Dark Ice: A Hard-Boiled Crime Novel: (Dan Reno Private Detective Noir Mystery Series) (Dan Reno Novel Series Book 4)

by Dave Stanton

“Anyone else?”

  “Nope. That’s not a tactic we’re using.”

  “Does she know the last two blondes you seduced were murdered?”

  “She does.”

  “Despite that, she just can’t resist you, huh?”

  Galanis winked knowingly, as if I’d just professed my admiration for his sexual prowess. “You said it, not me.”

  • • •

  I drove away from Galanis’s condo and out to Pioneer Trail. After a minute my jaw started aching, and I realized my teeth were clenched. I opened my eyes wide and tried to relax my facial muscles, but my head felt like it was in a vice and I couldn’t relieve the tension that had taken hold behind my eyes. Maybe two stout belts of whiskey would help. But what I really wanted to do was turn around and ram my fist into Galanis’s face.

  The fact that Galanis was unwilling to put his womanizing on the shelf for even a brief time was beyond irresponsible; it was reprehensible. The piece of eye candy in his living room could well have a target on her back. And if she was murdered next, Galanis’s attitude seemed to be not much more than a big, “Whoops.”

  It was inconceivable to me that anyone, much less an officer of the law, could behave in such a manner. But who was there to stop him? Who could tell him to cease his social life, his sex life? Only Galanis could make that decision. And apparently, he’d decided he would change nothing, make no compromises.

  Compounding things, I did not believe the Douglas County PD was close to finding the killer. For that matter, I also didn’t believe the South Lake Tahoe police were nearing an arrest. Despite what both Galanis and Marcus Grier claimed, I didn’t think either side was close to solving the case. Maybe part of my thinking was ego-driven, but it was beyond that. The reality was, I simply saw no indication either police agency was willing to delve deep enough to uncover what motivated the killings.

  There wasn’t much snow on the road, but when I steered into a gentle corner, my truck swerved and I had to fight the wheel. Then I felt a rhythmic bump, and realized I had a flat tire.

  I pulled onto a dark side street and rolled to a stop on the shoulder. My left rear tire was hissing and rapidly settling onto the rim. I swore and kicked the tire. Then I got the flashlight from the glove box and knelt down behind the tailgate and started removing the bolt that held the spare.

  The tire had just come free when I felt an electric sting in the thick muscle beneath my shoulder. I jumped up and tried to reach the pain with my fingers, but it was beyond my grasp. It felt like I’d been bitten by a wasp, but I wore a heavy coat.

  “What the…” I tried vainly to shake free of the pain, but I couldn’t reach it and it was getting worse. Then a wave of vertigo made me reel. I clutched at my truck, but my head was spinning madly and my stomach was in my throat. I fell backward, my breaths labored, and rolled off an incline onto a patch of broken snow and pine needles. “Move, move,” I told myself, and I tried to claw into the forest where I might hide. But I was clammy and sick and the light was fading at the edges of my consciousness. I pushed with my boots and crawled forward. The last thing I remember was curling around the base of a pine, my cheek pressed against the rough bark.

  • • •

  My first thought when I woke was there was sand in my mouth. My tongue was thick and I was massively thirsty. When I was able to raise my head, there was a sharp light on my eyelids. I dropped my head again, but a blast of icy water in my face stunned me. I blinked and licked my lips, grateful for the few drops that trickled down my throat.

  “Wake up, toadstool,” a voice said.

  I opened my eyes to fuzzy shapes. I tried to rub the cobwebs from my eyes, but my hands wouldn’t move. I shook my head and blinked rapidly and became aware I was tied to a chair.

  “Come on. You need to be awake for this. You wouldn’t want to miss it, I promise.” Through the fog I felt a surge of alarm. The voice was Jake Massie’s. I stared upward, into florescent tube lights hanging from cross beams in the ceiling. When I lowered my head I was looking at Massie’s face. His flesh was pale and coarse and the thin scar above his lip was gleaming in the artificial light. In his pale eyes was a glow of anticipation, as if he was a hungry man ready to begin a meal.

  I flexed my arms. My wrists were bound by rough twine to a wooden chair, as were my ankles. The floor was concrete, and the room was cold, except for a ray of heat coming from behind me. We were in a garage of some sort.

  “What did you shoot me with?” I rasped.

  “Oh.” Massie turned and reached to a bench that lined one side of the garage. “Horse tranquilizer.” He held a syringe in his fingers. “At first I thought we might have O.D.ed you, but it looks we used the right amount.”

  “We?”

  “Yeah. Hey, Tipper. Come say hello to our friend.”

  The man who stepped into view was bone skinny and had the yellowed pallor of a meth addict. He wore black leather pants and was shirtless beneath an unbuttoned black vest. His emaciated torso was snakelike, hairless and almost translucent to the ribs. Around his neck was a tattooed collar broken by a Nazi cross etched on his throat. He tilted his shaved head at me, as if I was a specimen in a cage. His face looked deformed, his nose horribly crooked, his skull cratered around a half-shut eye. He opened his mouth, and it was like a dirt hole in the nest of his scraggly goatee.

  “Howdy hi,” he said. “We’re jist about ready.” His breath was rancid.

  Massie nodded, and the reptilian man went behind me and returned holding a branding iron. On the red-hot end was a swastika, about two inches in diameter.

  “Get that fucking thing away from me,” I said. He cackled, and I jerked in the chair. The legs shook and scraped against the concrete.

  “Yeah, that’s right, fight it,” Massie said. “It’s always best when they fight. Right, Tip? Give me the iron.”

  The man cackled again and then Massie had the metal rod in his hand. He held it under my nose, the heat nearly singing my skin. I pulled my head back and he followed my motion.

  “First I’m gonna brand your forehead, you weasel cocksucker,” Massie said. “Then I’ll take some pictures to capture the moment for our enjoyment. Maybe send them to your friends and family, too, just so they understand how pathetic you are. Then I might let you live for a bit, watch you suffer, before I snuff you out. But I haven’t got to the best part yet. After I kill you, Tip and me, we’ll pay a visit to your bitch. I’m getting a big hard on just thinkin’ about it. We’ve been checking her out, and I got to hand it to you, she is one fine piece of bitch meat. We’re gonna take her and fuck her right, we do this double penetration thing, and Tip’s got a dick about ten inches, I shit you not. It will be a real tube steak boogie.”

  I felt my eyes bulging. “No,” I said.

  Massie laughed. “Oh, yes.”

  “No,” I said again, panic creeping into my voice. “Don’t do this. My buddy Cody Gibbons will hunt you down and he’ll never stop until you’re dead.”

  The man named Tip raised his hand and moved his fingers open and shut in a mocking pantomime. “Bwa, bwa, bwa,” he said.

  “Here, Tip. You do the honors.” Massie handed him the branding iron.

  My heart pounded in my ears and every muscle in my body flexed as I pushed back from the man who looked like he climbed from a grave. Then my ears popped and a burst of images flooded my head, snapshots of my father and of Cody’s wisecracking face, of Candi’s smile and my sister in San Jose, and of my mother playing with me as a child. I felt myself coming apart, bright shards of light raining like breaking glass around me, and all the pain and sorrow and joy in my life merged in a singular moment. And then, like lava reaching the point of critical mass in a volcano, a blast of adrenalin surged through my heart and something inside me exploded.

  I bucked and my body went straight, the veins in my arms engorged as if I’d just finished a set of hundred-pound curls. I saw the hot iron moving closer, then the chair broke apart in a burst of loud cracks. I
hit the ground and jumped up, my face screwed in a mask of rage. Splintered wood hung from my limbs, and in my right hand I held the arm of the chair where the wood had split diagonally. The man named Tip jabbed the branding iron at my face, but I grabbed the shaft with my left hand and pounced with my right, swinging down in a vicious arc with my fist.

  It was a lucky shot. The jagged point of the chair’s arm found his eye, and he barely had time to scream before I drove it home and felt the point hit the back wall of his skull. Blood spurted from his eye socket and he gurgled and shuddered, and as he fell I wrenched the hot iron from his hand. The thick splinter, still bound to my right wrist, came free of his face when he dropped. It was coated with blood and bits of brain matter.

  “You die, fuck!” Massie shouted, his hand reaching inside his jacket. I leapt at him and swung the iron, but my legs were tangled in a mess of rope and wood, and I stumbled and missed. His hand came out of his coat holding an automatic, but before he could point it, I lurched forward again and slashed the red-hot swastika down on his wrist. He howled and the wound smoked and the gun clattered to the floor. I swung the iron in a backhanded arc, and when Massie dodged back, I rolled and came up with his gun in my hand. He scrambled toward the large, hinged doors behind him. I rose to a knee and had him dead in the sights, but when I pulled the trigger the gun didn’t fire. I checked the safety and Massie yanked up the long bolt securing the doors to the floor. My finger squeezed the trigger again and once more the gun dry-fired. Cursing, I jerked the chamber and ejected a jammed round. Massie pushed the door open and disappeared from my line of sight just as I pulled the trigger one more time. This time the gun boomed, and I started after him, but the ropes around my ankles slowed me to a hobble. The garage door swung shut, and I heard a metallic clunk.

  When I reached the doors, I pushed and they didn’t budge. I rammed my shoulder into the wood planks, but they held firm. From outside, I heard a motor start and then the sound of tires spitting snow. I stepped back and fired three times into a square of rusted nuts and washers imbedded in the wood. Splinters flew and I heaved my weight against the doors again and they gave way. I fell outside to see a pickup truck fishtailing through a clear-cut area.

  I rapid-fired three rounds. One bullet hit the tailgate, and I aimed lower with the next shot, hoping to puncture the gas tank, but the shot was too low. The third round, aimed at the driver, struck the roof of the pickup with a spark that flashed brilliant in the darkness. Then the truck turned where the trail led into the trees, and I fired once more, but in a second the vehicle was obscured by a dense shroud of pine boughs.

  Three more times I fired and heard each bullet thunk into a tree. I heard the sound of the truck’s motor grow distant. “My shooting sucks,” I mumbled, and stumbled back into the garage. My coat lay in a corner, and my cell was still in the pocket. I called 911 and told them to get a squad car to my house right away. Then I called Candi and, my voice thick with emotion, I told her to lock the house and get her gun and wait for the police. I gave her a brief explanation, and promised more detail later. She asked if I was safe, then asked no more.

  After we hung up, I took a knife from the belt of the corpse lying on the cement. I cut the ropes from my limbs and tossed aside the debris from the chair. Bile rose in my throat and I coughed and spit a wad of bitter phlegm in the face of the sadist who almost branded me.

  “Burn in hell, motherfucker,” I said. Then I threw up.

  • • •

  When I was done retching, I called Cody.

  “Wait a minute,” he said, after I told him what happened. “You’re still there?”

  “Yeah. I don’t know where, though.” The adrenaline rush had subsided and I was light-headed. I walked around the dead biker, carefully stepping over the pool of blood in which his head lay. It had stopped snowing outside and it was dark, but the white clouds provided some visibility. I stood looking out from the doors, and through the silhouettes of the pines, I could make out the casino lights. A road led from the garage down a slight grade and past a clear-cut area, off into the forest. To my left I could just make out lift cables over the trees.

  “I’m in an old garage where they park snowplows during the off-season, I think. About a half-mile from the lake, in the woods near the where the gondola runs.”

  “Where’s Massie?”

  “I don’t know. He drove off.”

  “Did you tell the cops it was Massie?”

  “Not yet. I only spoke to the 911 operator. I got to call back and get someone to pick me up.” A wave of dizziness made me drop to my knees. “I feel like shit.”

  “It’s probably residual from the tranquilizer,” Cody said. My face was clammy and I lay down, then crawled out to a clean patch of snow and started shoveling handfuls into my mouth.

  “Dirt?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Hang up and call 911 again. But don’t tell the cops it was Massie.”

  “Huh?”

  “Don’t tell the cops it was Massie.” Cody’s voice sounded like it was in a tunnel.

  I rolled on my back and felt the snow on my neck and I stared up at the trees. Sweat rolled off my face and I thought I would vomit once more. Cody was still talking but I hung up and I think I dialed 911. But I don’t remember doing so.

  • • •

  “Hey,” a soft voice said. I opened my eyes and saw Candi’s face. She squeezed my hand. “The doctor gave you a shot in case there’s an infection. He says you’ll be fine.” I pushed myself to a sitting position. I was on a hospital bed.

  “Are you okay?” I said.

  “Of course. Are you?”

  “Yeah.” I looked around the room. There were empty beds to either side of me, and a uniformed officer stood in the hallway. “What time is it?”

  “Eleven thirty.”

  “I’ve been out for hours.”

  “The doctor said you were shot with a strong animal sedative. The police found a syringe.”

  “I want to get out of here.”

  “The cop out there brought me here. He’s been waiting for you to wake up.” The uniform in the hallway peered in at us.

  “All right.” I flipped back the sheet and swung my legs over the bed. I was happy to see I was still fully clothed and not wearing a ridiculous hospital gown. My shoes were in the corner of the room.

  “Dan, I overheard the police say they found a dead body when they found you.”

  “It was either him or me, babe.”

  She drew me closer and put her head on my shoulder. “No one’s gonna take my man away from me.”

  “Not if I have anything to say about it.” I felt her eyes wet on my face, and I pulled back and wiped a tear from her cheek. “There, now, doll. Can you grab my boots?” Once the cop saw Candi walk away he came into the room.

  “Excuse me,” he said, his eyes round and close-set. “Kent Walters.” He was bald and his ears stuck out like small flaps. The file cards in my mind flipped, trying to recall his face. He reminded me of an old school comedian. Rodney Dangerfield, maybe. Despite his comical appearance, he had a serious demeanor about him.

  “I need to take your statement,” he said. He held a pad of paper and a portable tape recorder.

  Candi came back to the bed and I began tying my bootlaces. She stood at my side, glaring defiantly at the cop.

  “Candi, you should wait outside for this,” I said. “It won’t be long.”

  “It was self-defense,” she said to the uniform. “You need to find these lowlifes and put them in a cage.”

  “I know, ma’am.”

  “Good.” She stood with her hands on her hips for a long moment before walking out of the room.

  “Is she trained to use a firearm?” Walters said.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “When I went to your house, she answered the door with a .38 in her hand.”

  “I told her to arm herself. The men who kidnapped me intended to rape and kill her. And one is still out there.”


  “Did you recognize them?”

  “Not the one I killed.”

  “You told the 911 dispatcher there were two men.”

  “That’s right. The one who got away is leader of a neo-Nazi biker gang out of Stockton. His name is Jake Massie.”

  “We’ll put out an APB on him.”

  • • •

  The interview was over in five minutes. Before I left, Walters told me Marcus Grier instructed I be released following my statement. Grier also left order that I be at his office at nine sharp the next morning.

  There was almost a foot of snow in the parking lot where Candi had parked, and it was coming down hard. I took her keys and drove through the drifts out to Highway 50. She sat in a rigid posture, her eyes shifting from me to the windows.

  “You shouldn’t worry,” I said. “Massie’s long gone by now.” I hoped to sound soothing and confident, but I felt naked without my gun.

  “I hope you’re right,” she said. “But we both know guys like him are capable of anything.” When I looked at her, I saw an expression on her face I’d never seen. And then, in a faltering voice, she said, “There’s something in my past I never talk about. It’s something I wish I could forget forever. I hope you’ll forgive me for not telling this before.”

  “Telling me what?”

  She stared out the windshield. “When I was a sophomore in high school, it was in the hundreds every day that summer in Austin. We’d turn the on sprinklers in the front yard, and the kids from the neighborhood, boys and girls, would come over and run through the water. Then we’d sit in the shade and drink lemonade and flirt.

  “My older sister Felicia had gone off to her first year in college, and she came home that summer. She was tall and beautiful and talented and she could have had anything she wanted. I worshipped her. One day she joined us, running through the sprinklers in her bikini, and the boys couldn’t take their eyes off her.

  “I came home from a friend’s the next day. When I went inside my house, a man was raping Felicia on the kitchen floor. I was still a virgin, but I damn well knew what rape was. I ran into my father’s room for a gun. But I knew he kept them locked up. Instead I grabbed a baseball bat he kept near his bed. When I came out, the man was getting off Felicia, and there was blood on his crotch and she moaned and cried and I swung the bat.