When Darkness Falls

chapter 27

I t was still dark in Nassau when Riley returned home from the Greater Bahamian Bank amp; Trust Company. He was exhausted, annoyed, and determined to get another two hours of sleep before meeting with the bank’s attorneys about the safe deposit box matter. He was forced to deal with lawyers far too often to suit his own preferences. Probably the only thing that wasn’t secret about the offshore banking industry was that the secrecy regulations and the endless challenges to them had made plenty of lawyers rich.

Riley climbed the front steps to his townhouse slowly. The sprawling tropical canopy over his front yard blocked out the glow of the street lamp, and he’d neglected to turn on a porch light before rushing out the front door to meet Swyteck and the others at the bank. The door was unlocked, just as he’d left it. Crime wasn’t exactly unheard of in the Bahamas, but something about island living seemed to encourage unlocked doors and open windows, as if to deny, or at least defy, the existence of evil in paradise. Riley entered the foyer and tried the wall switch. The room remained dark. No great surprise. Power outages were a way of life in his neighborhood. He closed the door and waited for his eyes to adjust before trying to cross the room. He was about to take his first step when, from the other side of the living room, he heard the distinctive cocking of a revolver.

“Stop right there, Riley.”

He froze in his tracks. The voice was familiar, though he might not have recognized it so quickly if he hadn’t just spent the night dealing with box 266. “News must travel pretty fast.” He was trying to sound breezy, but he couldn’t conceal his nervousness.

“It’s a small world, Riley. Even a smaller island.”

“That it is, mon.” Riley’s eyes were adjusting to the darkness, but the man was still just a shadow in a black corner of the room. Not that Riley would have recognized him. In their past dealings, he had only heard the man’s voice, never seen his face. The fact that he’d cut off the electricity at the circuit breaker signaled his clear intention to keep it that way.

The gunman said, “I hear that someone finally cleaned out box two sixty-six.”

“You hear correctly.”

“Who was it?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

The man’s chuckle was laden with insincerity. “Good answer.”

“It’s the only answer I can give you.”

“I can live with that,” the man said, and then his tone became sterner. “So long as it’s also the only answer you can give to the police.”

“That’s up to the bank and its lawyers.”

“Wrong answer.”

Riley waited for him to say more, but there was only a long, uncomfortable silence. Several strands of speculation began to race through his mind, and none of them ended in a very happy place. Riley could not escape the conclusion that the man was simply debating whether to shoot him here, in Riley’s own living room, or to take him somewhere else and do the job.

“Here’s my problem,” the man said finally.

Riley’s throat was dry, and he had to force his response. “Yes?”

“Police are such nosy bastards. If you tell them who cleaned out the money, what do you think their next question is going to be?”

“I-I don’t know, mon.”

“Think about it.”

“I’m having a little trouble concentrating right now. I’m sorry. I’m sure the bank’s lawyers will have an answer.”

“Screw the lawyers. You ask them for a straight answer, they’ll give you six wishy-washy ones and bill you for twelve. Let’s keep this simple. I’ll answer it, and you tell me if you agree with me. All right?”

The gun made it difficult for Riley to disagree. “Sure, mon.”

“When the police find out who took the money, they’ll have just one question: How the hell did all that cash get there in the first place?”

Riley said nothing.

The gunman continued, “Don’t you agree?”

“I suppose so,” said Riley.

“Stop being coy with me. Do you agree or not?”

“Yes. I agree.”

“Now, here’s something else I’m sure we can both agree on. If the police unravel this money trail all the way to its source, things are going to get very ugly for you.”

Riley said nothing.

“Can we agree on that, Riley?”

Riley swallowed hard. He wanted to speak, but his mouth wouldn’t move. He was too afraid of saying the wrong thing.

The man said, “I need your agreement on that, friend. Because if I don’t get it, I’m going to have to kill you right here and now.”

Riley could hear himself breathing. He’d dealt with some unsavory characters in his time. Bank secrecy had its dark side. But no one had ever threatened his life, at least not in such a matter-of-fact tone. There was no doubt in Riley’s mind that the man meant every word of it. “Okay,” he said, his voice little more than a peep.

“Okay what?” the man said.

“No one will ever find out where that money came from.”

“Good answer, Riley. That’s a very good answer.”

He rose from the chair, a silhouette in the darkness. The face was obscured in shadows, but Riley could detect the faintest outline of a gun.

“On the floor,” the man said. “Face down.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice cried out, begging Riley to resist. He tried to ignore it, but he continued to hear the warning over and over, as he lowered himself to the floor and laid his cheek against the rug. The man approached, and Riley could feel the vibration of each heavy footfall. The man stopped, towering over him, and Riley could see only the tops of his shoes.

He imagined that the gun was pointed directly at the back of his head, and tomorrow’s headlines quickly flashed through his brain: “Banker Found Dead in Home, Shot Execution-Style.”

“Count to a thousand, out loud,” the man said. “Don’t even think about getting up before you finish.”

Riley started counting.

“Too fast. Slower.”

Riley started over again. One, two, three. The man walked away. Nine, ten, eleven. The front door opened. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen. Riley heard it close. He didn’t move a muscle, but his voice was shaking.

He didn’t stop counting until the first signs of daylight shone through the slatted wooden shutters.