Final Ride

by Nic Saint

  “I know that, Juan,” I said.

  “Who would be familiar with the make of these guns?” asked Blane.

  Juan frowned, so I added, “Besides you, who would know how to replace the blanks with real bullets?”

  His face relaxed. “Oh, anyone. All of our guns can be bought anywhere. And so can the bullets.”

  “They’re not made in-house?” asked Blane.

  “When I say gun, I mean revolver. The ones used on Main Street are all Colts. Peacemakers. The same nifty little six-shooters so popular in the Old West. Colt still sells them. All we do is spruce them up a little.”

  “Spruce them up?”

  ”Make them look more like the real deal. Like the kind of six-shooter Billy the Kid or Wyatt Earp would have used. We put in carved ivory stocks, engravings and the like. But underneath they’re still regular Colts.”

  I sat back and shared a look of concern with Blane. “So you’re telling us anyone could have put those bullets into those guns?”

  “Revolvers. Yeah, basically. Anyone familiar with the combination of the Rusty Spur security lock, and the locker padlock. And since those combinations haven’t been changed in years, it wouldn’t surprise me if dozens of people aren’t aware of them by now.”

  “Dozens?” asked Blane, casting a weary glance at me.

  “Yeah, just think of all the extras who’ve passed through Charleneland over the years. All the kids with summer jobs. Add to that all the cleaners and the members of your staff,” he said, nodding at me. “Dozens, if not more.”

  ”He’s right,” I said. “Anyone could have replaced those bullets. Anyone at all.”

  “You know what?” asked Juan, regaining his cheerfulness now that it was clear he was off the hook.

  “What?” I asked, tiredly rubbing my eyes.

  “You might want to look into this Garrett Midway. I heard Steve once came onto him?”

  “Came onto him? What do you mean?”

  “It’s just something I heard from one of the other cast members, but Steve told Garrett he was into guys and girls both, and wouldn’t he want to fool around some?” He leaned across the table, dropping his voice. “Garrett wasn’t too keen. Spooked is the word I heard. Spooked and pissed off at the same time.”

  Blane fixed him with a serious look. “Pissed off enough to kill?”

  Juan shrugged. “Just a rumor, Detective. But if I were you, I’d take a long, hard look at that kid. After all, he’s the one pulled the trigger and shot Steve stone cold dead.”

  Chapter 15

  We caught Garrett just as he was pulling out of the parking lot. In a crazy move, I blocked his blue Toyota Yaris with my tiny golf cart. He had to step on my brakes to avoid a full-on collision.

  The moment his car screeched to a stop, he got out and screamed, “Are you nuts?” But when he got a closer look at us, he quickly simmered down. “Miss Rugg. Detective. What—why—what’s going on?”

  “We want to have another word with you before you leave, Garrett,” said Blane, getting out of the cart. He walked up to the young man, towering over him.

  Garrett was no longer dressed like an Old West gunman but wearing faded jeans, a T-shirt that professed his love for Clayton Kershaw, and a blue LA Dodgers cap. “Another word… But I already told you everything I know.”

  “Not exactly,” I said, leaning against the hood of Garrett’s Toyota and crossing my arms. “Is it true that you and Steve had a falling-out when he invited you to a cuddle party?”

  Garrett blinked. “Cuddle party? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  ”Steve supposedly told you he was into boys and girls both, and wanted to do some…” I grimaced. “… experimenting.”

  Garrett’s jaw dropped, and I immediately saw Juan had put us on a wild goose chase. No one could fake such a look of incredulity.

  ”What?” he asked weakly. “But that’s…”

  “Total bullshit,” Blane said grimly. Even more than me, he was an excellent judge of character.

  “I’m sorry, Garrett,” I said. “Charleneland gossip mill. You know how it is.”

  He nodded slowly, looking only slightly relieved. Color was creeping up from his collar and seeping into his cheeks. “Is that what they’re saying about me and Steve? That we were… like that?”

  “It appears so,” I said gently. “Don’t let it bother you, though. I’m sure it’ll blow over.”

  “It bothers me,” he stated emphatically. “Because it’s a lie. And I know why they did it. Because Steve and I had a bond. We were brothers. And people were jealous. That’s why they had to go and invent those filthy lies about us!”

  His voice broke and his eyes filled with tears. “Isn’t it bad enough that I killed my best friend? Now they’re spreading…”

  Blane placed a comforting hand on the young man’s shoulder and massaged it gently. “Don’t listen to those idiots, Garrett,” he said, forgetting for a moment we were the idiots who’d made him aware of the rumors. “Like you said, it’s all a bunch of jealous nonsense.”

  Garrett nodded, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand. “Besides, Steve had a girlfriend, and he was crazy about her. And she was crazy about him.”

  “What’s the name of the girlfriend?” asked Blane, sinking the concerned adult into the inquisitive cop.

  “Verity. Verity Shackles.” He frowned. “They had a huge row, but they made up last night. Which is why Steve was goofing around. He was happy he and Verity were doing great again.”

  Blane looked up sharply. If he’d been a dog his ears would have pointed up as well. “Steve had a fight with his girlfriend? What about?”

  “No, the usual stuff. She wanted the two of them to go away together. To Paris or Rome or some European place and Steve didn’t want to go. He wanted to go to Vegas. A lot cheaper and a lot more fun. Those European trips can be incredibly expensive and Steve was saving up to buy a new car.”

  I did a mental head slap. Tough choice. A new car or taking your girl on a trip to Europe. I glanced over to Blane, wondering what he would have chosen. I didn’t know him well enough to be sure.

  As if he’d read my mind, he told Garrett, “Europe or a new car? That’s a no-brainer.”

  “Right?” asked Garrett, smiling now.

  “Yeah. If I had the money to take my girl to Paris I wouldn’t hesitate a single second.”

  Garrett’s lips formed a perfect O. “I was gonna say go with the car.”

  Blane’s eyebrow quirked up. “A car? Really?”

  “Not just ‘a’ car. Steve had his eye on a Cadillac. A buddy of his was keeping it at his shop—fixing her up for Steve. Sweet ride, dude.” He clapped a hand to his mouth. “I’m sorry. I mean Detective, sir.”

  “Dude is fine,” said Blane, shaking his head at so much male ignorance. “Let me guess. You don’t have a girlfriend, right?”

  “No, but…”

  Blane placed a paternal hand on the kid’s shoulder again. “Trust me on this, Garrett. If you’re ever in Steve’s position, choose the girl over the car. You won’t regret it.”

  When we were driving back to the park entrance, I asked, “So you would take your girl to Paris, huh, Detective Jamison?”

  “Sure thing. A romantic weekend for two? Walking along the Seine? Sipping coffee on the Champs Elysées? Having our portraits painted at Montmartre? Like I told Garrett, it’s a no-brainer.”

  I quickly leaned over and placed a peck on the cop’s cheek.

  He flashed me his best smile. The one with the twin dimples. “See? Reaping the rewards already.”

  Chapter 16

  While we were driving back to the security compound, I got a message from my dad: ‘Meet at the Pagoda. Now.’

  Blane glanced over. When he saw my serious expression, he asked “Something come up?”

  “Dad wants me to meet the others at the Pagoda.”

  Blane waited a beat, then said, “Why don’t you do that, and I’ll get started on
the Steve Geyser investigation.”

  “Or, why don’t you join us?” I said, surprising both Blane and myself.

  “Isn’t this like a family only kind of thing?”

  “Look, you’re involved now, Blane. So you might as well see this through along with the rest of us.”

  The smile that appeared on his face was infectious and I gave him a light punch on the shoulder. “This isn’t a date, you moron. Just a family meeting.”

  “Oh, so this isn’t where you’re introducing me to your mom and dad?”

  I laughed. In spite of the doom and gloom that had been hanging over the park since Steve was shot this morning, Blane managed to lift my spirits, which was something of a miracle, considering the circumstances. “Are you always this funny?”

  “Not usually,” he admitted. “I guess you bring out the best in me.”

  “I guess I do.”

  We passed the front entrance and I suddenly noticed an altercation.

  “What’s going on?” Blane asked.

  Three of our guards were arguing vehemently with three men dressed in suits. They were big and burly, and didn’t look like regular visitors to me.

  “Let’s have a look, shall we?”

  I parked the cart next to the entrance building, where the ticket booths were located. Five revolving metal gates led past metal detectors, allowing visitors to enter the park grounds, and they were usually manned by a couple of my people, making sure no one smuggled a weapon or some other dangerous object into Charleneland. Right now, the turnstiles were all blocked, obvious from the red lights blinking on top of them, and the guards were all busy arguing back and forth with these visitors, while a row of dozens of tourists stood impatiently following the interaction.

  “What’s all this?” I asked, walking up. And then I recognized one of the men. Fabrice Lynsey. ART inspector. The fuzz had finally arrived.

  He turned to me, his doughy wide face a mask of determination and annoyance. “Please tell your people to close down the park, Miss Rugg.”

  “And a good day to you too, Mr. Lynsey,” I said, keeping my voice level.

  Whenever this guy showed up, there usually was trouble ahead. For some reason he seemed to dislike my family intensely, and whenever there was some issue, the first weapon he reached for was closing down the park. Talk about killing a mosquito with an elephant gun. Though today he probably had a point. A murder and sabotage was not the same as the usual wear and tear on the rides and attractions.

  “I want you to evacuate the park,” he said. “Right now, Miss Rugg.”

  “Why don’t we discuss this back at the Pagoda?”

  I didn’t want to have this discussion in front of the visitors, who were following the altercation closely, some of them filming the entire scene.

  “As far as I know, you have a murder on your hands, Miss Rugg,” Lynsey insisted. “And a botched attempt at sabotage. Which tells me this park is not safe. So I’m closing you down. As of this minute.”

  As if on cue, the two other inspectors moved towards the waiting crowd, arms over their heads, and shouted, “Charleneland is closed for the day. Please return to your vehicles!”

  There were shouts of disappointment, and I shook my head.

  “Aren’t you overreacting, buddy?” asked Blane.

  The inspector gave him a critical glance. “And who are you?”

  “Detective Blane Jamison. Sapsucker Police Department.”

  “You of all people should put the interests of the public before private enterprise,” said the inspector.

  “I think we should have a discussion,” said Blane reasonably. “Not take blanket decisions whose repercussions will impact thousands of people.”

  “Good thing you’re not in charge then,” scoffed the inspector, and turned back to me. “Evacuate the park, Miss Rugg. Now. Or I’ll bring in my crew and do it for you. Do you understand?”

  It was obvious we weren’t going to get anywhere with these people, but I held up my finger anyway, taking out my phone. Dad picked up on the first ring. When I told him about the arrival of the ART unit I had to hold the phone away from my ear to protect my eardrum. With a smile, I handed it to the inspector. As he tried to get a word in edgewise, I could see his face going through the gamut of emotions, and before long I had the impression smoke was pouring from the guy’s ears.

  With a quick movement, he disconnected and handed me back the phone.

  “Meeting. Now,” he said curtly, and strode off towards the sanitary block.

  “The Pagoda is that way, Mr. Lynsey,” I said.

  He gave me a look that could kill before stalking off in the direction indicated.

  “I wonder what your dad told him,” said Blane as we followed the guy.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s not fit for print,” I said, eliciting a grin from Blane.

  The Saboteur watched the fat man with the red face walk off huffily, Mia Rugg and that cop right behind him. Things were happening now. Shit was actually going down. The Saboteur coolly observed how the other inspectors sent the waiting visitors home, dispersing the lines that had formed outside the park entrance. It was a pity, as he loved an audience. Still, there were still thousands of people in the park. Even an orderly evacuation would take hours. And who knew what could happen in the meantime?

  He lit another cigarette and took a long, eager drag. This was just about the most fun he’d had in years. Too bad it would all be over soon. Too soon. Even though those fool inspectors were all part of the plan, they were still killjoys.

  He heartily agreed with the Ruggs: the longer the park remained open, the better. Though he wasn’t sure they would agree on the reason why.

  The longer Charleneland was open, the more victims he could make.

  Not sure good old Clive Rugg would be too happy about that.

  He made his way back to the heart of the park. He enjoyed strolling amongst the reveling masses. The moms and dads with the annoying little kiddies. The couples sauntering by in twos. The teenagers zipping along in packs. All of them, their faces lit up with anticipation and fun. So much fun!

  Soon he’d show them real fun. The kind they’d never forget—not for as long as they lived. Or, he thought with a throaty chuckle, as short.

  Chapter 17

  I took the stairs to the second floor of the Pagoda, leading Blane and Lynsey onto the main office floor, which was abuzz with activity. Phone operators taking calls, booking tickets, handling a myriad administrative tasks connected with running a million-dollar business. Along the walls, several offices were located. All of us Ruggs had a designated workspace here, even me, though I rarely showed my face. Charlene’s office was the nicest one, of course, with a great view of the square in front of the Pagoda. Like me, she rarely set foot in this place. Mom was the one who ran the office, along with Marisa. Maya spent most of her time one floor up, where the entertainment department was located, and Dad could usually be found at Alpha Centauri, amongst the engineers and technicians who made magic happen every day.

  I saw that the others were already holed up in a modest conference room next to Marisa’s office so I wasted no time leading my charges there.

  To my surprise, Charlene was at the head of the table. She was dressed up in full regalia, her hair as if carved out of stone, defying the laws of gravity, her bust barely contained by a tight pink sequined top that announced ‘I heart Charlene’ in glittery gold. Her hands were encrusted with so many rings it was hard to make out her fingers. Her voice had a steely note when she said, “Well, Lynsey? Is this the day you’re finally going to put me out of business?”

  If the inspector was taken aback, he didn’t show it. “I’m finally going to close down this death trap, Charlene,” he shot back, taking a seat on the other side of the table, directly opposite Charlene.

  Terri and Ceci, Charlene’s Corgis, had started yapping the moment the inspector set foot inside what we called the aquarium. They seemed to share Charlene’s dislike fo
r the man, now loudly barking and jumping up at him.

  Blane gasped audibly when he caught sight of the happy yappers, and when they came over to sniff his legs, he looked like he was ready to crawl up onto the table.

  Blane doesn’t like dogs, for some reason, even though Terri and Ceci have taken a particular liking to him.

  “Um… can you put a leash on them?” he asked.

  Charlene’s cool blue eyes snapped to him, and she barked, “Would you like to put a leash on me, too, Dale? No? Then I suggest you sit down and keep your trap shut.”

  “It’s… Blane,” Blane muttered, then kept his trap shut, as requested.

  Fabrice Lynsey tapped the tabletop. “This is no discussion, Charlene. We’re evacuating the park right this minute, before any more accidents happen.”

  “Come on, Fabrice,” said Mom. “Be reasonable. You can’t expect us to shut down the park just because one ride malfunctioned? We would be out of business in no time.”

  “It’s not just the one ride, Karin. And from what I’ve been told over the phone it wasn’t a malfunction either.”

  Dad’s eyes shot to Leo, who’d been the one to call in the incident. Leo looked away. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Between loyalty to his employer and his duty as a safety officer. Not a pleasant position to be in.

  “It’s just the one rollercoaster,” said Maya.

  “And the one kid that was shot,” Lynsey said. “And by the same token that rollercoaster accident could have cost the lives of dozens.”

  “Not dozens,” said Maya soothingly. “All the kids on that rollercoaster were strapped in tight. Even if they crash-landed, they would have been fine.”

  “I don’t think that’s true,” said Marisa, always a stickler for the truth. “I mean, it’s not like that rollercoaster has airbags or something, Maya.”

  “But they were strapped in!”

  “So? If you hit an immovable object with your car going eighty miles per hour, you think you’ll be fine? You’ll be dead is what you’ll be. Or at the very least seriously injured, especially if, like the vehicle in this particular rollercoaster, your car doesn’t have a roof and you hit your head on impact.”