“Okay, that means fifty-six milligrams,” Grover continued. “Let’s make it sixty.” Quickly he drew up the medication into a syringe, tapping it to eliminate the bubbles, then handed the syringe to Colt across Duane’s body.
“What the hell are you giving me?” Duane demanded. His eyes were open to their fullest, watching. Colt, unhappy with the fact that there still was some air in the syringe, was holding the syringe upright and tapping the side as Grover had done.
“No, don’t!” Duane pleaded. “What is it? What does it do?”
“It’s called Versed, if you really want to know,” Grover said. “But it’s a waste of time to tell you, because you’re not going to remember any of this. Among other characteristics, the drug is a wonderful retrograde amnestic.”
“What the hell is an amnestic?” Duane clamored.
Both Grover and Colt ignored Duane. Colt used the IV port and injected the drug.
“Jesus Christ in heaven,” Duane yelled, watching Colt resheath the needle with it plastic cover. “What did you . . .” Duane had tried to ask another question, but his voice trailed off. He was already asleep.
“It amazes me everytime we use this stuff,” Colt said, handing the now empty syringe back to Grover.
“It’s a wonderful drug,” Grover agreed. He took the empty syringe after finishing filling a second syringe with ten milligrams of valium to be used later. “Check and see how easy he is to arouse.”
“Hey, Duane!” Colt called, slapping the side of Duane’s face. “Come on, wake up!” He slapped a little harder before grabbing Duane’s chin and shaking it. “Come on, big guy! Come back to earth.”
Duane’s eyes fluttered open with a befuddled faraway look. “Wow,” he said with a smile lighting up his face. “What . . .” he began to ask but then forgot what he had been thinking.
For a few minutes Colt asked innocuous questions, which Duane answered with some humor. The only problem was that he had to be awakened repeatedly.
“So what’s going on with this kidnapping?” Grover asked out of the blue. The previous questions Colt had been asking were of a more personal nature.
“Not much,” Duane answered. “We’re all just sitting around waiting for the fun to start.”
“What kind of fun?”
“Trying to figure out how to exchange the kid for the diamonds without getting caught.”
“You sure don’t want to get caught,” Grover agreed. “Where is the kid being held?”
“At Louie’s place.”
“Louie who?”
“Louie Barbera.”
“Where’s Louie’s place?”
“In Whitestone.”
“What’s the address?”
Duane didn’t respond. Colt slapped him several times, and his eyes reluctantly fluttered back open.
“I asked you for Louie’s address,” Grover said. “Louie Barbera.”
“Three-seven-four-six Powells Cove Boulevard.”
Grover quickly wrote the address down.
“Who’s taking care of the kid?” Grover asked.
“Louie’s wife. She’s loving the kid. She wants to adopt him and is giving Louie a hard time about it. Louie wants to move the kid.”
“To where?”
“I don’t know. Someplace on the river. They’re trying to get some heat into an old warehouse.”
Grover and Colt exchanged a knowing look across Duane’s motionless body. “Another reason we have to make a rescue tonight,” Grover said. “We don’t want to do a raid and come up empty-handed.”
“I like to have at least a day to check the place out,” Colt complained.
“We’re going tonight!” Grover said. “We cannot risk losing the opportunity. Now that we have an address, it’s a go. This afternoon will be a chance to do a drive-by.”
“A drive-by is practically worthless,” Colt complained again.
“It’s a problem we’ll have to live with. Do you have any additional questions for our guest?”
“Duane,” Colt called out, slapping the man’s face harder than he had earlier, as if it was his fault Colt was not going to have a full day and evening to reconnoiter. “Does Louie have any dogs?”
“He has two,” Duane said. “Two really nasty Doberman pinschers that run around the grounds.”
“Shit,” Colt said. “I had a feeling this was too good to be true.”
“Look on the bright side. If someone has big guard dogs on the property, the chances are they’ve become lax with their alarm systems.”
“Good point,” Colt admitted reluctantly. “Now let’s wind up here and get out to look the place over.”
They got their equipment and Duane back into the van. Grover made one last sweep around the house to make sure nothing had been left before leaving the keys on the kitchen table.
Heading back to West 106th Street, Grover made it a point to call the office. The line was picked up immediately, as CRT had people available twenty-four-seven, three hundred and sixty-five and a quarter days a year.
“Is this Beverly?” Grover asked. Over the years he’d gotten to know most of the receptionists by the sound of their voices.
“It is,” Beverly said cheerfully.
“Are any of the researchers around this morning?”
“Yes, I saw Robert Lyon just a few moments ago.”
“Could you page him and ask him to give me a call on my mobile?”
“Not a problem. I’ll do it right away.”
When Robert returned the call, Grover said, “I need some help today.”
“What do you need?”
“I have an address for a house in Whitestone, New York. I need you to find out all you can about it. Get on the city assessor’s office website and see if they have a floor plan available. Find out who owns it as well, and call me back on this line as soon as you get any details. We’ll be breaking into the house tonight, so we need as much information as possible.” He gave Robert the address and disconnected.
His next call was to Warren.
“We are on our way back,” Grover said when Warren answered, out of breath. “We are definitely going to need some help getting the watcher back into his vehicle. After all the excitement, he’s sleeping rather soundly.”
“No problem,” Warren said. “We’re all here playing basketball as usual. Did you get what you needed?”
“I believe we did,” Grover said. “He was very accommodating.”
“Good,” Warren said. “How long before you’ll be back here?”
“I’d say thirty to forty minutes. Saturday traffic is a relative breeze. We’re coming in from Woodside.”
“See you then,” Warren said and hung up.
Twenty minutes later Colt turned onto Laurie and Jack’s street. He pulled up directly behind Duane’s van to limit the exposure of the group carrying Duane and putting him back in his vehicle. Grover jumped out as soon as Colt came to a halt. To avoid attracting too much attention, Grover jogged over to the basketball court instead of shouting from across the street. He waited for a play to be over before calmly calling through the chain-link fence to get Warren’s attention.
“Flash and I will be right there,” Warren said once he saw Grover waving at him.
With four people involved, there was no problem moving Duane from where he’d been rolled up in the carpet in the back of the van to his vehicle. At Grover’s insistence, he was put in the driver’s seat and draped over the steering wheel.
“He’s really out,” Warren commented. “What did you give him?”
“A drug called Versed,” Grover explained. “And he’s about to get some intramuscular Valium. We want him to sleep for a good long time but make it look like he’s drunk himself into a stupor.” Grover produced a bottle of vodka from the van, and with Colt rousing him, Grover forced the man to take a mouthful of liquor, most of which dripped down the front of Duane’s shirt. “Perfect,” Grover said. He replaced the bottle’s cap and then tossed the half-full
