Revenge Code

by Paul Knox

  “Let’s call it luck. Tell me, how did you make it here?”

  “God’s plan. Watch it, Lucky. Things ain’t gonna be good for you if you try anything.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to kill you. You’ve proven to be very resilient. I could use that skill right now.”

  “I would’ve taken care of El Hijo, if you would’ve just asked. But what makes you think I’m gonna help you, now?”

  “I know, I know.” Lucky shook his head. “I made a mistake. My apologies.”

  “Do your apologies come with a stack of cash for my troubles?” M. Knight was nervous and decided to play along. After all, he could barely move, and no one was around that could protect him.

  “I’ll split the fifty grand with you. Fair enough?”

  The correct answer for Lucky, at that moment, wasn’t no.

  M. Knight squinted at Lucky. “What chu need?”

  “Now that’s the M. Knight I remember.” Lucky smiled. “Here’s the new plan.”

  ◆◆◆

  Just as Reece arrived and parked at the hospital, she received another call from Penny.

  “Shanahan is gone!” she yelled. “He left the hospital.”

  “What?”

  “That’s not all, Reece. He found someone before leaving.”

  “Who?”

  “M. Knight.”

  “How did he manage to do that?”

  “It seems that M. Knight was a patient in the hospital. He’d been recovering from two gunshot wounds and was staying under the name John Doe.”

  “Was? Where is he now?”

  “Still there. He’s been murdered, Reece.”

  “Shanahan?” Reece whispered.

  “I don’t know. The nurses found M. Knight dead, with a hand written note over his body. It simply said, This man’s real name is M. Knight.”

  “I have to find Shanahan. He can’t be far.”

  “Wait, Reece, they just emailed me a picture of the note. I asked them to, so we can see the handwriting. I don’t know Shanahan well enough to know if he wrote it. Do you?”

  “Yes. Forward it to me.”

  A few seconds later, Reece stared at her phone, at the attachment Penny had sent.

  Sure enough, Shanahan had written the note.

  Did he really murder M. Knight in the hospital room?

  Twenty-Five

  Shanahan had watched the nurse finish with M. Knight’s IV and then leave, hurrying down the hallway. As he waited for her to round the corner, she’d bumped right into somebody.

  Somebody he didn’t recognize at first, with a mustache and Panama fedora. But it had only taken a moment for the genius’s brain to sort its photographic memories, see through the funky Hawaiian shirt, imagine the hair underneath the hat, and recognize the face in its clean-shaven form.

  That mustache looked real, but Shanahan knew it must be a fake. He knew who the man really was. Was he here for M. knight?

  Confused at the man’s appearance, and not wanting to be seen, Shanahan turned and dashed away.

  But a few seconds later, Shanahan returned to the room to observe.

  The man wearing the fake mustache stood inside, talking to M. Knight. Shanahan’s brain went crazy trying to figure out what was happening.

  He pressed his ear against the door, listening to their conversation. From what he heard, Shanahan deduced that the mustache man must be the one they called Lucky.

  Furious, Shanahan stole a look through the window by the door, slowly peeking with one eye. His heart pounded.

  This was it. He’d find out where Jessie was. And they would pay. He reached for the door handle.

  But then, Shanahan stopped, becoming a witness to something gruesome.

  Lucky approached M. Knight’s bed and pulled a hunter’s pocketknife from his pants. Lucky quickly ran the blade across M. Knight’s throat, spilling his blood, before the large man even knew what was happening.

  “Well, that was easy. Should’ve done that the first time,” Lucky muttered as he turned to leave the room.

  Completely shocked, Shanahan darted back down the hallway and around the corner before Lucky had a chance to see him.

  Shanahan couldn’t just kill Lucky in a fight, he had to find out where Jessie was being held hostage.

  Moments later, Lucky had left and Shanahan stepped into M. Knight’s room. A chart next to the bed showed his name was John Doe.

  Thinking of Reece, and that it might be days before anyone realized who this was, Shanahan quickly acted. He had seconds, not days. He needed to follow Lucky.

  Shanahan scribbled a note on one of the hospital printouts before tossing it on the dead body. Then he ran for the stairs and practically jumped down the flights until he had gone out a side door and stared at the parking lot.

  Waiting in between cars a short distance from the hospital entrance, Shanahan watched Lucky leave. The mustache man drove a silver pickup Shanahan didn’t recognize.

  One of the sheriff’s deputies had kindly driven Shanahan’s own pickup to the hospital for him after the gas station incident. As Lucky sped off, Shanahan raced to it, and then followed.

  A few minutes later, Lucky stopped at a gas station and parked at the pumps. He walked inside.

  There was a work truck parked at an adjacent pump without anyone present. Shanahan skid to a stop next to it and found a screwdriver and hammer in the bed of the truck. Quickly, Shanahan ran to Lucky’s two front tires and hammered the screwdriver into the tires.

  Then he hopped back into his own vehicle, just as Lucky strode over and pressed his remote, sounding the double beep of the unlocking doors.

  Lucky finished pumping his gas and left, with Shanahan following from a distance.

  Five minutes later, traffic backed up and Shanahan was forced to pass a broken down silver pickup with a man in a Hawaiian shirt cussing at two flat tires.

  Shanahan headed for Lucky’s house.

  He already knew the address.

  His thoughts were anxious and filled with anticipation. Was this it? Could she be there?

  Is the nightmare over?

  An expert at lock picking, Shanahan was inside Lucky’s home within seconds of arriving. He searched every room. No Jessie.

  He checked the attic, then double-checked every room, and then looked in every closet, every cupboard. He lifted every rug and tried to find any hidden doors or secret rooms.

  It looked like a normal house with nothing out of the ordinary. It was neat and clean. No drugs, cash, nothing.

  Frustrated, he began thumbing through papers and going through drawers. In a bedroom closet he found a dozen Hawaiian shirts, and in a dresser drawer he found another fake mustache. Lucky had been disguising himself for some time, Shanahan realized.

  Shanahan also noticed that there were some books on a living room table about high-level poker skills and strategies. Lifting the books, he found a black notebook underneath. He flipped it open.

  Some notes had been written inside. There were a few web addresses for gambling sites, and what looked like handwritten passwords next to them.

  Towards the bottom of the page, there was something else written: 27 cactus royalflush777. It was hand scribbled on its own line. It looked like a code, maybe a password to an unlisted site.

  Shanahan took a picture of the page with his phone.

  Lucky had to know where Jessie was. But what if he wouldn’t confess? And what if no one believed Shanahan?

  After all, Shanahan and Lucky had both been in the same place at the same time: M. Knights hospital room. However, Shanahan had unwittingly given Lucky’s alibi the upper hand by writing a note and leaving it on the dead body.

  Assuming it was only a matter of time before Lucky went to wherever Jessie was being held, Shanahan decided to wait and watch.

  He installed a cloning program on Lucky’s home computer, and connected it to his smartphone, so Shanahan could see exactly what Lucky did on the computer.

  Then, Sha
nahan made sure his pickup was out of sight. He never took his eyes off the house.

  About an hour later, he received a phone call. Lo-and-behold, it was Lucky.

  “I hope you’re enjoying the hospital food, Shanahan.”

  “Go to hell.”

  “That’s not an especially nice thing to say to someone who could hurt your wife at any moment.”

  Shanahan bit his tongue, listening to the computerized voice changer, straining to hear anything in the background.

  “Are you ready to play ball? You have three days left to get me the money. I don’t want to kill her. Fifty grand, and you don’t have to live with letting her die.”

  “Where am I supposed to meet you—to give you the money?”

  “This is what’s going to happen: You’ll transfer the money to an off-shore bank account. Then, after not testifying at Don Rico’s trial on Monday, I’ll release Jessie. Both conditions need to be fulfilled. Understand?”

  Shanahan wanted to say so many things at the moment. He wanted to say he knew who Lucky really was and where he lived. He wanted to threaten Lucky’s life and tell him he was a dead man.

  But he didn’t.

  “Fine. I’ll do it, Lucky. What’s the account information?”

  “Atta boy. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Lucky hung up.

  In his mind, Shanahan replayed every conversation he’d ever had with Lucky, or rather, the person Lucky really was.

  Shanahan had been blindsided. How could Lucky have done this to him and Jessie?

  As he sat there, his anger grew and his resolve intensified. He waited for hours, but Lucky never returned home.

  ◆◆◆

  Jessie had slid the razor out of her sleeve and into her hands. It had taken a while for her to get the hang of holding it in a useful position, effectively sawing at the plastic zip tie with the blade.

  Her biggest fear was dropping the razor, so she went slow and held on tight. It was also very difficult—less sawing and more shaving. Jessie didn’t dare sleep that night, instead working non-stop until her wrists and palms cramped.

  The sun had risen Thursday and Jessie had made some real headway. Her determination rose like her anxiety, afraid Lucky would come back any minute and discover what she’d been doing.

  Thankfully, he hadn’t come back and she’d made some amazing progress. The hours passed and she kept going, focused. Desperate.

  And then it happened. The last shred of plastic wore through and the zip tie around her wrists snapped off, falling to the ground.

  Jessie breathed hard, barely believing that now, after six days in captivity, she was almost free. Her entire body ached and she was delirious.

  She started working at her ankle ties, now from a much better angle and with actual arm strength. In a matter of minutes, she had those cut off, too.

  She stood.

  Free.

  Running for the bedroom door, it was unlocked. She opened it and escaped into the hallway, running for the living room.

  That was the same moment that Lucky stepped into the house from the garage, having just arrived and parked.

  Jessie screamed. She ran for the front door, but didn’t make it.

  Lucky grabbed her.

  Jessie fought hard, kicking him and scratching his arms with her nails. Bigger and stronger, he tackled her and they wrestled on the ground for a minute, before he finally pinned Jessie down.

  “This has been a real trying day for me, Jessie. I don’t appreciate this.”

  Jessie stayed silent.

  “If you don’t want me to kill you—right this very second—you’d better cooperate. That ransom money is small potatoes compared to what I’ll have in a couple days. You’re not important. Are you listening to me?”

  “Yes,” Jessie whimpered.

  Lucky yanked her to her feet, and she let the momentum move through her, raising her left arm up in the air, before snuggling it back down to her side, close against her body.

  Although Jessie had been thwarted and caught, something very fortunate had happened while wrestling Lucky on the ground.

  A knife fell out of his pants pocket, and Jessie had retrieved it. Hidden in the sleeve of her robe—similar to what she’d done with the shaving razor—she let the knife slide down her arm and into her armpit where she now held it tight.

  Twenty-Six

  The nurses at the hospital hadn’t been aware Reece was now a fugitive. She’d talked to them about Shanahan’s disappearance and M. Knight’s death. They told her everything they knew—which wasn’t much.

  Driving away from the hospital, she contemplated her options. She couldn’t go back to the station or she’d be arrested. She couldn’t even go back to Nohpalli, her home. Deputies would be watching and waiting for her.

  Reece had to find Jessie, clear her name, and put an end to this twisted story.

  She flipped on the radio, but instead of music, the voice of Kevin Kelvin boomed.

  “Detective Reece Cannon orchestrated the abduction of a fellow lieutenant’s—”

  Reece slapped the controls, cutting the program off. The sound of Kevin’s voice was like salt in a wound.

  She didn’t know where Shanahan was, much less Jessie. Even driving her Jeep was a huge liability. She needed to find a new vehicle, and fast.

  Circling around, she looked for a used car dealership, barely fathoming that she would have to abandon her green Jeep Wrangler. It all seemed unreal.

  As she pulled into the closest dealership, her phone rang. It was Gomez, her boss and friend. She stared at the phone as it rang. Three rings… four rings… In the end, she wanted to hear him say that he believed her.

  “Reece, I don’t know what’s going on, but I have your back,” he insisted.

  “You won’t regret this, Gomez.”

  “I already know. Anyway, I found the house of the dead guy who got his skull cracked by Shanahan. His name was Ricky Hernandez. Before you ask, no, he’s not Columbian.”

  Gomez gave Reece the address and told her to meet him there in a half-hour.

  “You want me there with you? Can’t you get in some serious trouble, Gomez?”

  “I don’t give a horse’s patute what anyone says. I’ve served Pima County my whole career, and no one is more loyal than me. And I’m old, Reece. I could use some fresh eyes and ears.”

  Reece parked her Jeep on a neighborhood street close to the car dealership before running inside and convincing the shady salesman to let her borrow something for a few days.

  After flashing her badge, and endlessly promising that she’d return it without a scratch, she paid a thousand bucks—under the table—for the half-reliable clunker he agreed to loan her. A 1995 black Mitsubishi pickup—one of those small, mini-pickups no one makes anymore. Reece didn’t argue. Time was of the essence.

  Gomez was already at Ricky’s place when she arrived. They went to the front door together and knocked, but no one answered.

  Gomez picked the lock and had the door open in under twenty seconds.

  It was the fastest Reece had ever seen the old timer move. “You’re as good as Shanahan.”

  “Where do you think he learned it?” Gomez winked.

  There was no one inside, and the place was a mess. Fast food wrappers covered the couch, and it didn’t look like the floors had been vacuumed or mopped in months. The garbage overflowed, and the place smelled like foot funk.

  “Think we’ll find any treasure buried in this heap?” Gomez pulled on gloves and began opening drawers.

  “You know what they say about ‘one man’s trash.’” Glad to be wearing gloves, Reece brushed a hamburger wrapper off of some mail on the counter, looking for anything suspicious.

  A few minutes later, Gomez began stomping on the floor.

  “Looking for a loose tile?” Reece asked.

  “If this guy has international smuggling ties, he might have money or something else hidden somewhere.” Gomez kept stomping away, resembling an aging tap dan
cer. His belly jiggled up and down, to which Reece tried to hide her amusement.

  “What?” Gomez asked. “I see that smile. My wife feeds me well, and she’s the best cook in town. I’ll save you some of her tamales at Christmas. You’ll see.” With no shame, Gomez only bounced harder.

  And then like a drum, a hollow thumping sound echoed amidst the dull thuds. “Hear that?” he asked.

  Reece got down and felt around the suspect tile. Sure enough, the grout looked cracked and broken—not easily seen among the stains and general dirtiness of the floors.

  “Here.” Gomez handed Reece a Swiss Army knife with a little flathead screwdriver on it, which Reece used to pop the tile up.

  Reece held up a passport. “Check out this picture, Gomez. Is he our guy?”

  “It’s a spitting image of Ricky, but with a fake name.”

  “And there’s a Columbian driver’s license in here, too, with the same mug on it. These are Columbian pesos, correct?” Reece held up a couple stacks of Columbian bills.

  “This looks like a contingency plan, Reece. It seems like he’s had some help.”

  “Here’s our physical proof that all this is connected to the Columbian cocaine cartel.”

  “Who’s orchestrating this, Reece? This guy isn’t even Columbian.”

  “I thought it was M. Knight. But if it’s not him, it might be a guy who people call Lucky.”

  “I hate to say this Reece, but could Lucky be Sandy?”

  “Maybe.” Reece stood. “I’m headed to Galaxsea. It’s time Sandy and I had a nice chat.”

  ◆◆◆

  “Why don’t I believe you?” Once again, Reece stood inside Galaxsea grilling the owner, her father.

  “I wish I had something to tell you, Reece, but I don’t. M. Knight never called, and just completely disappeared from the planet. Well, I guess he did disappear from the planet.” Sandy’s mouth frowned but his eyes smiled. “I wouldn’t want to be the one who murdered him. Whoever did will be the next soul freed of his material obligations, I’m sure.”

  “Let me see your phone.”

  “Why of course, Reece. You want to see if I’ve dialed any strange number that you’ve recently found, I’m sure. I certainly hope you don’t find anything in here.”