by B A Trimmer
~~~~
We first spent an hour and a half in the basement. There were fifteen or twenty old boxes and crates laying in two large piles. From our search of the basement on Tuesday, I didn’t think any of them had been handled in several years. But realistically, the chest could have been in any of them. Going through all of them was dirty and dusty work but at last, we finished. Unfortunately, there was no treasure.
We went outside and looked around the pool. The date palms and queen palms provided a lot of shade and the waterfall made a relaxing sound. Although lovely, there wasn’t anything of note at the pool other than a wet bar, some really comfortable lounge chairs, and a small bust of Lester’s grandfather sitting on a marble pedestal by the back wall. We looked in the bar refrigerator, fully stocked with an unusual selection of tasty looking, ice cold, imported beers. The bust, although noteworthy, was much too small to contain the jewelry, even if someone had carved out the middles. I made a mental note to come back and lay in a lounge chair sometime soon. Preferably with a cold beer.
We spent the next two hours examining every room in the house. We lifted carpets and looked behind paintings. We pulled on books and tapped on walls. We even banged on pipes and pushed on the backs of closets.
We were both getting frustrated at our lack of progress. Finally, we both seemed to agree we were getting nowhere. We were by the library and we decided to go in there. Les headed straight for the door leading out to the terrace.
We stepped outside and were welcomed with a fresh blast of heat. Les flinched, but I could tell his mind was elsewhere. We both walked to the edge of the terrace and looked down at the city.
“I don’t remember it being this hot when I came here as a kid,” he said. “We didn’t always come in the summer but even when we did it didn’t seem this brutal.”
“Summers in Arizona are special,” I said. “It’s already over a hundred and ten, maybe even one fifteen. It’s a day that’s going to sizzle like bacon in a frying pan.”
“Do you ever get used to it?”
“Well, sort of. I don’t even notice anything under one ten. When it feels hot, I mean really hot like now, I know it’s closer to a hundred and fifteen. But temperatures this hot only last a couple of months. The rest of the year, we live in a paradise the rest of the country pays top-dollar to visit. It always seems like a small price to pay.”
“I’m not sure I could live here. I’m a Chicago guy. When this is over, I’ll probably give the house to Elizabeth and see if she’ll give me the land. I could probably sell those properties faster than the house anyway.”
As he was talking, I could feel the assignment slipping away. We weren’t any closer to finding the jewelry and I could tell Lester had given up on finding it. I knew his sister Elizabeth had no idea where to look. I also knew I couldn’t hide from the Feds much longer. When they caught up with us, they’d stick to us like Velcro.
It was the same with the police. They were going to want to interview him again in a day or two. If they arrested Les for murder, there was no way he could be involved in hunting down the jewelry.
It suddenly annoyed me that Les had information that might help and that he was keeping quiet. The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. Les was still gazing out over the city and his thoughts seemed to be drifting. I reached up and grabbed Les by his big shoulders, turning him to face me, like he was a two year old who wasn’t paying attention.
“Look,” I said, “I know you are holding things back from me. If you truly want to find this treasure, I need you to tell me what’s going on. I’m not a cop, I’m not your wife, and I’m not a priest. I’m the person who’s trying to help you. You’ve got to tell me what you know or else we’ll never get anywhere.”
He stood in silence for almost a minute, turning away to look back out at the city as he considered my words. I could tell he was thinking about what to say. He seemed to come to a decision and then looked at me.
“OK, you’re right. I guess I should be straight with you. If we’re going to continue to do this, there are some things you should probably know about me. Let’s go sit somewhere where we can talk.”
By mutual agreement, we made our way back into the library. I knew Les felt safe there and it seemed like the right place to begin our conversation. As we entered the massive room, the air conditioning hit us like an icy blast. Les walked to one of the red-leather wing chairs and sat down. I pulled another one close to it. He composed himself before he started to talk.
“You should know I’ve been deeply involved with some pretty bad guys over the last few years. At first, it was exciting and I made a lot of money. But, as I’ve grown older, I’ve come to realize it something I want to spend the rest of my life doing. I have had enough of that life and told them I wanted out. Unfortunately, they told me I was obligated to stay. So, if I wanted out, I would need to buy out my own contract. Since I know too much about the organization, I either need to pay them off and never say a word to anyone or disappear, as in permanently disappear. Unless I want a bullet to the back of the head, I owe them money. A lot of money.”
“How much?”
“Three million dollars.”
“Wow. OK. I understand that part. But that doesn’t explain the Feds.”
“The government wants me to testify against my associates. They’ve been following me for weeks, supposedly to keep an eye on me and keep me out of trouble. They’ve promised me immunity and a witness relocation. But, unless I pay off the money first there’ll be a contract out on me for the rest of my life.”
“But if the government changes your identity and moves you somewhere that’s secret, how could they get to you?”
“That’s true, it might work out OK. But this is still the government we’re talking about. They seem to mess up everything they touch. I’m not sure I’m willing to bet my life that they’ll get it right this time.”
“But even if you pay off what you owe, won’t they still be upset if you testified against them? That sounds even worse than being in debt.”
“Well, if I can pay them off with this jewelry money I should be OK. From what I understand, in addition to me, the FBI is also pressuring five more of my former associates to testify. If one of them turns first, there won’t be any further pressure on me. That’s what I’m hoping for.”
“I assume the government has some sort of leverage over you to testify?”
“The Feds are threatening to charge me with various crimes unless I cooperate. The only things they can prove are relatively minor. I won’t get anything more than a light sentence, probably two or three years. After that, the slate will be clean with both the government and my former associates. I can get on with my life. Plus, if we do find the jewelry, I should have enough left over for a nice nest egg. It will go a long way to starting over after I get out of prison.”
“Now I’m confused. You have money. When we first met on Tuesday, I heard you buying a hotel in Vail. Can’t you sell some stuff and get the money for the guys in Chicago?”
“I’m sorry to say the hotel story you heard was a sham. I knew you’d be coming to the room so I made up that thing about the hotel. It was a spur of the moment decision. I was on the phone talking to an old friend in Chicago when I saw you walking up the stairs. I told him I was trying to impress a woman and asked him to roll with it.”
“So why the deception?”
“I wanted you to think I still had a lot of money so you’d help me. There’s no way I can pay the legal fees I’m piling up with both the lawyer in Chicago and with Leonard over this inheritance thing. But, I knew I was going to need somebody local to help me out or else I wouldn’t have a chance against my sister.”
“You just need the jewelry.”
“That’s right. With the money I’ll get by selling Granddad’s trinkets, I can buy my way out of a lot of trouble.”
“But we need to find the jewelry first.”
“Yes, that will be a helpful fi
rst step. And, as long as you want to know my secrets, I should probably mention one other thing. It’s about Tuesday night…”
“Lester,” said a high-pitched man’s voice coming from behind us, “I think you’ve said enough.”
We both turned in the direction of the voice. It belonged to a skinny guy dressed all in black like a military commando. He had black boots, black cargo pants, and a black tee shirt. He had a shrunken face, dark eyes, and long black hair pulled into a ponytail. He looked to be somewhere in his mid-twenties and had the malnourished body of someone who had taken a lot of drugs. He was holding a pistol, pointing it directly at Les. From the size of hole in the barrel, it must have been a 10 mm or maybe a .45 caliber. Either way, it wasn’t good news.
How long had he been listening? Did he hear that Les might testify for the Feds?
“Morningstar is getting annoyed with you,” the man said, and he laughed a thin high-pitched giggle. There was no humor in the creepy little laugh. “You and I need to go for a ride. We need to talk about your future in light of recent events.” Again, the creepy laugh. It sounded like the laugh of a lunatic.
“Come on Magic,” Les said, “You don’t need the gun. You already know I’m working to find the jewelry so I can pay everyone off. It’s somewhere here in the house. I think it would be more constructive to find the jewelry first then we can all get together. If I’m off having a meeting with Morningstar, the jewelry could be recovered by someone else. Then we’re both screwed.”
“Unfortunately,” Magic said, “after what you did to Frankie the other night, I think it’s gone beyond a simple payment to set things straight. You’re a hard man to find but Morningstar sent me to fetch you. I think he’s tired of waiting and wants to personally explain how things stand for you now.”
“Hey, I didn’t do anything to Frankie.”
“Well, that’s not how I hear it. Come on, you have a date with Morningstar. You can tell him all about it.”
He waved the gun as our invitation to get up. He made me go first and had Les walk three steps in front of him. Since I was in the lead, I wondered what the odds would be of getting shot if I tried to make a run for it. I also thought about the bulletproof vest Max had worn the last time he had gotten shot; it had probably saved his life. Maybe wearing a bulletproof vest would be a good accessory at times like this.
OK, I guess Reno has a point about my job being somewhat dangerous.
We walked through the house and out to the courtyard. There was a nondescript white rental sedan parked next to my car.
Magic used his gun to wave us to my car. He told Les to get in the front driver’s side. After Les got in, the guy looked at me. I could tell he was deciding what to do about a woman who had no business in his affairs.
“Give me the keys and then get in the back,” he quietly said.
I dug though my purse and handed him the keys. I was briefly tempted to pull out my baby Glock, but with his gun already trained on me it wouldn’t be a fair contest. Besides, if he wanted me in the backseat, I could play it cool, take my time, and perhaps get the drop on him.
I walked to the back of my car with the man right behind me. I reached out to open the door when a sudden bold of pain struck the back of my head. Bright lights and black dots danced in front of my eyes. I felt myself falling. Then I knew no more.
Seven
I slowly came swimming back to consciousness, gradually becoming aware I was somewhere dark and cramped. The air was so hot I was having a hard time breathing. I was curled-up in the fetal position and I couldn’t seem to move. My eyes burned and stung from the sweat that had been running into them. The back of my head hurt like hell, a bitch-kitty of a headache pounding to the rhythm of my heart. I couldn’t tell how long I’d been out but it seemed like it had been quite a while.
As I felt around, I knew I’d been placed in a coffin. At this, I started to panic. I’m normally not bothered by closed spaces, like an airplane or an elevator, but being trapped in a coffin was way beyond my comfort level. I remembered a scene in the movie Kill Bill where Uma Thurman had been placed in a coffin and then buried alive. That vision suddenly became all too real for me.
I spent almost a minute in stark terror as I imagined my long and painful death trapped below the earth, unable to move and slowly suffocating. I kicked out with my legs and attempted to move my arms, but they were tightly pinned behind my back. I tried to yell for help, but what came out was a long frightened scream.
Gradually, my panic subsided to below the surface and I became determined to find out where I was and how I was going to get myself out of this cell. The first thing I noticed was it was not completely dark. There was a faint light coming from the side of my tiny prison, somewhere above my head. From what I could see, I was in some sort of box or a container and it seemed to be made of metal and plastic. I could also tell the walls were not lined with satin. At this, I realized I wasn’t in a coffin. That helped reduce my panic down to a manageable level. I next tried to free my hands but by feeling around with my fingers, I could tell I had on a set of handcuffs.
Great. I hate it when this happens.
My heart rate started to slow as the terror receded, but the air was still hot and it hurt to take in a breath. The last time I had felt heat like this was when I had gotten dumped in the middle of the desert on a hot July afternoon and I had to walk almost ten miles to a truck stop on the outskirts of Gila Bend. I almost hadn’t made it then and I was getting the same dizzy feeling from breathing in the heat.
The next thing I noticed was the faint smell of oil and gasoline. I also began to hear the sounds of traffic. They had probably been there all along, but in my fright, I hadn’t registered it.
My eyes were becoming adjusted to the dim light and as I looked around my prison box, the faint shapes I was seeing were starting to make sense. There was a piece of plastic on the side of my box that had a bundle of wires going into it. I also saw I was laying on what looked like one of my old blankets. It had colorful cartoon characters on it from when I was a kid. One I always keep in my trunk for emergencies.
Am I locked in my trunk?
The only thing that didn’t make sense was the light coming from above to my head. Then I realized if this were my car, there would be a bullet hole right about where the light was coming from.
I’ll have to thank Max someday for shooting up my car.
Knowing I was locked in my trunk helped narrow down my options, but it still didn’t get me any closer to getting out. I knew there was an emergency trunk release that would open the lid and then I could crawl out. Unfortunately, my hands were tightly cuffed behind my back. In my cramped fetal position, there was no way I could roll over to pull the release. I tried to bend down so I could pull on it with my teeth, but I couldn’t move my head more than a few inches in any direction. I silently regretted all of the stuff I had crammed into my trunk over the years. If it hadn’t been for that, I could probably twist around enough to free myself.
I looked around in front of me and felt around behind me for my purse. It made sense they would use the handcuffs I always carried with me. If my purse was somewhere in the trunk, perhaps I could dig out my handcuff key. Maybe I could even use my baby Glock to shoot open the trunk, assuming it was still in my purse. Unfortunately, I quickly came to the conclusion that even if my purse was in the trunk, I couldn’t reach it.
With the realization I was out of options, a wave of sadness and desperation came over me. I was locked in my trunk, slowly baking in the heat, and I began to think I might die in here. Maybe Reno had been right and maybe I should have gone back to being a bartender. Nobody ever tosses their bartender in the trunk of a car and then leaves her to die if their drink isn’t made right.
Desperate to get out, I began blindly searching around with my fingers, looking for anything I could use to pull the trunk release or even pry open the trunk. As I was feeling around behind my back, my hand brushed against the back of my capr
is. As it did, I felt something hard. It took a second to register -- my phone was still in my back pocket.
My phone? OK. Interesting.
I maneuvered my hands around and tried to pull the phone out, but with my legs curled up it was tightly wedged into the pocket. I then reached down with the tips of my fingers and pushed up on the phone from the outside of the pocket. It still didn’t budge.
In desperation, I grabbed the top of the pocket and pulled as hard as I could. There was a ripping sound and I felt the top of the pocket loosen. After another two minutes of ripping my pants to make the hole bigger, I pushed up on the phone from the outside of the pocket. My fingers began to ache but the phone finally started to slide out of the top. Slowly, I began to work the phone out. My cuffed hands were slippery with sweat and it took several attempts to get a grip on it but I gradually eased the phone out of the pocket.
I was panting from the effort of pulling the phone out and getting seriously lightheaded from the heat. Knowing if I passed out, I probably wouldn’t wake up again, I rested as I cradled the phone in my hands.
OK, now what?
Since the phone was behind my back, I couldn’t see what I was dialing. Even worse, my phone had a smooth glass face. There was no way I could feel around to push 911.
Well, it’s a smart phone. Maybe I can talk to it.
I pushed the one button I could find and the phone beeped twice to let me know it was waiting for a voice command.
“Call 911,” I burbled out.
“I’m sorry,” the phone said. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
All right, I told myself, calm down, and speak slowly and clearly.
“Call 9-1-1.”
“OK, call 911. Are you having an emergency?”
“Yes!”
“Thanks, do you need the fire department, the police department, an ambulance, or the border patrol today?”