by Dave Stanton
“Here comes the heat,” he said, flicking his butt into the gutter. I looked down the street and saw a flash of light from a police cruiser about a quarter-mile away. Then I looked back at the restaurant and saw Igor Volkov come out the front door. He wore his buckled overcoat and his hand was wrapped in a white towel stained with blood. He scurried to the limo and opened the driver’s side door.
“He’s alone,” I said. “His henchmen must be somewhere else.”
“We need to stop him,” Cody said, climbing into the Toyota.
“Wait, we can’t do it with Mia inside.”
“Take her, then.”
The limo backed up and Igor Volkov started turning toward the street. The squad car was still a couple blocks away. The light bar on the roof was flashing at full tilt, but the patrolman didn’t seem to be in a hurry.
“Hold up,” I said, and ran to the curb. I yanked my Beretta from its holster and got down on one knee. The limo had begun pulling onto Tropicana. I took aim and fired at the left front tire. The rubber sidewall collapsed with a hiss and the limo dropped onto its rim. I could see Igor’s face in the windshield, his features contorted in pain. He stomped on the accelerator and the back tires spun on the gravel, and before the car lurched forward, I put a slug in the radiator.
The limo bounced onto the boulevard, smoke and steam rising from the hood. The engine howled, and the car careened toward oncoming traffic, which consisted of a single eighteen wheel big rig. The truck driver blasted his air horn, and at the last possible second the limo veered back to the right, rocking crazily on its springs, then it ran up over the curb, hit a fire hydrant, and jolted to a stop. Water spewed from beneath the car, spraying and gushing into the street.
The LVPD squad car skidded to a stop a moment later, its bumper facing the driver’s side of the limo. Two patrolmen jumped out, pistols drawn. They shouted commands and Igor Volkov climbed out, scowling, hands raised, his half-lidded eyes black in his skull.
“We’d best go introduce ourselves,” Cody said.
“Let me do the talking.”
He shrugged. “Fine by me.”
We got into the Toyota and drove across the street and parked in the lot next to the restaurant. The limo and the policemen were about a hundred feet away. I unclipped my holster. “Wait here,” I said, setting my firearm on the seat. I began walking toward where Igor Volkov and the cops stood at the back of the limo, away from the path of the water, which flowed in a torrent and was creating a puddle in the street.
An unmarked four-door pulled up as I approached, and I could hear the wail of more sirens. Two plainclothes detectives got out of the sedan and flashed their badges at me. The driver was a tall man wearing a hardened, weary expression. His partner was an attractive brunette about thirty. Her hair was cut short and her black slacks didn’t hide the curve of her hips.
“I’m the one who called it in,” I said. “Dan Reno, private investigations.”
“What happened here?” the male cop demanded.
“I suspected the Volkovs kidnapped a ten-year-old girl. I found her, hidden in a room in the back of their restaurant. She’s been missing for almost two months. The restaurant is a crime scene. You need to get in there and shut it down.”
“The Volkovs, huh?”
“That’s right. That’s the kingpin, Igor Volkov,” I said, pointing to where a uniform was searching the mobster, who had assumed the position, legs spread, his hand leaving a smear of blood on the limo’s trunk lid.
“Were you involved in the shooting?”
“Nope, I only took out his tire.”
“Where’s the girl?” the lady detective asked.
“Over there in the maroon Camry, with my partner.”
“I’ll take him,” the tall cop said, nodding toward the limo.
“Listen, don’t let Volkov out of your sight,” I said. “He was in a room next to the girl. He took a shot at my partner, and would have killed him if not for his body armor. He’s a crime boss, a kidnapper, and a killer. I’ll come to the station and make a full statement.”
The detective nodded and strode away, leaving me with the pretty brunette.
“Tell me about the kidnapping,” she said, as we walked to where Cody and Mia waited in the car.
“The Volkovs and an African national, here illegally, took her from a home in Cedar City, Utah. They killed her father and nearly killed her mother. They intended to sell her to a rich pedophile.”
“What’s her name?”
“Mia Jordan. Her mom is Melanie Jordan. She’s staying at a hotel here in Vegas, with her parents.”
“We’ll need to bring them both in, get their stories, and have a doctor check the little girl out.”
“I’ll call Melanie and tell her to meet us at the station,” I said, as we reached the Camry.
Cody had seen us approaching in his mirror and he climbed out promptly. “Hello, detective,” he said, smiling. “I’m Cody Gibbons, nice to meet you.”
She looked past him at Mia, who sat round-eyed in the back seat. Then she turned to Cody, her face quizzical. “Your name sounds familiar,” she said.
Cody shrugged. “I’m based in San Jose. I’m here visiting my daughter.” He paused. “And my buddy, Dan.”
“Weren’t you with San Jose PD once?”
“That was a long time ago.”
She snapped her fingers. “I got it—the Russ Landers case. You testified, right?”
“Yeah, I did,” Cody said. “I worked for him too, and he was as dirty as they come.”
She shook her head, an impish grin on her face. Cody started to say something, but I interrupted him. “We should get Mia to her mother,” I said. I tapped the redial button on my cell, and again it went to Melanie’s voicemail. I left a message telling her to meet us at the police station on Las Vegas Boulevard. Then I texted the message to her.
The lady detective opened the Camry’s back door and knelt. “Hi Mia,” she said. “I’m Anna with the police department. Here’s my badge. You can hold it, okay?”
Mia took the badge in her little hands. “We’re gonna go to the police station and your mom will meet us there. Are you ready to take a ride in a police car?”
“Will you turn the flashy lights on?”
“Sure, we can do that.”
I looked across the lot and watched Igor Volkov climb into the back of the ambulance, followed by a uniformed cop. “I’ll try the McDermotts,” I said to Cody. I tapped their number and Walter answered.
“Walter, could you put Melanie on, please?”
“She’s not here at the moment. Why don’t you try her cell?”
“She’s not picking up. Walter, I found Mia.”
“You, you did?” he stammered. “Is she all right? Where is she?”
“She’s here with me. The police are here too. She looks fine, or uninjured, anyway. Where’s Melanie?”
“She went out to a restaurant with a young policewoman, about an hour ago.”
“What?”
“Did you not hear me?”
“What did the policewoman look like?”
“Tall, reddish-brown hair, green eyes.”
“You got to be kidding,” I said.
“Excuse me?”
“Hold on, Walter,” I said, and muted my phone. “Cody, would you call Abbey, please?”
“What’s up?” he asked.
“I think Abbey is out with Melanie.”
Cody cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Melanie’s not answering her cell. Call Abbey, would you?”
“Did you tell her where Melanie was staying?” Cody asked, tapping his phone.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “She must have figured it out.” I unmuted my phone. “Walter, what restaurant did they go to?”
“I’m not sure. They were just going for coffee. She said somewhere nearby.”
I heard a sound, then Lillian McDermott came on the line.
�
��You have Mia?” she asked, but it sounded more like a demand.
“That’s right. We’re all ready to head to the police station. Can you get a hold of Melanie and meet us there?”
“I just called her. She’s not answering.”
I looked over at Cody. After a moment, he took his phone from his ear. “Went to voice mail,” he said.
“Shit,” I said.
“I beg your pardon,” Lillian said.
“Did they say anything about what restaurant they went to?”
“When they left, they were still discussing it. We were all in the lobby. Melanie mentioned Applebee’s. There’s one a couple miles away. We ate there the other night.”
“Go to the police station, Mrs. McDermott. And keep calling your daughter.”
When I hung up, I saw the ambulance pull from the curb, then a squad car swung around and stopped next to us. The lady detective helped Mia into the backseat.
“Follow us, please,” she said, before she ducked into the car and sat next to Mia.
“We’ll be there in a bit,” I said to the vehicle as it drove off. I tapped my phone screen, then opened Cody’s passenger door. “Applebee’s is over on Warm Springs. Go up a block and take a right on Eastern.” Cody smiled uncertainly and got behind the wheel. When he turned onto the boulevard, I said, “Let’s try to make some lights. I don’t want to be too late.”
Cody shifted into second gear as a work truck swerved by us. “Step on it,” I said, but when he did, he didn’t account for the large puddle in front of us. He drove straight into it, accelerating, throwing a four-foot high wall of cold water to our right, which happened to be where two patrolmen were walking around the front of the disabled limo. They jumped back but were pinned against the fender, and I watched the water splash off their uniforms and soak them from the chest down. Behind them, I saw the tall plainclothesman standing near his sedan, shaking with laughter, his tense expression temporarily relieved.
“Oops,” Cody said.
“No big deal. Just a few more members of your fan club.”
“I always wanted to be popular,” he said, blowing through a yellow light. We were going sixty in a thirty-five zone.
“Why would Abbey want to meet with Melanie?” Cody said, passing a motorcycle on the right.
“She said something about wanting to interview her, maybe a girl-to-girl thing. Like she could find out more about the case than I have. I told her to forget it.”
“Huh. Doesn’t sound like she’s too big on orders.”
“Gee, I wonder where she got that?”
“Hold on,” he said. We were approaching the light at Warm Springs. It was a stale green, and sure enough, it turned yellow just as Cody mashed the accelerator. We were doing ninety before Cody stomped the brakes, and then he let off when we entered the intersection. The light turned red as we power drifted around the corner, all four wheels sliding. He hit the gas at just the right moment and we launched forward.
“I said make a few lights, not get us killed.”
“You know my rules: don’t wet your pants in my car.”
A minute later we drove under the 215 freeway, then bounced into the Applebee’s parking lot and went inside. We quickly walked through the dining area and checked the bar. There was no sign of Melanie and Abbey.
“What the…” Cody muttered.
“Let’s call them again,” I said. We sat at a table in the bar and worked our cell phones. Neither Abbey nor Melanie answered, or had responded to our text messages.
“This don’t smell right,” Cody said. “Abbey doesn’t always take my calls, but she always responds to text.”
I set my phone on the table and drummed my fingers on the lacquered veneer. If Melanie alone had gone unaccounted for, I could have assumed she was having a mental issue, maybe a migraine, maybe she blacked out. Or, maybe Sasha had emerged, and Melanie had hopped in the sack with some oblivious fellow who thought it was his lucky day.
But Melanie wasn’t alone; she was with Cody’s daughter, who had not had a brain injury. The situation didn’t add up, and my concern was increasing with every minute that passed.
Then my phone beeped, with the standard chime programed for a variety of application updates. It was also the same alert for the tracking devices attached to the limo and the black Dodge Charger.
I stared at my screen in disbelief.
“What’s up?” Cody asked.
“Serj Volkov’s Dodge is heading northeast on fifteen. Just crossed the Arizona state line.”
“Give me that,” Cody said, snatching my phone. After a moment he looked up and our eyes met. “It’s heading to—
“Cedar City,” we said simultaneously.
CHAPTER 11
The sky was darkening, but the storm clouds dissipated as we drove, and the road turned dry. That was fortunate because Cody was reeling in the desert highway at 120 MPH. The Hellfire Hooptie’s suspension was tight and every tiny bump was a jolt, but the car did not sway or bounce. Within a few minutes there were no buildings or signs of civilization, save for the strip of graded pavement growing dim in the twilight. Cody took it up to 135, steering into the southbound lane when necessary to pass cars and trucks traveling at half our speed.
“I can’t believe they kidnapped Abbey,” Cody said. “If they harm her—no, even if they don’t harm one hair on her head, it doesn’t matter—I’ll settle their hash for good.” His face was the color of raw granite, his brow furrowed, the crow’s feet around his eyes etched deeply.
“We don’t know for sure if anyone was kidnapped.”
“What are you saying?”
“She could have got away, or maybe just lost her phone… ”
Cody blew out his breath. “Call Denise and ask her if Abbey’s been in touch. Get the number from my cell. Dial it from your phone—she probably won’t take my call.”
“All right.” I found the number on Cody’s phone and tapped it into mine.
“Culligan,” she answered.
“It’s Dan Reno, Miss Culligan.”
“Cody’s friend?”
“That’s right. Has Abbey been in touch in the last hour?”
“No, why?”
“Because we think she’s been kidnapped by members of the Volkov family.”
The line went silent for a moment, then she said, “Based on what?”
“She was with Melanie Jordan, who’s also missing. I put a tracking device on Serj Volkov’s car, and he’s heading north on fifteen, in Arizona right now. I think he’s got them both.”
“Excuse me, I’m not connecting the dots.”
“Cody and I just found Mia, Melanie’s missing daughter, at the Volkov’s restaurant.”
“Yes, Mia just got here.”
“Abbey and Melanie aren’t answering their phones. I think the Volkovs snatched them.”
“What for?”
“They think Melanie has gold and diamonds at her house in Utah. They invaded her house a couple months ago, and now they want to finish the job.”
I heard her fingernails click on her desktop. “You have a make, model, and license plate?”
“Black Dodge Charger, maybe a few years old. I’ve got a picture of the license, I’ll text it to you.”
“If they’re out of state, the best I can do is contact Arizona PD.”
“Alert Utah too. They’re heading to Cedar City.”
“Where’s Cody?” she asked.
“Right next to me. Do you want to talk to him?”
She paused for a long moment. “No, not right now.”
We hung up, and I looked at the red arrow on my screen. “They’ve got seventy miles on us.”
“Tell me again how you read this.” Cody’s fists were clenched on the wheel, his knuckles red.
“I blew it, man. I should have been more patient. I didn’t have to confront the African. I could have walked away.”
“And what if you did?”
“I should have suspected Mia
was at that restaurant from the beginning. We could have rescued her before they knew what hit them. They would have had no time to react.”
“And you think their reaction was to snatch Melanie because they think the bulk of her fortune is still at her house?”
“They only got a small part of it the first time. Now that I pushed it and the heat is coming down, they want to finish the job in a hurry. Then they’ll blow town.”
“But how would they know Melanie was in Vegas? How would they know how to find her?”
“She got a new cell phone, but I assume she kept her old number and email address, Facebook page, whatever.”
“You think the Russians hacked it.”
“Right. Lexi the driver had a computer fraud rap on his sheet. It could have been him, or maybe even that weasel at the restaurant who told us where Mia was.”
“Little prick looked like a computer nerd. But how is the African linked to the Russians?”
“I don’t know exactly. I think he came to the U.S. to get back the diamonds, or gold, Jeff Jordan’s CIA father stole from him, or his clan. But he probably needed help. Once the Volkovs found out there was potentially millions in diamonds to be had, they were more than happy to partner with him.”
“If there’s one thing that’s a given for every scumbag mobster, it’s the love of money,” Cody said, passing a minivan in a whoosh.
“Yeah, but here’s the problem: the Volkovs probably don’t know I’ve already been to the house, and not only dug up the rest of the gold, but also found at least a million in diamonds. It’s all locked away in a bank, in a safe deposit box. So, when they get there… ”
Cody’s leg straightened as he jammed the pedal to the floor.
******
The sky was splattered with a confused jumble of clouds, the rolls of dense honeycombed masses giving way to a silky sheen of white wisps that glowed fluorescent in the twilight. The road faded into the dusk, the lane markers rushing by in a blur. Then a series of red rock mesas became visible up ahead, still radiant with the last of the day’s sun.
“I’m gonna call the Cedar City PD and tell them to send as many cars as they can to the Jordan house,” I said.