by Jim Heskett
She pointed for Brendall to lead the way. “A little jet-lagged, but I’m fine.”
They strolled past the merchants hawking their wares in front of the shanty. Most of them sat quietly, making their bracelets and necklaces, but some were more aggressive. They waved their hands and shouted for attention.
Layne ignored them all as he followed Brendall and Serena into the heart of the shanty. They passed through the door of what appeared to be an empty house. Electricians’ lights hung at intervals, but Layne couldn't tell where the power was coming from. He couldn’t hear the rumble of a generator.
Brendall moved quickly, alert and almost frantic. Brendall being on edge put Layne on edge. Layne kept his eyes on the big cop, for multiple reasons.
Past that first house, they entered a corridor of sorts. Beige mud-brick mixed in with unpainted cinderblocks. Little kids playing with a set of Mega Bloks. When the children saw Layne approach, they raced toward him. Hands out. Yelling, some in English, some in other languages, all of them swarming Layne. One of them even jumped up and grabbed onto his bicep. They begged and pleaded for candy and change. Layne had a few coins in his pocket, and he lowered the clinging child to the dirt floor so he could take them out. Once the kids had been paid, they returned to playing with their toys.
Serena smiled at him, and he shrugged. Brendall, a few feet ahead, turned and waved them forward. "Don't linger," he said. “Let’s all keep our voices down. It’s early, so a lot of people are still sleeping. Try to keep your backs to the walls. ”
Layne felt confident enough in the pistol in his waistband, but he did as Brendall requested. He and Serena stayed close on Brendall's heels until they exited the corridor and walked across a goat pen. On a nearby tin roof, a cropped-ear pit bull stared down at Layne. Alert, the whites of the dog’s eyes showing. Layne ignored the dog and climbed over the fence at the edge of the goat pen.
A cluster of teenage boys watched from a few yards away. Their silent eyes unnerved Layne, but none pulled out a weapon, so he let it go. All of them had cigarettes, misty trails of tobacco wafting into the air. Young teens being rebellious.
Brendall pointed at a structure with a wooden roof not too far ahead. It was painted bright blue, and it definitely stood out among the other drab buildings. They all walked toward it, and Brendall pulled back a set of drapes that were operating as a front door.
The inside was dark and musty and smelled like cow shit. There was a bar along one side, with a man standing behind it. A dozen people were at various tables, eating and drinking in this place with only a single light bulb hanging from a cord in the middle of the room. As soon as they'd entered, a Latino man with a wispy beard walked right up to them. "You need something? Anything you want, look, I can get it for you.“
Serena took out her phone and held it up in front of the man's face. She asked him something in Spanish Layne couldn't quite translate, but her phone showed a picture of Harry. The man shook his head, but he pointed to another man sitting at a table, a bottle of Dos Equis at his lips. The seated man had dim eyes and a furrowed brow. Layne noted how he had watched them from the moment they had stepped inside the room. Not in an aggressive way, but his interest made Layne keep a watchful eye.
He put his hand on the pistol in his waistband before they walked over. He'd noted a few others packing guns inside here, so he no longer felt the need to conceal it.
Serena held up a hand to keep them back, and then she approached and spoke to the man on her own. She also showed him the picture and softly asked him something in Spanish. They had a brief conversation as the man leered at her, eyeing her up and down.
She came back a minute later, tucking her phone in her pocket. “He says he doesn’t know the name Harry, but he has firsthand knowledge about a 'fat guy' getting kidnapped and moved around outside of Sedona. Says he saw it happen. It’s not much, but it’s something.”
“Did he say who he saw?” Layne asked.
“Some group named Pahana? He says they were contracted to provide security for the man who wanted him kidnapped. He also says he wants to talk to you.”
“Me?” Layne asked.
She nodded. “You.”
Layne pulled his shirt down over his FN Five-SeveN pistol and approached the table. As he sat, the man with the wispy beard spread a grin lacking most of its teeth.
“You speak English?” Layne asked.
“I don’t like to, but I can,” the man said. He had an accent Layne couldn’t quite place, with shades of multiple regions. His English sounded fine to Layne, though.
“My colleague said you wanted to talk to me.”
The man’s eyes flicked to Serena, looking her up and down. “Yes. I know where they take your fat friend. I can tell you if you like.”
“What’s your price?”
The man pushed his chin toward Serena. “Your friend over there? I can make her feel things she’s never felt before. I want a night with her.”
“That’s not going to happen. Try again.”
“You speak for this woman? She is your girlfriend?”
“She is not, and I don’t speak for her, but I can guarantee you she’ll tell you the same thing I just told you.”
“Ask her.”
“Not unless you want her to knock out the rest of your teeth. If you want to negotiate, you’ll need to pick a different route. Try again.”
The man glowered for a moment, then drew a breath. “It’s okay. I think you should take my offer to your friend and ask her, but that is fine if no. I can still help you. My price is twenty thousand dollars.”
Layne chewed on this for a few seconds. He had about three hundred in cash on him, and he doubted if Brendall and Serena had much more than that. Daphne could get him twenty grand, but not as fast as they would need it, and not without a considerable hassle.
Still, Layne wanted to test the guy, to get a sense of how good his information might be. “I can possibly get the money. But you need to give me something. I need to know your information is worth the price.”
“Oh, amigo, it is worth it.”
“Okay, man, let’s talk. This ‘fat guy’ getting taken. You saw it?”
"I did. At the airport. They take him from the terminal bathroom and put him in a van. He was sleepy, like they gave him something.”
“And this man, what color hair did he have? Blond, like me, or dark like my colleague you’re interested in?”
For a second, the man’s eyes narrowed as he hesitated. “Like you.”
Layne shook his head and stood up. “Okay, thanks for your time.”
“Wait, wait,” the man said, also standing.
Layne put a hand on the butt of his pistol but did not draw it. “Yes?”
“I have no chance with your friend? The girl.”
Layne shook his head and returned to Serena and Brendall. The guy was guessing, trying to get laid or paid. But, before Layne could say anything, his phone buzzed, and he took it out to find a text from Daphne.
Intel gave me something interesting today. There was a section of Coconino County, west of Sedona, with mistakes on the map. Software glitch merged old maps with current ones. These three houses were not on previous maps, so we updated the shots. Hope this helps.
Below that, there was a link. Layne clicked it to find a satellite map of an area outside of Sedona. Within a couple of miles, there were three houses in a valley. One of them was large, set apart from the others. The perfect place to find a little privacy.
Layne held his phone out to Brendall. “Do you know this area? Nearest street is Siesta?”
Brendall nodded. “I think that’s Clarkdale.” He squinted, then his eyes opened wide. “Yeah, it is. I do know that place. See that mansion there, away from the others? The guy who built it went to jail for money laundering, about ten years ago. It was a big to-do, and then the new owner was some anonymous person. Nobody ever saw people aside from contractors. They put up big fences, security cameras. The town was no
t happy, but things quieted down, as far as I’ve heard. Some rich guy’s vacation home, probably, but it’s abandoned. No one has actually ever lived there, as far as I know.”
Layne pocketed his phone. “Why haven’t you mentioned this before?”
Brendall shrugged. “I haven’t heard anything about that house in years. It never occurred to me.”
It wasn’t hard to believe. Layne had done database searches on criminal activity over the last twenty years in Coconino County, and this money laundering house had not come up. Maybe his research had been sloppy, or maybe someone had kept this info off the books.
“That’s where we need to be. Let’s get out of here.”
Brendall directed them toward the exit. But, as soon as they pulled back the drapes, armed members of the Pahana were standing there, waiting for them.
27
The last time Layne had seen the Pahana at Snake Bite Canyon, there had been six of them. Now, there were nine, all clustered together. The white guy was not here this time though.
This crew stood fifteen feet away, facing Layne and his two companions. Eyes on fire.
A few Pahana had weapons out. Some weren’t armed, but they were all focused on the three outsiders who had walked out of the dim bar and into the light. A few of the armed ones held shotguns, barrels out and ready to fire.
They were standing inside the goat pen. The one at the front sneered and then opened his mouth to shout. Another leveled a shotgun at Layne.
Layne whipped out his pistol and shot the man in the stomach. The shot echoed off the nearby metal walls and roofs but didn’t expand beyond that. The density of the shanty absorbed the sound.
But, it had been loud enough to draw the attention of several people nearby. Screams, shouts, a rustle of activity as many fled.
“Move!” he said. Serena and Brendall both drew weapons as Layne turned south, toward the darkened door of a shack. Bullets whiffed by him, some striking the metal walls of the gathering place, some into the dirt. In the chaos, Layne couldn’t tell who was shooting, or from where.
He had to move fast. Walls around here were thin, and this place was thick with people. He didn’t want anyone to take a bullet. He thought of those little kids playing with the blocks, begging him for money and candy. Hopefully, they were all smart enough to run inside somewhere.
As he ran, he shoved people out of the way, doing his best to force them to the ground so they would be less likely to catch stray bullets. The Pahana had split up and were now spread out, many of them shooting.
Layne and his two followers stormed through the doorway, into a dark room. Layne could spot someone huddled in the corner. A woman, head between her knees. A shaft of light from a hole in the ceiling highlighted the gray among her black hair.
“We need to get out of here, now,” Layne said. “How do we find the edge?”
Brendall wheezed, trying to catch his breath. “Back to the cars. It’s the only way. There’s nothing but open land on the other three sides. We can’t outrun them, even if we get to those hills.”
“Serena,” Layne said, his brain racing to calculate the fastest way back to the car. “Rooftop.”
“On it,” she said and then sprinted forward, long strides, as she hoisted her Beretta 92G and kept it pointed at the ceiling. Layne followed her to the edge of the room, then out a back door. Blinding sunlight made him blink a few times before he could get his bearings. They were inside a chain-link fence area, with a plastic kiddie pool sitting in a patch of dirt.
He could see a fence not far away, with hills beyond it. But, he had to believe Brendall. An open foot race with a gang of locals armed with shotguns was not a race they could win.
So, when Serena used a trashcan to boost herself up to the top of the nearest building, Layne followed her. Brendall, struggling, needed help up. At the top, he pointed them back toward the highway where their cars were parked. A section of the corrugated metal roof to Layne’s right exploded from a shotgun blast, spewing bits of metal up into the air. He grabbed hold of Brendall’s arm and launched.
The shots were still coming from somewhere, but Layne didn’t feel anything nearby. None of them had made it to the roof yet. These few seconds might provide them enough lead time to make it.
They raced to the edge of this section of roof and leaped across a three-foot span to the next one. This one, made of rotting wood, bowed and cracked under their collective weight immediately. A twisted ankle could halt this escape attempt real fast.
“Keep going,” Layne said. He didn’t wait for the others. As he jumped to the next roof, he turned back to check, and a couple of the Pahana had climbed up the same trashcan to pursue. Forty or fifty feet back. Close enough to shoot.
“Move, move!” Layne shouted. Not enough safe distance.
The three of them jumped from roof to roof, makeshift domiciles squealing and bending under their feet.
Five more buildings to go. Layne could see the highway from here. His chest burned with each inhale of the dry and dusty air.
Four more buildings to go. Bullets whiffed by, missing him by inches. He listened to Serena’s sharp breaths, right on his heels.
Three more buildings. He turned to check on his companions. Serena was even with him, Brendall struggling, but not too far behind. They might actually make it.
At the last building, he braced himself and jumped. He aimed for a patch of dirt, then told himself to tuck and roll at the last second. A spasm of pain shot up through his ankles as he connected with the ground, hard. Serena landed a second later. Then came Brendall, and the big guy cried out as he crumpled into a ball and tumbled forward a couple of revolutions.
Layne and Serena helped him to his feet. Gasping, wheezing, his belly jiggling as he dusted himself off. Serena aimed her pistol back toward the rooftops and squeezed off a few shots as Layne hustled the cop toward their parked cars.
By now, the highway merchants had all scattered, leaving a straight shot to the escape vehicles. Bullets still chased them, but not as many. Layne focused his energy on making it to the rental car.
“Almost there,” he said, pushing his feet against the ground. He reached the car and whipped the door open, almost hard enough to break it.
By the time Layne was in his car and jabbing the keys into the ignition he observed a crew of Pahana, standing on the rooftop. Watching. Sneering.
“They’re staying away,” Serena said as she slid into the passenger seat.
Layne hit the gas even before Brendall and Serena had shut the doors in the back. They’d left Brendall’s car behind, but that would have to do.
“Is anyone hit?” Layne asked, shouting over the roar of the rental car’s engine as it joined the highway.
“No,” Serena said. “We’re good.”
Layne checked around, and the Pahana gang members were still back there, standing on the rooftops at the shanty, leering. But none of them made any movement to pursue. Maybe they were fine with the outsiders leaving. Maybe they had accomplished their goal of keeping Layne from finding out who had helped Ronald to take Harry and where exactly to find him.
But, it didn’t matter now. Daphne’s satellite images had provided a clue. Something tangible, with the clock running out. They had a destination in Clarkdale, a real lead to finding Harry.
28
An hour later, along Highway 260, they approached Clarkdale. From the back seat, Brendall directed Layne where to go. Even though they’d left the Pahana back at the shanty, Layne had a feeling he would find more of them at their destination.
They weren’t prepared to initiate an assault. Lack of manpower, lack of firepower. But, they also had to hurry to find Harry. Time was running out for Layne to “complete” his mission for Ronald Gaynor. Only a couple hours, actually.
“There,” Brendall said as he pointed at a winding road that led down into a valley. Along the street, a tall wrought-iron gate broke up a wooden fence. The fence ran a square around the length of the
property.
Layne opened the car door and leaned out. He could see the security cameras, pointed at the entrance. Although the house was a good distance from here, he could make out the front door and a circular drive. No cars.
“This is the place?” Layne asked Brendall. “You’re sure?”
“This is the one you showed me on the map. I can’t say for sure if your friend is here.”
Layne turned to Serena. “Hard and fast, or stealth?”
“Hard and fast,” she said. “He could have cameras hidden in a cactus, for all we know. I don’t think there’s a clean path that gets us to the house.”
“Fair point,” Layne said as he checked the magazine in his pistol. The wood of the fence appeared to be old, and even rotting in places. Not nearly as sturdy as the rest of the house and grounds seemed. He shut the car door and started the engine, then backed into the street. The nose of his car pointed at the fence as he revved the engine a couple times.
“What are you doing?” Brendall asked.
Layne didn’t answer the question. He hit the gas and drove straight for the fence. In the backseat, Brendall yelped, but Layne didn’t stop. He crashed through the fence, wood splintering and smacking the windshield. But, it held, and they burst through, out into the desert brush of the expansive yard.
He drove alongside the winding path to the house. It was a gargantuan thing. Ten thousand square feet, at least. But, it stood silently in the center of the valley. No activity. No sharpshooters on the roof, no guards making rotations along the perimeter. If they were expecting an attack, their preparations were well-hidden.
Layne raced up to the front of the house and hit the brakes, sending a cloud of red dust into the air. He grabbed the door handle, a pistol in his other hand, and waited.
“What’s going on here?” Serena said.
Layne turned up his palms. “I don’t know. It shouldn’t be this quiet.”
They all exited the car. Layne and Serena in front, Brendall a few feet behind. Layne stepped up onto the front porch, and that’s when he heard the hammer of Brendall’s revolver cock.