by Paul Knox
The deputies brought in a specialist who was able to open the safe with an ultrathermic cutting system. The specialist drilled holes through a magnetic template he stuck to the safe, and soon had it open.
There must have been two hundred stacks in there, cash—close to two million dollars. A slew of Russian and other passports, all under fake names, also awaited discovery.
Thirty-Eight
The sun blazed through the front windshield of Shanahan’s borrowed car. He was having a wonderful dream, but it neared the end. His eyes opened slowly, and then he awoke with a jump.
Jessie had found him alone in the forest, somewhere atop Mount Lemmon, sitting on a soft, white blanket. She walked through a mist that covered the ground, in a flowing white gown that trailed behind her. She pulled his face close to hers and longingly kissed him.
Zaki had also been there, playing with his favorite toy—a stuffed giraffe—laughing and giggling.
Shanahan had felt a deep peace. Contentment. Freedom.
And now he was sitting back in Green Valley, in front of 19th hole, blinded by the hellish sun. Chained to the past. Sinking into nothing.
The reality of life rushed through him like a flood that drowned cities.
He wept.
Fifteen minutes later, with a headache that pounded his head worse than being smashed with a lamp, or repeatedly kicked at a gas station, or breaking through his pickup’s driver-side window in a car accident, he sped back to Lucky’s house.
He’d make sure he got the car back to the nice old man later today.
For now, the gun beside him was fully loaded.
It was already after 9:00 AM. He’d slept for almost six hours. Much longer than the fifteen minutes he’d planned on resting. A week without drinking had messed with his tolerance.
He skid to a stop in front of 27 Cactus and jumped out. There was a light on inside.
Lucky was back.
Shanahan crept to the front door and ever so gently, tried the door handle. It was unlocked. He slowly twisted it and pushed it open, just a crack. He heard no sounds.
I have the element of surprise.
He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the hammer in his brain. Then he pushed the door open and stepped inside with his gun raised.
Unfortunately, the next thing that happened was every muscle in his body clenching. He couldn’t breathe. The feeling of being electrocuted took ahold. No longer in conscious control of his muscles, he fell to the floor.
Lucky stepped over and kneeled beside him, holding a Taser gun issued by the Pima County Sheriff’s Department.
“I’m glad you came back to visit me, Shanahan. I’ve been waiting for you.”
◆◆◆
You just don’t know who to trust these days. Lucky chuckled to himself.
Now driving, he glanced back at Shanahan, hand and feet cuffed, fastened in the back of his pickup with shoulder and lap strap seatbelts keeping him upright.
Jessie’s escape had unfortunately proven the zip ties were too easy to cut. With Shanahan, he’d used actual handcuffs. Two sets. One for his wrists and one for his ankles.
After Sheriff Luke Landy, aka Lucky, had hung up with Gomez a few hours earlier, he knew what had to be done.
Find Shanahan looking for him at 27 Cactus.
“Sorry Shanahan, but you’re my new hostage just in case something goes haywire. Bad news is you’re going to die, and I don’t mean by old age. But the good news is I’ll keep you alive for a few more hours if things go well.”
“You’re as good as dead,” Shanahan mumbled.
“You smell like alcohol, lieutenant. It’s emanating from you. Did you have a rough night thinking about Jessie?” Lucky Luke Landy laughed as he drove along. He didn’t mention that Jessie had escaped. He saw no reason to give Shanahan any hopeful breadcrumbs. Lucky Luke didn’t need a hero.
Apparently, Jessie hadn’t called the authorities when she escaped. She hadn’t called anybody.
For all Lucky knew, she’d died out in the coyote and javelina-ridden desert, trying to crawl her way back to Tucson. That would’ve suited him just fine.
Or maybe she’d recognized Lucky’s true identity. The sheriff of Pima County.
If he were in Jessie’s situation, he wouldn’t call the authorities, either.
However, he couldn’t take any chances. If Jessie had recognized him and had survived the desert, he had to move fast.
Lucky Luke felt Shanahan’s icy glare on the back of his neck. It felt complicated, unnatural, uncomfortable. He only kept Shanahan alive because he needed a contingency plan—for now.
The ransom he’d wanted from Shanahan was chump change, anyway. He didn’t need it. He’d needed to not have Don Rico rat him out. But for now, plan B was collecting his funds and flying to paradise.
Soon, he’d take his millions and leave for the Bahamas. He had a new disguise picked out, too. He’d wear a fake nose, get rid of the mustache and grow a beard. And get fat. He’d get nice and fat eating all the delicious food he wanted. And a tan. He’d get a nice tan at the beach.
Lucky Luke couldn’t wait to get there.
Shanahan just had to stay alive until they reached the Benson airport. Lucky Luke would kill him before he flew off.
After making a pit stop in Mexico, not even twenty minutes away by plane, he’d pay a guy he knew to take him the rest of the way in secret.
Lucky Luke had the plan all lined up.
◆◆◆
Shanahan bumped along in Lucky Luke’s pickup, fastened tightly in the backseat. Cuffed behind his back, his fingers smushed together. He couldn’t stop feeling his ring finger, the one that used to have his wedding ring on it. It felt naked, almost alien, not wearing it.
He’d slipped it off in between Lucky zip-tying and tasering him for the second time, before dragging him like a sack of grain to the silver pickup.
His gold ring still lay on the floor of 27 Cactus, as a sign to Reece.
He’d sent the text. And she’d find the bartender. Then she’d find the house. He was certain of it.
As Shanahan watched the barren mountains and desert scenery pass by on the interstate, he found that his own life didn’t matter much to himself anymore.
His soul had been irreparably damaged. Zaki would be better off without him.
But Lucky would still pay.
And Shanahan had a plan.
Thirty-Nine
Reece Cannon questioned the attendant at the Benson Municipal Airport. She found out that Luke Landy wasn’t just a sheriff, but also held a private pilot license. Who would’ve thought?
The clues came together.
As she stood at the front desk of the empty, small-scale airport, staring at a flight record for Luke Landy, everything started to make sense.
She’d left her phone on her desk when Landy told her to follow him to the break room for coffee, only to ask her to make a pot and then disappear for a few minutes.
He must’ve been the one who sent the text to M. Knight.
He’d been at the hospital seeing Shanahan, and must’ve discovered M. Knight there.
Landy was Lucky, and he’d been the one killing everybody, trying to maintain anonymity in the face of exposure.
Casino Del Sol. Reece ran her hand through her hair. Wow. A secret gambler, Landy had become involved in drug money.
Don Rico must know Landy was Lucky, and then threatened him when Shanahan agreed to testify.
And then Landy went after Shanahan.
According to the airport records, Landy only flew occasionally, on aircraft he rented from the facility. That fact, along with his day job of being a sheriff, meant he hadn’t been the one smuggling the cocaine. He seemed to only fly for fun.
However, ‘Jose Garcia’ was a pilot, too. In fact, there were a couple Jose Garcias that were pilots. Reece checked out their files and sure enough, one of them looked like El Hijo Rico.
El Hijo Rico, aka Jose Garcia, must have been the
Columbian connection, flying the cocaine into the United States.
‘Jose Garcia’ flew a Cessna 400 and rented a hangar. The attendants took the detective to the hangar and unlocked it for her.
The Cessna 400 was a small plane, but had just enough cargo room to make smuggling cocaine easy and lucrative.
She made copies of all the files and headed back to Tucson, ready to clear her name.
But first, she had one more stop to make.
◆◆◆
“Wheres we goin’?” Shanahan finally spoke from the backseat, his words slurred.
“I have a few stops to make. Up in Marana I have a couple buyers. One in Oro Valley, and believe it or not, some fellow way out in Eloy buys the most, dealing it to people coming from Phoenix. With the Ivanovs out of the picture, things are a bit more labor intensive.”
Shanahan’s head loosely bobbed from the left to right, barely hanging onto his shoulders. “Whats gots ya into this?”
“Being a sheriff, I met all the bad guys. I don’t know if you know, but the pay isn’t really that great. I don’t make a whole lot more than you, relatively speaking. Guess I got tired of seeing all the criminals with the good life.”
Shanahan chuckled. “I knows a man wif problems whem I seen him.”
“Like recognizes like, huh?” Lucky Luke smiled into the rearview mirror. “You don’t sound too good, Shanahan.”
Shanahan glared at the reflection. “Ya financed yer gamblin’.”
“Shanahan the genius.” Lucky grinned. “I borrowed ten thousand from Dmitry Ivanov, years ago, to cover some gambling debts. Money was good and I never stopped. Doesn’t matter anymore, anyway. We’re all gonna die someday. I’m just gonna die with a little more money than you.”
◆◆◆
Reece called Gomez after leaving the airport. “Landy is a pilot that flies from Benson Municipal. I don’t have direct proof—yet—that he’s connected to the smuggling, but maybe Viktor knows more than he’s telling. I do, however, have files proving El Hijo Rico is a pilot that flies a Cessna 400.”
“Am I hearing you right? You believe Landy is Lucky?”
“You bet your ass.”
“Bring the files in, Reece. Maybe we can dig up more background, or connect ‘em to what Ethan found at the Russian’s house.”
“I can’t risk being locked up, even for a second. I have to find Shanahan—and keep him from killing Landy.”
“Need some backup? I’ll be right there.”
“Get Ethan and stand by. I don’t know where anybody is, and we don’t need to be unnecessarily spread out.”
“Reece, I hate to point out the obvious, but if you don’t know where anybody is—”
“I’m about to find out.”
When Reece arrived to Green Valley, she systematically went to all the restaurants with bars and bartenders. There were exactly fourteen of them. But she knew Shanahan. He wouldn’t have gone to a wine bar or a Japanese place for whisky. That eliminated a few.
She started north and worked her way south. The fifth place she arrived to, the 19th hole Bar and Grille, had the information she was looking for.
The bartender retold the story Shanahan had painted, including the 27 Cactus house, which the bartender emphatically stated he would ‘never live at.’
A few minutes later, she arrived to 27 Cactus. Reece cautiously approached the front door and listened. There were no sounds from inside.
She didn’t bother picking the lock and instead, stood back, raised her gun and fired. One shot shattered the mechanism. Then she kicked the door in—with the spirit of Shanahan.
Knowing he’d been here, Reece imagined he’d probably wanted to do exactly that. He’d probably picked the lock, erring on the quiet side.
But there was no time left for errors or quiet.
It was time for action.
She saw signs of struggling where Jessie had been held captive, along with the dried blood. In the next room she found an open and empty safe.
And then she saw something shiny on the ground in the living room, lying on the carpet. Something small and gold. She picked it up. Shanahan’s wedding ring.
The facts:
He would’ve never willingly taken it off.
It was a sign. A sign he’d been captured.
Where would Lucky go if he felt like his time was coming to an end?
The Russians wouldn’t be able to help him.
M. Knight and the Columbians were dead.
The safe had been emptied, its contents taken with Shanahan.
If he was simply going to kill Shanahan, he probably wouldn’t have taken the money with him. Thus, he wanted Shanahan alive.
He needed a hostage. Why wouldn’t he have just kept Jessie, then?
Reece dashed back to the room and saw the zip ties, cut, on the ground. She picked them up. One of them had a clean cut, but she looked closer at the second.
These cut marks weren’t so clean. There were several areas where a knife had started cutting, but then moved, or slipped, to a new spot. And even then, the cut was jagged, almost like it had been sawed through.
Jessie escaped. She’s not dead.
Reece began running back to her little Mitsubishi. Landy’s afraid of being caught. He’s going to flee.
Reece jumped inside and dialed Gomez as she sped away.
“Meet me at the Benson Municipal Airport! Landy’s making a break for it.”
“I’ll be there,” he said.
Reece sped down the I-10 as fast as the old pickup could go.
Forty
Lucky counted his new stacks of money, before heading for the airport. He tallied the banded stacks of hundreds. Ninety-two.
He’d just collected nine hundred and twenty thousand American benjamins. Adding that to the three million or so he collected from the casino and the four hundred thousand he’d been paid during the last rendezvous with the Ivanovs, he had almost four and a half million dollars in cash.
There were roughly four hundred and fifty little stacks of bills which Lucky crammed into three medium-large duffel bags. The duffel bags piled next to Shanahan in the back seat of Lucky’s pickup.
“Well, Shanahan, I lived up to my name. Lucky.”
“By the ends of today, they’ll remember ya as Unlucky,” Shanahan growled.
“What in your drunk mind could possibly give you any idea of escape? You look pretty stuck, in my opinion.”
“Yer opinion doeshn’t count.”
“Life ain’t what it used to be—huh, Shanahan. I’m awfully sorry about Jessie. I never wanted to hurt her.”
Shanahan’s muscles tightened as he tried lunging forward, still restrained by the seatbelts.
“Sorry, lieutenant. It’s not like I enjoy killing people. I just do what has to be done. Like I said, we’re all gonna die someday. There’s no God in heaven looking down on me. No offense if you’re the religious-type. It’s a dog-eat-dog world. You know, maybe I’ll even let you live. Just to prove it to you.”
“That’d be a muhstake.”
“You’re probably right. Thanks for pointing that out. We should be to the airport soon enough. And then you can tell me if there’s a God or not.”
◆◆◆
Jessie awoke on Saturday to the sound of silence and the afternoon sun.
She’d made it back to her home during the night, but found everyone and everything gone. There was no furniture in her house, except in Zaki’s room.
After realizing her family wasn’t there, she’d hoped to get her phone and call him. But nothing was where it should’ve been. She couldn’t find it.
Crying hadn’t helped, and neither did infinitely pacing around in uncertainty while she waited hours for them to return. Finally, she had slumped to the floor in Zaki’s room and shut her eyes for a moment.
Her only solace was trusting in Shanahan to keep Zaki safe.
After getting dressed and eating a piece of toast, she accepted that they weren’t comi
ng back. They weren’t coming home. They wouldn’t find her there waiting for them.
Even though she had no phone and no way to contact anyone, Jessie’s purse still hung from the hook in the closet. It was still full of credit and debit cards.
She grabbed it, about to drive to the closest gas station and find some way to start making phone calls. But before she left, she went back to Shanahan’s gun safe in the closet. She knew the combination. The code was Zaki’s birthday.
Reaching inside, Jessie pulled out a 9 X 19 Glock 17. It was the same issue that the sheriff’s deputies carried in Pima County.
Jessie knew how to shoot. She’d learned when she was a child. And Shanahan had encouraged her to go to the gun range with him, every so often, for target practice.
She’d reluctantly accompanied him. But now, as she stood there looking at the weapon, she glimpsed security in her knowledge. It barely made a sound as she dropped it in her purse.
Halfway to her front door she stopped and stared.
Someone was there. She could see their shadow against the wall, through the narrow window beside the door.
She reached for the gun as the person knocked, softly, yet purposefully.
“Who’s there?” she called out, her voice shaking.
“My name is Sandy,” came the response. “Sandy Cannon. Please, do open the door, Mrs. Shanahan. I have some information that I think you would like to know.”
Jessie knew all about Sandy and Galaxsea. She didn’t release her hold on the gun as she opened the door.
“And what information would that be?”
“Mrs. Shanahan, you’re looking as lovely as ever. Perhaps a bit distraught, but absolutely splendid. I thought I should tell you…I know where your brave, wonderful husband is.”
◆◆◆
Shanahan shuffled over the concrete, stumbling a little, toward an airport hangar. Still in cuffs, Lucky Luke marched behind him at gunpoint. The airport was virtually empty, with miles of hangars lined up in a row like units at a storage facility, but larger.