by Matt James
Jack raised an eyebrow.
The elder opened his eyes. “Plus, you have no car.” He gave Jack a gum-filled smile. “It’s kind of obvious that you need a ride.”
Shaking his head, Jack rounded the front of the pickup and tried the passenger door handle. It didn’t budge.
“Um, a little help?”
Inch by inch, the old-timer leaned over to his right and slowly, cautiously, reached for the door lock knob. Then, after fumbling around with it for what felt like a month, he finally snagged it in between his index and middle fingers. The motion of pulling it up, combined with the angle he sat at, caused the man to tip over and collide with Jack as he entered the cab.
Jack clumsily helped the elderly man back into his seat while simultaneously getting into his. Together, the two men caught their breath and sat back.
“I’m Jack, by the way. And thank you.”
“You may call me Chaska.” He shrugged. “Mostly because it’s my name.” He grumbled and smacked his floppy lips together as if he was tasting something. “I’ve always liked Charles too.”
“Charles?”
He turned away from Jack and stared out the windshield. “Mmhmm, Charles. It’s a nice name.”
Jack had no idea what to make of this guy. Was he messing with him, or did he genuinely have that big of a screw loose?
They sat for a moment. The inaction in the middle of a desperate stretch caused Jack’s leg to bounce feverishly. He wasn’t usually an impatient person. Right now, he defined it.
“Can we, you know, get going?”
“Sure can, friend. Where we headed?”
Jack sat straight, his resolve returning. “The Black Buffalo.”
“That place?” He added an incoherent grumble.
“What’s wrong with it?” Jack asked, hoping Chaska could give him some juicy details.
Chaska’s eyes narrowed. “They overcooked my steak two summers ago.”
Definitely not ‘juicy.’
With that, Chaska checked all of his mirrors four times. Jack was close to pulling his hair out. Satisfied that he wasn’t going to cause a pile-up in the empty parking lot, the local nodded and gripped the key in his steering column. Jack rubbed his face in disbelief. Of all the people that could’ve helped him, this was the guy that came to his rescue? Chaska fumbled with the key three times before finally getting it started. The truck barely croaked to life after spurting and almost dying. It was shaking so hard that Jack thought he lost a filling. He reached for the ‘Oh, Shit! Handle’ but couldn’t find it. It had been torn free some time ago.
“Just great.”
Surprisingly, Chaska had a lead foot, which should’ve scared Jack worse than it did. But he was in a rush, so he kept his mouth shut and his sphincter tight. On five separate occasions, the old-timer almost sideswiped another vehicle. Luckily, he was a master in the art of overcorrection.
“Woah!” Jack cried, smacking his head on his window.
Shaking, he decided to make small talk with his driver. He figured that he should know more about the man who was about to get him killed—just in case he needed to come back as a ghost and recount what had happened.
“So, Chaska, huh?”
“Mmhmm.”
“What’s it mean?”
No answer.
Jack blew out a long breath and squeezed his hands shut. “What. Does. Your. Name. M—”
“It means, ‘Eldest Son,’” Chaska replied, looking confused. “I already told you that, John.”
Jack rolled his eyes. ‘Eldest Son’ is right.
“Jack,” he corrected. “My name is Jack.”
“That’s what I said!” he shouted, having to speak over a trio of blaring car horns. He had just nearly taken three vehicles off the road.
As soon as Jack was done fearing for his life, he tossed his head back in frustration. He wasn’t going to get any useful information out of this guy. He probably didn’t even remember anything pertinent anyway.
Even with Chaska driving like a maniac, Jack could tell that their twenty-mile jaunt to Cascade was going to take a while. Every time Chaska changed lanes, he would speed up until he got pinned behind another driver. No matter the vehicle—a big rig or a Prius—Chaska got right on top of them. Once he did, he would slow down and do it again and again. Their high speeds were negated by Chaska’s poor decision making.
“I should’ve driven,” Jack mumbled.
“What?”
He glanced at Chaska. “Nothing. It was nothing…”
“That wasn’t nothing… Not unless you speak to the wind too?”
“Sorry, buddy,” Jack replied, “but I don’t ‘speak to the wind.’”
Chaska grumbled something again.
But you sure as hell do.
“If you do not speak to the wind, why wear those?” He pointed to Jack’s beaded bracelets.
“They were a gift…from a friend.”
“Mmhmm.”
Jack groaned as they nearly clipped a second semi-truck. He felt his stomach twist and then drop as their right-hand tires left the road and found dirt. Impassively, Chaska corrected and nearly sent them into a car. His foot found the brake before he collided with the sedan. With Jack about to puke, they sped away to, once more, a cacophony of car horns.
He sighed. “I’m gonna die.”
“Mmhmm,” Chaska agreed matter-of-factly. “All of our journeys must end sooner or later.”
Black Buffalo Resort and Casino
Cascade, Wyoming
The truck’s passenger-side tires rode up onto the curb with a jolt. Chaska quickly yanked on the steering wheel and pulled off, skidding to an abrupt stop directly outside the casino. If Jack hadn’t been wearing his seatbelt, he would’ve been thrown headfirst into the windshield. The constriction on his chest made him gasp and lose his wind. He coughed hard, struggling to unbuckle himself. When he did, he flung open his door and fell out onto the sidewalk like a drunkard. Simultaneously, a squat woman exited the enormous, rectangular black building and paused, looking down at Jack. Her face was filled with disapproval.
He met her gaze and slurred his speech. “Ready for round two?” He finished it off by holding up three fingers.
She sneered in disgust and marched off.
Slowly, and while under Chaska’s unblinking stare, Jack picked himself up off the concrete. “Thanks for the lift, Chaska.” He leaned inside the open door, offering Chaska his hand. “Let’s never do it again.”
They shook. Jack was stunned by how firm the old-timer’s grip was. Eddy’s handshake had been the same. It seemed to be a common trait with people around here. Everyone got their hands dirty in these parts, even the elderly community as it were. Jack would probably be the same way if he were lucky enough to live that long. He would never stop to smell the roses, even if it was just to piss off the Grim Reaper. He would cackle wildly, shaking his fist and shouting, “Not today, Death!”
Jack gave Chaska a small salute and turned toward the casino. Just like he had done back at Devils Tower, Jack craned his neck back and gawked at the scope of the place. The building was massive, clashing horribly with the surrounding infrastructure and landscape. Creed had built the business to stand out. The Black Buffalo made the rest of Cascade look severely outdated and underwhelming to look at. Everything else around him was either painted in soft earth tones or built entirely of red brick. The casino was the definition of an eyesore, in Jack’s opinion. The same had been said about the Las Vegas Raiders’ stadium, though Jack kind of liked the design. That thing looked more like a jet-black alien mothership than a football field. But everybody knew it was there.
And that’s what mattered most.
The tall front doors were nearly twenty feet from Jack. His arrival had no doubt been witnessed by security through the lenses of the black domed cameras he spotted above the ingress. There was no sneaking in and out. Jack stepped up to the entryway and was met by a gust of air as the overhead sensor tripped, op
ening the doors for him. A second entrance greeted him fifteen feet further ahead. The small foyer was intended to keep the outside elements, cold or warm, out.
Passing through the next set of doors, Jack was enthralled by the over-the-top entry. Those who entered and exited the casino had to do so while passing beneath a gargantuan, thirty-foot-tall statue of an onyx buffalo. In awe of the animal, he shuffled forward, dragging his hand across one of its front legs. He was surprised to discover that it was made of real igneous stone. It looked as if the entire thing was!
“Geez,” he said, “talk about ‘sparing no expense.’” But unlike John Hammond, Bartholomew Creed wasn’t in the business of resurrecting prehistoric reptiles.
At least, I hope he’s not.
“Impressed?”
Jack stopped. He recognized the speaker’s voice.
A man half a foot taller than him stepped around the rear leg of the animal. His bearded face was like stone, and his eyes were on fire.
“Zietz.”
“Correct.” He didn’t physically react.
Jack looked around the busy lobby. It was as smart a place to have their chat as any. Neither man would make a move with so many witnesses around. But it was evident that a part of their agreement had been broken.
“Where’s your boss?”
If it were possible, Zietz stood taller at the mention of Creed. “He won’t be joining us. He sends his apologies.”
Jack was going to argue with Zietz but decided to play it cool. He was, currently, living a bluff. Jack needed to keep playing the role of a person like Zietz himself. That didn’t mean that he couldn’t have a little bit of fun too.
“Roosevelt’s letter,” Zietz’s right eye twitched at its mention, “you want it?”
“I do.”
“Why?”
Zietz looked even madder. “That is none of your concern.”
Jack shrugged. “Fine by me, but that means you won’t be able to settle your debt.”
Zietz flinched, which meant Hawk was right about the investors.
Jack crossed his arms. “I want to meet Creed.”
“No.”
He shrugged. “Okay, then I’m outta here.”
Jack turned but was stopped by a massive hand. It gripped his shoulder but didn’t do anything else. Zietz released Jack as he faced him again. The two men sized the other up. But Jack decided to take a listen from Bull. He was going to be patient and make Zietz make the first move. The casino was no doubt recording their encounter. Under no circumstance would Jack throw the first punch.
“Are you armed?” Zietz asked.
“You’re damn right,” Jack replied. “And no, I’m not handing over my gun, if that’s what you’re about to ask.”
“You don’t make the rules.”
Jack grinned. “I do if you want what I have.”
Zietz opened his mouth to speak but was cut off.
“Look… Either we do this my way, or I leave with the letter, and contact a few of my friends downtown and have them pay you a visit instead.” Jack stepped forward. “Kidnapping is a very serious crime.”
Jack was purposely laying it on thick. He understood that Zietz was an intelligent guy. He knew what he was doing. He was a former cop, after all. The man operated both out in the open and deep in the shadows. You could do that in small towns like Cascade, especially if you had the right people on your payroll.
Which I’m sure they do.
Zietz sighed and gave in. “Follow me.”
9
Somewhere deep in the bowels of the Black Buffalo, Bull and Hawk watched a noiseless exchange between Jack and Zietz unfold. The Durhams were being held in the casino’s basement security office. The wall in front of them featured a dozen flat-screen monitors. Beneath them sat a man with a waistline as impressive as the array. He also wore a set of thick earphones. Unlike Zietz, or even Gavin and the Spaghetti Duo, this one wasn’t hired to use his fists. He looked like more of a traditional security guard than a hired goon—not that all guards were as out of shape as this one.
The man’s hands flew over his keyboard. It was plain to see that he was more than just a guard. The way he handled the computers told Bull he was probably an IT whiz too. He could’ve effortlessly subdued the man if he wasn’t tied to a metal chair. It was similar to what Jack had described after his incident in Poland. Even the guys back here in the States used thick, heavy-duty zip ties as handcuffs. It was the second time that Hawk had been restrained by them in one day. Gavin had used them on him earlier.
They watched as Jack turned away from Zietz. The bigger man reached out and grabbed Jack’s shoulder. Bull half-expected his friend to deck Zietz out of instinct but was relieved when he didn’t. Bull breathed easier when Jack calmly turned back around. His posture was relaxed. Jack was making sure that he didn’t look like he was a threat. Zietz was a loose cannon. Jack seemed to understand that. The two men stood still and peacefully spoke to one another. After a few minutes of dialogue, Zietz spun on a heel and led Jack away from the entrance.
No.
The heavyset security guard spun around in his chair, nearly spilling himself to the floor. His shirt was stained and wrinkled. It was plain to see that hygiene was as elusive as Nessie to him. He pushed up his thick, goggle-like glasses and snorted out a laugh, speaking too loudly when he did. It was a common problem when one sported noise-canceling headphones. “Your friend is done for!”
Hawk protested the statement, once more, mumbling through his gag.
Bull stayed quiet, however. He looked away from the thug and returned his attention to the screens.
You don’t know Jack the way I do.
Zietz led Jack to a glass elevator built into the center of the right-hand wall of the casino. Two powerfully built guards stood on either side of it. It was obvious they were private security details. Apparently, Creed thought of himself as some kind of big shot, so much so, that he gave himself a flashy, public grand entrance. It was deliberately out in the open for everyone to see. He was a god here.
More like a demon, Jack thought, taking it all in.
Jack spotted a line of mirrored windows high above the casino floor. Bingo! He stepped inside the lift and looked around. “Kinda ostentatious, if you ask me.”
“No one asked.” Zietz folded his hands behind his back. “And Mr. Creed gets what he wants. Always.”
The current mob-like setting was unlike anything Jack had ever been a part of before. He had dealt with several nasty people over the years, even his share of ornery animals, but never something like this. He knew he was in grave peril, and yet, he couldn’t help but chuckle softly.
“Does something amuse you?”
Jack shrugged. “Yes, but I don’t think you’d find it funny.”
Zietz turned and gazed down at him. “And how do you know that?”
“Call it a hunch,” Jack replied, stepping up to the glass partition.
He looked out over the shrinking casino floor. Even from this height, the buffalo was lost in the scope of the fifteen-story room. Its design reminded him of a bigger version of Disney’s Contemporary Hotel. Jack’s attention was pulled back to the situation at hand by a soft chime. They had arrived at their destination.
Both men turned in unison and faced the double doors as they smoothly slid apart. Jack kept his distance while he followed Zietz, just in case the big man decided to get frisky. Worst case, Jack would pull his gun and shoot him if it meant saving his own life. But he still needed to be careful. Any action on his part could be spun into him being the aggressor. Someone could easily manipulate the camera in the corner of the room. Nowadays, video was simple to doctor.
The space beyond was a sizable waiting room, complete with a receptionist and a cucumber-infused water station. It was slightly rectangular and about forty feet in length. The middle of the room was filled with immaculate leather furniture. The waiting room’s centerpiece was a thick table carved out of a single tree stump.
/> “That must’ve been one big ass tree,” Jack said, admiring it.
“Redwood,” Zietz explained.
Jack looked around and scratched his head. “How’d you get it in here?”
But before he received an answer, he heard a door behind him open. Jack stopped and peeked over his shoulder. Two burly men stomped out of a previously veiled entryway. Jack was impressed to see that it lay flush with the wooden panels on the wall when it shut. There wasn’t even a handle to give it away.
“Nifty.”
Dumb and Dumber flanked Jack from either side, slowly closing in on him. Zietz was twenty feet further into the room before he spun and faced him. When he did, he was holding a sound-suppressed pistol in his right hand.
Jack raised his hands, keeping them at shoulder height. He was a quick draw, but there was no way he could pull free his FNS-9C, properly aim and fire it without being shot himself. So, he left his firearm alone and waited to see what happened next.
“We don’t want to kill you, Mr. Reilly.”
Jack nervously laughed. “Why don’t I believe you?”
“Because,” Zietz replied, “if we did, you’d already be dead. Now, come with us quietly.”
Dumb and Dumber closed in, producing a tool of the trade that Jack hated—zip cuffs.
Ugh, not again.
He relaxed his stance and allowed the pair to get within an arm’s reach of him. Jack broke his own rule and acted first. He drove his right elbow into Dumb’s face, clubbing Dumber’s groin with his left fist a second later. Dumb stumbled backward while his buddy staggered forward. Jack used the pair’s momentum against them. He snagged Dumber’s nearest hand, the one with the zip tie, and yanked him off-balance. They each collided with Dumb, and when they did, Jack used the confusion to pull the cuff tight around both of their wrists. He shoved them back and ripped the other zip tie out of Dumb’s hand and ducked to avoid a wild swing. In doing so, Jack simply lashed the two men’s legs together.
It was actually kind of comical to watch them try to pursue Jack as if they were competing in an uncoordinated three-legged race. Luckily, the room was big enough that Jack could side-step away from them with ease. Mostly, he was trying to keep the duo in between him and Zietz. If Jack lashed out and scored too many winning blows, the pair would drop, and Jack would be in line with Zietz’s pistol.