Vengeance: A Reece Culver Thriller - Book 1

by Bryan Koepke

  “You sound like you have a thing for that guy,” Vinton said, distrusting his daughter. “Do what you will with him, but I want him dead. At this point Reece Culver is the only thing standing between us and our freedom.”

  *

  Later that afternoon Crystal walked into the True Value hardware store in the city of Edwards. She was wearing tight blue jeans and knee-high brown leather boots. She caught the clerk eyeing her physique and nodded sexily at him. With a shopping basket in hand she headed down the nearest aisle. After picking out several items, she approached the counter in front.

  “Did you find everything you were looking for?” the clerk asked.

  She emptied the basket and set down a roll of duct tape, a hundred-foot length of cotton rope, and a selection of clamps and other hardware.

  “Are you doing some work on your cabin or something?”

  “Just getting some supplies I know I’ll need next summer,” Crystal said. “Oh, I forgot one thing. I’ll be right back,” she said as she ran to grab a box cutter.

  After paying, she loaded the bag into the trunk of her car and drove to the veterinary hospital where one of her ski buddies worked.

  “Hello, I’m here to pick up a package of supplies from Pete,” she told the receptionist.

  “Let me see here,” the older woman said, searching under the counter. “What kind of supplies?”

  “It should be a cardboard box with the name Crystal Thomas. It’s for my dog.”

  “Oh, I see it. Here you go,” the woman said. “It looks like you prepaid over the phone. You’re all set. I hope your dog feels better.”

  “I hope so too,” Crystal said, although she knew one dog that wasn’t going to feel better tomorrow.

  Chapter Eighty-Two

  The interior of Rebecca’s Roost looked more like a museum showing the past hundred or so years of Colorado history in a large collection of black and white photographs than a drinking establishment. Haisley and Reece took a seat on a pair of dark stools near the center of the long wooden bar. A youngish barkeep with long red hair had her back to them cleaning glasses in a series of three stainless steel tanks. The first was filled with what Reece suspected was soap, the second a rinse, and the third some kind of bacterial agent. It was the last sink that made him question whether or not he felt thirsty.

  Haisley pulled the laptop computer out of its carrying case and began thumbing his way through the property records of Eagle county hunting for the names Shanks and Blackwell.

  “Are you okay?” He asked.

  “What do you mean, am I okay?” Reece said, lost in thought.

  “You just seem out of it today.”

  “I guess I just have a lot on my mind,” Reece said, fighting to make the words he was thinking flow from his lips. His shoulder had gone numb from the meds and he was pain free, but his mind was getting cloudier minute by minute.

  “I’d imagine you do have a lot on your mind, considering you have a date with that black widow who hired you. How many times has she tried to kill you now? Was it two or three?”

  The bartender turned around with a funny look on her face and after a few seconds smiled. “What can I get you two to drink?”

  “What beers do you have on draft?” Haisley said still nose down on the computer.

  “We have Budweiser, Coors, Amstel, Ranger India Pale Ale…”

  “That forth one. The Pale Ale. I’ll have a glass of that,” Haisley said cutting her off.

  “Would you like a pint or half pint?”

  “Oh, after what I’ve been through lately lets make it a full pint,” Haisley said looking up from the laptop for the first time and smiling at her.

  “How about you? What can I get for ya?”

  Reece stopped looking at the television set on the right side of the bar and made eye contact with her. He’d been chewing on the thought of paying Crystal a visit at her villa that night, but he knew he’d be better off sticking to his plan. Especially with Vinton Blackwell roaming the neighborhood. “I’ll take something strong. Is there such a thing as vengeance?”

  “You mean a drink named vengeance?” She asked striking a pose with her hand on her hip.

  “Yeah a drink. That’s what I meant,” Reece said not sounding too convincing.

  “I’ve heard of something called sweet vengeance,” she said leaning over the bar toward Reece. “If you’d like one those I’ll need to look it up.”

  “You’ve got me interested. What are the ingredients to sweet vengeance?” He said watching as she walked over to the cash register and start poking at the screen with her index finger.

  “Here it is. It’s actually a shot. Not a cocktail. It contains 1 ounce of Southern Comfort Fiery Pepper, and a quarter ounce each of orange and cranberry juice. Is that something that sounds good to you?” she said returning to the bar rail in front of Reece and locking eyes with him.

  “The concept sounds good, but I’ll pass on that drink. How about a couple of fingers of single malt scotch?” Reece said.

  “I’ve got a bottle of Glenlivet 18. Sound good?”

  “It does,” Reece said watching her walk down the rail to his left and disappear through a set of double doors he figured led to the kitchen.

  “You got any hits in that property book?” Reece said looking over at Haisley.

  “The only thing I see that looks close is a house under the name Trenton. That house is on the same road where we saw Shanks’ place.” Haisley said oblivious to the interaction between Reece and the barkeep.

  “Maybe he’s renting,” Reece said.

  “Oh, wait a minute, I got a 2,700 square foot two-story here that’s south of that first location, owned by Crystal Thomas. I’m guessing that’s the villa you’ll be visiting tomorrow,” Haisley said.

  “Good, so you’ll know where to come pick us up when I get her confession.”

  “Speaking of confessions, I was thinking we should go pay Detective Hughes a visit and see if he’s on board,” Haisley said.

  “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. It might be good to get Hughes dialed in to Shanks and Blackwell in case I get delayed.”

  Reece looked up as the doors swung open and the bartender returned with a fresh bottle of Glenlivet. He watched her twist off the blue top, pull a fresh glass of the shelf, and pour a generous helping of the single malt. The bartender smiled at him and disappeared back through the double doors. Reece took a sip savoring the taste and started thinking about what was ahead of him the next day. He knew what he was planning to do was very risky. Going to Crystal’s lair was a fifty-fifty shot. If things turned out well, he’d catch the man who killed his dad. If things turned out bad, he’d be joining his father six feet under.

  Chapter Eighty-Three

  Vinton Blackwell sat in his truck watching the line crew service the Airbus A-320. He pulled his cell phone from his coat pocket and dialed.

  “Aspen Jet Center, how may I help?” a young woman answered.

  “This is Mr. Blackwell. Are we all set for my Friday flight?”

  “Yes, Mr. Blackwell. Everything is ready. Just use the keycard I mailed you and enter the hangar via the side entrance. The pilots have been briefed about your dietary wishes and your destination.”

  “Good,” Blackwell said, ending the call.

  He arrived back at the villa just as Crystal was unloading her trunk.

  “Do a little shopping?” he yelled from his window, then got out and walked up to her.

  “Yeah, you never know what you’ll need when you’re having a dead man over for dinner,” Crystal said.

  She followed him into the kitchen with the box under her arm, along with the bag of hardware she’d bought. Crystal turned the key in the basement door and followed her stepfather down.

  “Have you got your bags packed?” he asked.

  “All packed. When do we leave?”

  “I’ll swing by Friday around nine am, and pick you up,” Vinton said. “If you have any trouble at all
with that clown, send me a text and I’ll come put him out of his misery.”

  “What are you thinking, you’re going to finish the job the third time around?” Crystal said sarcastically. “First you knocked him senseless in St. Louis, and then you torched his hotel. What did you have in mind this time?”

  Vinton’s face turned red with fury. He walked over and grabbed her roughly by the throat. She coughed, pawing at him desperately, and started to choke. His grip tightened, and for a moment she thought she was going to die.

  Then he let go. “Don’t forget who’s running the show, little girl. None of the other men in your life have done a damn thing for you.”

  Crystal coughed, trying to regain her composure. “I know that. I,” she said coughing loudly. “I was only joking.”

  Chapter Eighty-Four

  Reece sat in the lobby of the Vail Marriott, watching the hands of a big circular wall clock tick toward seven o’clock. His shoulder ache was coming back and he searched his jeans for the bottle of Vicodin, telling himself he could handle Crystal better if he put a dent in the pain.

  Needing to do something, he jumped up, grabbed another cup of coffee from the breakfast bar, and retreated to the men’s room with the intent of sawing one of the big white pills in half. Both stalls were full, and the room smelled. He glanced down at his watch: 6:50.

  A stall door flew open and an elderly man walked out in a bright yellow Descent ski outfit, looking like he was ready for the Olympics. Reece took the stall, and felt the warm seat through his jeans, guessing the old guy had spent the better part of an hour in there reading the crumpled-up Denver Post cast aside on the floor. He took out his Leatherman, and noticed that the blades still carried the stain of squirrel’s blood from their dinner a few nights earlier in the wilderness. He didn’t have time to clean the thing, so he gripped one of the white pills in the jaws of the pliers and squeezed, breaking it into small chunks. He stuffed what he thought was half the pill into his mouth and chased it with hot coffee. It was a foul tasting concoction but he managed to choke it down.

  Reece capped the pill bottle and left the stall. The same old man was toweling off. He reached toward his lips with a funny look and brushed at something. Reece didn’t have the faintest clue what the guy wanted. Not something to do with the Olympics, he guessed.

  A few minutes later, the front door of the hotel slid open and Crystal appeared, dressed in a bright pink ski parka with white fur circling her collar along with skin-tight black stretch ski pants. She had a funny look on her face as she approached him.

  “Hi, Reece, I like your cowboy look,” Crystal said. “What happened to your arm?”

  “Oh, nothing much. Just a little tumble.”

  “So, I see why you were not up to skiing today. I wonder if that will interfere with any other activities,” she said, sounding playful.

  They walked out to her hot car, and after driving around the valley to show him the sights they stopped off for coffee. From there they went to the factory shops in Dillon and ate lunch. They spent the afternoon bumming around and then headed back up to Vail. He was enjoying himself, but was keeping his guard up for a chance to catch her on something. Soon they were roaring up a mountainside toward the villa that Reece knew her father owned. The place had a huge deck off to one side, and that’s where Crystal led him once she parked the car.

  Two steaks on a plate were waiting for them, and Crystal stabbed hunks of meat with a large stainless steel fork plopping them down on the gas grill. The heat radiating out felt good on his torso. Reece battled the urge to close his eyes. He was physically relaxed, but knew danger was near.

  “How do you like your meat?” Crystal asked.

  “Cooked,” he answered.

  “Does that mean medium or burnt like an old shoe.”

  “Medium will do,” he said.

  “Do you like drama or comedy?” Crystal asked, pulling her steak off the main part of the grill and turning up the flame under his tenderloin.

  “Are we talking real life or movies?”

  “I was talking movies, but I guess it concerns real life as well,” she said, giving him a sassy look.

  “I’d say drama is best for both, unless I’m in the mood for something funny,” he answered, watching her walk into the kitchen with a slow back and forth.

  After dinner, they settled in on one of the plush leather couches in the den, bringing in the bottle of cabernet they’d shared at dinner. They started watching the movie Unstoppable. She reached for her wine glass, and as she brought it to her lips he watched the red nectar disappear like blood drawn into a vampire.

  “That’s the last of it,” she said. “Would you like me to open another bottle?”

  “Sure, if you’ll join me.”

  Playing voyeur once again, he watched her glide across the floor in her stocking feet. Reece grabbed the empty wine bottle and walked toward the kitchen himself, feeling a much greater level of intoxication than he’d normally felt after a couple glasses of wine. He saw an open basement door just beyond the refrigerator. He deposited the empty wine bottle into the trash, and was contemplating a descent down the basement stairs after her when Crystal came running up with a bottle of red in each hand. She slid to a hault and planted a kiss on his cheek.

  Taking the corkscrew lying on the kitchen counter, she reached for two long-stemmed glasses and coaxed him to follow her toward the stairs. He knew exactly what she had in mind.

  Chapter Eighty-Five

  Haisley sat on the bed in the hotel room, flipping through the television channels. He couldn’t find one that suited his interest, but that wasn’t what was bothering him. The worry that filled his thoughts was of Reece Culver sacrificing himself to catch a killer. Haisley knew Reece was desperate to catch Blackwell, but he wished he’d persuaded his dead partner’s son to do it another way. He knew Reece had something to prove not only to himself but to his mother. Haisley picked up the phone and dialed Detective Hughes.

  “Hughes, it’s Haisley Averton. I thought I’d check in with you.”

  “Haisley, how are you guys healing up?”

  “Oh, I guess as good as can be expected for a bunch of old-timers. Hey, I was wondering if you’d heard from that FBI agent we told you about.”

  “Yeah, I just got off the phone with Agent Cox. He’s not too happy with you.”

  “Oh yeah, what’s his problem?” Haisley asked, knowing the answer before it came.

  “He said you’re working for that PI of yours, Culver, when you should be helping him.”

  “He didn’t happen to mention his plan to offer that career criminal Vinton Blackwell immunity in exchange for testimony against Sam Shanks.”

  “No, he didn’t mention anything like that. What’s your interest in Blackwell?” Detective Hughes asked.

  “Vinton Blackwell gunned down my old partner from the St. Louis detectives squad back in 2009.”

  “Okay, that explains your interest, but why does this PI have such a hard-on for Blackwell?

  “My partner, Al Culver, was Reece Culver’s father,” Haisley answered.

  “Okay, I got it. So, do you guys have a plan to catch these guys?”

  “We’re working on that right now. Is there a good time I can drop by and have a chat with you?”

  “Now’s as good a time as any. You know where we’re located?” Hughes asked.

  “Yeah, I got the address right here,” Haisley said ending the call.

  Haisley left the hotel and made the short drive over. The interior of the Vail Police Department was nicer than Haisley had ever remembered a police headquarters being. He checked in with the receptionist and waited for Hughes to come out to the waiting area. Haisley wondered what type of cases a detective in a ritzy ski town might see in the course of his career.

  “You look better than the last time I saw you, Averton,” Hughes said, walking up behind Haisley’s chair.

  “Yeah, I feel a lot better too. It’s amazing what a good night
of sleep, a hot shower, and some food will do,” Haisley said as the two men walked past the reception area toward the detective’s office.

  “You want to fill me in on your plan, or should I just wait and clean up the bodies after you guys play hero?”

  “I’m counting on your help catching these guys, Hughes.”

  “Call me Mark.”

  “Okay, Mark. Like I said, I’m counting on your help, but catching Blackwell isn’t going to be easy. Agent Cox and the FBI have been tracking Shanks and his people for close to a decade. I worked with him on the task force he had going. I know all the background on the case. I also know they want Shanks. He’s the big fish, but Vinton Blackwell is worth taking down too. He’s got blood on his hands from at least two murders.”

  “Murders? Who were his victims?” Hughes asked.

  “I told you about my partner, and he most likely murdered an Owen Roberts a few weeks ago,” Haisley said.

  “He sounds like a muy busy hombre. So, what’s your plan, Averton?”

  Chapter Eighty-Six

  Reece felt the fullness of his bladder but resisted waking as long as he could. He held his eyes closed, slowly coming to. Crystal was on his right side with her warm leg over his thigh. He had no memory of getting from the couch to her bedroom and was worried about it. He was thankful to see he was still wearing his boxers.

  He reached for the side of the bed to free himself from her leg, and felt a lightning bolt of pain shoot down his wounded left arm. He cautiously slid out from under her. She cooed as she turned over onto her side, took a deep breath, and then let it out like steam from a kettle.

  He stood next to the bed, making sure she was still asleep. Reece donned his shirt but left his Tony Lama cowboy boots on the floor. Taking short steps, he made his way out of the door, down the hallway, and to the top of the stairs in the blackness of the early morning. Making sure to remain silent, he went down the steps. He was still feeling the effects of the Vicodin- and wine-laced euphoria. The bathroom at the bottom of the stairs was a welcome relief. Reece peered out of the bath toward the dark kitchen while toweling off his hands and saw the dim green light of the microwave oven display.