by Pete Lister
It had been two years since the Sherrys had disappeared. They had toured the west for months, until all of Shiv Thompson’s money had been safely laundered and invested. Every year, they used different debit cards to pay their taxes and the fees on the local storage unit where they had stashed the drugs.
John and Dianne sold their houses in Milwaukee, including the furniture. The two couples had driven their RV to Milwaukee, meeting with a realtor about the houses. They gave her a Milwaukee cell phone number, signed the paperwork giving her power of attorney, then stopped in Shorewood to pick up Shiv’s heroin. The proceeds of the sales of the three houses were deposited in their respective Milwaukee checking accounts. They sold Ashley’s car to the realtor, but kept Drew’s truck.
After doing their due diligence, the family discovered the advantages of incorporating in Nevada. Nevada corporate law made it almost impossible to identify the owner of a corporation. They had fully funded the corporation with substantially more than enough to finance their purchase of a home.
Six months later, the new corporation had purchased a five hundred-acre ranch near Jackson Hole. Their spread was up against West Gros Ventre Butte, French for Big Belly. The rolling hills offered the security of feeling like they were out of sight. They literally redesigned the landscape immediately around the enormous ranch house, and made extensive modifications to the house itself, with an eye toward security. They knew that life out here was good, but in the backs of their minds, they never forgot about Shiv Thompson.
John and Drew had removed the windows on the ranch house, modifying the frames so that the windows could be swung into the rooms, against the interior walls, and thick wood shutters closed to seal them. They had tunnels dug from the basement of the house to the stable, and from there out to camouflaged sheds on the other side of the hills surrounding the house, explaining to the construction crews that they were preparing for heavy snows. They planted bushes and hedges to mask the sheds. John and Drew set up the sheds with snowmobiles and ATVs, which were started regularly, and kept tuned and filled with gas and supplies. The sheds both had canned food, guns, and ammunition stored, as did the other outbuildings.
The place had been a cattle ranch in years past, but the Sherrys kept only half a dozen riding horses. They also adopted a small herd of wild BLM mustangs and bought some buffalo, and prong-horned antelope roamed the place just because they could. There was a small lake that watered the livestock, as well as migrating flocks of birds every spring and fall. Life was idyllic, but they were always on watch.
John and Drew had ridden the fence line early that morning. It gave the father and son valuable time together, and they enjoyed their weekly tour of the ranch. They had dismounted on a hill overlooking the ranch compound, and were enjoying coffee from a thermos while their mounts grazed.
“Pop, I’ve been thinking about something I’d like to run past you.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Do you feel safe?”
“Pretty much, why?”
“Well, life is certainly mellow here, and we all seem to be contented most of the time, but do you ever really relax?”
“I don’t think any of us do, really.”
“That’s what I mean. I think we need to finish this thing. I’ve been thinking about how we need another project, and the project I’ve been thinking about is bringing down Shiv Thompson.”
“That would certainly get him off our asses, but how would we do it? You know, bringing down somebody like that is a lot easier said than done. He’s got more tentacles than a herd of squid.” John didn’t seem to be discouraging his son, as much as drawing him out.
“You know how he sent out goons every time he found out where we were?” Drew asked.
“Yeah.”
“How many of those guys do you think he has?”
“Well, his operation is reputed to cover five or six states, but in terms of local ‘foot soldiers’, he probably has no more than twenty or so. He probably wouldn’t need any more than that.”
“Think about this, Pop. What if we could bait a trap, and start reducing those numbers?”
“Been working on some kind of plan?”
“Kind of. You know the Phelps place?” The Phelps place was a small ranch house with a stable and five or six small corrals. The Phelps family had, for years, run a boarding stable where they trained wild mustangs as riding horses, after BLM round-ups. Mr. Phelps had passed away several years ago, and the stable had closed down. Mrs. Phelps still lived there, alone.
“What about it?” his father asked.
“Well, suppose we bought the place? Mrs. Phelps only has a couple of acres, the house, and the old stable.”
“And what would we do with it?”
“Well, we know that Thompson is watching our credit card accounts. Every time he finds us, he sends his troops out to get us. If we slipped up and used a credit card, you know he’d send out the cavalry. He doesn’t have to know we actually have two places, a couple miles apart on this road. Now, whether those boys drive or fly here, they have to come past our place to get to the Phelps place. We could buy the place and salt it with a brick of Shiv’s heroin.
“When we see them go past, we ride over. We can ride there in less time than it would take them to drive around the butte. We could set up behind the hills surrounding the place. First thing we do is disable their cars, so they have no way out. We could set up something in advance like a stop-strip across the drive, to flatten their tires. A couple of well-placed shots, and we’d have them holed up in the house. Then, all we have to do is call Sheriff Whalen and tell him we heard what sounds like a gunfight at the old Phelps place.
“We rig the house so it will fill with propane, and we keep them pinned down until the sheriff’s troops get there. When they smell the propane and think the house is going to explode, they’ll surrender and come out, and the deputies can search the house and find the dope. If we leave it in plain sight, you know at least one of them will handle it and leave prints.”
John was laughing. “You’ve really been thinking about this, haven’t you?”
“I have. We could kill them ourselves, but I don’t think that’s really what we’re all about.”
“I’m with you on that, son. But, if we had to defend ourselves, I don’t think any of us would lose too much sleep over it.” Over the last couple of years, the family had discussed their situation at great length, and had all reached the same conclusion: Shiv Thompson’s drug dealing and attempts to kill them had removed him from the list of people whose lives were worth defending. The family had reached the point where they no longer thought of the thugs the drug kingpin sent against them as people. They were just targets.
“So, what do you think, Pop? Are we going to hide for the rest of our lives, always wondering when this drug dealer is going to find us? I don’t fancy waking up in the middle of the night to find our house filled with gangsters who are there to kill my family.”
“I think let’s talk to the girls.”
§ § §
The four Sherrys were bouncing over the old washboard road leading from their ranch to the Phelps place. Drew’s pickup was loaded down with tools and some supplies they had picked up at Rocky Mountain Hardware in Jackson. They had just closed on the Phelps place, paying Mrs. Phelps far more than the small ranch was worth. She hadn’t wanted any of the old furniture, but the Sherrys had paid for Black Diamond, a local moving company, to come out and pack up her clothes and treasures. She was moving to San Diego to be near her daughter, and the money they paid her had allowed her to pay cash for a small house in the same neighborhood and fill it with new furniture.
When they pulled through the gate, John backed the truck up to the front porch. Drew went out to shut off the propane line from the tank to the house, while John went straight to the kitchen, where he cut the steel jacketed gas line to the stove with a large bolt cutter.
While the men took care of the propane, Dianne and Ash
ley drove galvanized 16d nails in a one-inch grid through a ten-foot long 1x12 and laid it next to the fence alongside the driveway. When they finished the board, Ashley went inside the house, drilling holes in the walls both above and below all of the windows on the single-story ranch house. Dianne had retrieved a step-ladder from the trailer and was installing steel security bars over the windows. On the inside, Ashley was pushing bolts through the holes, while Dianne tightened down the nuts on the outside. A single 2x12 was nailed onto the doorframe of the back door, and the door bolted to it, so that the door couldn’t be opened. The windows in the back door could be broken, but were too small to permit a full-grown man to crawl through.
When the work was inspected and deemed ready, they walked the hills that extended along the side of the house behind the propane tank, and across the road facing the front of the house. They made sure that they had a good view of the house from at least a hundred yards away. The last thing they did was to pull their vehicles out onto the road, and lay the stop-strip across the driveway, covering the board with dust. Only the nails showed through, but being galvanized, they were hard to see if you were just pulling in the driveway.
“Time to invite company.” John said, with a grim smile. Returning to their ranch house, Drew called Direct Satellite Connections in Jackson and ordered service started for the Phelps house. He told them he didn’t need it connected until the following week, and paid for it with the debit card issued by his original Milwaukee bank.
While Drew was ordering TV service, John was setting up a driveway alarm across the road in front of the family’s ranch. It would be invisible at night, and hard to see during the day. Now all they had to do was wait.
§ § §
“Shiv! We found them!” It was shortly after eight o’clock in the morning when Scott and di Stasio burst into Shiv Thompson’s office. “I told you they’d slip up.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Sherry! The dumbshit just ordered satellite TV service for his house, and paid for it with a debit card in his own name!”
“Where?”
“Outside Jackson, Wyoming.”
“Jack! Mount up!”
Jack Paustian came through the door to see what all the excitement was about.
“You call me, Shiv?”
“You bet yer ass I called you! Take a dozen of the boys. I want you to go to Jackson, Wyoming, and smoke that sonuvabitch bus driver and his whole goddam family. Find out where my horse is, and any of the money that’s left, and then torch his house. Make sure they’re in it. Kill them all. That bastard! Ralph’ll give you the directions.”
“We’ll fly out in the morning, Shiv.”
“You’ll drive out this afternoon! I want the whole team armed to the teeth. Drive straight through. If you rotate drivers, you should be there by this time tomorrow. I want that sonuvabitch dead by tomorrow night! Do you understand me?”
“Got it. I‘ll get the boys and we’ll be on our way.” Jack took the paper out of di Stasio’s hand and bolted for the door.
§ § §
“One of us will stay up at all times.” Drew Sherry was briefing the family. “The rest of us will sleep in our clothes. I really don’t expect them before tomorrow night. I think they’ll drive from Chicago so they don’t have to risk checking guns with the airline. We’ll keep the horses in the stable overnight, saddled, with the rifles in the scabbards. They’ll come at night. They won’t want anyone to see them. We’ll be in position before they get to the house. Everybody ready? I’ll take the first watch.” Drew knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, anyway.
“Okay, we’re off to bed, then.” John and Dianne mounted the stairs, hand in hand. Ashley came across the room to give Drew a hug and a long, drawn-out kiss before climbing to their room. Drew made a pot of coffee, turned off the outside lights, and settled down on the couch with a book.
Nothing happened that night, nor the next day. Ashley took the first watch the next night. Drew relieved her at midnight and settled down with his coffee and his book, again. It was just after three o’clock in the morning when the alarm chimed. Drew jumped up and, as he crossed the room, realized that the rest of the family was already on their way down the stairs. Without a word, they slid into their warm, dark brown dusters, and slipped out the back door. They ran to the stable, mounted their horses, and bolted through the night for the Phelps place.
It was only a short ride over the hill to the tree where they would tie their mounts. John, Dianne, and Ashley pulled rifles from their scabbards and took their places along the top of the ridge. As they peeked over the ridgeline, they could see three cars coming down the road, the tail lights leaving a pink dust cloud rising behind them.
Drew had already ridden across the road and tied his horse to the tree behind the hill off to the side of the house. Creeping over the top of the hill, he was in place behind the propane tank when the cars pulled into the driveway, blowing all their tires as they wheeled through the gate.
The three Sherrys across the road had an excellent view through their rifle scopes. The porch light was on, and the sodium security light against the fence alongside the driveway cast a pale blue light onto the entire front yard, blinding anyone trying to see outside its lighted perimeter. If they had been standing on top of the hill across the road waving their arms, no one in the yard would have been able to see them.
They watched as four big men got out of each SUV, quietly closed the car doors, and gathered to inspect the blown tires. They scanned the area to see if anyone was watching them, but decided the area was clear.
§ § §
“Jack, I don’t like this,” Pat Mead told him. “It’s too easy, and blowing all these tires in the driveway smells like a setup.” Mike Santini had walked back to the end of the driveway.
“Jack, look at this.” Mike Santini crouched in the driveway just inside the gate. “Somebody sunk nails in the driveway. It almost looks like they were expecting us.”
‘Then let’s not disappoint them.” Jack told them. “Pat, go around the right side of the house. Mike, take the left side. The rest of you come with me.” Ten of them fanned out in a straight line as they approached the porch, like gunslingers in an old cowboy movie, while Pat and Mike circled the sides of the house. Stepping carefully onto the porch, Jack approached the front door, where he raised his foot and kicked the door open.
The Sherrys opened fire, hitting the porch without hitting any of the men. The strangers whirled, guns in their hands, looking for the source of the gunfire. Within seconds, they had figured out that being exposed wasn’t their best option, and rushed inside, slamming the door shut. The front windows were broken out, glass tinkling on the front porch, as Pat and Mike crouched down behind the corners of the house with their guns in their hands, trying to see anything past the sodium security light. Pat shot the light out and the yard went dark, although no one thought to take out the porch light, which continued to illuminate the porch and surrounding yard.
From behind the propane tank, the sound of gunfire was the signal Drew had been waiting for. Dialing 911, he reported what sounded like a gunfight at the old Phelps place. Then, taking careful aim, he fired and hit the house, just behind the head of the man on his side of the house. Startled, Pat bolted for the front door, yelling to alert his pals inside not to shoot him. Mike, on the other side, hunkered down to stay put where he was.
Drew cracked the valve on the propane tank, and put his hand on the hose. When he could feel the cold coming through, he ducked down and scurried back over the hill. John and the girls kept up a slow, but steady, rate of fire, one of them firing at the front of the house every ten or fifteen seconds. The men in the house had returned fire for a minute before realizing they had no targets and they stopped.
Mike Santini realized that his position would be untenable, if any of the shooters simply moved across the ridgeline across the road. Leaning around the corner of the house, he fired one round, smashing the p
orch light. Slipping up onto the porch, he spoke just loud enough to be heard through the front window, “Don’t shoot, I’m coming in. Open the front door.”
“We got you Mike, c’mon in.” Pat called back. Mike started carefully crawling across the porch.
Drew knew that by now, fifteen minutes after they entered the house, the men would smell the propane seeping out of the kitchen. Climbing into the saddle, he rode a circuitous route to join his family, making sure to stay outside the field of view of anyone inside the house. He had just heard the sound of distant sirens when he heard a sucking sound, the air moving over his back toward the house. Suddenly the night became day, as the house exploded, the fireball from the propane and the old dried wood of the house combining to claw its way more than a hundred feet in the air. Mike, in the middle of the porch, simply vanished.
The Sherrys all spun away from the blast. Drew immediately shut his eyes, knowing that when the fireball retreated, he’d be blind in the darkness. Behind him, the horses screamed, pulling against the reins that held them fast to the trees on the backside of the hill. Drew heard the frightened whinnying. He walked down to the tree and rubbed the horses’ necks, speaking soothingly, reassuring the animals.
Swinging into his saddle, Drew cantered down to the fence, where a rather large stack of wood had rained down and continued to burn. The propane tank was gone, and the SUVs the strangers had arrived in blazed away, tires burning, missing hoods, windows, and doors. As he sat watching the flames, his family rode down the hill and across the road to his side.
“Pop, I didn’t do that.”
“No, you didn’t. We watched it. One of those guys in the house shot at us, and when he fired, it ignited the propane. We watched it start at the front window.”
“I just wanted you to know.” Drew said.
“Hot chocolate, anyone? I’m buying.” Dianne said, her lips pressed tight together as she wheeled her mount and started back over the hill. While she wasn’t a cold-hearted woman, the years on the run from this gang had left the whole family ambivalent about the gangsters’ survival. Her family wheeled and caught up with her, talking as they rode home over the hill. They knew that there were a dozen of Shiv’s soldiers that wouldn’t be trying to kill them, again.