Sin City Wolfhound
Page 12
Evidence was still being gathered, photos and videos taken, and various experts still arrived by the carload. Thank God the press had been kept in the dark. He couldn’t imagine facing their questions. He had enough of his own.
“Why don’t you go home? There’s nothing we can do here,” Special Agent Ed Miller said. “It’s gonna take a few days to process this mess. You look like hell. Let me take some of the load off your shoulders.”
“No thanks.”
“Oh, don’t trust the black man in charge, huh?”
“What the hell are you taking about?”
“Hey, it’s just a joke. Humor’s the first thing to go when you’re tired, you know. Nothing personal, but you definitely need a break.”
“You’re right; we could both use a break.” Ramirez rubbed at the stubble on his cheek. “Whoa, look who decided to join us.”
A black sedan approached and parked in the middle of the street—a cul-de-sac now clogged with dozens of emergency vehicles. Jon Dayton and a shapely dark-haired woman emerged from the backseat. They approached the detective.
Ramirez stood up, tossing the cold coffee out of the cup. “Morning.”
“Why weren’t we told about this last night? We have a right to know what’s going on.”
“We?” Ramirez said.
Dayton turned to the woman. “This is agent Jean Ransom from the home office. She arrived last night. What have we got?”
“We?” Miller’s turn to ask. He aimed his comments at Dayton. “We have a crime scene. And I still don’t know why the NSA is interested in this case.”
“Listen, like I said—”
“I hear you, agent,” Ransom said, putting her hand on Dayton’s wrist. With a broad smile, she said, “It’s probably some higher-up in Washington covering his ass. To be honest with you, I’d rather be somewhere else myself, but you know how it is.”
Miller blinked. “And you’re British, too?”
Ransom nodded. “Special Liaison.”
“Right.” Miller brought his cell phone out of his pocket.
“Would you give us a minute?” She took Dayton by the elbow and they ambled across the street, speaking in whispers as they walked.
“Ed, will you let it go?” Ramirez said. “This has gone way past jurisdiction. We can use all the help we can get.”
Miller moved the phone away from his mouth. “Just gonna check her out, that’s all. Besides, I don’t like the idea of uninvited help.”
“Understood.” Ramirez walked across the street, joining Dayton and Ransom.
Dayton’s face had gone white. He turned to Ramirez. “How many bodies have you found?”
“Parts of bodies; how did you know?”
“Sheriff Hendrickson briefed us,” Ransom said.
“We don’t know how many bodies. The lab is gonna have to piece it all together.”
“Can we look in the basement?”
Ramirez cocked his head. “Why?”
“Detective,” Ransom said, “we’re here to help. That’s all.”
“Of course. Sign in at the tape.” Ramirez waved them toward the house then went back to the van and joined Miller. “All at once, I don’t like the idea of uninvited help either. They want to look in the basement. They said they were briefed by Hendrickson.”
“And?”
“I never told the sheriff about the basement.”
Chapter Fifteen
Lighted numbers raced across a stainless steel plate above the elevator doors. Dixie kept her eyes on them, waiting for her number to light up as if it were another casino game. She stood still, anticipating the “ding” announcing the car’s arrival. Steel, on the other hand, pranced from side to side, tugging Dixie back and forth, forcing her to tighten her grip on the short red leash.
“Settle down, Steel. Sit.”
A family of four joined them at the elevators. A small girl about seven years old stood in front of Steel and smiled. “What a cute doggie. He’s so beautiful. He’s so big.”
The father leaned forward. “Keep your distance, Nicole.”
“Is it okay if I pet your dog?”
Dixie grappled with the leash. “I don’t think that would be a very good—”
Steel bent forward and slurped his tongue over the little girl’s face. She laughed and wiped her sleeve across the spit on her cheek.
“Steel, no. Settle down.”
But he wouldn’t. Instead, he tugged at the leash, drawing her away from the elevators. She yanked back, getting an earful from him with every pull. He bounced up and wrenched her off balance. “Whoa. Stop,” she said. “Where do you think you’re going?”
The “ding” sounded. The elevator doors opened, the family boarded the car, and the doors slid shut.
Steel continued his tug-of-war, finally plopping down at the door to the stairwell. He peered up at her.
“No. I’m not hiking down ten flights of stairs with you on the end of this leash.”
He wouldn’t budge. She pulled at the leash, and he pulled back.
“Okay, I give up. Just keep it slow, okay? I don’t want to break my neck.”
As if agreeing to her terms, Steel ambled down the stairs at an even, unhurried pace.
By the time they reached the third floor landing, Dixie felt the sticky paste of sweat on her forehead. Her breathing came in labored gasps, and her calves ached. She pulled back on the leash, and Steel sat down as she caught her breath. His tongue flopped out of his mouth and his tail wagged; he seemed to enjoy the exercise.
A noise echoed above their heads—a familiar sound filling Dixie with terror. She glanced up and Steel barked. The sound, a mixture of snarling and growling, grew louder. Whoever, or whatever, the sound belonged to flew down the stairs toward them. Dixie tightened her grip on the leash and tried to run. Steel would not budge. Instead, he labored against her, trying to climb up toward the sound.
“No. Wrong way, Steel. Let’s go!”
For the first time since Adam had transformed into a canine, Dixie was convinced he understood her. He backed up, turned, and raced down the stairs pulling her along with him.
“Good boy, two more flights and we’re home free.” She said this more to convince herself. Thoughts of the Werewolf Killer’s victims entered her mind, and she quickened her pace down the stairwell two steps at a time.
Steel jumped at the panic bar, and the door to the parking garage banged open. Desert heat covered them as if they entered an oven. Dixie plunged a hand into her purse in a frantic search for the car keys.
Her heart double-thumped at the sound of growls echoing off the concrete walls and pillars behind them. Steel hesitated for just a moment then picked up his pace. More howls from their pursuers rent the air, each one sounding closer than the last.
They passed dozens of people in the darkened garage. Some were on their phones as Steel pulled her along at a sprint. People held their phones at arm’s length, snapping photos and taking videos of the small woman being jerked along by the huge dog.
Dixie finally snagged the keys out of her purse and pressed the unlock button. The familiar “beep-beep” sound directed her to the Hummer. In one motion, she opened the door, jumped behind the steering wheel, and dropped the keys on the ground. Steel jumped over her, and she slammed the door. Panic set in as claws scraped against concrete only inches away.
A heavy thud made her scream. Huge paws banged her window. Two grizzled snouts baring curved white teeth smacked at the side of the Hummer, frenzied paws scratching at the door. Streams of drool splattered the glass. One animal lunged full force against the window, cracking the glass.
Dixie sat frozen in place, shaking, tears blurring her vision. They were trapped inside the Hummer as their assailants pounced against the windows in steady waves. She knew it was only a matter of time before the glass shattered and the two ferocious beasts entered the vehicle, ripping them to pieces; and whether it mattered or not—probably not in the end—it was all her fault.
He held something shiny in his mouth—her key ring. With trembling hands, she plucked the ring out of his jaws, shoved the key in the ignition, and slammed the Hummer into reverse. The two wolfhounds chased the vehicle, continuing to throw themselves against the windows and rear side panels. Steel barked at them now, drool spilling out of his mouth and onto the seat covers. He jumped to his left, putting his weight onto Dixie’s legs causing her foot to press down on the accelerator. The Hummer lurched back into the hounds and sent them both to the ground. They were stunned, but not for long. In an instant, their attack continued.
Dixie registered blue and red lights flashing a short distance away as she threw the stick into drive and punched the gas. She swerved right and gunned the gas pedal down hard making the tires scream. Steel jumped into the backseat and continued his verbal assault through the rear window.
A Metro cruiser followed by an animal control truck hurried past Dixie’s Hummer in the opposite direction. Two more black and white cruisers raced into the garage as Dixie exited. She made a sharp right onto Tropicana Boulevard and fell in line with the early morning traffic.
She shuddered and noticed her hands in a death grip on the steering wheel. Two shots rang out behind them. In the rearview mirror, she saw more police cars—lights and sirens—rolling into the garage.
“What now?”
****
On hot days, a vision of shimmering water seen miles down the road is created by light shining through a prism. The prism is caused when the asphalt absorbs the heat of the sun making the air just inches above the road hotter than the air a few feet higher. Light shining through this prism creates an illusion known as a mirage.
Dixie raced the Hummer south on the I-15 keeping her gaze alternately glued to the mirage ahead and the stream of traffic in the rearview mirror behind them. Even though she knew it was impossible for anyone, or anything, to have followed them, her definition of impossible had been challenged in the past twenty-four hours.
Steel sat next to her in the passenger’s seat, his fur tousled by a stream of cold air blowing from the A/C vents. His eyes were wide and alert; his tongue lapped at his chops. Every so often, he stared up at her as if asking, “What now?”
She didn’t have an answer.
As each mile ticked by, the mirage ahead expanded. Dixie now made out three structures blossoming from the desert: Primm, Nevada. The three hotel casinos were located thirty miles from The Strip, but only yards from the California border; a welcomed stop for weary travelers. Business was booming, thanks to the countless visitors heading to Las Vegas for the Sam Toretta comeback fight.
Dixie pulled into the exit lane and sped under an overpass. This led to a combination gas station-fast food restaurant. They parked under the shade of a scraggly pine tree.
She and Steel sat motionless for a few seconds. With the engine off and the air conditioning vents quiet, the silence was deafening.
“Safe at last, huh? Well, Steel,” she said, turning to face the animal, “let’s get out and stretch our legs. I gotta put this on you again.” She let him sniff the red leash before slipping it around his neck. “There’s a pet area just over there. I promise I won’t watch you do your business. Then I’ll fill the tank, grab some burgers, and we’ll hit the road. I’m thinking LA might be a good place to disappear for a while. Sound like a plan?”
He gave her a cold stare, as if listening to every word she said, but the words must have been blah-blah-blah-blah.
“Hey, it’s not a perfect plan, but it’s the best one I can think of. I’ve got friends in LA.” She gave a quick smile. “KTNT With News You Can Use.”
Steel yawned.
“I didn’t care for that slogan either. Anyway, we can lay low and get our bearings, you know? First things first, though, let’s get out.”
She drew him out of the Hummer by the small red leash and escorted him to a designated pet area. He towered over the other dogs on the grass and could have made small snacks of them all. The owners of the smaller dogs pulled back on their leashes and cleared a wide path for the Giant Wolfhound being led by the petite blonde.
A small black Schnauzer let out a ferocious growl and a series of angry barks at the sight of the wolfhound. The Schnauzer’s owner did her best to pull the dog back. “Sorry, she’s not normally like this,” the embarrassed owner said. “Quiet Zady, settle down. Stop pulling at your leash.” Then, as if in apology, “She’s a rescue dog.”
Steel turned his massive head toward the little yap trap and let out a booming bark. The Schnauzer yipped, turned around, and jumped into the arms of her owner.
Dixie turned to Steel. “Don’t you ever do that—you’d break my back.”
With a little coaxing, she tucked him back into the Hummer and drove to the gas pump. When the tank was full, she re-parked and rolled his window down halfway. “I’ll be back as fast as I can.” She raised her hand—palm out—and gave the command, “Stay.” He kept his eyes on her as she edged around the vehicle. She checked on him one last time before ducking into the chilly air of the convenience store.
While she waited in line, her eyes found a television mounted from the ceiling. She leaned toward it, keeping her foot in line as a placeholder. On the screen, the familiar face of Peter Hudson—hair dyed black, squinty eyes, lips scrunched up in a perpetual half smile, half snarl—sat behind the KLVA anchor desk. A quick glance at her watch confirmed this was not the regular morning show. It had to be a breaking story. She leaned a little closer to the TV to catch the sound.
“…officers fired their weapons at the two giant dogs. At this time, it is not known how the dogs found their way onto The Strip, or where they are now—nobody has come forward to claim ownership. According to a Metro spokesperson, the officers had no alternative, but to shoot. They have been placed on administrative leave with pay; their names are being withheld pending a full investigation.”
Hudson peered into the camera. “Wow, Carol, some pretty dramatic happenings on The Strip for your first day.”
“Right you are, Pete.” The graphic at the bottom of the screen read Carol Melody. She ran her hand over a strand of bright red hair, moving it away from her face as the wind kicked up, then graced the remote camera with a perfect smile. Her dark blue, sleeveless blouse looked professional and yet, on some level, high school age demographics, sexy and inviting. “Las Vegas is such an exciting city; I’m so glad to be here.” Did she scrunch her nose?
“Morrison,” Dixie said under her breath, “you son of a bitch.”
Hudson faced the in-studio camera for a close-up. “And as I mentioned at the top of this bulletin, Metro has announced a news conference scheduled for later this afternoon at two p.m. We’ve heard rumors about a possible arrest in the Werewolf Killer case. Carol,” Hudson pressed on his ear piece, “have you heard anything from the Metro officers there at the scene? Do they know what this news conference may be about? Is it really an arrest?”
“Peter, everyone is keeping tight-lipped,” Carol Melody said with another perfect smile. Did she giggle? “But all the officers I spoke to were very excited.”
“I’ll bet they were,” Dixie said.
Carol Melody faced the camera and produced a full-fledged smile, probably the one that weasel Morrison fell for at first glance. “We’ll know more at two p.m., and I’ll be there bringing you all the details, live, as they happen.”
“Great,” Hudson said, “glad to have you on board, Carol. You certainly are a welcomed addition to our KLVA family.”
“Thank you. This is Carol Melody, live at New York New Yo
rk—back to you, Pete.”
“And of course,” Hudson smiled at the camera, “the rumors about a possible arrest in the Werewolf Killer case couldn’t have been timed better. Thousands of extra visitors are expected to descend upon Las Vegas tonight for the Sam Toretta comeback fight. Virtually every hotel in the city is at full occupancy—”
Dixie turned away from the TV. She winced at the thought of the New York New York hotel room she and Steel had vacated: the station’s VIP suite reeking of urine. Still, the nightmare was over. Metro must have apprehended Sonny Russo. She straightened and found the patrons in line had passed her by. She shoved her way to the counter.
“Ma’am,” the clerk said, “there are others in line―”
“Damn right,” said someone behind her.
She pulled out her credit card. “I was in line, too. In fact, I was ahead of that guy you just helped.”
Another angry voice, “Get back in line, lady.”
She thrust her credit card out—bullies be damned. “Six burgers.”
The clerk took the card. “Six?”
“You’re right, better make it a dozen.”
“Twelve burgers?”
Dixie nodded. “Double-doubles.”
The clerk ran the card. “Number twenty-two. Wait over there. It’ll be a while.”
“Please hurry. I’ve got to get to Vegas as fast as I can.”
“I do too, lady,” said a man behind her.
“Hey, I know you,” another voice said.
Dixie ignored the chatter as she formed a new plan. With Russo in jail, there was nothing to stop her from making that press conference. She was exhausted, would be uninvited, and wasn’t camera ready—no makeup and hair—but all that was secondary. Only one thing mattered now: the briefing was sure to be carried by all the major networks, and what better way to introduce Steel to the world? Dixie glanced at her watch. She had just over an hour to get back to Vegas and grab the microphone right out of Carol Melody’s greedy little paws.