But Nobody Wants To Die

by David M George

  “Agreed,” I said, “And by the way, you look great.” She did too. In a girl next door meets Victoria’s Secret kind of way.

  “Thanks,” she said, “do you think it’s too much?”

  “Too much cleavage?” I said. “I don’t know if there is such a thing, at least as far as men are concerned.”

  “I mean too much as far as Rick is concerned,” she said.

  “I don’t think so. You look hot in a good way,” I said.

  “Is there a bad way?” she said, laughing.

  “Maybe being mistaken for one of the hookers down on Van Buren is a bad way,” I said. “Otherwise as the saying goes, it’s all fair in love and war. So what is it with Rick?”

  She locked the front door and we headed down the sidewalk towards the car. “I guess I’m falling in love,” she said, “and he has no idea that war has even been declared.”

  “Women usually know the score where affairs of the heart are concerned,” I said. “Our job is to lead them to where we want them to go.” I opened the door for her and she got in.

  “Like sheep to the slaughter?” she said.

  “Pretty much,” I said, and we both laughed.

  “What?” Dad said.

  “Oh nothing,” we said in unison. Jamie gave directions to Dad and off we went with Jamie and me smiling at one another over the front seat of the car. It was good to be friends again.

  “So how is Melinda doing?” I said.

  “She’s doing great, she’s actually at a Cocaine Anonymous meeting right now. I left her a note saying that my sister would be over soon to see how she’s doing” Jamie said.

  I told her that after talking with Melinda on the phone, Mikey decided to join forces with us. “Dad is less than thrilled by the idea,” I said, “but I think he could help us.”

  “Keep your friends close,” Jamie began.

  “And your enemies closer,” Dad said, finishing her sentence.

  The way to Rick’s place wasn’t far and it wasn’t long before we pulled up to the curb.

  “So what’s the plan?” Dad said.

  “I thought we would appeal to his sense of justice and fair play, as well as his patriotic responsibility to save the entire infrastructure of this country from the Chinese,” I said.

  “All while simultaneously sabotaging Big Ears Alphonso’s plans to steal untold millions from the mob?” Dad said.

  “That too,” I said.

  “What about Jamie?” he said.

  “She just needs to bat her eyes and let Rick feast his eyes on her cleavage while she not so subtly encourages him to forget the part about what we’re doing is totally illegal and very dangerous,” I said. Turned out we didn’t have to beg.

  Fortuitously for us, Rick just happened to be reading the story in the Arizona Republic about the Chinese vociferously denying Pentagon claims the Chinese were hacking U.S. national defense program websites when we walked in the door. I noticed he looked at Jamie a lot longer than necessary just to acknowledge her presence and seemed to brighten considerably when she returned his greeting.

  Gathering himself, he shook the paper in an attempt to concentrate on the small print, “Listen to this,” he said, reading aloud, “The accusations in the latest Pentagon report on the Chinese military are, ‘irresponsible and harmful to the mutual trust between the sides,’ Senior Col. Wang Xinjun, a People’s Liberation Army researcher, was quoted by the official Xinhua News Agency as saying.”

  “Here’s my favorite part,” he said, “Chinese Foreign Ministry spokeswoman Hua Chunying reiterated that China opposes cyber-attacks as well as ‘all groundless accusations and hyping’ that could harm prospects for cooperation.”

  Seizing the opportunity, Dad stepped forward, “Rick,” he said, “what I’m asking is both dangerous and illegal, but we need your help in bringing down Alphonso Vietri and giving China a taste of its own medicine.”

  “I wasn’t always a boy scout,” Rick said. “I’d like to shove a few ‘groundless accusations’ up China’s ass.”

  “We’re meeting at the Denny’s on Scottsdale Road and Osborn at 1300 hours,” Dad said, “Can you be there?”

  “Oh yeah,” Rick said, smiling at Jamie. “I’ll be there.”

  Dad nodded, “Good,” was all he said.

  As we walked back to the car he turned to Jamie and said, “Looks like he has a pulse after all.”

  Jamie smiled, “Appears he does,” she said.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  SADDLE UP

  D enny’s was nearly deserted. Jamie came to see Rick off and they were on their second round of ice tea while Dad and I each nursed a glass of water. Dad looked at his watch impatiently. It was well after 1:00PM and Mikey was a no show.

  Jamie said, “Did you get him to shake on it. You know, the secret Power Ranger handshake?” I knew this was payback from the whole sticky note on her undies fiasco but even though we had kissed and made up I was just about to tell Jamie what she could do with her secret handshake when Mikey came through the door.

  “Sorry, I’m late,” he said as he came over to our table. “I don’t know this town very well and took a wrong turn.”

  Dad certainly wasn’t going to say anything conciliatory. This was the guy that left his daughter for dead in the desert and Dad would just as soon stick a bayonet in his ribcage as look at him, so it was up to me to try and smooth things over. Ironic, I thought, as we tried to kill each other on several occasions, each wore the scars of the other’s efforts, and I was the one that had to make nice.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “No harm done.” I introduced him to Jamie and Rick; Dad threw a couple of bucks on the table and we got up to leave.

  Jamie pulled me aside on the way to the car. “I want to go along,” she said.

  “What about your houseguest?” I said, not wanting to say Melinda’s name out loud in case Mikey overheard and connected the dots.

  “She’ll be fine, I got my sister to watch her,” she said

  “Which sister, the one in rehab or the one that works at Goodwill?” I said.

  “Not the one in rehab,” Jamie said. “And it’s not Goodwill, it’s the Lutheran Thrift Store and only part-time while she finishes school.”

  “Whatever, it sounds like she’s too busy to watch her,” I said

  “She is doing fine,” Jamie whispered, “and besides if she wants to relapse, even watching her 24/7 is not going to keep her from doing so.”

  “That’s true, so nice of you to volunteer to help save the entire free world. This wouldn’t have anything to do with Rick’s going to Las Vegas would it?” I said.

  “No way,” Jamie said, smiling unconvincingly. “I just want to do my part.”

  Remembering Dad’s aversion to Mikey sitting behind him, I suggested Mikey sit in the front passenger seat next to Dad. “It’s a long trip,” I said, “and there’s not much leg room in the back.” Everyone seemed happy with this arrangement, especially Rick and Jamie as it meant they could sit next to each other. I sat in the back directly behind Mikey. Maybe when this is all over I thought, I could get a gig with the United Nations Peacekeeping Unit. It couldn’t possibly be any less stressful than dealing with this bunch.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  ACME CASKET COMPANY

  L ouie Fagamo sat in the front passenger seat of the black Cadillac Escalade parked across the street from Denny’s, the hum of the air conditioning the only sound as he watched Mikey get in the front passenger side of the white Dodge Challenger they had been tailing all morning.

  “I thought I’d seen everything, but I was wrong,” said Louie shaking his head.

  “You think he’s going voluntarily?” Jimmy said.

  “If he was being coerced they would have put him in the backseat, in the middle,” Fagamo said.

  “Jimmy,” he said, “call Big Ears and let him know the score. Ask him what he wants us to do.”

  “I know one thing,” said Jimmy from the back seat, tak
ing the phone out of his pocket, “if he’s there because he wants to be there, we’re gonna need one more casket.”

  “You got that right,” Louie said. The Dodge pulled out into the street turned left on Scottsdale Road. Louie listened as Jimmy gave Alphonso the bad news.

  “So what he say?” Louie said.

  He said, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph.”

  “Besides that,” Louie said.

  “He said just follow them for now and let him know if anything happens,” Jimmy said.

  “If I was a betting man,” Louie said, “I’d wager they’re going to Las Vegas.”

  “Makes it easier for us,” Jimmy said, as the white Dodge Challenger turned the corner.

  Louie nodded for the driver to go ahead.

  “Nothing about this has been easy,” Louie said, “and I don’t expect that to change any.”

  The black Escalade slowly pulled away from the curb and crept towards the intersection. When the traffic cleared the Black Escalade turned left on Scottsdale Road, staying well back of the white Dodge.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  COVER AND CONCEALMENT

  A fter the requisite small talk during the drive up to Las Vegas, discussing the heat, the humidity, and the differences between summer in Las Vegas and summer in Phoenix, Rick asked Mikey what he knew about Alphonso.

  Rick said he was able to obtain Alphonso’s date of birth and his home address off the internet. But the more he knew about him, the better the odds of coming up with his username and password.

  “Well,” Mikey said, “they don’t have any children, so nothing doing there. He has a dog though. He treats the dog better than the people working for him. A Doberman. Big, slobbery dog; Ming. His name is Ming.”

  “Like a Ming vase?” Rick said.

  “No, no” Mikey said, “like Ming the Merciless. He thinks his dog is a stone cold killer. Ming is afraid of his own damn shadow.”

  “Ming the Merciless?” Jamie said.

  “A character originally from the Flash Gordon comic strip of the 30’s.” Dad said, “The planet Mongo was ruled by the evil Emperor Ming.”

  Mikey nodded appreciatively. “That’s right,” Mikey said, smiling. Flash Gordon being an evolutionary stepping stone to his beloved Power Rangers.

  Rick asked more questions about Alphonso including organizations he belonged to. The only real pay dirt was discovering that Alphonso was a Fourth Degree Knight in the Knights of Columbus. With Mikey complaining that when Alphonso wore a costume with a cape in a parade it was perfectly normal but when Mikey wore a costume it was sick and twisted. When Rick was done asking questions, scribbling Mikey’s responses down on a yellow legal pad, Dad asked a few of his own.

  Besides knowing Alphonso’s office was on the twelfth floor, Mikey was unable to provide many details about the physical layout of the building or the inner workings of Alphonso’s security system. One thing he did know though, Louie Fagamo and Jimmy V. were real life stone cold killers and avoiding them was most likely a good idea.

  We voted to just plain out think them. Which would have passed unanimously if Dad hadn’t noticed the black Escalade still several hundred yards and several cars behind us ninety minutes out of Phoenix. Exactly where they were almost 100 miles ago.

  “The junction with Arizona 89 is less than a mile up the road. Buckle up,” Dad said as he pressed the accelerator and the big Dodge engine roared.

  Dad kept one eye on the road and the other on the rear view mirror. “They are back far enough that maybe we can get lucky,” he said, taking his foot off the accelerator.

  “Hang on!” he said, as he braked hard and threw the Dodge left. The tires squealed as we made the turn. Dad hit the accelerator as the tires found traction and we blew through a stop sign as the Dodge leaped forward. I managed to catch a glimpse of a street sign. Matthie Ranch Road it said, but everything else was a blur.

  The road turned to gravel and we went over a slight rise, the surrounding countryside nothing but sand, rock and creosote bushes. Up ahead off to the right was a thicket of low laying mesquite trees in a depression and Dad left the roadway, pulling in behind them. “We should be down low enough that we’re not visible from the highway,” Dad said.

  “So what do we do now?” I said.

  “We wait,” Dad said, turning in his seat to lock eyes with me, “patiently.”

  “The idea is as follows,” Dad said, elaborating for the benefit of all hands. “The Black Escalade northbound on Arizona 93, soon comes to the realization that we are no longer ahead of them. After some deliberation, they decide if we are no longer on Arizona 93, it means we must have spotted them and exited on Arizona 89 even though it is a longer drive to Las Vegas. They backtrack to the junction with all due haste and proceed north on Arizona 89 in a futile attempt to catch us. We wait, giving them enough time to speed down the wrong road and then once again proceed north on Arizona 93. Comprende?”

  “Gee Dad, it’s like something in Sun Tzu’s, “The Art of War,” I said.

  Dad grinned. “Maybe, although it’s even more likely to be found in the Marine Corps Guidebook on Small Arms Tactics,” he said.

  “All warfare is based on deception,” Mikey said. “When we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when we are far away, we must make him believe we are near.”

  “That’s Sun Tzu,” Rick said.

  “No way, it’s straight out of the Power Ranger Handbook,” Mikey said.

  We all laughed. Even Dad smiled. Maybe we weren’t going to sing Kumbaya holding hands around the campfire, but at least we weren’t at each other’s throat. Not yet anyway.

  “We’ve got to get rid of this car in Vegas,” Dad said, “it’s too easily recognized. I still have a few friends on Las Vegas P.D. Maybe I can get one of them to trade cars for a week or so. I don’t think the Mob is going to be looking for it at the LVPD Metro Parking Garage.”

  Dad made a phone call while we were sitting and spoke with a detective he knew from the old days and the trade was made.

  We waited almost twenty minutes before Dad sent Mikey to the top of the nearest hill for a look see. When he returned and advised Dad the coast was clear, we crept out of our hiding place and got back on Arizona 93. Dad put the hammer down and I even got to listen to Tab Benoit’s, “Next to Me” on the CD player before we coasted into town a few hours later, arriving at the Metro garage just minutes afterwards.

  I was the only one brave enough to complain about needing a restroom but got nowhere. The only recourse left me was to point out that we were merely trading one Dodge for another.

  “This one is yellow, different year too,” Dad said.

  “Well at least we don’t have to stay at Howard Johnson’s,” I said.

  “Actually, we are,” Dad said. “It’s the one on Tropicana. Nice and close to where we need to be.” I groaned aloud.

  “Cheer up, I’ll let you use the restroom first,” Jamie said.

  “Thanks, you’re a pal,” I said.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  J. PAUL GETTY

  W hen we opened the door to our Las Vegas edition of your standard Howard Johnson’s motel room early the next morning, Rick was standing outside, holding his laptop and smiling like an entire Rotary Club.

  “Good morning,” he said, “Is either one of you familiar with J. Paul Getty’s formula for success?”

  “No idea,” Dad said.

  I just shook my head.

  His formula for success was, “ ‘Rise early, work hard, strike oil,’ ” Rick said.

  “You struck oil?” I said.

  “Black gold, last night I sent Big Ears Alphonso an e-mail that appeared to a casual observer to have originated from the Knights of Columbus website. This e-mail asked he reset his user name and password due to technical issues with a recent system update,” Rick said.

  Rick paused for dramatic effect. “Once he clicked on the supposed link and entered his user name and password, it came ri
ght back to us. It was sitting there this morning like an early Christmas present,”

  “Good job Rick. Does this get us in the door?” Dad said.

  Rick shrugged his shoulders, “Maybe,” he said, “but at least this way we have a place to begin. Some people tend to use the same or at least similar user names and passwords for all their websites, so they are easier to remember. Which hopefully also means easier to steal. And speaking of stealing, I was able to use his username and password to access his Knights of Columbus Application Form.”

  “And what are you going to do with that?” I asked.

  “The application form has lots of information; now I even have both his and his wife’s social security number. And I’m planning on using them and his signature on the application to open an account or two for Alphonso without his knowledge, a little something to infuriate the Chinese,” Rick said. “I also did some research and discovered that BKCHCNBJ110 is the SWIFT code for The Bank of China in Beijing.”

  Rick had a knack for getting mostly blank looks whenever he opened his mouth, and this time was no exception, so he tried again.

  “SWIFT codes are used to transfer funds internationally by wire,” Rick said, in way of explanation, “and the number below it is most likely the corresponding account number.”

  “Could that be the smoking gun?” Dad said.

  “Well it could be, if the PDF File attached to the e-mail he received as if it was from Melco in Macao is designed to skim money from their various accounts, siphon funds from their operation in Las Vegas and send them to the account in Beijing,” Rick said.

  “With Big Ears able to claim innocence in that the e-mail sent to him appears harmless and he unknowingly opened it just as anyone else would,” I said.

  “Right, but it is his handwriting on Melinda’s copy of the e-mail that proves otherwise,” Dad said.