Zeb Hanks Mystery Box Set 1

by Mark Reps

  This time Jimmie Joe yanked so hard against the grate that he stumbled backward as it came off easily. He slid it aside and ordered Ángel into the opening. Ángel slipped through the opening and quickly found himself in the crawl space. He lifted a single vent and stepped down onto the top of the old safe. It creaked under his weight. Jumping to the floor he eyed the vault. Would it open as easily as Jimmie Joe had promised? Ángel tugged hard. Nothing. He tugged again. The door seemed to come a bit loose. One last time he pulled at the handle with all he had. This time it was his turn to be surprised as the door flew open and Ángel stumbled backward. He regained his footing and stared into the open safe. It held his dreams of freedom and the rich man’s life.

  “What’s going on down there?” Jimmie Joe’s voice echoing through the ventilation system seemed to be coming from a million miles away.

  Ángel walked over to the vent and in a whispering shout said, “I’m in.”

  “Hurry the fuck up.”

  Ángel jammed the stacks of money into the two bags. Each bag was about the same size when the stacks of bills were in them. Ángel was surprised that they were as small as they were. Maybe there was less money than Jimmie Joe had promised. He jumped back onto the top of the safe after yanking the bags tightly shut. He tossed them into the ventilator shaft and crawled up after them. He made his way to the shaft.

  “Jimmie Joe.”

  “Toss up the money bags.”

  For a brief second Ángel considered that Jimmie Joe might take the money and run. He tossed up one bag and quickly hooked the drawstring on the second bag tightly around his ankle.

  “Where is the other bag?”

  “I had to tie it to my ankle. Now hand me the crow bar.”

  Jimmie Joe stuck it down the shaft and pulled Ángel to safety.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here,” said Ángel.

  Keeping low, the pair scooted across the building tops and down the fire escape to their truck. Three minutes later they were past the outskirts of Morenci and on the road to freedom.

  32

  The rodeo had turned out far better than Kate expected. The rodeo clowns were even funnier than Eskadi had described. There was hardly a single event that didn’t have the crowd on its feet cheering, whistling, making noise and just generally having a great time. At the end of the night things took an exhilarating turn as Eskadi whispered in her ear.

  “Why don’t you spend the night with me?”

  Kate’s words came without hesitation. “I was waiting for your invitation.”

  Eskadi’s gentle touch had returned. His edgy jealousy seemed a distant memory.

  Kate was deep asleep in Eskadi’s arms when her slumber was broken by the ringing of her cell phone. It was Sheriff Hanks.

  “Did I wake you?” he asked gruffly.

  Kate reached over and ran her hand over Eskadi’s broad back and shoulders.

  “Yes.”

  Kate looked at the clock. It was nearly nine. She had not slept this late in years.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Did you go to the rodeo up in Morenci last night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you see anything funny? Was anyone acting suspiciously?”

  “The clowns were funny. I didn’t see anything suspicious. What’s this about?”

  “I just got a call from the Morenci PD. There was one hell of a robbery up there last night. Maybe a million or more bucks was taken,” said the sheriff.

  “A million dollars? What’s that kind of cash doing in Morenci? A rodeo doesn’t bring in that kind of money.”

  Sheriff Hanks explained the profit sharing money and rodeo prize money totaled over four million dollars. The local police had asked for their assistance. He wanted her to meet him in Morenci right away. She said she would be there ASAP.

  “Somebody stole a million dollars from the credit union in Morenci?” asked Eskadi wiping the sleep from his eyes. “That greedy corporation has too much money. Maybe they should learn to share their wealth.”

  “They were. It was profit sharing money for the workers. I’ve got to run. I don’t know when I’ll be back. I’m meeting Sheriff Hanks in Morenci.”

  Kate got dressed, pulled her long hair into a ponytail, kissed Eskadi goodbye and headed out the door. Zeb was standing inside the credit union’s walk-in vault when she arrived. He introduced her to Morenci’s finest.

  “They’re a hundred percent certain it was an inside job,” said Sheriff Hanks. “The robbers came in through the roof, then through a grate-covered air vent that runs through a crawl space just above the safe. The safe itself is over a hundred years old. It has a heavy door but the lock mechanism is faulty. One good hard tug opened it.”

  “Why did they have a safe with a faulty locking mechanism?” asked Deputy Steele.

  “No one wants to answer that question. Everyone possibly in charge of fixing keeps pointing the finger at the next guy.”

  One of the Morenci policemen took Sheriff Hanks and Deputy Steele to the roof and ran them through the presumed order of events. As far as the local police knew no one had seen or heard anything. They believed the robbers came after midnight but before five in the morning. The street music was so loud that the two guards posted inside the building didn’t hear anything. The music continued on until almost three a.m. The money was mostly in unmarked twenties, fifties and hundreds. The vault also contained safe deposit boxes, none of which were touched. Most of the stolen cash was the bonus money promised to the copper miners. The rodeo prize money had also been stolen. By the time the FBI agents arrived from Tucson it appeared like the perfect crime had been committed.

  Hours later Sheriff Hanks and Deputy Steele returned to their Safford office in time to see Father Ortiz exiting their jail.

  “Father Ortiz,” said the sheriff. “Bringing the word of the Lord to our prisoner?”

  “Yes, Sheriff Hanks. I was offering him a temporary cleansing of his troubled soul,” replied the priest.

  “I know you can’t discuss anything he told you in confidence,” said Sheriff Hanks. “But is there anything we should talk to him about? Anything we can do to make the load he is carrying a little lighter?”

  “He seems to trust you. He has wanted for some time now to tell you what he knows. He hasn’t because he has been afraid. I think his mind is clearer now.” Sheriff Hanks thanked the priest. “My vows of silence won’t allow me to tell you anything he told me, but I would highly suggest you get in there and talk to him on the double.”

  The men shook hands. Zeb once again thanked the priest who parted with an ominous warning.

  “Please hurry. But not only for the sake of the old man.”

  Zeb hustled past Helen who seemed to know already what was going on. “I think Mr. Madrigal confessed to Father Ortiz. If I know how Catholics think, now that Mr. Madrigal has made his peace, he is ready to talk to you.”

  Zeb’s mind was spinning. He glanced through the glass partition in the door leading to the cells. Where should he begin? He knew the old man loved the rodeo. Talking about all the action at the rodeo might ease Felipe’s mind and get him talking. The look on the old man’s face, as he knelt beside his bed praying the rosary, told the sheriff something very heavy was weighing on his mind. Felipe Madrigal carried a look of life and death in his eyes. Sheriff Hanks wondered whose life it was that Felipe was worried about.

  Zeb removed his weapon from his holster, took off his hat, tugged at his pants and took a deep breath as he walked into the jail cell. Sheriff Hanks momentarily kept a respectful distance as Felipe continued to pray. When he finished, he made the sign of the cross, turned and began to speak.

  “Señor Sheriff, I have done some bad things. Because of these bad things my grandson may die. I was only trying to protect him. But I have done something very terrible.”

  “Felipe, please slow down. Tell me how you got into this mess to begin with?” asked Sheriff Hanks.

  “This diablo gringo
, he comes to my house. I don’t know him. I never even see him before. But he says he is a friend of my grandson, Ángel. So I invite him into my house. I give him a cup of coffee, and he tells me he knows my grandson from in the Florence Junction prison.”

  “Why was your grandson in prison?”

  “My grandson, Ángel, he ges the diablo inside when he drinks,” said Felipe. “He ges drunk and steals cars. I’m ashamed because I teach him to drive…and I give him his first drink. I thought one little beer wouldn’t hurt him. But he no can handle liquor. He’s no bad boy. See, this is his picture.”

  Felipe handed the picture of the girlish looking young man to Sheriff Hanks.

  “So I look at this diablo blanco grande who knows my grandson in the Florence Junction prison, and I know there is trouble. I don’t know what happens in prison. But I hear bad stories. I think Ángel is in big trouble because this man look very mean. He look crazy in the eyes.”

  “Why did he come to your house? Did he have a message from your grandson?”

  “Sí, sí! That is what he said. The big man said…”

  “Did this friend of your grandson have a name, Felipe?” asked Sheriff Hanks.

  “His name was James. Señor James Walker.”

  “What message did he bring?”

  “He told me Ángel wants to come and visit me. But first Ángel has job to do. Señor Walker says when you get out of prison they make you have a job to go to. He said when Ángel ges a day off from his job he will come and visit me right away. But when I ask where he is working, the big man does not know. So I ask him if he knows my Ángel like such good friends, how come he don’t know where he works.”

  “Did he give you an answer?

  “No, no, he just ges very mad at me. He don’t explain nothing. He ges real mad and says I don’t do what he wants I would never see Ángel again. He said he would kill him, shoot him in the head with big gun. Then he pulled out big gun and point it at me. Then he ask me for piece of paper. I give it to him. He write down that note about bombing. He make me read it to him to make sure I get it right.”

  “Señor James Walker wrote the note?” asked Delbert.

  “Sí, it is true. He tells me to call sheriff’s office at 8:30 exactly and tell them I plant a bomb at high school and it will explode at 9:00 a.m.. Then at 12:30, I call sheriff again and tell him bomb will explode at grade school. He said do it or Ángel is dead meat.”

  “Why didn’t you call the police and tell them the truth?” asked Sheriff Hanks. “We believe people like you.”

  “The bad man said if I breathe one word to anyone he kill Ángel and rip his heart out of his chest. Then he would come back here to cut my throat and burn my house down. I believe him,” said the old man.

  “Was Señor James Walker missing fingers on his left hand?”

  “Sí, sí, sí. That is right. Do you know him?”

  Sheriff Hanks took a second look at the picture of Felipe’s grandson. He could be the young Mexican kid in the yellow Vega that people had been describing.

  “Then bad man said he wanted one more thing from me and he would leave me alone.”

  “What was that?” asked Sheriff Hanks.

  The old man began to tremble. He kissed the rosary he held tightly in his hand and made the sign of the cross.

  “I think I do something very terrible. I have made much trouble for many people, even my Ángel. I pray with good priest to Blessed Virgin for answer. Mother María tells me good sheriff can fix it.”

  “I’m not Catholic,” replied Sheriff Hanks.

  “The Blessed Virgin, she no care about that,” said Felipe.

  “Did she tell you what I should do?”

  “I don’t know. I just pray. The answer come to me…tell Señor Sheriff,” said Felipe.

  Everything Felipe Madrigal had told him was important.

  “Tell me what? When you prayed, what did the Blessed Virgin Mary tell you to tell me.”

  “She tell me to tell you bad man hold a gun to my head and make me draw up everything I know about credit union building in Morenci where I worked as security guard. I tell him way to get in through roof. I tell him safe door is broken.”

  Felipe held his weary head in his hands.

  “I tell everything I know about the credit union. I want only to save my grandson. I am so scared. I don’t know what to do when devil is at my house.

  Sheriff Hanks was stunned at the seeming connection between everything that had been going on. “You did what?”

  “I was afraid. I knew he would kill Ángel. Then I have no family. I was so afraid. I don’t know what to do.”

  Zeb’s gut rumbled. His heart raced with anticipation. Ángel’s life was certainly in danger now that Jimmie Joe Walker had the money.

  “Can you save Ángel? Is he still alive?”

  “I hope so, Felipe. Say a little prayer.”

  Zeb bolted from the jail holding block, through the heavy door and into his office.

  “Deputy Steele. The robbery in Morenci. It was Felipe.”

  “What are you talking about, Sheriff? Felipe was here in jail last night. He didn’t have anything to do with it.” said Deputy Steele.

  “No, no! Listen to me...”

  Deputy Steele listened as Sheriff Hanks relayed the story he has just heard from the old man--the bomb threats--the big man who held the gun and threatened to kill Ángel--the drawings of the floor plans at the credit union in Morenci--and finally the knowledge that Felipe’s grandson, Ángel, was a partner in the crime.

  “...and I think I know where they might be,” said Sheriff Hanks.

  “Where?”

  “Felipe showed me a picture of his grandson, Ángel. If my hunch is right, I believe I know where Ángel is. Yesterday a man told me that halfway between Morenci and County Road 6 he thought he saw a yellow car at an abandoned trailer house. He told me right where it was.”

  “Deputy Steele, grab a rifle.” said Sheriff Hanks. “It’s forty minutes, forty-five tops, to get to that trailer. You follow me. I’ll lead the way. We’ll stop a quarter mile or so short of the trailer. If they are still there, don’t let them get the drop on you. I am one hundred percent certain they are heavily armed and very dangerous.”

  Deputy Steele grabbed a rifle from the gun cabinet. The race was on and her heart was pounding.

  33

  “Come on, Ángel. It’s time to get the hell out of here.”

  Ángel opened his eyes with a great deal of difficulty. His head felt like it was going to explode. He couldn’t think straight. His mouth tasted like moldy socks. He put his fingers on his tongue to see if something had found its way in there while he slept.

  “I think you celebrated a little too much last night,” Jimmie Joe chuckled.

  Two empty tequila bottles lay at Ángel’s feet. Then he remembered the robbery. Sneaking up to the roof, breaking into the credit union, sliding through the small vent into the vault and all that money. Two big sacks full of cash. He opened his eyes a little further and saw Jimmie Joe towering over him. One big sack of money tucked under each of his arms.

  “Let’s go. Drain your lizard and let’s blow this pop stand.”

  “Where are we going, Jimmie Joe?” said Ángel rising to his feet. “I thought we were going to split the money up and each go our own way?”

  “Come on, move it. That’s exactly what we are going to do. But first we got to move away from this place in case somebody saw us come back.”

  Ángel gathered his things and scampered outside.

  “Put your things in the Vega. I’ll take the truck. Follow me,” commanded Jimmie Joe.

  “Where are we going?” asked Ángel.

  “I told you from the very beginning…don’t ask questions. But if you really need to know, we’re going to a safe place to split up the money, a real safe place. I’ve got a beautiful candy-apple-red Corvette stashed away for you over in Tucson as a little going away bonus.”

  “How did you
get that?”

  “Remember our friend Noah Hanks? The car thief from prison? He got you the car.”

  Ángel thought he remembered something else he had heard about Noah as hopped behind the wheel of the Vega, that his brother was a sheriff somewhere in southern Arizona. In the back seat were five gallon jugs of water in case the radiator hose started leaking again. Jimmie Joe peeled out of the driveway and headed east at full speed; Ángel tailed close behind. Near the Gila River just past the Riparian Preserve and into a valley, a sickening feeling overcame Ángel as Jimmie Joe turned the truck north on County Road 6. Jimmie Joe was headed directly to Grandfather Felipe’s house.

  As Ángel pulled into his grandfather’s driveway Jimmie Joe was already standing outside his truck smoking a cigarette. A cool northern wind sneaking under the prevailing westerly wind created a downdraft. The old windmill squawked loudly as it fought against the opposing winds. Trembling, Ángel thought of something his grandfather told him as a child…northern winds carry bad luck. He looked over at his grandfather’s truck. The propped open hood could mean only one thing…his grandfather must be in the house. What would he think when he saw Ángel with Jimmie Joe? What could Ángel say to his grandfather?

  “Let’s go somewhere else and split things up,” said Ángel. “I don’t think we’re safe here.”

  “Why?” asked Jimmie Joe. “All you ever talked about in prison was seeing your precious Juanita and your loving grandfather.”

  “Jimmie--”

  “He’s not here anyway, so don’t sweat it,” said Jimmie Joe. “You are still his precious little Ángel.”

  “His truck is here. He never goes anywhere without his truck. How do you know he’s not here?”

  Ángel dashed past the Diablo Blanco and ran into the small house.

  “Abuelo! Abuelo Felipe? Grandfather??”

  Ángel turned around to see his partner in crime standing in the doorway.

  “I told you, he’s not here. You should listen to me. You don’t trust me do you?”