.”

*

I ended up with two back issues of Hellblazer and a note with a Westwood address scribbled on it. The employee's name was Franklin Hayder, a twenty-year old Arts student. I happened to know his dad – Stuart Hayder, AKA Stuwie the Shark. He'd earned that nickname by collecting protection money for Mad Dog Matelli. Maybe Franklin tipped his father off, or he'd stepped into his father's criminal footsteps to add to his scholarship.

I knocked on his front door as loud as I could and had a hard time being heard over the loud rock music he was playing. After a few minutes the door opened though.

Franklin wore faded jeans, a flannel shirt and had the kind of goatee that was all the rage when grunge was still hot. He wore a silver hoop in his right ear. He had his dad's rat's eyes.

“Who're you?” he greeted me.

“If you're Franklin Hayder I'm the guy who wants to ask you some serious questions.”

“I don't know you, I don't want to talk to you, I don't want you to ever bother me again.”

I felt that was my cue. I shoved him inside and kicked the door shut. I don't like intimidating people anymore, but with a kid's life on the line I was prepared to do anything necessary.

His place was the usual student's pad. Movie posters on the wall, CD's everywhere, a lazy chair, a TV diner on the cheap coffee table in front of a Playstation.

“Sit down and talk to me,” I told him and pushed him in chair. He made a move to get up, but changed his mind when I brushed aside my jacket and offered him a glance at the Glock in my hip holster.

I showed him Tommy's picture. “Do you know this kid?

“Sure, that's one of the regulars at the comics store I work at. Why?”

I tried to read him. Like his boss he really didn't seem to know what the deal was. Barking at the wrong tree again? I decided to bluff. “Cut the crap, Frankie. I know all about your scheme. Your dad was probably in it, right? Kidnapping a rich kid would put you all the way through college, no sweat. Shit, your daddy could even retire. After all he's getting a bit too old for the bone-breaking bizz.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I've never done anything dishonest in my life. Why do you think I enrolled in college to study Arts? I want to do something worthwhile with my life. I'm doing everything I can not to follow into my dad's footsteps and now you're accusing me of shit like that? I like that boy, he reminds me of myself when I was a kid. Getting all worked up about the newest issue of my favorite comic book. You ask me, you're the thug here, forcing yourself into my home, threatening me.”

I felt he was a 100% sincere. I also felt like crap. I'd made a promise to my mother on her death's bed that I was going to do everything I could to distance myself from my father's shady business. Still I had the nerve to assume the apple didn't fall far from the criminal's tree with a guy who had so much in common with me it was as ironic as a no-smoking sign in a cigarette factory. I had to get out of there.

“Sorry kid,” I said. “Good luck with your studies.” I left the apartment with my tail between my legs.

*

I'd been wasting my time playing detective while I'd been better off planning the exchange of the money. At ten in the evening I tried to make up for that. I met up with Wilder at Evans' place, so we would be sure the kidnappers didn't see what we were planning. Maybe the inside man I still felt there had to be worked at Wilder's, or was staking the place out. That was a risk I couldn't take.

Evans' place was nowhere near as expensive as Wilder's but a hell of a lot cozier. Oak furniture, a few handcarved statues and family photos, A fridge littered with magnets and notes. The only thing missing was the smell of warm apple pie.

My friend Tony Hawaii was with me. He was the only thug from my past I stuck close to. He'd been there for me when my mom died and had helped me out of a lot of tights spots after that. As always he was wearing a straw hat and the loud Hawaii shirt that earned him his nickname. He was invaluable as a back-up man in a job like this.

I introduced him to Wilder and Evans. We were introduced to Evans' wife, Sharon. She was a forty year-old handsome woman with auburn hair. Although sorrow had created bags under her eyes and had taken it's toll on her smile there was a lot for a guy to like. There was something vaguely familiar about her too. I noted that.

“Probably one of those faces,” she said. I answered that was probably the case and she went into the kitchen to get us some drinks.

We were sitting at the dinner table, a map of Koreatown in front of us.

“This is how we're going to play it,” I said and told them my plan, which included Wilder bringing the money.

“I still don't feel good about it,” Wilder remarked. “It's not so much about the money as the message it sends. It will encourage every two-bit hood to try and kidnap someone close to me or my son and extort me again.” I wondered if Tony was offended. Some of his best friends were two-bit hoods.

There was a loud crash. Sharon had just come in and dropped a full tray of coffee. She was crying. “You have to bring the money or they'll kill my baby! You can't let them do that! I'll do anything you want me to, but please, please bring the money.”

Evans took his wife in his arms and consoled her. “Don't worry, sugar. He may not feel good about it, but he'll bring it. He promised he would.”

Wilder swallowed. A woman's tears and a mother's love are enough to make even the most callous man uncomfortable with his selfishness. “Yes, don't worry. I will.”

*

I was parked at the corner of Vermont and Eight. It was still too early for the Korean shopkeepers to open their businesses and make ends meet.. I'd tried to discourage Sam Evans from coming with me but there seemed only one way to do that. Since shooting a client in the didn't seem like good business sense he was sitting in the passenger seat next to me.

I watched Wilder arrive in his Jaguar. He parked the car and got out. I'd instructed him to be careful and not look around for me, because the kidnappers might notice. He did a decent job.

A black came around the corner and parked next to the Jaguar. Evans tensed.

“Take it easy,” I said. “If one of us looses his cool this could get messy.”

“I'm cool,” he said between gritted teeth. Uh-huh, and Vin Diesel is a talented actor.

I dialed up Tony's number on my cell phone. “Are you in position?” He assured me he was. He was holed up in a little Korean restaurant whose owner he knew. Tony had once offered not to break his legs and pay up the money owed to the loanshark himself in trade for a free meal whenever he was in the neighborhood. He was waiting well-armed and ready.

Two men left the van. One was wearing a bomber jacket, the other a leather one. They both wore ski-masks and black jeans. Bomber jacket was carrying an automatic pistol in his right hand, Leather jacket a short double-barreled shotgun. I was glad Tony was there.

Tony'd arranged a strong BT-SGM shotgun mike for me that picked up any sound in 100 yard range and beyond. The Bomber jacket's words sounded as clear as if he was in the car with me.

“Get the money.”

“First I want to see my boy,” Wilder said. He had a lot of experience negotiating, although this was probably the first time he did so at gunpoint.

Bomber jacket gave his partner a nod, who walked over to the van. He opened it, went in and reappeared with Tommy. The kid's mouth was taped, his hands tied behind his back. I almost could feel the heat of Evans' anger. I reminded him once again how important it was to stay cool. Knocking out a client didn't seem like good business sense either.

“Now, the money,” Bomber jacket ordered.

Wilder opened the trunk of his Jaguar and took out a gym bag. Bomber jacketed ordered him to walk towards him with it. He handed it to him.

“As soon as I've checked the money we let the kid go.” This was the reason Tony and me were there. I a situation like that the kidnapper is always 100% in control, calling the shots as long as he's got the guns and the kid. Two thugs with as much firepower as the kidnappers and as much experience with this kind of thing evens the odds a bit. You have to avoid the kidnappers grabbing the money without returning the kid. That was the only reason Tony and I were going to interfere. Otherwise, it just wasn't worth the risk.

While Leather jacket kept an eye on Wilder and Tommy Bomber Jacket unzipped the gym bag and went through the money. Evans and me held our breath. Then the shit hit the fan.

“This isn't enough!” Bomber jacket yelled. “Did you really think we'd fall for this?” He threw some money out of the bag. “Half of it is made up out of fucking newspaper! How stupid do you fucking think we are? You've been watching too many stupid crime movies, rich boy.”

The son of a bitch. The rotten, greedy son of a bitch had switched the bags. He was going to get the kid killed along with himself.

Bomber jacket raised his gun and shot Wilder three times in the stomach. I yelled in the cellphone for Tony to spring into action while I got out of the car, pulling my Glock.

“Drop the fucking guns!” I warned the kidnappers.

Tony appeared from his hiding place, a .357 in his hand. Like he had eyes in the back of his head, Leather jacket noticed him and fired. Tony managed to find cover behind the van just in time to avoid losing his head.

Bomber jacket fired his automatic at me. I answered his fire with some of my own, diving for cover behind a Nissan parked near my Mazda. Glass splintered while its car alarm went off. All the noise was making my ears ring like crazy.

I noticed Evans had gotten out of the Mazda as well. He ran towards the kidnappers. “The money still has to be in the trunk!” he yelled. The kidnappers weren't listening however, too much in their adrenaline driven frenzy to do anything but shoot anything that moved. He was taken down by both the automatic and the shotgun.

Cursing I duck-walked towards him, Tony firing the occasional round at the kidnappers to give me the cover I needed. I checked Evans's pulse but I knew there wasn't really a reason to do so. He was already dead before he hit the ground. First Marcus lost his dad, now Tommy did. Without cover and the deal broken the only question was who was going to die first, me or Tommy. Then, life threw me another one of it's curveballs as another player entered the stage.

Sharon ran right into Bomber jacket's line of fire. Where she came from, I had no idea. Who can explain what a mother is capable of when she's protecting her nest. “Alex, stop it! Please, stop it!” What did she just call him?

Bomber jacket surprised me some more. “ Sharon , never ever mention my name again. Now get the fuck out of the way or I'll kill you as well.” They knew each other? What the hell was going on here?

“You took the wrong kid. That's my boy, not Wilder's!” Sharon told the kidnapper, apparently named Alex.

“Why the fuck didn't you tell us that earlier?” Alex was furious.

“I was afraid you'd kill him when you knew he wouldn't of any use to you.” She went down on her knees. “Please let him go. It's enough you killed my husband, don't take away my only son as well.”

It was then I remembered where I'd seen Sharon before. Her hair used to be dark then, and she was a few years younger, but I remembered. She used to hang around at my dad's place at his parties. She was the clichéd gangster-moll, getting her kicks hanging around the rich and dangerous. Now, in a ploy to get herself some fancier place to live then her own cozy home she'd obviously contacted one of her old gangster boyfriends, tipping him off about Wilder's kid. She had a nice kid, a good marriage and a warm home but in her greed she'd ended up with next to nothing, besides death.

“You're never going to fuck me over again, bitch!” Alex said and pressed his gun at Sharon 's forehead. There was a loud bang and he went to his knees. He gurgled something that wasn't very nice about Sharon and keeled over next to her. A .22 was still smoking in her hands.

In all the consternation Tony had managed to crawl up to Leather jacket and stuck the .357 in his ear. The kidnapper dropped the shotgun and let Tommy go.

I took the .22 from Sharon 's hand and kicked Alex' automatic away from us. “Go take your kid in your arms. Maybe it will give you a small smatter of redemption for what you did.”

She got up and gave me a pained look. I couldn't decide if I felt sorry for her or was just disgusted.

In the distance the sirens advertised the arrival of the police. I glanced around the battlefield. How the hell had everything gotten this much out of hand? At least Tony and me hadn't killed anyone and the boy was still alive. Other than that, this whole thing made me want to curl up in a lonely, dark place, go to sleep and never wake up.

*

I was in my cheap little apartment with a bottle of Jack and the Counting Crows on the stereo. The best lawyer in L.A. , courtesy of my mafia past, Sharon 's testimony that attributed all the guns being fired to Wilder, her husband and the bad guys got Tony and me off the hook and out of the courtroom. I wasn't going to rat her out, since I didn't want to deprive Tommy of a mother along with a father. Hopefully, Alex' partner either, in an attempt to plea-bargain his way out.

Sharon had been a painful reminder of how hard it is to cut the ties with a past like the one she and I shared. How long was I going to keep it up? How long was I going to be happy the way I was living now? I used to spend more money in one evening than earn in a year now. Look at all the things Sharon had, but still it wasn't enough for her. What did I have to show for my attempts at honesty? A trail of dead bodies, a crummy apartment and only a handful of friends. On the other hand, what had Sharon 's greed gotten her? Maybe I didn't have it so bad.

I picked up the jewel case of the Crows CD. It was the one with the Dave McKean art. It reminded me of Franklin Hayder. He was studying to be an artist. Would he be creating cool stuff like that in the future? If he kept his nose clean he might have a nice future ahead of him, touching and entertaining a lot of people with his work. Maybe I should call him and tell him about what happened. Because there was something to be learned from this whole affair. Something that might support his resolve to live an honest life as maybe it did mine. Get rid of the greed before the greed gets rid of you.

END