Dead Man's Hand

by Luke Murphy

  “You’re in better shape than Baxter.”

  “How is he?”

  “He’s alive. I don’t suppose there’s too much work for a one-legged assassin.”

  Watters grimaced. “Sorry, I wanted him in better shape to stand trial.”

  “Don’t be sorry. You did what you had to do.” After a few minutes of awkward silence, he asked. “So why’d you do it? Why’d you leave the computer room? That wasn’t part of the plan.”

  Watters tried to sit up. Dale helped him into a partial seated position.

  “I had to have him. I had to win. That’s the truth.”

  “So how did you do that?”

  Watters smiled. “I know it’s corny. But I tackled that motherfucker like I was back playing ball.”

  “You really pulled my ass out of the fire, Calvin.”

  Watters’ smile broadened. “No offense, but you know I did it to save myself too. I had to save Rachel and get information about the murders.”

  A nurse entered. They were going to prep Watters for tests on any hidden damage.

  When Watters was done, Dale returned to the room where the doctor was addressing the patient. “I’ve seen worse—a slight concussion, a couple of head wounds, a cut above your right eye and on your left cheekbone. Your eye will swell up some. We didn’t stitch up the bullet wound for fear of infection. The bullet had a clean exit. We’ll change the bandages every couple of hours to make sure it’s clean and dry. Your shoulder will require some therapy, but you should regain a hundred percent mobility. The nurse will be in with your painkillers.”

  As if on cue, the door opened and a short, pretty nurse walked in holding a tiny white envelope.

  She slipped in between the bed and doctor, shook out three pills and set them on the bedside table. “This is Naproxen, 375mg per pill. Take one every 4-6 hours and don’t take more than five a day.”

  Watters snorted and smiled at the doctor. “Doc, you’re gonna have to do better than that. I’ve been on a steady dose of painkillers for the last three years, from Tylenol to morphine. With all my new injuries and my tolerance for medication over the years, I’m gonna need some serious stuff.”

  The doctor pulled Dale to the side and whispered. “Is this patient narcotic dependant? Should I be concerned that Mr. Watters will go into narcotic withdrawal after a gunshot? Because that will greatly influence my prescription.”

  Dale nodded.

  “I’ll prescribe something stronger.” The surgeon smirked and left the room.

  The nurse took a couple of quick tests and said, “I’ll be back with your new medication.”

  When the door closed, Dale went over to the bed and grinned. “You keep talking like that and they’ll drug you up like a racehorse.” He handed Watters a cup of water and asked, “So how did you know Baxter would use the back entrance?”

  Watters took a drink and smiled. “I made the lock difficult to break, so Baxter would think that everything was real, but I didn’t make it impenetrable like the other entrances. That was the only door Baxter could use.”

  “You have a minute, Dayton?”

  Dale turned to see his Sergeant. The sergeant shook Watters’ hand.

  “What do we know about Baxter?” Watters asked.

  “Last night was busy. We haven’t grilled him yet,” Dale said.

  The sergeant grabbed Dale by the sleeve. “Can I have a word with you, Dayton?” he asked and pulled him into the hallway.

  The sergeant was talking before the door had even closed behind them. “You almost fucked this one up and don’t forget that Watters is a civilian. Should we be divulging information about Baxter?”

  He looked at his sergeant. “For one thing, why are you here?”

  “I’m checking my men, making sure everyone is okay.”

  “Bullshit. There’s more. And two, I think we owe Watters this much. He just put his life on the line for us. Why don’t you go back to the office and I’ll let you know when you’re needed.”

  “Who died and gave you guts? Okay. Whatever. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

  After the sergeant turned and stomped off, Dale returned to the room and spoke to Watters. “After we got you and Baxter into the ER last night, I spent the night here in the hospital while Jimmy stayed with Rachel in case I needed to contact her. I got back to the office for a few minutes this morning, while you were in surgery, and brought those files with me. But my team has been working through the night. All we know for sure is that Baxter was born in Biloxi, Mississippi. From Sanders’ phone records, we found several phone calls to a phone booth in New Orleans and we expect that’s who Sanders was calling. As a rule, assassins like to hang out near home, believe it or not. I’ll follow up later.”

  “So what are you going to do about Sanders?”

  “I’m not sure yet. I…”

  There was a light rap on the door and a nurse entered with a new envelope. “This is Ketoprofen, 50mg capsules for acute pain. It will act as both a pain killer and anti-inflammatory. Take one every four to six hours.”

  “Thanks,” he said.

  The nurse left.

  Dale said, “I’m going to the office now to see what my team has found. We have to wait for the doctor’s permission to interrogate Baxter and I want to be ready when I do. Calvin, Jimmy and I would like you to watch us interview Baxter. We can check Baxter’s information with you. Maybe you’ll be able to expand on it or illuminate. What do you say?”

  Watters smiled and nodded. “I’d like that.”

  “Good. You should get some rest now. I’ll be back later.”

  Chapter 39

  Everyone was in that Sunday, recharged now that Baxter had tried to kill Watters and maybe more. The department was in full operational mode—phones ringing, papers rustling, fingers tapping keyboards and anxious chatter. Dale’s team hadn’t been this alive since the investigation had started, when Grant’s body was found more than four days ago.

  Jimmy was already at his desk, looking like he’d gotten even less sleep, when Dale strode through, peeled off his jacket and set it on the back of his chair. A steaming mug of coffee was already sitting on his desk.

  “How’s Watters?” Jimmy asked.

  “Recovering. He seems to be in good spirits, considering the circumstances. Any word on when we can talk with Baxter?”

  Jimmy shook his head. “Couple of hours. He had a full amputation and will be lucid by then, or good enough.”

  Dale sat down at his desk. “What do we know so far?”

  “We found a knapsack and a briefcase on the roof of the old Hadley Grocer building down the street from Watters’ hideout, jammed underneath the fire-exit staircase. Inside the knapsack we found a camouflaged rain poncho and a tarp. The briefcase contained pieces of a 7.62 x 51mm M40 and a tripod.”

  “Marine standard-issue sniper rifle.”

  Jimmy nodded and continued. “We circulated Baxter’s picture and got a possible hit. Baxter had checked into a penthouse suite at the Bellagio on Monday night.”

  After a moment’s thought, Dale said, “That’s over $500 a night. Who’s paying the bill?”

  Jimmy shrugged. “The hotel manager said the bill was paid for seven nights, in cash. The bed looked like it hadn’t been slept in. No fingerprints. We found a suitcase with some clothes and toiletries and a duffel bag full of weapons in the vent.” Jimmy read from a sheet. “A Browning 9 x 19mm Hi-Power, a Taurus Millennium series PT145, a Walther P99 semi-automatic, the list goes on. Ballistics ran them all, but they came up empty on our murders and couldn’t connect them to any murders across the country. They also sent the data to ATF, to run through their National Integrated Ballistic Information Network. Again, no match.”

  “We caught a good one.”

  “This is interesting but leads nowhere,” Jimmy said. “The team found ember remains in the sink. Baxter burned a sheaf of papers and ran it down the drain. We took out the pipes, but we couldn’t recover any kind of evidence.”
He held up a sheaf of papers. “I just printed out Baxter’s bio, a textbook on becoming a champion killer.”

  They divvied up the package and both men read without interruption.

  Dale stared at Baxter’s Marine Corps boot camp ID photo—chiseled jaw, gleam in his eye—ready to make a difference. Baxter was an ex-Marine of the 2nd MEB, 2nd Battalion, 3rd Marines.

  Baxter did two tours and was highly decorated, including two Purple Hearts. He had taken out fifty-three people in one two-hour exploit. Not long after he received a dishonorable discharge under a special warrant that was unexplained and classified.

  Jimmy whistled. “Wow! Carlos Hathcock, the most legendary sniper in Marine and American military history, has ninety-three confirmed kills is his whole service time.”

  “Yeah, but who knows how many they really have? The distances and circumstances make it extremely difficult to confirm. It also says here that Baxter received an early psychological discharge.” Dale looked at Jimmy. “I have a hard time believing that someone with Baxter’s sniper record and numerous combat medals and decorations would be dishonorably discharged from the Corps.”

  It was Jimmy’s turn. “Look at this. The military has an outstanding, special, high-priority warrant out against Baxter.”

  “Listen to this quote from one of Baxter’s commanding officers. ‘In training camp, Derek Baxter showed a rare gift for sharp shooting and I sent him to our Marine Sniper-Scout School, the finest of its kind in the world, where only six of every hundred who enter graduate. Derek graduated at the top of his class and joined one of the military’s most elite groups. His subsequent performance as a sniper was among the best I’ve ever seen.’ End quote.”

  “I wonder what happened.”

  Jimmy smiled. “The advantages of being a psychopath. No emotion about other people.”

  Dale knew that the right thing would be to call the military and tell them they had Derek Baxter in custody.

  At the end of reading, one thing was clear. Baxter was a military asset, but also an obvious sociopath.

  Dale’s cell phone rang.

  “Dayton.”

  “We’ve got a problem, sir.”

  He listened for a moment, the smile fading from his face. He hung up.

  “Fuck!”

  The uniform who’d been guarding Baxter’s room met Dale and Jimmy at the hospital entrance door.

  “I tried to keep them out, Detectives, but they pushed their way through with their credentials. There was nothing I could do.”

  “Don’t worry about it, kid.”

  They took the elevator to the third floor. Dale and Jimmy strode across the lobby and passed the nurse’s station. Dale tried the doorknob to the room, but it had been locked from the inside. He jiggled it hard but it wouldn’t budge.

  “Jimmy, find someone to open this, will you?”

  As Jimmy turned to leave, the door was opened just enough for a large head with a blond crew cut to appear. The man had a square jaw and pronounced cords in his thick neck. “The Colonel will see you guys in a minute.”

  Dale reached for the knob. “Wait—”

  The man shut the door and Dale, raising his eyebrows, turned to Jimmy.

  He answered with a shrug.

  Less than a minute later, true to his word, the door opened and a man in a green military uniform walked out with a Marine swagger. A pair of tough-looking Army men followed him and stopped outside the door. The leader continued toward Dale and Jimmy, his chest displaying numerous medals and ribbons.

  “Gentlemen, I’m Marine Colonel John Hughes.” The man didn’t extend his arm, his hands intertwined behind his back.

  Dale thought Hughes resembled a cartoon character with deeply recessed eyes, a prominent nose and a narrow chin. His scholar accent didn’t go unnoticed.

  “Detective Dayton, Vegas Police. This is my partner, Detective Mason.”

  Hughes gave the detectives an antagonistic nod. “Detectives, I’m Derek Baxter’s defense attorney and I’ll be organizing his court-martial.”

  “So what is it Baxter did that resulted in that special high-priority warrant?”

  Hughes’s impassive face never changed. “That’s confidential information, Detective. I’ll be taking him back to base now.” He turned to leave.

  “Wait a minute, Colonel.” Dale knew the military warrant took legal precedence over Baxter’s police custody, but he still didn’t like it. He played his highest card right away. “I don’t think you comprehend the gravity of the situation. You’re not taking him anywhere. Baxter is wanted for questioning in the murder of a police officer.”

  The colonel didn’t flinch. “I’m sorry for your loss, Detective, but this is a matter of national security. Baxter is wanted back on base. The military prefers to handle these situations internally.”

  “Listen, he killed my officer and there’s no way you’re taking him.” Dale moved closer to the colonel.

  “We’ll see about that, Detective.” In one swift motion, the colonel pulled out a cell phone. He turned his back, made a call and held a short conversation. When he had hung up, he turned back around to face Dale.

  “So?” Dale asked.

  The colonel only smiled.

  As if on cue, Dale’s cell phone rang. He answered without taking his eyes off the colonel.

  “Dayton.”

  “Let it go.” He heard his sergeant’s voice.

  “Yeah. But…”

  “I said, let it go.”

  “Yeah. Okay, Sarge.” Dale slammed the phone shut and addressed the colonel. “Okay, you seem to have some pull in my department. But we have some questions for your client, questions that are imperative to our investigation.”

  “He will not be answering questions from your department. I have your answers.”

  Dale licked his lips. “So what can you tell me?”

  “He was hired by a man named Ace Sanders to kill Calvin Watters. He was paid half upfront and the other half was to be paid on completion of his mission. Of course, that never happened. His employer never used his name, but my client, being a thorough Marine, conducted his research and knew who he was working for.”

  Before Dale could ask another question, the Colonel continued. “He is no longer in your custody. The Marines will take over from here.”

  Dale’s shoulders sagged.

  Baxter would never undergo a civilian court trial for homicide. As bad as it seemed, Dale couldn’t help but smile at the poetic justice. Having Watters turn Baxter into a one-legged man, some justice had been served.

  Dale and Jimmy watched Hughes turn and leave.

  “Wow, he thinks his shit don’t stink.”

  “Yeah, an asshole. But we have to let him take Baxter.”

  “What do we do now?”

  Dale would keep investigating the cop killing in hopes of finding evidence that he could give to the Marines and perhaps make their court-martial and sentencing more severe. But at the same time, he knew that he’d already found the real killer, so there was no cop-killer on the loose to search for, only potential evidence—a very slim hope at best.

  “Back to square one, Jimmy. Grant’s original murder investigation. At least we have hearsay testimony through the colonel that Sanders hired Baxter. Of course we can’t use it because Baxter will be gone. That still doesn’t link Sanders to the first three murders, but it does strengthen his motives. Why would he want Watters dead, if it’s not because he knows too much about the murders?”

  Baxter might have escaped civilian justice, but to Dale, Watters’ form of justice had been much greater and much more devastating. And he also realized that the military could be vindictive with those who betray their uniform and country.

  “Let’s go tell Watters.”

  “What the fuck do you mean he’s leaving?” Calvin squeezed out, his throat constricted from emotion. He couldn’t believe what the detectives were telling him. He and Rachel had just spent four days locked up, hiding from both the poli
ce and a hired killer. Their lives had changed beyond recall. His body hurt, his girlfriend was in hiding and he had to sit and listen as the dicks on the job let Baxter go.

  “I know how you must be feeling, but our hands are tied. The Marines wanted Baxter long before we did and they have dibs on him before the Vegas Police,” Dale said.

  “This is bullshit!” Calvin tried to stand, but the pain won over. “Give me a hand, will ya?”

  The detectives helped him to sit up on the edge of the bed. He knew that he shouldn’t be blaming them. They’d done all they could. But Calvin was feeling the aftereffects of the last four days and he needed someone to take his frustrations out on.

  “How are your injuries?” Dale asked.

  “Better.”

  “Want some?” The detective held out a tin of Skoal but he declined. Dale jammed in a chunk. “I thought all you athletes did this?”

  Calvin smiled but said nothing. He put his good hand on the bed railing and placed all his weight on it, pushing himself to his feet. He still had trouble with balance.

  “I need to get out of this stuffy room.”

  “How about a walk?” Detective Mason spoke for the first time since the introductions.

  Calvin hobbled on stiff legs across the room. The detectives opened the door just as Baxter was being wheeled past. He was uncovered, which revealed his bandaged, shortened left leg.

  He wore a hospital-issued, sleeveless gown and Calvin saw a tattoo of two eagles flying head-to-head and the letters USMC printed under them on Baxter’s right arm.

  Like Calvin, he had substantial bruising and scratches to his face and arms. Calvin’s and Baxter’s eyes met before Baxter looked away.

  Dale spoke. “I think for the first time in his life, he feels defeated.”

  “Where are they taking him?”

  “Marine Corps Base Camp Pendleton, which is the major West Coast base of the United States Marine Corps. It’s in San Diego County. Hughes is organizing Baxter’s probable court-martial for whatever he did that resulted in that special high-priority warrant. He’s Baxter’s defense attorney.”

  The three men watched Baxter being wheeled down the hall and into a cordoned-off wing. They exited the room and walked in the opposite direction.