A Thousand Generations

by Traci DePree

They’d gone a good hundred yards when Eli stopped and turned to face a depression in the solid rock to their right. He pointed with the flashlight. “This is where I found the mannequin.”

  Kate turned her beam on it too, focusing on the spot that was a mere dip in the cave’s wall. Nothing was there, save for footprints and a trail across the sandy floor as if something had been dragged. The mannequin perhaps? Kate bent to study the spot, noting footprints that led off to the left. “They look fresh.” Eli moved closer and bent alongside Kate to examine the prints. “Somebody went this way,” he said, rising to follow the trail.

  Kate’s pulse quickened as she realized they could be near Walter Manuel’s hiding place. Nervously she whispered into the microphone taped to her chest, “We’re getting closer.” She prayed someone could hear her.

  The tunnel narrowed several yards ahead and then dropped sharply, as did the temperature. Outside it had been a steamy eighty degrees, while in here it felt more like the lower sixties. The air was still and slightly rank with the smell of rotten eggs.

  The tunnel turned to the left, and Kate shone her flashlight beam up ahead. A door appeared to be there, blocking the way. It seemed so out of place in the middle of a copper mine that Kate stopped to take it in.

  Eli moved to it and tried the knob. It was locked. He felt the door’s rough-hewn frame.

  “Wait,” she said, and Eli turned to her. She reached into her pack, pulled out the key from the envelope, and held it up. “This will work.”

  She placed it in the keyhole, and the knob turned easily. Kate pressed a hand to her midsection, hoping to stifle the nervousness that threatened to turn to panic. What if Walter Manuel was waiting on the other side of the door for them? Kate tapped her microphone, whispering, “We’ve found a door...” Her words trailed away, and she took a deep breath.

  She slowly opened the door. Like the mine itself, the interior held not a speck of light. Where was Manuel?

  Kate’s flashlight scanned the cave, which opened into a large room. She knew where she was—a time capsule from Prohibition days. The ceiling was girded in thick wooden beams. Cobwebs resided between the spaces. There was no sign of anyone, much less Walter Manuel. But that didn’t stop her from knowing where she was standing. This was the speakeasy that Simmonds and Nelson had run for Leonetti.

  Not far from the door stood a small table that held a kerosene lantern. Kate moved to it, and lifting the hurricane glass, pulled matches from her pack and struck one. The lantern immediately glowed bright, and she turned it down to an acceptable level, revealing the cave’s hidden wealth. Then she turned off her flashlight to conserve the battery.

  The room held an oak bar with mirrors along the back wall and ancient amber-colored bottles. Small tables, each with two to four chairs, filled the space. It could seat a good thirty people, perhaps more.

  “This was the speakeasy,” Eli said in a whisper, clearly in awe.

  Kate nodded.

  They moved from space to space, taking it all in. Other than the cobwebs, it was as if the place had just been vacated the day before, its clientele to return any minute! They were careful to keep quiet. Kate’s heart thumped in her chest, and she wondered if the officers down the hill could hear it.

  She went into a smaller room off the main room, which held poker tables with dusty playing cards strewn about. Another room seemed to be for storage, with foodstuffs that had turned to dirt ages ago, as well as nonfood supplies like glasses, pots and pans, and silverware. They returned to the main room, making their way through it to the other side of the cave.

  As they moved past the bar, a small book caught her eye. It was stuffed behind glasses on a lower shelf. She reached for it, carefully lifting it up and over the glassware.

  Wiping the years of dust from the cover, she saw that it was a ledger. She opened it carefully and turned her flash-light on so she could see its yellowed pages. The writing was faint but legible.

  Inside were page after page of numbers, listing goods bought and sold at the speakeasy, bank robberies Leonetti had planned and executed, and names. Everyone involved was listed, including their role with the organization, the time of “employment,” and when they’d either been arrested or “terminated.” It was a veritable smoking gun of information.

  There wasn’t a word about Horace or Marie Hanlon. Kate turned from one page to the next, searching for the slightest mention, but there was nothing. Instead, the full story was revealed between the lines.

  It seemed that Roy Simmonds, Connie Rae’s father, and Chris Nelson had run the speakeasies for Leonetti since 1927, long before they’d planned the robbery at Merchants National in Pine Ridge. No doubt it was Simmonds’ precise handwriting in the ledger—the script held a banker’s attention to detail.

  According to the ledger, what Leonetti hadn’t known was that Simmonds had taken much of the illegal money and siphoned it off as an inheritance for his two daughters, money that he invested overseas. And he’d hidden the rest in the mannequins that Chris Nelson had carved to match Horace’s legitimate dummies. These the former Hanlon employee hid in the basement of Hanlon’s Boutique until Simmonds could find ways to invest and circulate the money. As one of Horace’s trusted employees, Nelson had full access to the store, and since it was miles away from the speakeasy, Leonetti would never find it.

  When the “insider,” whom Kate now realized was Horace, had turned him in and Nelson had been convicted, Horace apparently had no idea that a fortune still lay buried beneath his own store.

  A letter tucked in the back of the ledger was addressed to Roy Simmonds and signed by Jose Manuel, Leonetti’s son and Connie Rae’s first husband. Kate pulled it out, and she motioned Eli over so they could read it together:

  Mr. Simmonds,

  You have played us all the fool, but me most of all. For that I cannot forgive you. Does the word family mean nothing to you? I suppose only if it is blood family, that is all you care about.

  My father trusted you, and you have betrayed him all these years, even in allowing me to marry your daughter, who it seems is as greedy as her father.

  What have you done with the money? Surely you didn’t turn it over to authorities as that Bible thumper Horace Hanlon kept nagging you to do, and it didn’t disappear. So where is it? I of all people have the right to know, as Jack Leonetti’s son and your son-in-law, it should fall to me. And yet you trust no one.

  For the sake of your grandson, tell me where it is.

  Your son-in-law,

  Jose Manuel

  Kate was dumbstruck. Here was everything she’d been searching for! Proof that Horace Hanlon was on the right side of the law.

  Eli was shaking his head. “I was so wrong, saying the things I did about Paul’s grandpa...I feel just awful.”

  “You couldn’t have known.” Kate patted his shoulder.

  She tucked the ledger and letter into the front zippered pocket of the backpack and carrying the lantern in front of her, turned to follow Eli into a final room on the far side of the main room, opposite the entrance to the speakeasy. They stood in awe, silenced by the sight that met them.

  Munitions in all shapes and sizes filled the storeroom. A barrel marked “gun powder” sat unopened in the corner. Several racks of shotguns, rifles, and handguns flanked two walls. Whoever had stocked that place meant business!

  Kate picked up a leather holster that was cracked with age and held it up to the lantern’s light. Embossed on the blackened surface were the distinct initials J.L. On the opposite side of the munitions was a full-size bed piled with quilts. A recent edition of Guns and Ammo magazine lay on the rumpled bed, and newer-style clothes lay in a heap alongside it.

  A wardrobe still filled with suits and coats and slacks from the bygone era offered a smidge of privacy between two of the beds. Kate pulled out several coats, laid them on the bed, and shone her flashlight on the labels inside. They read “Hanlon’s Boutique.”

  Kate glanced around, wondering why Man
uel had failed to appear. Was he wise to their scheme? Disappointed that it seemed the plan hadn’t gone as she’d hoped, she was just about to tell Eli that they should head back when she saw his stolen mannequin propped up in the corner. The arm bore the marks of the ballistics expert’s “surgery.” Kate gasped as she felt the blood leave her head.

  “What is it?” Eli said, turning to see what had caused Kate to gasp. “Oh, man!” He moved to the wooden lady.

  The lid from her torso had been torn off, and her head was lopsided on top of her shoulders as if Walter had taken out his frustration on her.

  “I knew you’d figure out where to come,” a voice said from behind them.

  Kate’s heart stopped as she realized that Manuel was behind her. She turned to face him. He was short, bald. There was no doubt in her mind that it was Walter Manuel. He was holding a gun on Eli, whose eyes were as round as saucers.

  Kate kept silent.

  “You really shouldn’t have stolen from me. That money has been in my family a long time. You”—he pushed the gun into Eli’s face—“had no right to come in here and take my lady. No right at all!”

  He kept the gun on Eli but turned to Kate. “Where’s the money you promised?” He gestured with the gun for Kate to remove the backpack. “Easy now,” Manuel said slowly. “Nothing sudden.”

  Kate pulled out a wad of the collectible money Sheriff Roberts had given her and handed it to Manuel. His face filled with delight as he sniffed the cash.

  “That’s what I’m talkin’ about! There’d better be more in there,” he said, pointing his gun at the backpack.

  Kate dumped the money out onto the bed, careful not to reveal that she still had the ledger and letter in the front zippered pocket.

  “Very good.” He grinned as he looked up at Kate.

  Eli moved slightly, and the man turned instantly angry eyes on him. “What do you think you’re doing!” he shouted.

  “Nothing. I wasn’t doing anything,” Eli said in a penitent voice.

  Kate’s heart was working overtime, and sweat beaded on her brow. She glanced around, looking for something, anything she could use to distract the man.

  “Tell you what,” Manuel said. “Why don’t you”—he looked at Eli—“tell your friends down the hill to scat.”

  He laughed loudly. It bounced off the cave walls.

  “Did you think I was such an idiot I wouldn’t see them spread out like ants?” Then he leaned toward Eli’s chest and spoke directly into the microphone that was taped beneath his shirt. “The cops better back off, or Copper Mill will have two less citizens.”

  He straightened up then and spoke to Kate. “You’ve put yourself in a bad position.” He shook his head. “This could’ve gone so much easier if you hadn’t gone running to the police. Now you leave me without options.”

  He grinned menacingly and motioned with the weapon for Kate to join Eli, who reached for her hand when she moved next to him. He was clammy, tense. Kate was instantly sorry she’d put him in this situation.

  “Isn’t that sweet?” Manuel mocked. “Now, hand over the mics. The cops have heard enough of our conversation.”

  Eli didn’t answer. Manuel reached inside his shirt and ripped the mic apart, then he pointed the gun at Kate. “Yours too.”

  Kate reached under her T-shirt and tugged the tiny mic from her collarbone, then held it out for him.

  “That’s what I like to see,” Manuel said, his temper easing slightly. “Cooperation.”

  He motioned for Kate to toss it on the floor. It hit the wooden floor, and Manuel took a step, crushing the instrument beneath his shoe.

  “You’ve lived on stolen money your whole life?” Kate ventured.

  “Being the son of entrepreneurs has its perks.” He winked at her, and Kate felt a shiver traverse her spine. “Now, that Horace Hanlon fellow; he was dumb like you. He had his chance to join with my great-grandfathers. Would’ve been easy street for him too. But he got all high and mighty, preaching all the time, like he was going to get them to change their ways.” He shook his head. “Then when he ratted out Chris Nelson...Now that was stupidity!”

  Kate couldn’t help but smile at the information.

  “What are you grinning at?” Manuel moved closer. Kate could feel his hot, fetid breath on her face. “There’s no reason for you to be smiling.”

  He lifted a crooked eyebrow, and Kate wondered what he was going to do. “It seems the three of us need to get out of here,” he finally said, pointing the gun toward the far side of the room.

  Kate and Eli exchanged puzzled looks.

  “You didn’t know there was a back entrance?” Manuel laughed. “What rat gives himself only one escape route?”

  They moved to the far side of the bed, and Manuel motion-ed for Eli to grab the rug, revealing a trapdoor in the floor. The hole led into the depths of the black mine via a ladder. Kate shone her flashlight down as she descended.

  “Get moving,” Manuel barked at Eli, who followed Kate. Finally the door above slid shut, and with it Kate’s hope that the police would find them before it was too late.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Manuel pointed with the flashlight in one hand, while the gun in his other hand remained on Kate. She could feel Manuel’s presence behind her. His breathing was heavy, and he smelled rank. The footfalls of his uneven gait echoed across the rocks.

  Kate closed her eyes for a moment and prayed with all her might that God would deliver them, that somehow the police would know that it was safe to enter the speakeasy, find the trapdoor, and get to them before Manuel could fulfill his plan.

  Then Eli tripped. He flailed to the ground on his belly. Manuel ran ahead to him, gun pointed down as he screamed at Eli to get up. “What do you think you’re doing!” he shouted.

  In one swift movement, Eli rolled over and kicked the gun from the man’s hands and sent a second kick to his weaker leg. The gun clattered into the darkness and Eli shouted to Kate, “Run!”

  Kate turned around and tore toward the speakeasy, Eli right beside her. It would only be a matter of moments before Manuel found his gun and was on them. She could hear his curses and moans of pain as he panted behind them, the sound of his limping run more pronounced than before as it echoed against the stone walls.

  Eli reached the ladder first and was climbing up toward the trapdoor with Kate right behind him when Manuel grabbed Kate’s ankle. She kicked at him and managed to climb two more steps before he grabbed her again. She shrieked and told Eli to keep running, to find help. Kate kicked at him again, but this time his grasp was strong. She flailed, and with her free foot kicked him firmly in the head. He lost his grip.

  Then she climbed up through the trapdoor and moved quickly through the storeroom into the speakeasy, her flashlight beam casting erratic strobes across the stone walls.

  The main door burst open. Sheriff Roberts and his men converged on the place in a swarm of uniforms and drawn guns.

  “In the storeroom!” Eli shouted, pointing to the room behind him. The officers moved in just as the criminal emerged from his hole like the rat he was.

  Manuel didn’t have a chance. The sheriff grabbed him, tossing him onto the bed and putting him in handcuffs.

  Kate cried in relief.

  Someone else was there then—Paul. Kate fell into his arms.

  KATE AND PAUL RESTED on a rock outside the entrance to the mine. Sunlight felt comforting on her skin after her time in the darkness. Her breathing had calmed, though she still held on to Paul’s hand. Eli was pacing in front of the mine’s entrance.

  It had been fifteen minutes since they’d left the officers to do their business with Walter Manuel inside. Kate wondered what the sheriff was saying to him.

  Finally the officers emerged, Sheriff Roberts and Skip Spencer in the lead, dragging a handcuffed and cursing Walter Manuel between them. One of the officers behind them handed Kate her backpack. She immediately checked the front pocket, relieved that the ledger and let
ter were still in place.

  Kate, Paul, and Eli followed, trudging down the faded path. Kate paused when they approached the view of Copper Mill, the same view as in the photograph.

  At the bottom of the hill, the sheriff loaded Manuel into his SUV, then he and Skip walked over to Kate and Paul, who were leaning against Paul’s pickup truck.

  Kate handed the sheriff the ledger and letter from her backpack. “These will be helpful,” she said.

  Roberts opened the ledger and scanned the pages. After several minutes, he shook his head. “What a racket,” he said, finally closing it.

  “What happens to Manuel now?” Paul asked.

  “He faces the consequences of his actions. Theft, vandalism, possession of stolen goods, attempted kidnapping, assault...He’s made quite a list for himself.”

  KATE WAS SURPRISED TO SEE Lila Paisley’s red Volkswagen parked in their driveway when they returned home. Lila and Phillip were sitting on the front stoop in conversation.

  “Why are they here?” Kate said, turning to Paul.

  “I called Phillip before we went out this morning. You had police backup; I had prayer backup.” He smiled. “Looks like they went the extra mile and came over.”

  Lila and Phillip came toward them before Kate was even out of the truck.

  “Are you okay?” Lila asked, her voice unusually high pitched as she approached Kate.

  “I’m just fine,” Kate said, then told them of Manuel’s capture.

  “I’m so relieved,” Lila admitted, her hand fluttering to her chest as she glanced at Phillip.

  “So...” Kate nodded from one to the other.

  Phillip reached for Lila’s hand and grinned at Kate. “I talked to Eric, and he reminded me of something Ginny used to say.”

  “And that was?”

  He tucked Lila’s hand into the crook of his arm. “She told me that I shouldn’t stop living while I was still on the planet.”

  After a while longer with their friends, Kate began to feel exhausted, so the pair said good-bye and drove off. Once inside the house, Paul reached to hug Kate. She melted into him, allowing his comfort to surround her.