After hours of behind-the-scenes preparation, the teams were in place. The abandoned warehouse had once thrived as a business, but neglect had caused it to deteriorate over the decades. Now, it worked as the perfect spot for meetings and illegal operations, too far away from anything for law enforcement to care.
The air was thick with tension tonight as three unlikely allies prepared for the most crucial operation in Bayside’s history.
Checking his watch, Garth radioed his point man. “Tango, everyone in place?”
“Roger that. We’re covering the back of the warehouse and the docks. Just make sure everyone else is doing their job.”
Garth chuckled. “I’m on it, Tango.”
“Tell your boy he doesn’t have to worry about us.” Donatelli lit a cigarette.
“You might want to put that out. One sniff of smoke while no one’s smoking and our guy will fly the coop.”
Donatelli glared at Garth as he snuffed out the cigarette. “Bad habit when I’m tense.”
“It’s a bad habit anytime, but it’s your lungs.” Garth nodded to Veraci. “How about you, Danny? Any bad habits?”
Danny laughed. “That sounds like a leading question. You aren’t fishing in my pond, are you?”
“No, of course not. If this goes as planned, you will be my friend for life.”
“What about me?” Donatelli flashed a grin toward Garth. “My guys are here, too. Can I be your friend for life?”
Garth had a sharp comeback, but inside his head, he heard Eleanor telling him to be nice. He inhaled and smiled. “Sure, Donatelli, we’ll all belong to the best friends' club.”
“Our friend here better not be messing with us.” Donatelli stared at Veraci. “I still worry about teaming up with a crime boss. You going to pull a fast one on us, Danny boy?”
Danny leaned against a crate, his arms crossed. He knew it was hard for either of these men to swallow that he’d set up this meeting, something they’d never been able to pull off. “You two worry about playing your parts, and I’ll worry about mine. The Judge won’t suspect a thing until it’s too late.”
Garth nodded. “My team's in place. Let’s go over the plan one last time. Danny, you’ll have the buyer, Mr. Akira, inside his limo, and he won’t exit the vehicle until the judge is in full view and out of his car. We’ll be monitoring from here. Once the transaction is confirmed, I’ll signal the strike team.”
“Remember, we must record him admitting to selling the stolen paintings. That recording is our ticket to putting him behind bars for good.”
“Relax. The judge is a greedy man. One look at the cash, and he’ll be hooked.”
The sound of approaching footsteps alerted the men, and they all turned toward a shadowy figure appearing from a back room.
“Boss, everything’s set. The judge’s limo turned off Rosemont and is headed this way.”
Garth clicked his radio. “It’s a go!”
Donatelli looked at Garth. “Time to catch ourselves a corrupt judge.”
The three men moved into their designated spots. Danny leaned against Mr. Akira’s limo, relaxed and ready.
A sleek black limo rolled into the dilapidated warehouse, its engine a low purr in the otherwise silent space. Two burly bodyguards exited the vehicle, surveyed the area, and opened the rear door so John Doyle could step out. His eyes narrowed as he spotted Danny.
“Danny! Good to see you. You aren’t wasting my time, are you?”
Danny grinned. “Please, I’m a businessman, not one of those yahoos.” He tipped his head toward the judge’s bodyguards, who quickly moved toward him until the judge intervened.
“Easy boys. Mr. Veraci is just having a little fun.”
“Sorry, didn’t know they didn’t have a sense of humor.” Danny gestured toward the other limo. “Ready to do some business?”
Doyle surveyed the warehouse, taking his time to ensure there were no surprises. Satisfied, he motioned to his bodyguards, who opened the limo trunk, revealing several large, wrapped canvasses.
Mr. Akira stepped from the limousine and abruptly got down to business. “Let me see the paintings.”
Believing he held the upper hand, Doyle smirked, “We talk price first. These masterpieces are worth more than you can imagine.”
“Not to worry, Mr. Doyle. I assure you, I can afford your paintings." He smiled and pointed at the two bodyguards — "and them too!”
“Everything has its price. Even you.” Mr. Akira stared at the judge. “Now, I’d like to see what you are offering.”
Doyle nodded, and the two men carried the paintings closer, leaning them against several crates before ripping off the paper protecting them.
Akira walked over and scrutinized the paintings. “I hear you have someone highly skilled in making forgeries.”
Doyle snapped, “Veraci, what’s going on? I didn’t come here to be insulted. Does he want to do business or not?”
Akira stepped closer to Doyle, his demeanor calm yet intimidating. “I assure you, my interest in the paintings is genuine. However, I must be certain of their authenticity. The market is rife with forgeries, something you know about first-hand, and I have no intention of being swindled."
Doyle faltered, his eyes narrowing. “These are real. I have no reason to deceive you.”
“Good,” Akira replied, his voice smooth like silk. “Because if I find out otherwise, there will be consequences.” He glanced over at Veraci, then back to the judge. “Let’s proceed.”
Doyle, trying to regain his composure, nodded curtly. “Fine. As I said, these are priceless.”
"Indeed," Akira said, his voice cold. "But understand this, Judge. If you double-cross me, you'll find that my reach extends beyond these walls." He paused, allowing his words to sink in. "Now, shall we continue our business?"
Doyle swallowed hard. “Yes, of course.”
Akira nodded approvingly, then turned to his bodyguards. "Ensure everything is as it should be. If there's any doubt, we walk away. Understood?"
The bodyguards nodded, stepping forward to inspect the paintings more closely. Doyle watched, his confidence wavering as Akira's scrutiny continued.
"We'll see if your masterpieces live up to their reputation," Akira said, his eyes never leaving Doyle's. "For your sake, I hope they do."
"There’s one belonging to Charles Weldon, a famous English artist. Another by CJ Grey, the woman once thought to be Weldon’s protégé. The others are just as well known. I can guarantee that they are all originals."
Akira signaled to his chauffeur, who instantly carried two large duffel bags over and set them on the crate. He unzipped them, exposing stacks of cash.
“I’ll take the country scene by the English artist and the one by CJ Grey. I have two million dollars in the bags. That should be more than enough.”
Smelling Akira’s interest, Doyle laughed. “Two million? You’re wasting my time. Danny, I expected a serious offer.”
“Judge, two million goes a long way. We’re willing to negotiate.”
Once again, believing he held the power hand, Doyle turned and walked toward his limo. “No deal. Do you think I’m desperate? I’ve got other buyers lined up, but I gave you the first chance.”
Danny's arched eyebrow signaled Akira to press the judge.
“Wait! What’s your final price?”
Doyle paused and turned around very slowly, assessing his opponent. “Five million. You can have all five paintings for that price. It’s your last chance.”
Akira hesitated, then nodded. “There’s the two million in cash. Would you like the rest in gold bars tonight or cash tomorrow?”
The chauffeur opened the trunk, exposing several locked boxes. He opened one and handed a gold bar to Akira, who placed it in the judge’s hand.
Doyle’s eyes bulged as he examined the bar. He struggled to regain his composure before speaking. “I’m feeling generous tonight. Mr. Akira, you got yourself a deal.”
The two men shook hands, and Akira nodded for his men to claim the paintings, knowing that he wanted them away from the action that was about to take place.
“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Akira. There are more of these masterpieces if you are ever interested. I’ve found it’s a very lucrative business.”
Satisfied with what they’d recorded, Garth nodded at Donatelli and spoke into his earpiece, “Strike team, move in.”
The warehouse doors burst open from every side as FBI agents and police officers swarmed the building, weapons drawn. The judge's face twisted in shock and anger as FBI agents and police officers quickly surrounded him. He snarled, “Veraci, you set me up!”
Smirking, Danny moved closer to the judge. "Sorry, just doing my part to ensure justice is served.”
“You think you can get away with this? You have no clue what you’re dealing with! I’ll have your head for this!”
Danny’s face was inches from Doyle’s. “Where’s the girl? What did you do with her?”
The judge grinned. “The girl? I don’t have any girl.” He laughed, a cold, evil sound. “Are you talking about the whore’s brat? Tell her that her son will rot in jail if he survives, and the girl — who knows. I’ve heard they are going for a very nice price on the international market.”
Garth and Donatelli stepped out of the shadows, satisfaction evident on their faces.
Garth put the handcuffs on the judge. “Judge John Doyle, you’re under arrest for corruption, conspiracy, and selling stolen art internationally. Donatelli will be adding kidnapping charges and whatever else he can throw at you.” Tango took the judge’s arm as Garth added, “Read him his rights.”
Danny watched as they led the judge away. “We aren’t any closer to finding Megan.”
“It’s not over yet. He’ll use the girl as leverage. You wait and see.”
“That doesn’t keep my promise to Eleanor. I told her I’d get Megan back.”
Donatelli understood how it felt to let people down, so he tossed a breadcrumb to Danny. “Maybe the kid will come through. I heard he was trying to talk, so he might be waking up.”
Danny tried to look hopeful but failed. “I thought he didn’t have much chance of survival?”
“Stranger things have happened. Keep your fingers crossed.”
Eleanor, who had watched from the rafters, smiled. “Thank you, gentlemen. Nice job tonight. Now it’s my turn.”
Moments later, Eleanor sat at the patient’s bedside in room 302. She’d seen the officer posted outside and knew she was in the right place.
A nurse about to end her shift entered the room, surprised to see someone else there. “Oh, I didn’t know anyone was here.”
“Sorry, I’m new. The family hired me to be with him. You can check if you want.”
Having worked a double shift, the nurse wanted to go home and put her feet up. “No, it’s fine. You have a uniform and the proper credentials, so there shouldn’t be any problem. I was surprised, is all.”
“It was a last-minute decision, and you were going off shift. It's probably one of those oversights. You know how it is when people are trying to get out of here for the weekend.”
“Yeah, I’m one of those people right now.”
Eleanor smiled. “Go, get some rest and enjoy yourself. I’ll take good care of our young man. I heard he was mumbling something.
“Nothing that made any sense.”
“Maybe tonight. We can hope.” Eleanor watched as the day shift nurse left and pulled her chair closer to Nick. “Come on, young man. You owe me this. Talk to me. Megan’s in danger, isn’t she?”
At first, Nick was unresponsive, but Eleanor’s soothing voice finally stirred him. “Nick, I need you to tell me where Megan is being held. I know you didn’t mean to hurt her.”
Nick lay still, his breathing shallow. Eleanor frowned, reaching out to touch his hand, her ethereal presence creating a slight chill in the air. “Please, Nick. You have to help me find her. Where is Megan?”
For a moment, there was nothing. Then Nick’s eyelids fluttered, and he began to stir. Eleanor leaned closer, her voice a whisper. “Where is she, Nick? Where is Megan?”
Nick’s lips moved slowly, and at first, the words were unintelligible. Eleanor waited, her patience unwavering. Finally, he mumbled, “At the docks… Pier 17… in the cellar.”
Eleanor’s eyes widened, and she gently squeezed his hand, urging him to continue. “What’s happening there, Nick? What’s at the docks?”
Nick’s voice, barely more than a whisper, carried a chilling revelation. “Auction… soon… the girls… on sale… to the highest bidder.”
That’s all Eleanor needed to hear. She whispered, “Thank you.” With a final glance at his beaten body, Eleanor’s form began to fade, her mind already racing with plans to save Megan and the other girls from the impending danger at Pier 17.
