The fence wasn’t much of a barrier, but it was a nuisance for Weasel—one loose strand about knee level, too high to drag his package over and too low for him to squeak under. He pulled his burden as close to the fence as possible and stepped over, letting go of the rug for only a second, hoping it would stay closed. And it did stay closed for a blink. Then it flopped open.
Weasel was past cussing. He reached under the wire and pulled the edges together. He went to his knees, because he was only a couple of feet from the edge now and he didn’t want to lurch backwards and lose control.
Inch by inch he pulled the bundle under the wire. He could just roll it into the hole now. He got the package to the edge and was about to kick it in when he realized that Steve’s wallet was probably still in his pocket. Would it matter? The odds of anyone coming around and deciding to investigate the bottom of this mine shaft were not good. But in Weasel’s world, it was WWTBD—what would the boss do? She would want all of his ID. He knee-walked as close to the package and the edge as he dared. He opened the rug and saw that he was going to have to reach under the soggy half corpse for the pockets or roll it over. Rolling it towards him and away from the edge seemed the safest and least disgusting choice. To do this he had to get almost over the corpse and pull it to him. Was this the longest day of his life? He sighed, edged close to the half body and grabbed the belt loops of the slacks and pulled it towards him. At the same moment, the old rock and dirt that had been weakened for the last thirty some-odd years cracked and gave way. The bottom fell out, and the edge of the shaft, the rug and the half of Steve swooshed down. Weasel felt like Wile E. Coyote for a second, as time slowed and he hung in space and then rushed headlong after the debris. He was so surprised that he didn’t even scream.
Chapter 21
Cami and the kids did not get home until almost five thirty. She and her mom knew the James family fairly well. Cami had gone to school with a couple of their children, so when they got the news, they had stopped to comfort them on the way out of town.
Cami had managed with the help of her three very busy kids to avoid talking to her mom about why they had come and spent the night. Then with the murders, even Cami had almost forgotten. Her mom was occupied with helping some ladies from the church coordinate the food for after the funeral, and she was so upset that she just wanted to see Cami and the kids into the house and head home.
Cami watched her drive off and then went to the front door, noticing a crucifix above it. Farley met her at the front door wagging his ass in enthusiasm. He might be Tom’s dog, but he knew who ran the kitchen. The girls filed in after her. “Farley! Farley!” Both girls hugged the dog like their long lost brother, and when Cami set down Landon, he tried to dodge Farley’s tongue.
“Girls, please put your stuff in your room and watch Landon for me,” Cami said, as she walked into the living room. The place looked undisturbed, except for loose paper on the floor; the smell of extinguished matches and beeswax hung in the air. And God it was hot! Why hadn’t Tom put the AC on?
She glanced in the kitchen, noticing the back porch door was closed. She tried to ignore that trickling feeling of fear in her belly.
Tom was passed out on the bed, arms crossed as if he were in an old-time funeral, her rosary clenched in his hand, its long strands wrapped around his wrist. He was sleeping so still she was scared for one crazy second that he was dead. Then she saw his eyelids twitching and released her breath.
She wanted to lie next to him and hold him and even more she wanted to know what happened, but she resisted and let him sleep. She pulled the door closed quietly. She would have the kids play outside while she made dinner. Tom probably hadn’t eaten since she had last seen him. He was always bad about that—skipping breakfast and then lunch and sometimes he would have a couple of beers for dinner. She didn’t know how he could run on nothing, often while doing hard physical labor. She shook her head. Men were different creatures all right, especially hers.
When the kids were outside and she was back in the kitchen, she eyed the back porch. She wasn’t going to check it out until she talked to Tom; there was nothing there that she needed anyway. She turned the AC on and began to prepare a cold supper of sandwiches, sliced fruit and a salad. The heat was so oppressive that she didn’t feel much like eating, but the kids and Tom needed to have something. Farley sat and watched her, not begging, just using his powerful Border Collie stare, knowing how well it worked on Cami and her distribution of treats.
She had dinner ready in about fifteen minutes and went to wake Tom. He had not moved, and now she noticed the dark circles under his eyes and that he was wearing the same clothes he’d had on since Sunday morning. She wouldn’t wake him; she wrapped up a plate for him and put it in the fridge. She and the kids would picnic under the porch on the cool east side of the house. They could be so noisy, especially Landon. Tom needed to get rested, because with all of the strange and horrible things going on, she had a feeling he would need it. She kept trying to avoid it, but her thoughts kept returning to the wall of blackness that had come for her on the basement stairs. She remembered the smell of sulfur, its slow inevitable approach, the feeling of evil that it emanated. Pure hatred. It reminded her of what you might see on some cheesy B movie; it wasn’t something you would expect to find in the rural area she lived in. Her life was peaceful—boring, her college friends would say; they had their careers in the fast-paced Bay area. But now in the space of less than forty eight hours her husband had shot a devil worshipper, her house had become possessed and two of their dear neighbors had been gunned down in their home. She wanted to doubt the Jameses’ murders were connected to what had happened to Tom and her, but all of this unheard-of activity out of the blue? Cami hurried to the living room window and checked on the kids. Landon was on the lawn trying to touch one of the cats, but the cat was well versed on babies and kept a few feet ahead of him, stopping now and then to wash its coat and then squirting out of Landon’s range at the last second. The girls were close by in their little play house. It looked like they were pretending to cook something—mud pies probably. Cami decided she had better bring them their dinner before they offered Landon some of their wares. He was always willing to try something new.
She went back to the kitchen and put everything into the picnic basket that they had just used yesterday. She thought about Tom’s .22 that he kept high in a cupboard on the back porch—the same one he had used on the devil worshipper. She shook her head. How could she defend her family? She could shoot, yes, but she wasn’t ready to start packing a weapon around her kids.
As it turned out, Tom did not wake up for dinner and Cami left him alone, even though the need to talk to him was eating her up. At ten p.m. she finally gave up hope of conversation and crawled into bed next to him. He pulled her close to him, kissed the back of her neck and said, “I love you.”
But when she said, “I love you too—are you doing okay?” He was as silent as someone in deep sleep. She sighed and relaxed. Tomorrow she would know more … probably more than she wanted.
Chapter 22
Ever since Uncle’s call Susan had been on edge; she had gone through various scenarios in her head. It was Weasel dead. It was Steve dead. Maybe neither was dead—it was one of them hurt badly, but this one seemed just wishful thinking. And how she hoped it was Weasel, if one of her killers had to be dead. Not that she was attached to either of them, but Steve, the big, obese glutton, was a leader and could think on his feet. Weasel was slippery, fast, and stealthy; he was an unmenacing presence that most people ignored to their own doom. As the clock ticked onward to seven and then eight Susan could stand pacing and worrying no longer and called in a second team to drive as far as Hawthorne to see if they might have broken down on the side of the road somewhere out of cell phone range. She knew this was a long shot, but it felt better to do something. She asked this team—Jake and Billy—to call her once they got to Hawthorne even if they had to use a landline. It would take them
five hours to get to Hawthorne and they would be going slow, especially on the way back, looking for the Crown Victoria off to the side of the road in the dark. Steve and Weasel knew that avoiding people and attention was best after a killing went badly. They probably had no idea that they had caused so much publicity.
Susan felt better once she had the second team in motion, but staying in her condo pacing the floor was going to drive her mad. She put on some running clothes and headed out for a five miler. She was out the door at nine, as the last of twilight was dwindling. She was never afraid when she went out to run, even though she knew that being a small, good-looking woman in a skimpy running outfit made her a target. Uncle had sent her and Ash to many self-defense classes and they had both earned black belts in Karate. They were both licensed to carry concealed weapons; although the little outfit she was wearing now had no place to conceal it. But she had never felt the need to carry a gun when she was out recreating … she was protected by the One. It wasn’t much different from the average person’s guardian angel she supposed; however, her angels were dark ones. She remembered one time when she was out jogging—near the edge of where her good neighborhood began to merge into a seedier one. A carload of Mexican teenagers in a low rider had started following her, calling out invitations and obscene suggestions. She had turned and offered them her middle finger.
This enraged them enough that they jumped out of the car and ran after her. As she was turning to defend herself, she saw that they had stopped twenty feet from her and were making the sign of the cross and staring at something that must have been very large—maybe ten feet tall. She could not see it, but she smelled a faint, musky odor that reminded her of a billy goat she had seen as a child. The teenagers stumbled backwards and into their vehicle shaking their holy medals and making entreaties to their god and holy mother. She had laughed out loud as they sped away. No, the One had plans for her. Had Ash surpassed his usefulness? Susan could not guess why his dark angels had not protected him. To believe that the cowboy might have had a more powerful force looking out for him was not something she wanted to consider.
Her muscles fueled by frustration and anxiety, Susan moved through the roaster oven air of Vegas easily and soon came to a large park that she usually only saw on her longer runs. She would loop the park and head home. Her mind turned away from thoughts of Ash and the cowboy and she began to study the people in the park. The park was a true oasis in the endless concrete of the neighborhood of huge, Spanish-style stucco homes. The green grass and palm trees added to that oasis feeling, and in the center of the park was a large circular fountain with three dolphins at play, spouting water. The city had installed another water feature a couple of years ago, an interactive fountain that randomly shot gentle pillars of water into the air for a few seconds and then retreated to rise in another spot. Children were attracted to this feature like moths to a flame.
It always amazed her how parents let their children roam in this city. She guessed it was the same in many cities and towns across the country, the parents both working jobs to make ends meet, leaving the children with lots of time on their own. It was all the easier for her and the group. She had never taken a child from this park; it was too close to her condo. But she had seen how easy it would be, a young teenage girl was sitting off by herself under a tree. No doubt morose over her terrible life in her upper middle class neighborhood or because of some boy breaking her heart on social media, or over there a three-year-old boy that kept walking away from his older sister who was trying to have a conversation with her friends. Susan watched all of this from habit. She loved taking kids—swiping, they called it in the group. Her favorite part was when they were bound and gagged and finally realized they were not going to get away. Susan fed on their fear and loved to see the terror in their eyes. And that was just the beginning … she pulled her thoughts back towards home. She headed into the condo, her mind and body energized by the idea that she might know something soon.
Weasel rubbed his eyes. He could not remember where he was, but he was in pain. No stub your toe pain or dull aching back pain, but snappy, lightning bolt pain that yanked him in and out of consciousness.
His glasses were gone, and his skin was damp with … blood? Or sweat? Whatever the dampness, it was turning the thick layer of dirt on his face into mud. It could be a mixture of blood and sweat, he thought, because it was hot as hell.
He could not move his left leg or arm, hell; he couldn’t even feel them though he was on his left side. His eyes were open, but he could see nothing. His stomach clamped with fear—was he blind too? Gradually he realized that if he looked straight up he could sense a lessening of the darkness, and as he looked hard enough he thought he could see a star. This didn’t help much, because he still had no idea where he was and what had happened to him. It frightened him, because it was such a foreign setting. Too quiet, too dark, and stars? He lived in Vegas where the only lights in the sky were created from the endless line of aircraft flying into the city.
He groped around with his right hand and felt rocks and dirt behind him. His head and upper body were on something softer though, and he reached his hand forward to puzzle it out. Had anyone been within five hundred yards of the old mine shaft they would have heard the scream of horror and dismay as Weasel’s memory returned and his hand told him he rested on the severed lower torso of his old partner Steve.
Chapter 23
By Tuesday afternoon, photos of the Jameses had been released. Susan, who had the misfortune of being in Uncle’s office at the time, saw the little news brief roll across the bottom of the widescreen that was in the bar area of the room. Uncle saw it too. “Well, at long last. Let’s see if any of this fucking mess turned out.”
Billy and Jake, bleary-eyed and exhausted from their fruitless search for Steve and Weasel, turned their attention to the TV as Uncle turned up the volume.
“—it’s a murder mystery in this tiny community of ranching people. Two beloved members of the James family gunned down in cold blood in a type of murder that hasn’t been seen since the Old West.” The beautiful black reporter was dressed in a white summer suit, looking totally out of place as she stood gesturing in the ranch yard. “Investigators say that Garly James, sixty seven”—now a photo of a lean, old man with silver hair and a cowboy hat came on the screen—“was gunned down on the walk in his front yard—”
Uncle hit the mute. The story continued, flashing a photo of an older woman that was the rancher’s wife. “Unfucking believable. Susan, what in the hell happened? Our men are missing … possibly dead, or who knows?” He was so angry that he had turned pale as he stalked back and forth past the big windows looking down on Vegas.
“I mean—those are the wrong people—correct?” He glared at Susan and she slowly raised her head and met his gaze. Her eyes glowered in her skull with hate and anger; she nodded imperceptibly. Uncle turned to Jake and Billy. “Guys, go get some rest. Who knows what happened to Steve and Weasel—I’ll call you if something comes up.”
The men left quickly. While it might be amusing to watch the two battle, kind of like an angry scorpion versus a hungry tarantula, it might be risky to be in same room. Billy and Jake had worked for Uncle for almost seven years and feared him the way you would a lethal weapon, knowing what it was capable of. Susan they feared more; she was as likely to turn on a person as a mad dog might turn on its owner. She should be labeled with a question mark.
When the door closed, he returned to his desk and sat down. Susan still glared at him, and he wondered again why it had to be Ash. Ash had possessed a menacing appearance, but he had never feared him the way he feared Susan. Perhaps it was because Ash had always known he would succeed him and was willing to bide his time? Susan was a powerholic and was drunk on what little she had and craving the whole vial that was his empire. She had always been so, even as a child. Had Ash’s shadow always been on her? He suspected had they been twins in the womb, Susan would have found a way to strangle
Ash. Now with Ash gone, there was only him in her way. “Do you have anything to say? Any solutions for this bucket of shit you have mopped across our horizon?”
Susan at last looked away. “No. I’ll take out the cowboy myself though—later. And his family.”
“The fucking cowboy is the least of my concerns!” He slammed his fist onto his desk and Susan jumped. “Do you have any idea what a fucking mess this is going to be if the casino is linked to the murders of two upstanding citizens in Northern Nevada? That ain’t Vegas! I know a few people there in Reno, but that ain’t Vegas, sweetheart.” He iced the last words in a whisper.
“Thanks to the media circus, this one isn’t going to die down and blow away. If we had Steve and Weasel back, we might be able to do something—but who knows where they are—out there with a car registered to the corporation, probably with their regular IDs on them, because they thought this was just a little pissant, easy as pie hit.” He sat back in his chair.
Susan bit her lip; she had screwed up worse that she could have imagined. She just wanted to go home to her condo to think. There had to be some way out of this, or at least a way to minimize the consequences.
“Get out.” He spoke quietly, his chin resting on his chest. “I’ll call you when I need you.” He watched her leave the office, and when the door closed behind her, he buzzed his secretary. “Set up a monitor on my niece. I need to know what she’s doing. Special attention to anything she does within the corporation. Computers, phone calls, everything.”
“Want a tail on her too, sir?”
“No. Not yet. But go ahead and tap her cell and her phones.” He did all this on impulse. Susan had grown bold and careless in the short days since Ash had passed. He wasn’t going to have her stupidity or greed for power interfere with the corporation. He had worked too damn hard for too damn long to see it pissed away.
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