Dungeness and Dragons

by William Cook

Esperanza followed the pickup and the SUV south on 101. He tapped his steering wheel in time to the swishing of the patrol car’s windshield wipers. Don’t get cocky, he warned himself. These sonsofbitches are dangerous. Never turn your back on either one of them.

  Traffic was light, and they reached their destination in fifteen minutes. The three men left their vehicles, and Esperanza kept a respectful distance back while Gideon keyed in the lock code. The policeman reviewed in his mind everything his partner had told him about the closet where Carmody had been.

  “Let’s head right back to the place we think those kids were held.” His tone was relaxed, non-accusatory.

  “Where’s the effin’ key, Paul?” Gideon saw it was missing right away.

  “How the hell should I know?”

  Gideon glared at Esperanza. “You know anything about the key?”

  “To that closet? Oh, yeah. Officer Whitehorse took it into evidence.”

  “Evidence?”

  “You know. That you locked the kids in there. We got a good thumbprint of yours from it.” He could hear Gideon grind his teeth as he clenched his jaw. Paul looked as though he might vomit.

  “OK. We’re done. Get the fuck out of here.”

  “Just take a quick look inside before I go.”

  Gideon opened the door and stepped inside, cussing under his breath.

  “See the baseboard behind the door?” Esperanza was on a roll. “That’s where the names are. You’ll probably have to get down on your hands and knees to see them. And that place where the baseboard meets the wall? That’s where we found three strands of Carmody’s hair. DNA matched ’em up.”

  Gideon looked as though Esperanza had just delivered a sucker punch. Paul’s eyes went wide. Gideon recovered before his brother did.

  “If you’ve got all this so-called evidence, why haven’t you cuffed us? Why haven’t you hauled us off to jail?” He took a deep breath and shouted, “Because you don’t have shit! You got nothing any jury could convict us of! Now get the fuck out of here before I smash your fucking face!”

  “I could arrest you for that—assaulting an officer—but you look pretty strong and I like my movie star looks. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you two in court sooner or later.”

  “Get out!”

  Esperanza moved toward the exit, all the while checking over his shoulder. He didn’t release the breath he was holding until he was in his car and speeding away. He phoned it in to Chiara.

  Back in the warehouse, Gideon shoved his brother with both hands. “This is all your fault, you asshole! You just rolled over and gave us up—let ’em know this warehouse is ours, didn’t get that shit off Facebook like I told you to. Now they got proof that girl was here—that all those kids were here. Why didn’t you just tell them we whacked Hamisu while you were at it? Fuck! Our sweet deal with Elysium is up in smoke.”

  “It’s not my fault. They’re just smarter than we thought.”

  “It’s your fault, you cocksucker. You’ve ruined everything we’ve worked for.” He landed a roundhouse punch and Paul staggered backward. Before he could recover, Gideon jabbed him in the nose, rocking his head back.

  Blood began to flow down Paul’s chin. He fell to one knee. Reaching into his righthand pocket, he withdrew a butterfly knife. With a flick of his wrist, the razor-sharp blade opened and locked. He leaped to his feet. Extending his arm, he pirouetted in front of Gideon, severing his brother’s carotid artery.

  Unused to his brother fighting back, Gideon stood stupefied, mouth open, eyes wide with shock. He tried to stanch the spray of blood with his hands to no avail. He dropped to his knees, still clutching his neck.

  “Now that, brother, was my fault. All that ballet training just got the best of me. Here, let me help you.” Paul leaned toward Gideon and slashed the other carotid. “That should speed things along.” He wiped the balisong on Gideon’s shirt sleeve. “What you’re experiencing is called ‘exsanguination’—bleeding out. Did you know it can take as little as twelve seconds?” He looked at his watch as his brother fell to the floor in an ever-expanding crimson pool. “Looks like you’re going to make it to twenty-five. Oops! Twenty-nine. Good for you, big brother.”

  Paul stood over Gideon’s body, just outside the blood spill, smiling. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do that?” he said aloud. “It’s how I got myself to sleep as a kid after a day’s worth of your taunts. Well, I guess everything comes back to haunt us, doesn’t it? Instant karma’s gonna get you, brother. And it just did.”

  Paul took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his nose and chin. “Didn’t break it this time, but it hurts like a bitch.” He looked over the floor of the warehouse. “You’ve made quite a mess for yourself, brother, and you certainly have smelled better.” He wrinkled his nose at the stench. “We’ll just have to clean house. Oh, and I’ll need your keys. We’ll have to get your truck out of here.” He reached into his brother’s front pocket and retrieved the keys to the pickup. Lowering his voice and imitating Schwarzenegger, he chuckled, “I’ll be back.”

  After checking in the bathroom that his nose had stopped bleeding and that he had gotten the blood off his face, Paul left the warehouse, locking the door behind him. Once at the car, he pulled a gray hoodie over his head to hide his blood-stained shirt and put on a pair of dark sunglasses. Then he started the pickup and drove it down to the intersection with 101, where he parked it in front of Maizie’s Steak and Seafood. Hiking back to the warehouse, he got in the SUV and drove first to a grocery outlet that was selling propane tanks for barbeque grills.

  “What’s with the sunglasses, mate?” asked the clerk at the register. “I don’t see much sun out there.”

  “Just been to the eye doctor and had my eyes dilated. Know what that’s like?”

  “Sure do, man. I was blind for a couple hours last time I had it done.”

  He purchased three full twenty-pound tanks and stowed them in the back of the SUV. Then he stopped in a gas station and bought three five-gallon gasoline cans which he had the attendant fill at the pump. All the while, he sang preschool songs to himself. The man at the register gave him an odd look when Paul sang “Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream” while paying him with cash.

  He pulled his car away from the pumps and waited. Several cars came to the station for gas, but he dismissed them without a second look. A Mustang with two twenty-something men dressed in sweatshirts and knit caps arrived. Paul got out of his car as the attendant began to pump their gas.

  “Hey, guys,” he waved. “Wanna earn a quick hundred apiece? Take you about twenty minutes. And you’ll really be helping me out.”

  “Sorry, man. We don’t deal drugs. Nothing like that. We’re clean.” The driver began to roll his window back up.

  “No, no.” Paul motioned with his hands. “Nothing illegal. I just gotta get my pickup back to Driftwood High School, and I got business down in Newport that can’t wait.”

  “What’s at Driftwood?”

  “My wife’s a teacher there. Just got the truck fixed and gotta get it back to her before class lets out.”

  “I don’t know, man. We’re kinda busy.” The driver was shaking his head, but his passenger was poking him in the ribs, whispering something Paul couldn’t make out.

  “I understand. I do. But it’s an easy gig. Truck’s just a few blocks from here. Looks like your tank is filled. Follow me over. I’ll give you the keys and two one-hundred-dollar bills.” He pulled the money out of his wallet to show them. “One of you drive the truck and the other follow in the Mustang, which looks like a helluva ride, by the way. When you get to the school, just leave the keys under the floor mat. Easy peazy, lemon squeezy.”

  The passenger leaned over the driver toward the window. “What’s to stop us from pocketing the two hundred and splitting without driving the truck there?”

  “Well, you look like a couple of honest guys to me. C’mon. Follow me over. It’s parked in front of Maizie’s.” Paul go
t back in his SUV and turned out onto 101.

  In the Mustang, the driver followed suit, but yelled at his friend sitting next to him. “Jesus, Billy! This stinks. He’s probably got seats full of meth, and we’re being his stupid mules.”

  “Chill, man. Don’t ask. Don’t look. We get stopped, we just say what happened.”

  “But it sounds so lame. Who would believe us?”

  “I don’t know about you, but I could use a hundred bucks today. A twenty-minute drive up the road, and we’re home free. It’s a gift, man. The universe is smiling at us.”

  His transaction with the boys concluded, Paul returned to the warehouse. He made sure no one was about and turned the SUV around for a quick escape. He carried the gasoline cans and propane tanks inside, along with a tarp from the rear of the car. To the tune of “Itsy, Bitsy Spider,” he wrapped Gideon’s body in the tarp and dragged it out to the waiting SUV. Then positioning the tanks in the center of the warehouse and thoroughly dousing them with gasoline, he splashed gas around all four walls, making sure to leave a dry area by the door for his retreat. He went back outside and retrieved a book of matches from the glove compartment. He started the car and left the engine running.

  Opening the warehouse door a crack, he ignited the matchbook, tossed it inside toward the nearest pool of gasoline, and ran for his car. Sliding behind the wheel, he heard an enormous whumph as the building burst into flame. How long before the propane goes? he wondered. As he sped away from the warehouse, he looked over his shoulder. “This will be your last trip to the pond, dear brother. Tonight, you sleep with the fishes…and the cars.”

  Even from a mile away, he heard the roar of the explosion and saw the flash light up the sky like a new sunrise.

  I’ve finally outsmarted him, Mother.

  31. Crab Pots

  Whitehorse returned to the office, carrying the receiver for the listening devices he had installed. He was eager to hear Esperanza’s version of his contact with the Drakes. Putting the machine aside on his desk, he logged onto his computer and turned to his partner. “Tell me about it, man. I’m on the edge of my seat.”

  Just then the phone rang. “Driftwood Police Department,” said Chiara. “How may I direct your call?” She pointed at Whitehorse while she punched a button on her phone. “Fire Chief Ted Ames on line one.”

  “Hey, Ted. What’s up?”

  “Fire of suspicious origin down here in Depoe Bay, Charley. You might want to come take a look once we get the sucker out. Place blew sky-high. We were able to get it under control before it took out the whole block, but it’s done a lot of damage to the buildings nearby. Meth lab or something? Terrorists setting up an explosives factory? Who knows?”

  “What place?”

  “Warehouse. Think it was called Mid-Coast Seafood.”

  Whitehorse almost dropped the phone. “You’re shittin’ me!”

  “Ouch! Watch these virgin ears, Charley. You know the place?”

  “It’s only the center of our most active investigation. Goddamn it! It’s no meth lab, and they aren’t building bombs in there. The freakin’ place was empty.”

  “Well, it’s real empty now, I can tell you that.”

  “Any casualties?”

  “Too soon to tell. It’s too hot to get in. All of the roof is gone. Three of the four walls. Looks like a bomb went off. People in town said they heard a loud explosion.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up, Ted. Tony and I’ll come down. See you soon.” He returned the phone to its base and faced his colleagues. “Mid-Coast Seafood just blew up. Don’t know if our Dragon Brothers were inside it or not.”

  Esperanza pounded his fists on his desk. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! What is with this case?”

  Just then Whitehorse leaped to his feet. His face lit up in a surge of excitement. “Is it possible? Is it friggin’ possible?” He pointed to the receiver on his desk. “Batteries were all charged. I turned it on to record as soon as I planted the last bug on their boat. Suppose we picked up something at the warehouse before it blew?”

  “Holy crap, Charley! Holy crap!”

  Esperanza left his desk and ran to his partner’s side. Chiara joined them. The three stood together, looking at the machine.

  Whitehorse smiled at his friends. “Shall we check our pots and see if we’ve caught any crabs?” He touched playback.

  And there were the voices of Gideon and Paul Drake, brothers whose bonds had been forged by a lifetime of mutual hatred, who had remained together solely for purposes of criminal intent—whose bonds were about to be irrevocably broken.

  The black Mercedes drove into the parking lot of the Casino at the north end of Driftwood. They had been on the road for an hour and a half. “I need something to eat. We have time,” the big man behind the wheel said.

  “You are always hungry. How did you survive in Moscow?”

  “On my wits.” Pavel smiled and turned to his partner. “They tell me the buffet here is good. Come. I will pay.”

  Oleg got out of the car and straightened his tie just as a bearded man in a dark hoodie accosted him.

  “Hey, man. I lost everything inside. I just need a few bucks for gas to get home. Can you help me out?”

  “No.” The Russian turned away, but the man followed him.

  “Whaddya mean no? You look pretty well off to me with your fancy suit and fancy car. You could spare a coupla bucks.” He was bouncing up and down and moving his arms as though getting increasingly agitated.

  Pavel walked around the car to his friend. He felt for the gun under his coat. “Is there a problem?”

  The man pulled off his hood to reveal a mop of disheveled hair that looked as though it hadn’t seen a shower in many days. “No, there’s no problem. It’s just that your cocksucker buddy here is too tight to lend me a few bucks so I can get back home.”

  “My friend is not a cocksucker. I can assure you of that.” He turned briefly toward Oleg, smiled, then turned back to the intruder. “But I have known him to—how do you say it?—clean the carpet on occasion.”

  The man frowned and spit on the pavement. “Oh, so you think you’re funny, big guy? Well, how’s this for funny?” He withdrew a large blade from under his sweatshirt. “Fuckin’ immigrant.”

  “You have bad teeth,” Pavel said. “And you smell. I think you should walk away before we are forced to hurt you and get blood on our new leather gloves.” Both Russians opened their coats to reveal the pistols nestled in their holsters. The other man turned and ran.

  Oleg was shaking his head. “Americans. I think they watch too many bad movies.”

  “You may be right. But we should go. I would not want that durak to come back and damage our car while we are inside eating. Perhaps we can find a coffee shop nearby.”

  A few minutes later they were greeted warmly by Darby Gallaway at The Reef. “Ahoy, mateys! What can I get started for you gentlemen?”

  The Russians looked at his pirate hat, the patch over his eye, and the Jolly Roger hanging on the wall behind him. Oleg whispered in his friend’s ear. “Americans!”

  “Large coffees—black—and Danish pastries,” Pavel said.

  “Coming right up.”

  Half an hour later, the two men parked their car in the driveway and got into the house without any particular difficulty with the lock. Pavel took a seat on the luxurious couch, shaking his long braids and running his hand over his beard. Oleg quickly surveyed the upstairs rooms.

  “Our crabber has good taste,” Oleg said when he returned. “Excellent furnishings.”

  Pavel agreed, pointing to the wall. “That is a comic book,” he said with a chuckle. He took out his phone and searched on Google, then started laughing. “Do you know what it is worth?” He turned the phone so his partner could see the screen.

  “Dermo! And there are more upstairs in the bedroom.”

  “Vas has made these men rich. But they have no loyalty. That cannot be tolerated. There is too much at stake. What happens on E
lysium—and after—is too important.”

  “How long shall we wait for him?”

  “As long as it takes. Unless I get too hungry. My body needs more food than yours does.” He smiled broadly at the man who was many sizes smaller.

  “But I am prettier.” Oleg laughed and withdrew the pistol from its holster under his coat.

  “And meaner.” Pavel wagged his finger at him. “Put that away. That is just if more persuasion is necessary. We cannot leave any traces here. It must look like he has run off. We will have him call his brother and then take them both for a ride.”

  “What story shall we use?”

  “Vas has a new job for them in Newport, and they must use a different boat. We are taking them to the harbor to show them.”

  “Dear God in heaven.” Chiara held her hand to her mouth in disbelief and disgust as all three finished listening to the voices recorded in the warehouse. “Exsanguination. That’s a word I never want to hear again as long as I live. And I’ll never ever sing ‘Itsy, Bitsy Spider’ again. You can count on that. Gives me the chills just thinking about it.”

  “But what do you suppose he was doing while he was singing it? I heard him grunting. Some kind of rustling and dragging.”

  “If I was a betting man, Tony, I’d say he was wrapping up his brother’s body for disposal somewhere else.”

  “But why not just let it burn up with the building?”

  “There’d be some kind of residue—a bone or a tooth or something—no matter how hot it got. I think he wanted to throw us off the trail. Make us think they both burned down the warehouse and then took off together.”

  Chiara asked the million-dollar question. “What do you suppose Elysium is? Didn’t Gideon say something like ‘Our deal with Elysium is off?’”

  Whitehorse took a deep breath. “Some big corporation? A secret project? Maybe a boat? But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. We have Gideon admitting that all those missing kids were there, and that Carl Hamisu and his crew were murdered.”