by Blake Banner
Greg reached down by his feet and picked up what at first looked like a coil of rope.
“You know what this is, Stone? This is a bull whip. It will take the skin clean off a man’s back. I can kill a man with this whip. I know that ’cause I’ve done it. An’ believe me, it is not a nice way to go. You don’t wanna go that way if you can avoid it. This here will make a strong man weep like a baby and beg for his mommy.”
I sighed. “Have you any idea, Greg, how much trouble you’re in?”
Sly leaned back and shrieked with laughter. Greg just smiled and shook his head. “I gotta say, Stone. I don’t respect many men, but have a grudging respect for you.” He turned to look at Sly, who was still braying like a donkey, and started to laugh. “Can you believe the balls on this guy? He’s tied to a post, hand and foot, he’s on his own, unarmed in the middle of the Rocky Mountains, surrounded by a gang of desperados who hate his guts. And he goes right ahead and says, ‘Do you know how much trouble you’re in?’”
Sly became helpless, Greg’s shoulders were shaking and the Angels had started to laugh, too. He had a point. But I wasn’t going to tell him that.
“Do you know how long it’s going to be before the Feds are crawling all over you like flies on shit, Greg?”
He was still chuckling. “Why don’t you tell me?”
“What you have tied up here, Greg, is a man, John Stone. You have not got Federal Law Enforcement tied up here. What is this, some anti world-government militia shit? You think because you’re in the wilderness you can buck the Federal system? Believe me, Greg, they don’t like it when redneck anarchists start killing law enforcement agents. It upsets them a lot.”
“We ain’t gonna kill nobody, city boy. I have no idea who is gonna kill you. I guess you’re gonna go out there and upset one of them wild old mountain boys, and he’s gonna shoot you dead. And good old Sheriff Watson, and my uncle the judge, will explain that good ol’ Greg Carson is a pillar of the community, and he would never hurt nobody, least of all an officer of the law. Let’s face it, Stone, you’re screwed.”
I was beginning to think he was right, and wondering how far Dehan had got and whether she had contacted the FBI.
“So why haven’t you killed me already?”
He nodded, assessing me with his eyes. “Because Sly and Coy and me was all wondering what the hell you’re doing here.”
“I told you. We’re investigating the murder of Kathleen Olvera.”
He was already shaking his head before I’d finished. “Uh-uh, you ain’t selling me that horse shit. Why’d you break and enter into my barn? What were you doing at the Shack trying to buy dope?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You advised us to go there, remember?”
He looked at me like I was crazy. “I told you Pat had friends in the off-grid crowd. I didn’t tell you to go there an’ pose as fuckin’ drug dealers. You really upset the boys, you know? That was some special kind of stupid what you done there, Stone.”
Coy spoke. His voice was weak. “You should have told us he was coming…”
Greg’s face twisted with contempt. He half-turned. “Hey, Sancho Panza, when I come down to Rancho Puta in Mexico, you can tell me what to do. But while you’re here you keep your mouth shut. Comprende?”
“Pendejo…”
“Open your mouth again, Coy, an’ I’m gonna tear that leg off and shove it up your ass. Now have we concluded this conversation or do you need me to demonstrate?”
Sly was wheezing his serpentine laugh. “Boys, let’s keep it friendly here, shall we? You tellin’ me, Stone, that you went through all them theatrics last night just to investigate that girl’s death?”
“That’s what I do. It’s my job. So satisfy my curiosity. Why did you kill Kathleen?”
“Who says we did?”
“Come on, Sly! What happened? You had this operation going on. Pat was going to take care of sales and distribution for you in the Bronx, but she blew the profits on coke and smack. You got mad, said if she didn’t come up with your money, you’d send a couple of your gorillas down to take care of her. So she sent her sweet little sister up to beg for more time. Like you said, Sly, you love Catholic girls.”
Greg got to his feet, his whip in hand. “That’s some imagination you got there, boy. You gonna have us on Death Row before you’re done.”
“You telling me it’s not true?”
“I ain’t tellin’ you jack shit.”
I looked over at the Angels, who were leaning against the wall, watching. “What about you boys? You ready for the lethal injection? You know, even if you don’t do the killing yourselves, this is joint enterprise. You still go down for it. You ready to do that?”
They glanced at each other, but didn’t say anything. I pressed on.
“Who was it? Was it you, Coyote? You look to me like a man who could get a kick out of killing a helpless girl. Was it you? Or did you all take a part? You know we’re having the semen tested again. Whose is it? Which one of you raped her? Was it you, Sly? You know, that, plus killing a cop, guarantees your injection…”
The lash of that whip was the most painful thing I had ever experienced in my life. It burned, but not like fire. It was deeper and more agonizing that fire. It tore into my skin and penetrated deep into my muscles. I swore to myself I would not cry out, but though I clenched my teeth till I thought they’d crack, I couldn’t suppress the noise of the sheer agony in my throat.
“I told you it hurts, boy. And I’m warning you, you’re really startin’ to get me mad. I can’t believe you. You’re tied to that pole interrogating us! You’re something! Now you better start talking, ’cause if you don’t, I’m gonna start whipping till you beg me to put you out of your misery, like a stray dog.”
“What the hell do you want to know? I’ve told you why I’m here.”
With the second lash I didn’t even try. I cried out with every fiber in my body. Maybe self-pity and pleading would come later, but right then all I could feel was an agony of uncontrollable rage.
Sly was giggling, Coy was smiling and Greg looked smug. I eyed the Angels. They looked skeptical.
Greg said, “I don’t believe you, and neither do my associates. I might, just, buy that that lazy slob Sheriff Watson would ask you to look at his cold case. I might just believe that. But that you would try and buy ten K of weed as part of your investigation? No Sir, I don’t buy that.”
“Then what the hell do you think I’m doing here?”
It was Sly who answered. “If you’re investigating Kathleen’s murder…” He spread his hands. “Pat was from the Bronx, I’m guessing Kathleen was, too, am I right, Greg?”
“Yeah.”
“So you are from the Bronx. Like me. We all from the Bronx. Now I have to say that the only thing, in my experience, more twisted, sick, and corrupt than a crook from the Bronx, is a cop from the Bronx. So I’ll tell you why I think you’re here, Stone. I think you and your bitch are here to steal my dope!”
I curled my lip at him. “Use your brain, you stupid asshole! Why would I steal your dope? If I could sell it in the Bronx I’d need everything you have in this damn store plus twice as much again! You’d be worth a thousand times more to me as a partner than stealing from you!”
Coyote spoke again. “It don’t make sense. None of it make sense. And I don’t like it because it don’t make sense. Kill the son of a bitch and finish! Cut off his fockin’ head and bury him in the forest.”
I smiled through the pain. “Thank you, Coyote. You just confirmed what I suspected.”
Greg asked, “What are you talkin’ about?”
“Stop playing dumb, Greg. You know as well as I do that’s how Kathleen died. After he raped her, he cut off her head and buried her in the woods.”
He turned and stared at Coy. “That true? Did you kill her?”
I laughed. I felt light-headed and trippy with the pain, like I was beginning to hallucinate. “Good try, Greg. But this is joint enterpri
se, remember? One of you did it, you all did it.” I looked over at the Angels, who were frowning. “You getting this, boys? Your allegiance is to your chapter and the club, not to these bozos. You better start thinking about copping a plea.”
The lash bit into my chest and for a moment I thought I was going to pass out. But I told myself I was getting to them, causing a rift, however small. And all the while they were whipping me, Dehan was getting away. I knew that by the time she got help, it would probably be too late for me. But she’d finish the job, she’d nail them, and above all, she’d get away.
I raised my head and looked deep into Greg’s eyes. “You’re the smart one here, Greg. Rape, murder, and mutilation, followed by the kidnapping, torture, and murder of an investigating police officer. There isn’t a man in this barn who isn’t eligible for the death sentence.” They were all staring at me now, and they were all thinking hard. “I don’t know which one of you did it. But I know who I think did it.” I stared at Sly and then past him at El Coyote. “So my advice to all of you is, if you were not directly involved, you’d better start thinking about how to mitigate. Because my partner got away, and you can bet your sorry asses that right now she is on the phone to the Denver field office of the FBI.”
Coyote rasped, “Kill the mother focker! Bury him in the fockin’ forest! They will never find him! We deny everything! What fockin’ proof have they got?”
Greg turned on him, bellowing, “I told you when you came to me I didn’t want none of this shit! You told me it would be cool!”
“It is cool, brother. Chill…” It was Sly. “Coyote is right, man. We cut his throat. Dig a grave, let mother nature take care of him. We deny everything. They can’t prove shit.”
Greg threw down his whip and pointed at Coyote. “I ain’t a part of this. I ain’t even here. If this goes bad, I will testify against each one of you, and I will see you on death row. This is exactly what you said would not happen!”
I watched him stomp all the way down to the big sliding door. I noticed it was open a few inches. He heaved it open enough to step out and pulled it closed again. I felt sick and light-headed. Sly was grinning. “My friend, Coyote, I think you would like the pleasure, wouldn’t you?”
“You bet your fockin ass!”
He staggered to his feet and pulled a long, savage blade from his belt.
SEVENTEEN
He hobbled up and leaned against me, so his belly and his chest were pushed against mine. He grabbed my hair with his left hand and pressed the blade of his knife against my throat. His breath stank of tobacco, beer, and filth. I could see the pores of his skin and the veins in his yellow eyes.
“You ain’t gonna beg for mercy, Gringo?”
If I said I wasn’t scared, I’d be lying. If I said I wasn’t terrified, I’d still be lying. But I was damned sure that if I was going to die, I’d go without giving that son of a bitch the satisfaction of seeing my fear. I looked him in the eye and whispered, “Fuck you, Coy.”
His muscles tensed. I saw his knuckles go white on the hilt of his knife. I held his eye and thought I was hallucinating when I heard the voice, calm, quiet, and probably the most beautiful sound I had ever heard in my life.
“That’s the last thing you are ever going to do, Coyote. I’d think real hard before doing it. Because if I see you twitch, I’m going to blow your head right off your shoulders.” Dehan. She had come back. “Now drop the knife and step away from my partner. I’m going to count to three, motherfucker, but I might shoot you on two, or one.”
He stepped back and dropped the knife. I felt my body shudder and heard my breath shake.
“Get down on your belly and put your hands behind your head. You two!” She jerked her chin at the Angels. “Get the packing tape from the corner over there. Truss him up. Hands behind his back. And his ankles. Don’t make this complicated. I am outnumbered, jittery, and real pissed, and I don’t know what I might do if you rile me.”
One of them scurried away to get the packing tape while the other looked from me to Dehan and back again. “We never had nothin’ to do with no rape and no murder. We just deliver the weed. We tried to dissuade Scott last night, honest we did.” He looked over his shoulder. “Didn’t we, Joe?”
“Shut up.”
He sighed and looked at Sly, who was rocking back and forth, singing a little song to himself, “Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy…”
The Angels bound Coy and then did the same for Sly and Scott, who was beginning to regain consciousness. Then Dehan had one of them bind the other, and she cuffed the last and taped his ankles together. Finally, she cut my bonds and supported me as I gained my feet. I was unsteady, but as determined not to show any weakness in front of her as I had been to hide it from El Coyote, only for different reasons.
She looked anxiously into my face. “You OK?”
“I’m fine. We need to get Greg.”
“He’s trussed up outside, like a Christmas turkey.”
I smiled at her. “You’re a piece of work, Dehan. You know that?”
“What?” She said it defiantly, looking around at the gang. They were like a bunch of giant cocoons. “You don’t like my work? I say we stage a gang fight and shoot the bastards with their own guns.”
The Angels protested loudly that they didn’t deserve that and had no idea of what was going down at the ranch. I ignored them.
“The idea has its appeal, Detective, but it may be best if we call the sheriff.”
She sighed noisily. “Fine, if you insist. By the way.” She held up her phone. “I have the last ten minutes on video. It makes entertaining viewing.”
“I bet.”
I pulled my own phone from my pocket and dialed the sheriff’s number. I checked my watch. It was almost eight.
“Stone, you again. How can I help you this time?”
“You can start by canning the sarcasm, Sheriff. I have just been kidnapped and bullwhipped by three of your stand-up, law-abiding constituents. One of them was about to cut my throat. You also have a barn full of marijuana here, which was destined for, amongst other places, New York, where it is illegal. That’s for starters, Sheriff. So I suggest you gather up some deputies, along with your nicest manners, and get yourself over to Greg Carson’s ranch. You’re going to need the ME and a meat wagon, too. You have one dead Hell’s Angel, another with a bad concussion, and a third with badly busted balls. Plus, you have four more trussed up and ready to go into custody. It’s going to be a busy night for you. Welcome to law enforcement.”
He was making lots of noises, but I wasn’t listening to any of them. I hung up and turned to Dehan. “Thank you.”
She punched my arm, gently. “It was my turn, big guy.”
About half an hour later, the sheriff came rolling in to the ranch in his truck. Behind him, he had four deputies in two cars, and behind them, there was an ambulance and the Medical Examiner. The esplanade in front of Greg’s house was flooded with red and blue pulsing lights and uniformed men spilling from their vehicles with worried looks on their faces. Dehan led them toward the barn, along with the ambulance and the ME, and I walked over to the sheriff.
Before he could open his mouth I shook my head. “This one didn’t start in the Bronx, Watson. This one is all yours, and you’d better notify the DA’s office tomorrow. Greg Carson grows the dope here on his farm, with the help of Sly and Coy. They dry it and package it, then they ship it to states where it is not legal, like New York, so they can sell it at a big profit. He was using Pat Olvera for that purpose, and I am pretty close to proving that that connection was what got Kathleen killed.
“They kidnapped me and attempted to murder both me and my partner. She has it on video, and I’m going to ask your ME to take photographs of these.” I gestured to my ripped, blood-stained shirt. “This was done with a bullwhip. The whip is in the barn. You need to bag it and send it to the lab. It has Greg’s prints on it, and my DNA.”
He was squinting resentfully at me. “You brought al
l this with you from New York.”
I shook my head. “No, Sheriff, it was already here. You just needed some police work to find it. It’s what they elected you sheriff for.” He curled his lip. I ignored him. “Come. I’ll give you a tour of the scene.”
He went to follow me but I put my hand on his chest and came up close to look him in the eye. “Just let me tell you something before we go any further. I want Greg locked up in isolation where he cannot talk to anybody until I get to him. If this investigation is not done by the book, or if these boys get off, I am personally going to have the Feds go over Lee County with a fine-toothed comb, and nothing—and I mean nothing—will go unexamined. Am I clear?”
He nodded.
“Right. Now let me show you how to go over a crime scene.”
An hour later, after the paramedics had dressed my lashes, the sheriff had one of his deputies drive us back to Seven Hills. The return journey was more straightforward, because we didn’t have to go via Four Mile Canyon Drive and Salina. He also promised he’d have someone go and collect the Dodge in the morning. By the time we got to the Wagon Wheel, it was almost ten, but Peaches and Cream Sr. volunteered to cook us a meal when she saw the state we were in, and heard that I’d been bullwhipped and almost had my throat cut. She said that these constituted exceptional circumstances. I had to agree. While she cooked, we went up and showered and changed our clothes.
While Dehan was in the bathroom, I checked my laptop. There was still no news from the captain.
Downstairs, we ordered a couple of stiff whiskeys and sat in front of the fire, which by now was dying toward embers, and sipped while we waited for our food. I hadn’t much appetite, but Dehan insisted, with a kind of intense sincerity, that I needed first-class protein to repair the damage. When I tried to argue, she said, “Remember what my mother said! ‘You’ll die, but foist you’ll eat!’”