by Mark Reps
“Zeb darlin’, you’ve burned enough tread off yer tries to know that bad luck comes in streaks. It runs on the same kinda path that good luck does. It just happens to be one of them down times. It’ll sure enough change, always does, sure as the sun brightens the day and stars twinkle in the night.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“At times like this you just gotta grab onto the one ya’ love and hold on tight. I think that’s why the good Lord put me on the planet.”
Doreen slipped around the counter, twisted Zeb’s stool around and plopped onto his lap. She planted a huge, wet kiss on his lips while running a pair of wildly caressing hands up and down his back, then squeezed him enough to make the two of them one person. Her movements caught the ministers’ attention.
“This one’s for you preacher boys.”
Doreen embarrassed Zeb by making a loud smacking sound as she kissed him. Her hand then gently pulled up her skirt just high enough to reveal the better part of a creamy white thigh.
“Doe, honey, you’re embarrassing me.”
The buxom waitress leaned forward and whispered in her man’s ear.
“If I’d really wanted to embarrass you, I’d say somethin’ about your breath. It smells like the south end of donkey headin’ north. I’m calling Doc Yackley. Either you got a rotten tooth or the makings of an ulcer.”
“Oh, so now you’re a business woman, a detective, a dentist and a doctor.”
“A lick a horse sense is all it takes. You might want to take a lesson from that. I probably’d make a pretty dang good doctor if there weren’t no blood involved in it.”
“How about that tea and biscuits…Doctor Doreen Nightingale?”
“Comin’ right atcha, one second after I ring up Doc Yackley. But doncha’ think for one minute sweet talking me will get you a pass on seein’ the doc. You’re gonna go even if I gotta carry ya to his office.”
Zeb knew she was right. His stomach hadn’t been normal since he had a couple of bouts of the flu a while back. His gut was not that bad, but it wasn’t strong like it had been before he got sick. How Doreen knew what was bothering him was another one of those little mysteries about women that puzzled him. He checked his breath by putting his hand in front of his mouth and blowing into his palm. It smelled sickly, a bit like an infection. The chamomile tea seemed to calm his stomach and the biscuits were heavenly. Twice Doreen reminded him he was eating too fast.
“I gotta run, Doe. I have a thousand places to begin the investigation into the school bomb threat. There are almost too many possibilities to know exactly where to begin.”
“Why don’t you just start at the beginning?”
“Now that you mention it, I guess the beginning is as good of a place as any.”
“Don’t get sassy with me or your tummy will start howlin’ again. That’s the way those things work, ya know.”
Zeb reached for his wallet. Doreen refused his payment and handed him a blueberry muffin for Helen.
“Somebody’s gotta give ya’ a break, big guy. Ya’ know what they say--charity reaches out its longest arm to a lover.”
Zeb grabbed his hat and made for the exit. He tossed Doreen a subtle wink, and after making certain the churchmen were looking the other way, Zeb blew Doreen a quick air kiss.
5
Outside of the Town Talk Diner the air was crystal clear; the sky, with sparse clouds floating over the mountain, was blue and bright. Suddenly Zeb felt physically better than he had in weeks. Maybe he would get a quick break on the bomb threat investigation. He took a deep, relaxing breath. He concluded that probably some angry, foolish kid had made the call to impress his buddies. Odds were pretty good that before long one of the punks would be crowing about how they had pulled a fast one over on the cops. With any luck he would have the caller behind bars in less than a week. It made no sense getting worked up over a lousy day and a bad couple of weeks. He would do his job. He would get to the bottom of all the recent shenanigans. Something this big would bring him leads by tomorrow at the latest. Maybe he would have the bomb threat wrapped up in nothing flat. Even the possibility of his brother, Noah, being the car thief who stole the red corvette seemed less likely. He hoped that the car dealer had mistaken someone else for Noah. But Zeb also knew that with his brother’s history, his hopeful thinking was likely unrealistic optimism. Zeb knew Noah had been full of criminal intent since he was a pre-teen. There was no reason to believe that anything had changed.
Zeb was glad his old friend Max Muñoz was the detective involved with Lorenzo García’s stolen truck in Tucson. The fact that a dead body had been found in the truck was bad news, real bad news. While the victim was not really his problem, there was an outside chance that there was some sort of connection to the Garcías. He decided to wait to call his old buddy until after he got the report from the Tucson police department, and after Delbert had time to explain to old man García what had happened to his truck.
Maybe the psychological trauma of having a dead body found in his truck would stir up something in Lorenzo’s memory. Maybe the old man had seen something and blocked it out or ignored it. Now with his truck gone forever, it might just unlock the part of his mind that held a clue. More than once in this type of a circumstance Zeb had seen people cough up knowledge they didn’t know they had. At the state sheriff’s convention he had attended a seminar on repressed memory. Yes, this could certainly be that sort of thing. It was no big stretch to see how people put up a protective wall when loss occurred. Zeb’s world looked potentially brighter by the minute. His stomach actually felt good as he handed Helen her blueberry muffin.
“Made special just for you.”
“You are a sweetheart. So is Doreen for thinking of me.”
“Is Deputy Steele back yet?”
“She’s in her office listening to the tape.”
“Would you tell her I would like to talk with her when she has a minute? And, could you please bring me a cup of cof--never mind. Do we have any chamomile tea?”
Helen, surprised by the request, did a double take. Without asking questions she quickly made the sheriff a cup of tea.
Zeb shook his head in self-disgust as he got down to filling out his report. If he was not thinking clearly enough to know that coffee was burning a hole in his gut, how would he ever get to the bottom of a crime spree in his county, or figure out if his brother was indeed the car thief who stole the Corvette? A couple of deep breaths later he realized it was the thought of a school building, with hundreds of helpless children in it, being threatened that really stuck in his craw. His irritation was rising as Deputy Steele rapped lightly on his door. The sound snapped him back from a progressive abyss of angry thoughts. Her easy demeanor was also helpful.
“Kate, come in, have a seat. Please tell me you’ve got something. I would like to get this thing wrapped up quickly, for everyone’s sake.”
Deputy Kate Steele pulled a small notebook from her shirt pocket.
“No recently fired or disgruntled employees at the school.”
“That’s good. I would hate to think it was an insider who would do such an idiotic thing.”
“Principal Newlin did give me a list of recently expelled students, dropouts and major troublemakers. It’s not a long list, eight boys and two girls. The boys are all members of a gang called the Little Brothers and Sisters.”
“Little Brothers and Sisters? New gang?”
“A mix of Anglos, Hispanic and Native kids. Kids on the edge. Principal Newlin says they are mixed up but mostly lonely types.”
Sheriff Hanks shook his head. Lonely boys? In his day even the biggest loser had at least one good buddy. What was the world coming to?
“Tell me about the girls?”
“They have created minor problems compared to the boys. But, they were overheard talking about getting back at the school for being put on detention.”
“Why were they on detention?”
“Smoking in the lavatory, fi
ghting with other girls and stealing money from purses. The usual sort of thing that happens with troublemakers their age.”
“Budding bathroom muggers maybe?”
“Girls have been settling their differences in lavatories since before my time. I’m going to talk with everyone on the list she gave me. At this time I consider all of them potential suspects. Maybe working together as a group. And don’t be naïve, Sheriff, girls can be just as bad as boys.”
Deputy Steele read off the names to the sheriff. He knew most of the kids. Three of the boys he had coached in little league baseball. He remembered seeing the girls riding their bikes around town only last summer. How could someone go from bicyclist to bomb threat maker in a few short months? It all seemed so ridiculous.
“Divide the list in half. I’ll take five of the boys. What did you learn from the tape?”
“I listened twice. The roughness of his voice sounds like an older man, a smoker. This may sound odd, but to me his voice sounded frightened, even sorrowful, like he was speaking with regret.”
“Hmm?”
“The Hispanic accent is rural sounding,” continued Deputy Steele. “He also has a bit of a Native American tone to his voice, but not like the San Carlos Apache accent.”
“Ever heard a Mescalero Apache accent?”
“No, not that I know of.”
“I think that is what we are hearing.”
“Okay.”
“What else do you have?” asked Sheriff Hanks.
“The caller’s sentence structure might indicate a lack of formal education, except for one thing.”
“What’s the exception?”
“He said the bomb would go off at nine o’clock sharp,” said Deputy Steele. “That specific wording doesn’t jibe with the rest of his words. Nine o’clock sharp is more the type of phrase a businessman or an educated person would use.”
“Maybe he heard it on a television detective show. Lots of dumb criminals get their ideas from the boob tube.”
“Maybe. The more I listen to the tape, the less I believe it is high school kids we’re looking for.”
“An older friend of a high school kid?”
“Maybe.”
“We have got to start somewhere. We should focus on these kids and see if we can make a connection.”
“Give me five names and let’s get started,” said the sheriff. “There is going to be a lot of heat from parents and the school board to solve this thing pronto.”
“I know. Fifty or sixty parents came and got their kids in the hour I was at the school. Quite a few more called the principal’s office and said they were on their way to pick up their kids. This put quite a scare into a lot of families.”
“Sheriff! Sheriff!”
The panic in Helen’s strained voice sent a chill through Zeb’s bones. The shrillness of Helen’s statement had a life and death quality to it.
“It’s another bomb threat. It sounds like the same man.”
Sheriff Hanks picked up his phone. All he heard was static, a loud click and the hum of dial tone.
“Shit! Goddamn it!”
“The grade school. This time the man said he planted a bomb in the grade school--in the boiler room. It’s set to go off at one!”
“This is insane. We’re dealing with the lives of little children here. Helen, call the school. Have them get everyone out. Now! Kate, call Josh Diamond at the gun shop. Have him take his dogs there on the double. I’ll call Delbert on the radio on my way up there and have him meet us.”
Zeb’s mind did a triple take as it flipped through a catalogue of haunting memories of the grotesque octopus of a boiler in the basement of the grade school building. As a child he had helped his father deliver coal to fire the furnace. As a member of the school board he had led the charge recommending conversion to a gas boiler. Only last week he had called the school to tell them the old coal chute window was open. It was odd he had noticed it at all. What had caught his eye was a stray cat scampering out the backlit window. It would be nothing for someone to push the window all the way open, slip in and plant a bomb next to the gas furnace.
Zeb was only eight when his first glimpse of the basement monster caused him to lose weeks of sleep and struggle with dozens of nightmares. In his youthful, imaginative dreamscape he had envisioned the furnace as a cross between a fire-breathing dragon and a demonic octopus. Nipping at his heels, it had chased young Zeb into a friendless, dead-end alley. Flames rising from the depths of the beast’s belly had shot searing spears of heat licking at his face. The machine’s pipes had become wildly gyrating arms with suctioned tentacles whose only desire seemed to be to snatch little Zeb and carry him off to the fires of hell and eternal damnation. The memory sent shudders through his spine.
“Deputy Steele, take the emergency patrol car. It has our best first aid equipment. Helen, call the fire department. Tell them to get up there immediately.”
A quick call to Deputy Funke assured Zeb his team would be at full strength when looking for the bomb.
For the second time in half a day the sheriff was overcome with a gut wrenching angst. Luckily he caught another break. The kids had finished eating lunch and were outside playing. Teachers were quickly hustling them to a vacant lot.
Josh Diamond’s dogs were tugging hard against their restraints as they stuck their noses near the old coal chute. He waived them away from the opening.
“My dogs are onto something, Zeb. Let’s get in there and have a look.”
Sheriff Hanks was the first of his team on the scene, or so he thought. He stuck his head through the old coal chute opening. Josh, his dogs settled ten feet back, joined Zeb at the opening. A ray from a flashlight jerked across the cement floor in tandem with the stride of an intruder. The sheriff took his weapon from his holster and drew it up by the opening. He looked again as the flashlight beam appeared with a body coming around the corner. He lifted his gun and found Delbert in the crosshairs. “Shit.” Delbert was in the boiler room. Had he forgotten to tell Delbert to wait outside the boiler room door? He distinctly remembered otherwise. Zeb began to shout, “Del...” at precisely the moment Delbert looked toward the coal chute window. Delbert could not have heard the sheriff’s voice over the explosion.
“No,” cried Sheriff Hanks. His plea was in vain. In what seemed like an eternity a brick flew through the air, destined for Delbert’s skull. Another brick flew through the air striking Josh in the ribs and wrist. Josh’s position protected Zeb who caught only a smattering of loose mortar across the face. Kate, approaching the scene, ducked just as a brick flew within inches of her head. Broken bits of brick and mortar struck her face. Her only injury was a tiny cut over her right eye.
The explosion and its immediate effects happened in slow motion and seemed more like a dream than reality.
6
The sand-colored Toyota Camry had been easy to steal. The man had simply driven his pickup truck to the base of Mount Graham. He had hidden his truck in the dip of a small wash behind a large boulder. From there he had walked a mile or so along a low mountain trail to the parking lot used by day hikers. Just in case someone called in the car as stolen during the short time he was going to be using it, he had quickly switched the license plates for a stolen set. If all went well, the hikers would not be back until after his job was completed.
Using the same screwdriver he had used to change the plates, he popped it into the ignition and was gone. The whole operation had taken only three minutes. It was a seven minute drive back to town. The clock on the dashboard read 12:15 as he pulled onto the street in front of Diamond Gun & Ammo. His timing, so far, was impeccable.
He stopped a half block before the gun shop and parked on the opposite side of the street. This gave him a clear view of the gun store and any movement inside. No one could come or go without his immediate awareness. The tinted windows on the Camry were another reason he had chosen it. He opened a map and set it on his lap as cover in case someone should walk by. T
hey would assume he was a tourist, probably checking directions. Slouching low, he pulled the brim of his baseball hat to the top of his sunglasses. He stuffed some Copenhagen chewing tobacco between his cheek and gums. His reconnaissance had paid off in spades. He knew the movements and habits of Josh Diamond, Proprietor, Diamond Guns and Ammo as well as anyone could have, right down to the fact that he would be working alone today. The inside layout of the store and where specific guns were kept was etched into his brain.
In the next fifteen minutes, one lone truck passed by. An old woman was driving, likely on her way to the grocery store three blocks down the street.
At 12:25 p.m. he sharpened his focus on the front door of the gun shop. If things went as planned, the owner of the store and his two dogs would soon be racing out the door and into a pickup truck parked at the side of the building. The gun shop had only one additional employee. A caricature of a man in a small boat catching a whale in the front window of the gun shop wished ‘Gabby’ good luck in an annual fishing contest over the next three days in nearby Rocky Point, Mexico. The thief knew this was the worker who was out of town.
As the clock switched to 12:34, Josh Diamond and his dogs zoomed out the front door. Josh stopped only for a brief moment to make certain the door had locked behind him. He kenneled the dogs in the back of his truck, popped a flasher on his roof, and tore off in the direction of the grade school.
Twenty minutes, the man figured, twenty minutes to get what he needed; get in, get out and then get the hell out of town. As the owner’s pickup truck made the first available left turn, the man in the Camry put the car in gear and drove into the alley behind the building that housed the gun shop. He parked behind the abandoned, boarded up building next door. As he stepped out of the car, small gym bag in hand, he eyed the alley up and down--nothing. The only sound was a slight wind flapping a forgotten, tattered old advertising banner that had seen better days.