Page 12 of Any Means Necessary

“None. We haven’t heard a single word.”

“Why not go to the police? Why come to me?”

“There’s a chance that whoever took her doesn’t know they have the daughter of a US Senator. I don’t need the press getting a hold of this and making things worse. We’re keeping it quiet until we know who has her.”

“I don’t have to tell you how little girls usually end up when they’re snatched off the street.”

“I don’t need a lecture about what happens in this city,” Richard snarls. “They call you the Fixer because you do what you have to in order to solve impossible problems. And judging by how much political capital I spent just to get your name, you must be the man for the job. I need my daughter back, whatever the cost.”

I stare at the man across the desk, contemplating. Snatch-and-grabs off the street come with a level of chaos that strategic kidnappings don’t have. But that also means less red tape I have to avoid in my retrieval process. My methods work best when there aren’t bureaucrats breathing down my neck. Men like this rarely approve of the lengths I go to for answers or rather how it might make them look. It’s only behind closed doors they’re the first to endorse extreme measures and quick to demand results.

Harris is notorious for cutting corners and padding pockets to get his own way, his political career is a colorful one for people who know what they’re looking at. And getting into bed with a self-serving official like the US Senator of New York is a double-edged sword—his greedy arrogance both a tool and a hindrance. He’s not nearly the most dangerous man I’ve dealt with, his status doesn’t phase me at all. But having a Senator owe me a favor could come in handy. And it all comes down to if he can pay. My results don’t come cheap.

“My methods aren’t up for discussion or negotiation,” I state. Harris nods, but his eyes narrow.

“Agreed.” I can hear the but coming before he continues.“But if I’m paying you, I expect you to keep me in the loop.”

“Emotions make things messy, and you’re too close to this,” I say calmly. “I’ll keep you informed of any progress, but you’re only as involved as I allow you to be. You don’t call the shots here, Senator. I do.”

His jaw ticks tellingly, lips pressed in a straight line. A man like Harris doesn’t enjoy being put in his place or told what to do. Power and influence means he’s used to being in charge. It’s best he realizes right now—I’m the one in control.

“Fine,” he grits through clenched teeth. “You’ll do it?”

“I require half of my fee upfront and the rest upon delivery. Get me every piece of information you have.”

Harris motions for his man by the door to step forward with a thick file.

“This is everything we have. Lottie’s photo, description, schedule, and medical history. A background on the nanny, Caroline. And our initial sweep of the area she was taken from.”

“Wire the funds, I’ll find your daughter.” I slide him the routing information, and he accepts it readily. Taking the file, I flip through it. As I scan the information to formulate a plan, Harris pulls out his phone.

“Don’t just find her, Russo. I need her back. Get her back for me, I don't care what it takes.” As he’s speaking, my phone lights up with confirmation of his payment.

“I’ll be in touch, Senator.” I stand, holding out my hand. Richard Harris stands as well, his hand trembling tellingly against mine as he shakes it. I can see the tortured look in his somber eyes, even as he tries to present himself as calm and dignified.

He can make demands and throw his money and political weight around. But it won’t allow him to be in control of this situation, and he knows it. We both do. Instead, he’s forced to depend on a man like me to make everything better.

The moment the Senator’s gone, I’m memorizing every single detail listed in the file Harris provided. Roscoe’s already on his way to the grab site, instructed to obtain security footage from the businesses in the area of the abduction. He’s also carrying a wad of cash to grease the necessary palms to get the information we need to identify who took little Lottie.

The file reads like a scrapbook of Charlotte Harris’ life; grades in school, extracurriculars, dietary restrictions, clothing size. She’s 4’2 and sixty-one pounds, with long black hair that matches her mother’s and round green eyes. She has a heart-shaped birthmark on her left shoulder, kiwi gives her hives, and she just lost her last baby tooth on the bottom.

“It only took one camera to get a picture,” Roscoe announces when he returns, placing the rest of the petty cash on the desk to be returned to the safe. “It was a quick grab, but the man who took her’s no criminal mastermind. I’m betting it was a moment of convenience, it didn’t look planned. The fucker didn’t even bother to cover his face, and in broad daylight.”

“You got a name for me?” I accept the file Roscoe extends, flipping it open. A grainy image stares at me, the screenshot from the security footage capturing the face of little Lottie’s abductor. Wiry frame, receding hairline, and an unfortunate crooked nose. His eyes are wild as he stands frozen in the photo, his hand clamped over the eight-year-old’s mouth as he totes her the few feet from the ice cream truck to the delivery van parked in the shadows of a nearby alley. He looks familiar, a common criminal lackey hired to do the dirty jobs others don’t want their fingerprints getting on.

“Kellen Gatz,” Roscoe states, waiting for me to flip through the information he’s dug up on our kidnapper.

Just as I suspected, the man’s jacket is full of petty crime; shoplifting, grand theft auto, assault and battery. He’s been arrested a handful of times, but usually walks due to ‘lack of evidence.’ Meaning he does the dirty work for people connected enough to keep him out of trouble. Too bad for him, I have my own justice system. No one can keep him safe from my due process.

“He’s got a few outstanding warrants. Plus, he has a bad habit of putting money down on horses that don’t win. His long shots never pay off, and he can’t afford his losses.”

“You know where to find him?” I glance up to see Roscoe incline his head in confirmation. “Bring him to the club. Felix is out of town, we’ll have the place to ourselves to get answers. Take Enzo, I need this quick and clean.” I don’t need to remind Roscoe about discretion, he’s the definition of tact. He could stab someone in a crowded subway car and be gone before they even felt it.

“You got it, Boss.”

***

It takes Roscoe and Enzo less than six hours to bag Gatz. They said it was easy; he was stumbling around in the dark after losing another race. Probably trying to sneak out on his commitments before anyone came to collect.

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