by Gary Land
Norman jumped two lounge chairs, pushing people out of the way. He slipped, and tackled a young girl who was standing near the edge of the pool. She went down hard on the cement. Noly could tell from the force of the hit that she was already unconscious when she went down. He watched her bounce once on the ground, arms outstretched. If it had been snowing, Noly would have thought she was making snow angels. She looked like a fallen angel. When she stopped moving, her momentum on the wet cement caused her to slip slowly into the pool. That’s when he heard the screaming. He had a moment to register a woman with strawberry-blond hair rushing forward and calling a name. It sounded like Kacy.
All thoughts of capturing Norman fled in an instant. As Noly dove into the pool, he saw the girl slowly sink to the bottom, leaving a trail of blood through the water. Small bubbles of air escaped through her nose. Noly thought she was dead when he grabbed her around the waist and cradled her head. He kicked his way back to the surface where waiting hands helped him and the girl out of the water.
“Oh, God, Kacy!” the woman yelled.
A pool attendant said something about paramedics, but Noly couldn’t wait. He felt for a pulse. Very faint, but there.
The woman screamed, “She’s not breathing--help her!”
Noly began mouth-to-mouth, continuing to check her pulse. She was still bleeding from the crack to her skull, but it looked worse than it was. Head wounds always bled a lot. He heard the first siren at the same moment that Kacy coughed. She coughed again, more violently, rolled to her side, and threw up. It was mostly water. She heaved again, but this time nothing came. She gulped for air, once, twice, and then her breathing started to slow, to resume a more normal rate.
Kacy started crying and then the woman was there, holding her, and crying too.
As the jet engines powered down, and the plane taxied to the gate, Noly turned his cell phone back on, and saw that he had received a voice message and a text message. The text was from his lawyer, John Rutherford. The message made his gut ache.
“van leesle suing u call me.”
His churning stomach didn’t care about a lawsuit brought by Otto van Leesle, Junior--it was the rancid memories the van Leesle name stirred within him that made Noly sick. Van Leesle had been his last case--the reason Noly was no longer a private detective. The reason Noly had twenty million dollars, and the reason for his scar.
Chapter 3
Only a handful of people dared call Noly by that name. One who earned that right was Detective James Collins.
Collins squeezed himself into a booth at the local pancake house and signaled Betty-Ann for some coffee. Detective Eric Johnson followed him in a few moments later. Johnson was the latest in a succession of rookie detectives that Collins was training. Collins just finished his twenty-fifth year with the Las Vegas Police Department. As a Supervising Detective, he holds the highest rank still working in the field. The next step up would be Lieutenant, but that was primarily an administrative job, and Collins couldn’t see himself riding a desk all day--not to mention the paperwork and the politics that went with the job.
Collins stood over six feet, but he easily tipped the scales at two hundred sixty pounds. Except for the thinning hair, he had a more than passing resemblance to John Wayne. Johnson, on the other hand, was tall and lanky. He looked more like a dancer than a cop.
Betty-Ann brought two cups of coffee and a smile with her as she sashayed up to the table. The place was half-empty, since it was already past eight o’clock, and most of the regulars were already at work.
“Hey, Jimmy...who’s the rookie?”
“Detective Eric Johnson meet Betty-Ann Humphries, the best waitress in Las Vegas.”
Betty-Ann giggled and flashed her smile at Johnson, then turned to face Collins.
“He’s a real cutie--glad to see they’re giving you better looking partners--balance out that ugly puss you got for a face.”
“Hah!” Collins half-laughed, as Betty-Ann bent down to give him a hug.
“Now you know I’m only kidding,” she said. “You losing weight, Jimmy?”
“Losing hair, more like it,” Collins said.
“Can’t hardly tell at all,” she lied. “Now, what can I get you boys?”
“Denver Omelet, hash browns, and an English Muffin,” Collins said.
“I’ll have the Corned Beef Hash, side of pancakes...and some orange juice,” Johnson told her.
“Okay, just be a sec.”
Johnson put three sugar packs into his coffee, and stirred it with a top-to-bottom motion. He looked up and saw Collins watching him, shaking his head.
“What--too much sugar?”
“Who taught you how to stir a cup of coffee?” Collins asked.
“You do it your way and I’ll do it mine”
“I tracked down Noly and left a message for him--his plane’s landing in a few minutes.”
“So, what’s the story with this buddy of yours--used to be a private cop, right?”
“Yeah, until he got shot.”
“And made twenty million dollars?” Johnson asked.
“You heard?”
“Only some of it,” Johnson said. “The van Leesle case.”
Collins nodded. “Catherine van Leesle was kidnapped on Lake Mead with her fiancé, Daryl Preston.”
“Preston--yeah, I remember reading something on him in one of those entertainment magazines--‘hot shot actor killed’,” Johnson said.
“Catherine is the daughter of ‘Otto-mobile King,’ Otto van Leesle, who offered twenty million dollars for the safe return of his only daughter.”
Otto van Leesle owned ten dealerships in and around Las Vegas and Henderson, and he catered to the staff and dealers of all the casinos. He was a beloved septuagenarian who had lost his wife five years earlier. Rumor had it that Otto hadn’t handled the loss very well. The media began referring to him as eccentric, which most people understood to mean crazy-but-rich.
Collins continued, “The boat they rented returns to the rental dock, unoccupied. It had been set to slow speed, and had the steering wheel locked into place. The only thing the police found on board was a red balloon tied to the wheel.”
Betty-Ann came back with their meals, and expertly placed them down on the table. She pulled ketchup and hot sauce out of the pockets in her apron, and scooted them across the table.
“Here you go, hon--I’ll be back in a minute.”
She put down some extra napkins and was off to another customer.
Johnson covered his pancakes in so much butter and syrup that they seemed to be floating on the plate.
“You sure like your sugar, don’t you?” Collins asked.
Johnson smacked his lips. “Man, you don’t know what you’re missing.” He looked over at Collins plate. “Meanwhile, you’ve got half a bottle of Tabasco on your omelet--let me guess, ex-smoker?”
Collins shrugged his shoulders.
“The smoking ruins the taste buds,” Johnson said, “so smokers always over-season their food.”
Before Collins could say anything, Betty-Ann was back with the check, and refills for the coffee. “Anything else I can get you before I take a break?”
Collins had his mouth full, so he just shook his head. Betty-Ann slapped the check down on the table, and glided away.
“Okay, so what’s with the red balloon?” Johnson asked.
Collins swallowed, drank some coffee and continued. “Nothing, really. Inside is a note with an address on it. We go there and find another red balloon with another note. Inside it are strands of blonde hair.”
Collins liberally buttered one-half of his English muffin, then peeled back a small plastic container of strawberry jam. He layered it on top of the butter, and devoured the muffin in three bites.
“They match the girl?” Johnson asked.
“Yeah, DNA confirms the hair belongs to Catherine van Leesle. And the note says, ‘The bitch is dying, better hurry.’”
“So what did the perp want
?”
“That’s just it--there were no ransom demands. No demands of any kind. Seemed like he was just playing a game, and was challenging us--and the Feds--to find him.”
“What about the reward?”
“Every private cop and nutball in the city started trampling all over the investigation trying to claim the reward. In the meantime, Otto’s having his best year ever--free publicity, media all over the place, people jamming his car lots to get in on the action.
“Every few days a new red balloon shows up with some piece of crap inside--a map, a key, a silver dollar. It never led anywhere, but we had to follow-up on everything.”
Collins was just pushing his food around the plate now. He wrinkled his brow, as he pulled the memories out of their hiding place. Sliding his fork across the plate, Collins looked up at Johnson.
“Twenty-one days after the kidnapping, a balloon shows up, tells the Feds to go to Otto’s Lexus dealership on Sahara--”
“They found Preston in the trunk of a new ES350, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Heard about that from Gil Whittaker at Metro--you know what happened to that car? Some guy runs one of those weird museums showing freaky stuff...he bought it. Off of Tropicana I think...how did Preston get it?”
“Beaten--sexually tortured. Died from blood loss from a three-inch deep cut across his right carotid artery.”
“Shit.”
“There were more balloons after that, but everyone knew the cops and Feds were running around in circles. We lost the trail--if we ever really had one.”
“Until Noly solved the case,” Johnson said.
“Right.”
Chapter 4
Detective Collins sat in his unmarked Crown Vic waiting for his partner to get back from the donut shop down the street. He had the car idling so he could run the air; it was already close to ninety and it was just after nine o’clock. He parked across the street from the Mountain Meadows apartments wondering where that name came from since there were no mountains and no meadow on
Cheyenne Avenue. The apartment building was in an above average location in North Las Vegas. It was about a ten-minute drive to the downtown casinos. The complex consisted of multiple buildings surrounding a common area with pool and small playground. Each building held four units--two up and two down. From Collins’ vantage point, it looked like there were a total of eight buildings. Parking was provided throughout the complex. Car ports for the tenants to provide some shade for their cars. Separate, open parking for visitors. Rentals probably went from seven hundred a month to a thousand or more for the top unit. It looked like a nice place to live, and it seemed to cater to families.
With school out for the summer, there were already several kids in the pool despite the time. In this heat, either you had to swim early in the morning or late at night--no one could stand the sun very long during the day.
Collins was admiring the view when the door opened and Johnson sat down, put a soft drink in the cup holder, and opened a large white bag.
“Boots just called,” Collins said. “He’s on his way in from McCarran.”
Johnson nodded while smacking his lips, devouring an apple fritter.
Collins looked at his partner and twisted his mouth. “That’s disgusting--can you keep it down over there. Jesus, that isn’t even a donut. Looks like a clump of dough that accidentally fell into the fryer.”
“Mmm--good stuff, man. You should try it,” Johnson said.
Collins stared at him. “We just had breakfast a half-hour ago!”
“Can’t pass up a donut shop.”
“You’re like Homer Simpson.”
“So, what’s the rest of the story?” Johnson asked.
Collins sighed. “Turns out Preston, the boyfriend, was abusing Catherine--physically and mentally. Otto tries all the normal stuff to try to get his daughter to break it off, but Catherine was already under Preston’s spell. She was one of those girls that just kept taking the abuse, but still loved the guy.”
“How do you know all that?”
“After Noly comes out of the coma, he laid it all out--he remembered everything. No loss of memory,” Collins said.
Johnson turned in his seat to face Collins, soft drink in one hand, and apple fritter in the other. “Okay, so Preston was abusing Catherine, and Otto decides to get creative?”
“Yeah, he stages the kidnapping all the while planning on killing Preston. Of course, he doesn’t actually do it. Had his security team do it. Everything goes off just as he planned.”
“Security?”
“Hired muscle.” Collins looked annoyed at the interruption. “Anyway, he hires Noly to find her. Otto plans to kill Noly then say he’s a hero for rescuing his daughter, but too bad he got killed. Noly has no family, so no claim on the reward.”
“Pretty neat package. What went wrong?”
“The daughter. Otto thought she was on board with the plan and he could control her. But she freaked out. She’s nuts--like the old man. She’s out of control, so he locks her up in the mansion, and tries to figure out what to do.”
“That’s when Noly finds her?” Johnson asked.
“Yeah, and all hell breaks loose...”
#
Noly fidgeted in the back seat of a Desert Limo & Cab Service car wishing he could roll the window down all the way. The cab company had locked the window so it could only go down half-way.
“What? I’m going to jump out the window and sue the company?” Noly mumbled to himself. While he was bitching about cabs, he also wondered why cab drivers always seemed to be in need of a shave and a bath. And he wasn’t just thinking about the male drivers.
Noly leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment, but immediately remembered the voice message he had received while in the air. He punched in his code and listened to his friend, Jim Collins say he was waiting at Mountain Meadows and needed to talk to him. Noly called him back and told him he was on his way in from the airport. He didn’t ask why Collins needed him, because he couldn’t muster up enough emotion to care. The van Leesle text message had been the kicker for what was already starting out to be a miserable day. It dredged up bitter memories that Noly would have just as soon kept buried in some neuron cul-de-sac in his brain.
The sun had already set on the van Leesle mansion, as Noly skirted through the shadows at the rear of the house. He knew Catherine was in the house and he was pissed off that Otto played him for a fool. The charade would end tonight.
“Jim--it’s Noly. Meet me at van Leesle’s, and bring backup.” Noly left the message on Detective Collins’ cell phone. He hoped he would pick it up sooner than later.
Just as Noly reached the French doors leading into the kitchen, landscape lighting came on, bathing the rear yard in way too much light. He took cover and waited. If the cook was on time, he should be leaving the house in the next two minutes.
The Sig P226 Noly held in his hand was a distinguished combat pistol known for being a reliable, durable weapon. More importantly, it was battle tested by Noly and had saved his life more than once. He liked the way it felt in his hand. He used the fifteen-round .40 S&W caliber magazines. The vertical holster rig he wore held the Sig plus two additional magazines.
Noly heard the beeps from the alarm system as the cook punched a series of numbers into the display panel. The door opened and Noly moved quickly from his hiding place, holding his Sig Sauer down by his side.
Before the cook could close the door and lock it, Noly hit him on the right temple with the gun. The cook fell sideways. Noly caught him and pulled him behind the bushes.
Noly’s goal was to get Catherine, and take her out of the house--by force, if needed. He wasn’t sure if she was part of this conspiracy or an unwilling victim. He could secure her in the guesthouse, and then go back for Otto.
The only way upstairs was by a sweeping staircase located in the center of the main floor. Noly heard several muffled voices arguing overhead. He flicked lights of
f as he moved towards the stairs, and quickly began the climb up. He moved with a single-mindedness towards Otto’s voice, which he could hear yelling a string of obscenities at Catherine. “...fucking cunt...cowardly bitch...just like your brother...crazy cock-sucking...”
As Noly reached the end of an intersecting hallway, one of Otto’s security men came around the left corridor. If he had been on Noly’s right, Noly would have shot him, but instead Noly’s left hand whipped out and caught the man in the throat. Noly could hear the cartilage snap and knew the man would be dead in a few minutes. He left the man to collapse alone on the floor.
Noly looked both ways down the hall. Light leaked out from beneath a set of double doors that he knew led into Otto’s library. He stormed down the hall without hesitating, kicked open the door, and in the span of less than a second, took in everyone’s position in the room.
Otto stood at the side of his desk facing Catherine. Two bodyguards. A big, bald guy rising out of a chair in front of the desk; a man with goatee and glasses standing at a library shelf, a look of surprise on his face. Noly took out goatee-glasses with two shots to the neck. Blood sprayed over a dozen books as Noly turned to big-bald and saw him pull a Glock22 from inside his jacket, a gun often used by cops. Noly shot him twice in the chest and once between the eyes, hoping he wasn’t off-duty Metro, but Noly played the game full-tilt and wasn’t about to give big-bald any slack.
Noly had expected Catherine to scream, but she just stood there, rocking back and forth.
“Charade’s over, Otto,” Noly said, as he pointed the Sig at van Leesle. “I am officially returning your daughter to you safe and sound...well, not so sound, I guess. But I’ll lay the blame for that on your doorstep.”
Otto moved slightly to face Noly and that’s when Noly saw the Beretta Tomcat in Otto’s hand. It was less than five inches long--the bastard was going to kill his own daughter.
“This is one fucked-up family. Come on, Otto, it’s over. Put the gun down--you still have to pay my bill.”