The Gold Dragon Caper: A Damien Dickens Mystery (Damien Dickens Mysteries Book 4)

by Phyllis Entis

  Millie drew herself up to her full height, looking Colin in the eyes, her voice cold and clipped. “Believe me or not, as you prefer. But I am telling you the truth. Now get out of my sight before I call the police and tell them where to find you.”

  Colin lounged against the door, his arms crossed over his chest, a scornful smile on his lips. “Not so fast. We have some unfinished business. You’re going to tell me what you did with my wife and kid.”

  “No.”

  He pushed himself away from the door, taking a step in Millie’s direction. “I mean it, Millie. Don’t make me do it the hard way.”

  Millie reached behind her for Dick’s revolver, which she had tucked into her belt at the small of her back. Colin’s hand snaked out, grabbing her wrist just as she grasped the gun. He twisted her arm behind her, taking the revolver out of her hand. “Planning on shooting your only son, Mother?”

  “Let. Me. Go.” Millie struggled against his grip, but Colin was too strong for her. He shoved the gun into his jacket pocket, pressing the muzzle against her. She could feel it digging into her side. “Let me go,” she repeated.

  “Not a chance,” he said through clenched teeth. “You’re coming with me. Derek wants to see you.”

  He unlocked the door to the suite. Two men were waiting outside, the same men who had snatched her two days before. One of them, Millie noticed with satisfaction, was wearing an adhesive bandage high on his cheek below his left eye. The second man sported dark glasses, a buzz-cut, and a Groucho Marx mustache. “What kept you?” the injured man asked.

  “Had a few things to discuss with my sister,” Colin said. “Get the door, will ya, Dusty?”

  The three men surrounded Millie, hustling her along the path leading to the parking lot. Upon reaching a nondescript 4-door sedan, the mustached man opened the driver’s door and slipped behind the wheel while Dusty opened both passenger-side doors. Without loosening his grip on her, Colin shoved Millie across the back seat and slid in next to her. Dusty slammed the rear door shut and climbed into the front passenger seat. “Let’s go, Butch,” he told the driver. “The boss is waiting.”

  The car pulled up to the 1st Street entrance to the Gold Dragon. The three men surrounded Millie once again, hustled her across the hotel lobby and commandeered an elevator for a non-stop ride to the top floor of the complex’s South Tower. Heading for a door marked ‘Emergency Exit,’ they forced Millie up a flight of stairs to an enclosed landing. A desk and chair filled one corner of the enclosure, a cordless telephone resting on the surface of the otherwise empty desktop. Facing the top of the stairs was a door marked ‘Roof Access.’ Butch held open the door, as Colin pushed Millie through.

  Turpin was waiting on the roof, in the lee of the elevator’s mechanical room. An enormous flag displaying an image of the Gold Dragon snapped in the breeze at the top of a 20-foot flagpole near the north edge of the roof. At a nod from Turpin, Colin led Millie across the flat, tar-and-gravel roof to the flagpole. With Colin holding her in place, Dusty forced Millie’s arms back around the pole, and used the free end of the flag’s halyard to secure her wrists.

  Pain stabbed into Millie’s shoulders and wrists as she struggled against her bonds. “You won’t get away with this,” she shouted. “Let me go.”

  Turpin strode over to her, his leather soles crunching on the gravel, and slapped her across the face first with a forehand, then a backhand. His pinkie ring broke her skin, and a line of blood dribbled down her face. “That’s for what you did to Dusty.” His voice dropped to a menacing growl. “Next, I’m gonna make you pay for what you did to me. I’m gonna make your husband pay, too. You’ve gotten in my way for the last time. You and Dickens are gonna pay.”

  With a jerk of his head, Turpin motioned for Dusty and Butch to leave the roof. He turned on his heel and returned to Colin, who made his report as he handed over the revolver he had taken from Millie. “I did what you said. Brought her here and arranged for a lookout to call me when Dickens returns to their room. Now, ask her what she’s done with my wife and kid. I want my wife and kid. She won’t tell me, but you can make her talk.”

  “Oh, she’ll talk. She’ll talk to save her half-assed husband’s life. To save her own life. You’ll see.”

  “You won’t kill her? You promised you wouldn’t kill her.”

  “Naw, I’ll just rough her up a bit. Teach her a lesson.”

  “She told me the nugget was in the cabin where I was holding the brat. How come you didn’t tell me about it? I thought I was your partner.” Colin’s voice whined with hurt. “You told me we’d be partners.”

  “Listen to me, Colin,” Millie’s voice carried over the snapping of the flag. “Look at me. People like Turpin don’t have partners. They have employees, sycophants, and dupes. Turpin takes what he wants from people, then flushes them away like used toilet paper. Ask him how many wives he’s had. How many mistresses he’s discarded. How many people he’s had killed. Look him in the eye and ask him.”

  Colin shriveled under Millie’s steady gaze. His eyes flickered briefly over Turpin’s face, before looking away. “Is any of that true?” he mumbled, as he scuffed the toe of his shoe over the gravel.

  Turpin shrugged. “You don’t get where I am by playing nice with people. That’s something you gotta learn, kid. You gotta man up. Be tough. Forget about your wife and kid. They’re probably over the border into Mexico by now. You’ll never find them. I’ll pick out a new broad for you. A real looker. Believe me.” He turned his head at the sound of a telephone ringing inside the shed. “That’ll be your lookout calling. You know what to do.”

  “Colin,” Millie pleaded, “use your head. Think about what he just said. You cannot trust him to give you the correct time of day if it suits his purpose to lie. Please, Colin. Think.”

  Colin turned on his heel without a word, and opened the door to the staircase. Casting a look of triumph at her, Turpin walked through ahead of their son, leaving Millie alone to contemplate her fate.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  The door to our suite was ajar, a housekeeping cart parked just outside. A spasm of annoyance flashed through me. I had told Millie to stay in the room. To keep the door locked, and not allow anyone inside until I returned.

  I entered the suite and looked around. There was no sign of the housekeeper. No sign of Millie in the sitting room. An untidy pile of clothing store boxes lay on the floor near the bedroom door. I stepped around them and checked the bedroom. It was empty, as was the en suite bathroom. Calling out Millie’s name, I returned to the sitting room.

  The connecting door to Susan’s suite was locked, a chair-back wedged under the door handle. I moved the chair, unlocked the door and walked through into the adjoining suite. It was empty, too. There was no sign of Millie anywhere. Nor, I realized as I returned to our own suite, was my Smith & Wesson 29 anywhere to be found.

  Millie wouldn’t have ignored my instructions lightly, I told myself, heading for the phone to call the police. As though the inanimate object had read my thoughts, it started to ring just as I reached it. I grabbed for the receiver, fumbling in my haste.

  “Damien?” The voice was Colin’s. “Help. Please help!”

  “Where are you? Is Millie with you?”

  “Yes.” Colin’s voice was strained, tense. But there was something missing from it. He didn’t sound afraid.

  “Where are you, Colin?”

  There was a clatter as the receiver hit a solid surface, and Colin’s voice was replaced with one I’d hoped never to hear again. “Hello, Dickens. Been enjoying yourself? I was hoping you would pay me a visit.”

  “Where’s my wife, Turpin? If you’ve hurt her…” My heart was hammering so hard I could feel it pounding against my ribcage. I held the receiver in a death grip, my knuckles bleached white.

  “Oh, your wife is in one piece for now, Dickens. Just slightly the worse for wear. I want you to come and see for yourself.”

  "I want to talk to her,” I dem
anded in a voice that brooked no denial. “Put her on the phone.”

  Through the receiver, I heard a door creak open, then a vague crunching noise, like the sound of footsteps on gravel. “Dick?” Millie’s voice quavered in my ear. “Dick, don’t…”

  "That's enough,” Turpin interrupted. “Dickens, if you want to see your wife again, you’d better get your ass up here.”

  I heard Millie cry out, “Dick, don’t," and the slapping sound of flesh hitting flesh.

  I sucked in my breath. “Where?”

  “You get your ass up to the roof of the South Tower of the Gold Dragon. Don’t call the cops. I have ways of finding out. If I get even a whiff of a cop within two blocks of this place, your wife dies. Believe me. Call the cops, and the bitch dies.”

  “Don’t hurt her, Turpin.” Dread constricted my chest. “I’m on my way.”

  I raced up the path to the hotel’s front entrance, muscled my way to the head of a line of tourists and grabbed a taxi that was disgorging its passengers. “Gold Dragon,” I told him. “Fast as you can.” Traffic was heavy on Las Vegas Boulevard, and we crept along. I could see flashing lights up ahead, suggesting the backup was due to a traffic accident.

  I pounded my fist on the seat beside me in frustration. “Is there any way around the back-up? This is an emergency.” Without a word, the driver cut across two lanes of traffic onto Desert Inn Road, taking a right onto a narrow street that led through an industrial park. We crossed Sahara Avenue, then turned right on Wyoming, which brought us back to Las Vegas Boulevard. I glanced through the rear window, and saw the flashing lights fading into the distance as we sped north.

  The driver pulled up to the Gold Dragon’s main entrance, his meter reading $5.75. I handed him a twenty and told him to keep the change. Before he could thank me, I was out of the cab and running into the lobby. “Which way to the South Tower?” I asked the nearest bellhop.

  He pointed toward a wide corridor. “End of the hall.”

  “How do I get to the roof?”

  “You don’t. It’s off-limits to unauthorized personnel.”

  “The top floor, then. How do I get to the top floor?”

  He gave me a strange look, his forehead furrowing as he wondered what to make of me. “Last bank of elevators. They go to Floors 12 through 22.”

  I ran full-tilt down the corridor, slaloming through the oncoming stream of foot-traffic, leaving curses and bruised feelings in my wake. Reaching the elevator bank, I pressed a call button. A set of elevator doors slid open. I waited, pulse racing, as a full load of chattering passengers trickled out. At last, I was able to step inside, jabbing the button for the 22nd floor again and again.

  “Come on, come on.” I willed the doors to close before anyone else could board the elevator. Finally, they slid shut, and I could feel the pressure through my feet as the car began its slow, steady climb. After an eternity, it came to a stop with a gentle bounce. The doors slid open, and I was face to face with Colin.

  Ignoring his outstretched hand, I stared at him through suspicion-narrowed eyes. “I didn’t expect to find you waiting for me. Where’s Millie? Is she safe? Has he hurt her?”

  He thrust his hands into his pockets. “Turpin told me to meet you and bring you to him,” he said, avoiding my questions even as his eyes avoided mine.

  “And you didn’t take the opportunity to just run off, leaving her to fend for herself? That doesn’t sound like you, Colin.”

  “You don’t understand. You don’t know me.” For a moment, he appeared close to tears. Abruptly, he turned and strode away toward a door marked “Emergency Exit” at the end of the corridor.

  “Colin, wait.” He stopped. I took his arm, spinning him around to face me.

  Shaking his head angrily to clear the tears he was trying to hide, he finally met my gaze. “What?” He snapped.

  “Tell me what I’m going to find up there. Give me a fighting chance. If you do that, you can run right now. I won’t try to stop you or track you down.”

  “Why would you do that? Why would you let me go?”

  “Because I love my wife.”

  “You wouldn’t if you knew everything I know.”

  “Tell me what you know.”

  I had struck a chord; he needed to talk. He took a deep breath and told me everything. The careful web of lies interwoven with truth that Turpin had spun around him. Had used to poison him. I listened, containing my impatience to reach Millie. When, at last, Colin had run out of words, I tried to set the record straight. “Turpin raped your mother when she was twelve. Her parents insisted she carry the pregnancy to term, then passed you off as their child. That much is true. Millie despises Turpin and everything he stands for. He tried to kill her - tried to kill both of us - three years ago. He failed then, but he’s made our lives hell ever since.”

  “Millie stole my wife and kid from me.”

  “She didn’t steal them. Sonya couldn’t cope on her own. Millie took her and the baby to Victorville. She left them with Sonya’s grandparents.”

  “Why should I believe you?” Colin’s eyes reflected the war raging within.

  “Because I’m telling you the truth.”

  “And you still love her? Knowing what you know?”

  “Yes,” I said, “more than ever. Now, take me to her.”

  Telling me only that Turpin was holding Millie captive on the roof, Colin led the way through the Emergency Exit door and up a flight of stairs. He opened a door marked ‘Roof Access,’ and gestured me through. I heard the click of a deadbolt as he locked the door behind us.

  The door from which I had emerged faced west. To my right, I could hear a flag flapping in the breeze. My feet crunched in the loose gravel as I skirted the corner of the structure. I stopped in my tracks at the sight of Millie standing against the flagpole, her arms pulled back in an unnatural angle that must have been causing her immense pain. Turpin stood about 20 feet from her, his arm at his side, my revolver in his hand. His eyes focused on me as I took a step in her direction.

  Turpin raised his arm, pointing the revolver’s muzzle at Millie. “That’s close enough, Dickens.” With his free hand, he gestured to Colin, and I felt something hard press into the small of my back.

  “Let her go, Turpin,” I pleaded. “Do whatever you want with me, just let her go.”

  “I told you,” he taunted me, echoing the voice in my nightmares. “I promised you’d be sorry. You’ve crossed me for the last time, Dickens.”

  I looked at Millie, seeing the track of dried blood on her cheek. Her quiet dignity as she stood tall against the flag pole, her arms secured behind her, belied the fear in her eyes she was trying to hide. I felt a swell of pride at her refusal to give Turpin satisfaction by begging for her life, even as I quailed at the thought of how this confrontation might end. “What’s your game, Turpin?” I asked. “What do you want from me?”

  I felt the object in the small of my back shift as Colin responded to a gesture from Turpin. I reacted, but not quickly enough. An agonizing jolt of electricity traveled through my body. My muscles spasmed, and I collapsed on the rough gravel, incapacitated by the pain and shock from the stun gun. I lay there, helpless, as Turpin cocked the revolver and took aim at Millie. And I knew my nightmare was about to come true.

  Turpin’s eyes narrowed to slits, his mouth twisted into an ugly grimace. “I want you to watch her die.”

  “No!” The shout came from behind me, distracting Turpin at the instant he squeezed the trigger. I heard the shot, and saw a bloom of red appear on Millie’s arm as she cried out in pain.

  My only chance was to play possum, as I waited for the strength to return to my body. Waited for an opening. Turpin was unfamiliar with my double-action revolver. He was trying to cock the striker again, and having difficulty. He was distracted, and Colin’s stun gun was useless if it wasn’t in direct contact with my body.

  I rolled over and sprang to my feet as Turpin took aim once again. I heard the gun fire as I p
lowed into him. Caught by surprise, he slipped on a patch of loose gravel, staggered and fell. I landed on top of him, the impact knocking the revolver out of his hand, sending it skittering across the gravel surface. We rolled over and over, both of us trying to reach the gun, neither of us able to gain the advantage. He managed to scramble out of my grasp and made a lunge for the revolver. In desperation, I dove for his legs and he fell, landing with his back against the two-foot high parapet surrounding the roof. He struggled to his feet, and I caught him with a left to the midsection followed by a right to his jaw. Thrown off-balance, he flailed in panic, trying to regain his footing. I watched, transfixed, as he stumbled against the parapet and disappeared over the edge of the roof.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Gasping for breath, I ran over to Millie, who was slumped forward, held in place by her tethered arms. She was unconscious, her blond hair blood-streaked, a steady flow of thick, red liquid running down her arm. Colin was standing stock-still, a dazed look on his face. Supporting Millie in my arms, I called out to him, “Help me with her.” He shook his head, looking from me to the parapet over which Turpin had tumbled. “Damn it, Colin. Help me,” I shouted.

  Slowly, as though waking from a dream, he walked over to where I was standing. “Cut her hands free,” I told him. He took a pen knife from his pocket and started sawing through the sturdy halyard binding Millie’s wrists. At last, the rope gave way, and her arms dropped free. “Call 9-1-1,” I said, as I lowered my wife’s inert body onto the gravel. “I don’t give a damn what you do afterwards, just get help.”

  He ran to the stairwell enclosure, rattled the door. “It’s locked,” he yelled. “I don’t have the key. What should I do?”

  “Look around. Maybe there’s something you can use to jimmy the lock or pry the door open.”

  I could hear sirens in the distance and prayed they were heading our way. Millie’s arm was bleeding profusely. I took off my jacket. Jammed it up against the wound, trying to stop the flow of blood. She groaned, opened her eyes. They focused on me for an instant. “I love you,” she whispered. Her eyelids fluttered shut, and I held her in my arms, my tears mingling with her blood.