Tahoe Killshot

by Todd Borg

  To one side were two rows of TV screens, six across. Each screen showed a different picture of the casino floor. The pictures changed every few seconds. Below the bank of screens was a long desk. Another security guard was on the floor in front of the desk. Blood was coming from his temple. I grabbed a phone and dialed 0.

  “Front desk,” a woman answered.

  “Two security men are wounded in the video monitor room on the basement level,” I said between panting breaths. “Call an ambulance.”

  The sound of receding footsteps came from behind another fire door. I hung up the phone and pulled the door open. Another stairwell.

  I went up three steps at a time. The staircase climbed into the center of the hotel. Several flights up, I went through a door into a large, dark, horizontal space. A metal walkway forked into two walkways going left and right, one of which forked again and went around to the side. The dimly lit space was laced with steel trusses and ductwork and cables.

  I was above the casino ceiling, a hidden floor reached only through unmarked access points. Catwalks allowed security personnel to look down on gamblers from above. I realized that the gold and silver metallic panels that decorated the casino ceiling were actually one-way mirrors. The ceiling below me had long rows of angled glass. Mounted along these strips were video cameras. They pointed down at the gaming tables and slot machines, the chip piles next to the dealers.

  Bubbles of one-way mirror protruded a foot below the ceiling height. In each bubble was a motorized camera that could swivel in any direction.

  I crouched near a duct that provided some cover. The only movement was from the gamblers below. A clink of metal came from the left. I sprinted down the catwalk toward a dark area where several of the walkways intersected.

  The walkways echoed the layout of the tables below. Structural columns and beams interrupted the grid. Short flights of stairs went up and over the big I-beams like large stepladders.

  I bounded up and over one of the step-ladder stairs. He ran down one of the diagonals. I turned, trying to cut him off.

  He stopped to see which way I was going, then went left. I ran after him. He came to the end of the catwalk where it stopped at the far wall. I had him trapped.

  Like a gymnast, he vaulted over the railing and dropped toward the ceiling below. He crashed through one of the bubbles, his feet blasting the video camera out of the way.

  The sound was like an explosion. People screamed.

  The man landed feet first on a Blackjack table. He rolled expertly, jumped to the floor and sprinted down the aisle through the panicked crowd. The shopping bag was gone, but he still held his weapon, a dark object that looked like a piece of painted wood.

  FOURTEEN

  I thought of jumping after him, but the drop was far enough that I’d likely break an ankle. I watched through the glass ceiling as he ran out the door to the street and sprinted away. I heard shouting, then a muffled crack like a car backfiring. Or a gunshot.

  There was an exit door down one of the catwalks. I stepped out into one of the employee-only corridors and let the door lock shut behind me.

  I went back down to the lobby and waited while Juan spoke with a hotel guest. Around the corner a crowd had assembled in the casino where the man had jumped through the ceiling. Several Douglas County Sheriff’s Deputies ran toward the commotion.

  “Hello, Mr. McKenna,” Juan said to me. “I saw you come from the elevators over by the crowd. Can you tell what is going on?” He leaned over the reception counter trying to see.

  “I have no idea,” I said.

  “Were you able to speak with Mr. Handkins?”

  “I was. Thank you. Can you call up to Glory’s room again? There is something I forgot to ask him.”

  Juan pressed the phone buttons and waited. “No answer,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Maybe try his room in case he went there.”

  Juan dialed. “No answer there, either.”

  “What about Glory’s crew members? Any idea where I might find them?”

  “The roadies? If you hurry you might catch them backstage or outside. They’ve had their truck backed up to the loading dock all morning.”

  “Thanks.” I went through the casino and out the rear doors. The loading dock was around to the side.

  The truck was easy to spot. It had a red Peterbilt tractor. The chrome was polished to a high sheen. Swirling yellow pinstripes decorated the fenders. Each pinstripe loop had a little airbrushed scene in it. Storms predominated. I wondered what Turner would have thought of an 80,000 pound, rolling, metallic canvas. Probably would have traded his father for the opportunity.

  The trailer was stainless steel. In flowing red script, ten feet high and forty feet long, was the word Glory. There were curlicues in the letters. Each enclosed loop featured another storm.

  The trailer was backed up to the loading dock. The roadies were hard at work, pushing carts with large black components. Amps, mixing boards, huge speaker cabinets, recording equipment.

  There were four men and one woman, all wearing black leather jackets and ratty blue jeans. They were in their twenties and collectively had enough metallic body piercings to interest a scrap metal dealer.

  I walked up and said, “Afternoon. My name is Owen McKenna. I wonder if I could ask you a question.”

  Two of the guys were pushing a four-wheeled dolly loaded with black instrument cases. They ignored me.

  I turned toward the woman and gave her my most charming smile.

  She seemed to look through me. “Hey, Mike,” she called out to one of the guys in the trailer. “Hold up until I get some blankets behind those cases.” She turned and trotted after them.

  The fourth guy was cinching straps around several monitor speakers. I walked over to him. “Excuse me,” I said.

  He, too ignored me.

  I put my hand on his shoulder.

  He straightened up fast, tensing his shoulders as if to strike. Then he thought better of it. “Look, mister, Tyrone called down, said not to talk to you.”

  “Answer one question and I’ll get out of here. Who’s in charge?”

  “Tyrone.”

  “I mean, who’s at the top of Glory’s show? Who does Tyrone report to?”

  “I don’t know. Glory’s company is based in Vegas. Remake Productions. Maybe somebody there.”

  I told him thanks and left.

  That evening, I called Diamond. I tried three different numbers before I got him on his cell phone.

  “Hello,” he said. His voice sounded somber and echoed like he was in an empty room.

  “It’s me,” I said. “Any news yet on the debris from the boat explosion?”

  “The, uh, lab called. What they said doesn’t fit with your description of a powerful blast.” Diamond spoke with spaces between his words like when he was first learning English.

  “They didn’t find any residue of explosive?”

  “No, they didn’t. The debris was permeated with traces of gasoline, nothing else.”

  “Then how could a thirty-three foot cruiser be reduced to splinters?” I said. “It doesn’t make sense. The shock wave alone indicates a high explosive.”

  “Sorry,” Diamond said. “The boat was old. Maybe it was infirm and ready to give it up.”

  “Even so, common sense suggests that an exploding gas tank wouldn’t do more than break up an old boat of that size. You said the largest piece left was a twelve-inch piece of trim board.”

  “The largest piece left floating. I double-checked with the lab. I asked if they could miss traces of high explosive. They said no way.” Diamond’s voice was monotone.

  “Diamond, what’s wrong?” I said.

  “We had some excitement at one of the casinos.”

  “I know,” I said, then told him how I pursued the man in the ski mask through the hidden floor above the casino. “The guy I was chasing, he seemed dangerous,” I said. “Like a wild animal. I’m not sure how to describe him.”r />
  “Feral,” Diamond said.

  “Huh? Yeah, feral.”

  “How did you come upon the guy?” Diamond asked.

  “He’d been about to enter Glory’s suite where I’d been talking to Glory’s bodyguard, Tyrone Handkins. I don’t know if the guy I chased was after Tyrone or after me.”

  “Why would he be after you? How could he even know you were there?”

  “When I was talking to Tyrone, he reached into a briefcase and did something that looked like speed-dialing a cell phone. Maybe he was paging the guy in the ski mask. A few minutes later, Tyrone got a phone call. He said a few words including, ‘the sooner the better.’ Could be he was setting me up.”

  “Doesn’t seem like the bodyguard would immediately hire someone to ace you. But if the feral guy is trying to ace the bodyguard instead, it adds credence to the bodyguard’s claim that it was him, not Glory, who was the target up on the Flume Trail.”

  “Also would take him off the list for Faith,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Diamond said. “Did you see a weapon?” The question sounded very important.

  “Just a piece of wood.”

  “Wood? What did it look like?”

  “Like a child’s baseball bat. Eighteen or twenty inches long. Dark gray.”

  Diamond was silent a long time. “I was there,” he said. “At the casino. Not my best day.”

  “What happened?”

  “I pulled up just as the guy in the ski mask came running out of the casino. I did the routine, shouted the warning. He spun toward me as he ran and brought his arm up. He was sixty, seventy feet away. I thought he had a sawed-off shotgun.

  I felt nauseous. “The piece of wood,” I said.

  “I suppose. I warned him again, but he pointed it at me. Sure looked like a piece. I squeezed off one round and missed. Perp turned and ran down the sidewalk into a crowd.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said, trying to think of a way to reassure him. “There’ll be some hard grilling, but you’ll come through okay.”

  “Maybe not. It gets worse. My round ricocheted. Apparently, it hit a doll a little girl was carrying.”

  “What? Diamond, I’m sorry. You didn’t see the girl?”

  “No. There was no one nearby. I swear. But the next thing I knew, a woman and her little girl were there. The woman was hysterical, screaming that I almost killed them. Her daughter was crying, too.”

  “The daughter was holding a doll?”

  “No. The doll was on the sidewalk some distance away. The mother said it flew out of the girl’s hand. I was sure it couldn’t be true, so I went and got the doll and brought it over to them. I handed it to the girl to calm them down.”

  “But you said your round had hit the doll?”

  “Right. The girl took the doll, turned it over, and there was the hole. In the side of the doll’s head.”

  I was breathing hard as Diamond spoke. “It was your round?” I said.

  “They’re not sure, yet. Rockport and Linetco were there. They took the woman’s statement. Took the doll as well. There was no exit hole, and the doll rattled, so the round was still inside. It’s being tested to see if it matches my sidearm.”

  “What did the sheriff say?”

  “The usual. He put me on administrative leave.”

  “Suspension with pay?” I said.

  “Right. I’m at the mercy of the shooting review board. And however the sheriff responds to their report.”

  We were both silent.

  “I’m sorry, Diamond,” I said.

  “Me, too,” he said.

  “Let me know when you hear anything?”

  “Yeah.”

  FIFTEEN

  The following day I drove to my office to get the mail and check messages. Once again, Spot was already asleep when I pulled into the parking lot. The boat explosion and brush with hypothermia seemed to make him crave sleep. Especially if he could be in the hot sun or the hot car. I got out and opened the back door. Spot didn’t appear to notice.

  “You coming? No? Okay, get your beauty sleep.” I left Spot in the Jeep. I pulled open the door to the office building and trotted up the stairs.

  The mail that had been pushed through the slot covered a large section of floor. As I got down on my knees and was scooping it up, I bumped the Butterfly palm. It tipped over and dirt spilled across the carpet. One of those days.

  I pulled the vacuum out of the closet. The outlet by the door is so old it won’t take grounded plugs, so I stretched the cord over to another one. I was down on my hands and knees working the vacuum hose over the dirt when the door exploded inward.

  The door just missed my forehead and hit me on the shoulder. I did a shoulder roll sideways. A man stepped in. His outfit was the same as yesterday, khaki pants, white shirt, tan gloves and a ski mask.

  His weapon was a wooden section of handrail. Painted gray, no shopping bag to conceal it. He leaped toward me. Swung at my head with a ferocity that made my adrenaline squirt. I jerked sideways. The blow hit the thickest part of my trapezius muscle just down from the neckline of my shirt. It was a savage impact. Fire burned in my shoulder and numbed my right arm.

  I jumped past the roaring vacuum and grabbed my desk lamp with my left arm. He swung. I blocked with the lamp. The metal shade ripped away, dented and ringing like a bell. The bulb shattered into a cloud of glass chips. He stepped in and swung again. I moved sideways and held the lamp base up. His blow cut the tubular metal in half. The part with the switch broke away. Sparks flew. Electricity coursed up my arm. I wasn’t touching any grounding metal, so the shock wasn’t severe. I dropped it onto my desk chair.

  He came around the desk. My right arm was still numb. I grabbed the fax with my left hand and threw it at him. He slapped it away like a bug. I leaped back and to the side and got the desk between us. He feinted left, then right, trying to get me to move.

  I thought he was going to come around the desk. Instead, he suddenly bent forward at the waist, reached out and swung at my midsection.

  My reflexes were too slow. The handrail caught the front of my abdomen.

  It felt like I’d been eviscerated. I went down to the side of my desk.

  He was on me as I hit the floor. He swung toward my head. I jerked sideways. The wood hit a hammer blow to my upper arm. He swung again, and I tried to bend away. The handrail struck my abdomen like a baseball bat. I gasped. He struck me again, this time across my chest.

  I kicked my leg out to trip him. He stepped over it like he’d spent hours jumping rope. His next move was so smooth he should teach it to cops. He danced a quick step inside my calf. With my leg held in place for a fraction of a second, he swung the wood at the inside of my knee. I jerked at the last moment, but he still managed a grazing blow.

  It’s like the funny bone on the elbow only worse. I was paralyzed with pain. Electric agony shot through my leg. Muscles twitched out of control. I grabbed the leg, stifling a grunt. He swung again at my head, but my jerking made him miss. He pulled back to swing again. I rolled and got my elbow under the front corner of the desk. I heaved it up. The man stepped back and away and hit the chair. He sat down on the electrified lamp base. The desk kept tipping and fell toward him, pinning him in the chair for a moment. I knew he was getting a small shock from the lamp base under his butt. If I could ground him, the shock would be incapacitating.

  The vacuum was still running. It had a metal housing. I rolled over and grabbed it.

  The man pushed the desk off of his lap. Then, muscles jerking with mild shock, he tried to get off the chair and broken lamp. I gritted my teeth against the pain in my knee and hurled the vacuum up and through the air toward the man. He reached his arms up protectively and caught it, his hands gripping the metal housing.

  It was like he had a seizure. He jerked and thrashed. I pulled myself up to my feet. He jerked so hard, the chair fell over sideways. The vacuum fell away and the man slumped away from the electrified lamp. I limped over toward him an
d kicked at the wooden handrail. It flew across my office. I was bending down to pull off his ski mask when he kicked up hard. His foot caught me in the groin. I bent like a pretzel, unable to breathe. It took all my concentration to reach across the desk and grab the phone cord. The man was standing up, staggering. I swung the phone by the cord, and it wrapped around his neck and hit him on the head.

  He’d had enough. He ran out of the office, ripping the phone off his head and out of the wall at the same time.

  I fell over onto the floor, pain ripping through my body, and I lay there listening to the vacuum run.

  SIXTEEN

  I sucked air in short, panting breaths. Each tiny expansion of my lungs felt like I was ripping chest muscles. Every bone was a sharpened instrument, piercing through red-hot, swollen muscle.

  Eventually, I moved an arm. The shoulder joint squeaked. Liquid seemed to ooze through the space between the bones. I bent a leg a few degrees and dug down with the edge of my shoe. Straightening the leg pushed me forward a couple inches. I inched my way toward the vacuum. I felt for the cord and yanked it out of the wall.

  With the vacuum off I heard the loud beeping of a phone off the hook. But he’d ripped it out of the wall.

  The fax.

  I crawled toward the beeping. I pulled the handset off the machine and dialed Street at her insect lab.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Street, it’s me.” My voice was a rough whisper.

  “Owen, what’s wrong?”

  “Come to my office. Call Diamond.”

  “Do you need an ambulance?”

  “No. But maybe Doc Lee can come over.”

  “Are you certain? Owen, you might not...”

  “No ambulance,” I wheezed again. “Call Diamond.”

  “Okay. I’ll be right over.”

  I got the phone hung up, then lay there.

  Street’s lab is only a couple blocks away. She ran in a few minutes later. She’d gotten Spot out of my Jeep. “Owen, what happened?!!” She rushed over, bent down and put her hands on me. Spot sniffed me hard. Their touches burned.