by Dave Stanton
“Oh, my fucking god!” the woman screamed, and puked on his corpse.
I walked to my truck and found a blanket. Cody was inspecting the Glock as if amazed. “Nice shooting,” I said. He nodded as I brought the lady the blanket and draped it over her bare shoulders. She stood shivering for a moment, until she remembered her clothes were still in the shack.
While she dressed, Cody picked up a half-full bottle of Herradura someone had left on the porch. We walked away from the carnage and sat on my tailgate and took a few pulls. The sun was going down, and a single dark rain cloud stood against the clear sky. Columns of light spilled from the cloud, striping the barren hills in sunlight and shadow.
“He’s still alive,” Cody said, pointing to the body of the man I’d run over.
His legs were twisted at wrong angles, and he had lost an eye. I could see the tread marks where my tire had crushed his ribs. Blood gurgled from his mouth with each wheezing breath, and his remaining eye twitched madly, as if it was still trying to understand what happened to him.
“Should I offer him a shot?” Cody said, gesturing with the bottle.
I knelt down to the man. “Where’s Jimmy Homestead?”
His eye stopped twitching, and he turned his head to look at me. His lips started moving, blood flowing down his chin.
“Chinga tu madre,” he whispered, then he gasped and died.
“Nice last words,” I said. I pulled my cell phone and started dialing just as we heard the first whine of the sirens. I put the phone away and took the Glock from Cody and secured it and the Berretta in the lock box behind my cab. Then the girl came out of the shack, her hair tangled, her face dark with bruises. She teetered across the dirt in form-fitting jeans and high heels and managed a small smile before she sat between us on the tailgate. I offered her a hit off the bottle, and we sat there waiting for the cops to arrive.
42
It would be inadequate to describe what happened next as simply chaotic; a more apt description would be to say it was like a rowdy acid trip. A pair of military-grade SWAT vehicles rumbled around the corner and bore down on us, followed by four Reno PD squad cars. A dozen fully outfitted SWAT commandos spilled out, and in seconds we were staring down a phalanx of AR-15 assault rifles. The uniformed cops dispersed and scrambled about, and in the confusion, they actually tried to interrogate one of the dead men. Jimmy Homestead jumped out of a squad car, only to be wrestled to the ground and cuffed. Amid the yelling, a coyote trotted by a little ways out, and one of the Reno cops drew his service revolver and took a pot shot. The SWAT team freaked and one heaved a stun grenade at the perplexed patrolman.
Cody lit a smoke and handed me his pack. We sat on the tailgate until eventually the cops were satisfied the crime scene was secured. The SWAT teams left, leaving the local police to conduct interviews, gather evidence, and otherwise sort things out. I gave my keys to Gordon DeHart, a cop I knew from a run-in I had with the Carson City police last winter.
“Aren’t you out of your jurisdiction, Lieutenant?” I said.
The portly, balding officer freed Sanzini from my truck and shook his head. “Reno, even if you’re innocent of any wrongdoing, which I doubt, do you have any idea how much paper work this is going to take? You’re on my shit list, buddy.”
“Another member of your fan club, I see,” Cody said.
They separated the four of us to take our statements. Within a few minutes, Sanzini was again cuffed and escorted to the rear seat of a squad car. Two young patrolmen fawned over the blonde, whom I overheard crediting Cody and me for saving her from being sexually assaulted.
“You might as well start at the beginning,” DeHart said. “But do me a favor and try to make it quick.”
I looked at my watch. “Yeah, I know, it’s damn near happy hour.”
“Get on with it, Reno.”
I took a deep breath. “Jimmy Homestead’s stepmother hired my partner and me to find Jimmy after he won the California lottery a few months back. We found him, but she stiffed us on our fee. So Cody went to talk to Jimmy to see if he’d be willing to pay us in return for our disclosure of what we knew about his stepmom.”
“Which was?”
“Not much, really. Anyway, Cody borrowed my truck to drive to where he thought Jimmy was staying. When he didn’t answer his cell, I took a cab out there. Here’s the address.” I pulled the folded sheet of paper from my pocket.
“And?”
“Sanzini was the only one at the house. He tried to take me down, but I subdued him, and then he admitted his associates kidnapped Homestead, the babe, and Cody. He also said one of the Mexicans shot and killed a man earlier at the house.”
“Another dead body? This just keeps getting better.”
“Yeah, no shit. So I convinced Sanzini to tell me where the Mexicans were, and when I came here, one of them opened up on me with a machine pistol.” I pointed to my truck. “You think insurance will cover that?”
“I doubt it,” DeHart said.
“That’s okay, I think I have a skateboard somewhere. Anyway, I ran over the dude, and another one shot at me with a pistol, and I returned fire, hitting him in the chest.”
“What about the third guy? Looks like his head was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“He came out of the shack holding a rifle on the woman, who was naked, obviously not by choice.”
“And?”
“Cody shot him.”
“With what, a bazooka?”
“No, a Glock nine shooting hollow points.”
DeHart sighed. “What do you like on your pizza?”
“I’m kind of in the mood for pepperoni. Why?”
“You and me, and the rest of this merry band,” he said, waving his hand at the police and civilians alike, “we’re all going back to the station, and maybe if I get lucky I’ll get to go home tonight.”
“What about me?”
“You’ll get a nice cot, until I talk to the DA in the morning.”
“I guess stopping at a bar on the way to the station is out of the question?”
DeHart didn’t answer, but his expression said he wished he could.
• • •
The interview room at the Reno precinct station was drab and poorly heated. I sat at a metal table, facing DeHart and a younger black officer who was clearly playing the role of the bad cop.
“So let me get this straight,” the black cop said, leaning over the table, supporting his weight on his hands. “You walk into a home, uninvited, looking for your buddy.”
“That’s right.”
“Then you claim to be attacked by a man who you choke unconscious, chain to a D-ring in your truck, and torture with a stun gun until he tells you what happened to your partner.”
“Yeah. I was in a hurry, and the stun baton usually brings pretty quick results.”
“Wow. You sound like quite the expert. So, first we got trespassing, and now let’s add assault, battery, and kidnapping to the list. And we haven’t even got to the best part yet.”
“You mean the gorgeous nude woman and the bottle of tequila, right?”
“Reno,” DeHart said from where he was sitting in the corner. He shook his head, and looked down in an effort to hide his expression.
“I’m glad you think this is so funny,” the black cop said to me. “Actually, I was referring to the two men you killed.”
“They were both shooting at me. I killed them in self-defense. So what’s the point here?”
“The point is, instead of calling the police, you took it upon yourself. And now three people are dead.”
“I got there just in time to save the life of my best friend, and also to prevent the rape and probable murder of an innocent woman. There was no time to wait for the police.”
“All right,” DeHart said, rising from his chair. “Let’s go back to how these people are connected. Tell me again what Sanzini said to you.”
“He said the three Mexicans were gangbangers w
ho wanted to rip off Jimmy Homestead.”
“And the connection between Sanzini and the Mexicans?”
“All Sanzini said was Homestead had heisted some coke from him, and when Sanzini heard he’d won the Lotto, he tried to find him to get payback. When he had trouble finding him, Sanzini called the Mexicans for help.”
Both cops were silent. We’d been in the room for over an hour, and I’d repeated the same answers to their questions more times than I could count.
“Owens, is the pizza here yet?” DeHart said.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, go out and check, would you? I’m starving, and I’m sure Mr. Reno is too.”
The man blew his breath through his teeth and stomped out the door.
“They took your friend Gibbons to the hospital,” DeHart said.
“They did? How is he?”
“He had two huge knots on the back of his head and complained of a headache. Probably has a concussion.”
“Shit.”
“They’ll most likely keep him overnight for observation. He’s down the street at Reno General.”
“You still planning on keeping me here tonight?”
“No,” DeHart sighed. “But don’t make me regret it. You know the routine—don’t leave town, and make yourself available if I call.”
“No problemo.”
“One more question, Reno. Jimmy Homestead claims he knows you. Said you went to the same high school.”
“That’s true.”
“So what’s the connection?”
“Connection? I haven’t seen or spoken to him in over fifteen years. Other than his stepmother hiring me to find him, there is no connection.”
“I don’t like coincidences.”
“Well, if it’s really bugging you, I suggest you contact Sheila Majorie.”
“Maybe I’ll do that.”
“If you do, tell her she owes me about thirteen grand. And if my insurance doesn’t cover the damage to my truck, I’ll send her the repair bill for that too.”
43
I walked out to the small lobby of the precinct, eating a slice of pizza and wondering how I’d get home. Sitting on a bench against the wall, her hands in her lap, was the blond woman. Her makeup was tear-streaked, and when she looked up, her expression made me think of someone lost at sea.
“Hi,” she said weakly.
“Hello. It’s cold out. You don’t have a coat?”
“No.”
I looked out the plate-glass windows into the black night. “Where you headed?”
“My car’s parked at Jimmy Homestead’s house. But my keys are in my purse, and my purse is locked in the car.”
“The cops didn’t offer you a ride?”
“One did, but I didn’t like the way he looked at me.”
I stuck my hands in my pockets. “It shouldn’t be too tough getting your car open,” I said. “We could take a cab over there.”
“Really? That’d be great. I’m Heather, by the way.”
“Dan Reno,” I said, taking her hand. “Listen, I know you’ve been through a lot, and I don’t want to impose. But my truck’s ruined, and I need to get to South Lake Tahoe tonight. It’s about forty-five minutes away.”
“Is that where you’re staying?”
“It’s where I live.”
“Oh. You’re asking for a ride, in return for you getting my car open?”
“You don’t have to.”
“Do you think you could find me a hotel there?”
“Sure.”
She nodded, and I took off my jacket and fitted it over her shoulders. “I want to check on my buddy at the hospital first, for a minute. Then I’ll call us a taxi.”
We walked down the block toward the medical center. “I want to thank you, and your friend, for being there,” Heather said. “That man was ready to rape me.”
“I’m glad we were able to stop him.”
“Yeah, you sure did stop him.” We walked in silence, then she said, “Did you kill the other two?”
“Yes.”
“Does it…bother you?”
“No. They tried to kill me.”
“It was just so, well, violent, you know what I mean?”
“I think so. You were probably shocked, right?”
“Yes, very much.”
“It might bother you for a bit, but it will pass in time.”
“They were bad men,” she said, looking at me with teary eyes. “I’m glad they’re dead.”
It was almost nine P.M. when we got to the hospital. Heather waited in the hall while I went to Cody’s room. He lay propped up, dozing in his bed. A nurse told me to go ahead and wake him.
“Can’t a person get some shut-eye around this joint?” he grumbled.
“How’s your melon, man?”
“Soft. Whoever coldcocked me wasn’t playing around.”
“Well, they’re dead and you’re alive, if that’s any consolation.”
“It’ll have to do.”
“What do the doctors say?”
“They’re gonna take X-rays for a fractured skull and keep me overnight. I should be ready to split in the morning.”
“Give me the keys to your truck and call me when you’re ready. I’ll come pick you up.”
“They’re on the nightstand.”
“Get some rest,” I said, then left so he could, after taking a metal coat hanger from a peg on the door.
Fifteen minutes later a cab dropped us off at Jimmy Homestead’s house. A beat-to-shit Ford LTD was in the driveway, and it looked like every light in the house was on, as if someone were throwing a party. Heather’s silver Camaro was parked across the street. I pushed the coat hanger through the molding between the window and frame, and worked it until the door lock popped open.
“That’s pretty cool,” she said, trying to smile despite her fat lip. She found her keys in her purse and asked me to drive. I turned on the heater and made a U-turn, staring at the Ford junker. I guessed it belonged to Jimmy’s father. I couldn’t imagine a car more opposite Jimmy’s exotic ride.
I drove us out to the highway, southbound toward Tahoe. After the car became warm, she took off my coat and tucked her legs underneath her. I sensed she wanted to tell me something, but we drove on in silence.
The events of the day had left me emotionally numb. Now that the adrenalin of the battle was long spent, the violence felt unreal, and also random and pointless. But then I thought of Cody, tied to a fence post in that hidden desert basin, blood caked on his face, while Heather Sanderson was stripped naked, her face beaten, a rifle held to her head by her would-be rapist.
“What are you thinking?” Heather asked. She was staring at me.
“Things could have ended up a lot worse out there.”
She touched my arm and nodded solemnly.
We crested the summit over Spooner Pass and I steered her Chevy through the sweeping curves leading down the grade to Tahoe Valley. The lights of the city etched the south shore of the lake, the body of water a black abyss against the dark sky.
“I guess I’m a widow now,” Heather said.
“What?”
“My husband was shot and killed at Jimmy’s house. He was killed by the man you ran over.”
“Why?”
“No reason, really. We were leaving Jimmy’s house and when we opened the door, they were standing there. It was the skinny one. He didn’t say a word, just pointed his gun and shot.”
I didn’t say anything for a minute. Whatever Heather’s involvement with Jimmy Homestead was about, I didn’t care at the moment. But I also didn’t believe her husband was murdered for no reason.
“I’m sorry,” I said finally.
“We were getting a divorce anyway. He was bad news.”
“Oh. But still…were you and your husband friends with Jimmy?”
“Yes. He invited us to visit. We were just leaving when all hell broke loose.”
We came off the pass and drove aro
und the lake, past the casinos, and crossed the state line into California. I pointed out a few hotels.
“My place is just a couple miles up the road,” I said. When we pulled into my driveway, I shut off the motor and looked at her. “Hey, you’re welcome to stay in my guest room. You should probably get some ice on that eye.”
“That’s kind of you. I’m not working now, so money is sort of tight.”
“I hear you.”
We went inside, and I threw some logs in the stove while she showered. When she came out to my living room she was wearing a loose cotton sweat suit. Her hair was still wet, and she had combed it straight. “Here,” I said, handing her a bag of frozen peas. “Fifteen minutes on your eye, then fifteen on your lip.” She sat curled on the couch, watching me stoke the fire.
“How did you get involved in all this?” she asked.
I closed the stove door and stood. “Are you hungry?”
“Yeah,” she said shyly. “What do you have?” She followed me into the kitchen.
“A couple cans of soup. Some bread. Cheese. Eggs. Cold cuts.”
“I’ll cook,” she said, but I made her go back to the couch. I heated her some soup and made a grilled-cheese sandwich.
“Do you have any booze?” she asked.
“Sure.” She sat at my kitchen table, and I brought her food and a vodka cocktail. I had originally thought she was about twenty-five, but without makeup and under bright lighting, it was clear she was in her thirties. Her nose was on the small side, and her blue eyes looked quite large and doe like. It was her eyes that made her face look so young.
“Thank you, this is very good,” she said.
“You’re welcome.”
She took a bite from her sandwich. “So, what is it you do?”
“I’m a private investigator. Jimmy Homestead’s stepmother hired me to find him, after he won the Lotto.”
“Oh. Do you always carry a gun around?”
“Not always.”
“I’m sure glad you did today. It seemed like you knew those cops who showed up. Did you?”