by Nic Saint
“No, never,” Garett admitted. “Steve was a great sheriff. Looked like a young John Wayne. Did you ever see pictures of the young John Wayne? Man, he was a handsome devil.”
“Tell me about the routine you guys developed,” said Blane. When Garrett gave him a blank look, he explained, “Take me through what happened.”
“I think what Detective Jamison is trying to find out is who shot first, Garrett,” I said.
“Oh, I did,” Garrett said immediately. “That’s what it says in the script. I shoot first, graze Steve’s shoulder, and he goes down—or pretends to go down. Then when I’m leaning over him, gloating and saying things like ‘I clocked you good, Sheriff Wayne,’ and ‘Not so cocky now, huh, Sheriff Wayne?’ he suddenly rears up and shoots me dead.” He pointed at his broad brow. “Right between the eyes. Of course, since we shoot blanks that doesn’t really matter.” His face crumpled again and he suddenly burst into tears. “Only they weren’t blanks, were they?!”
“No, they weren’t,” I agreed. “So do you have any idea who might have put real bullets in your gun, Garrett?”
”And how come you aimed for Steve’s head and not his shoulder, like it says in your script?” Blane added.
Garrett’s jaw dropped. “Oh, Detective, sir, I never aimed for Steve’s head. I mean, I simply aimed in his general direction, same way I always do.”
“So you’re telling me it was just bad luck that you happened to shoot him between the eyes?”
“Yes, sir, Detective, sir. I’ve never taken a shooting lesson in my life. I just point the thing and squeeze the trigger, the way I was told my first day on the job.”
Blane frowned, and I could sense something was bothering him. It bothered me, too. If Garrett was such a bad shot, how come he’d killed Steve with a single bullet?
“How far away from Steve would you say you were, son?” asked Leo.
Garrett thought hard, blinking in concentration. “Well, I’d say about thirty feet? Something like that. We never measured it out, though, so I can’t be a hundred percent sure, Mr. Shearwood.”
“Just call me Leo, son.”
“Thanks, Mr. Leo, sir.”
“Thirty feet. And you never took a shooting lesson,” said Blane.
“No, sir. Never. Though I am a pretty good shot at first-person shooting games, and so is Steve—or was,” he added, tearing up again.
I glanced at Blane. He looked troubled. I was, too. Garret could just as easily have missed and shot one of the tourists taking selfies. Or his shot could have gone wide and taken out a window or something. So if someone had wanted to kill Steve, this was a very inefficient way of doing it. I’d seen Garrett and Steve at work. They shot the way kids do: pointing a six-shooter in the general direction of the target and blasting away.
“Do you always use the same gun, Garret?” asked Blane.
“Yes, sir,” said Garrett. “Sheriff Wayne has his gun, and Doc Killer has his.”
“So they’re different?”
“Yes, sir, Detective, sir. Sheriff Wayne’s gun is shinier, if you know what I mean, but Doc Killer’s gun looks a lot cooler, with engravings and all.”
“Do you have any idea who put those bullets in those guns, Garret?” asked Leo, cracking his knuckles.
Garrett shook his head. “Sadly, no, sir, Mr. Shearwood—I mean, Leo, sir. If I did, I would have told you the first time we spoke. The guns were right there in the locker and I just figured they were loaded same way they always were.”
”Who makes sure the guns are loaded and ready?” asked Blane now.
“One of our technicians,” I explained. I glanced over to Leo, who nodded.
“Who?” asked Blane.
“I’d have to check,” Leo said, scribbling something on his blotter.
Blane nodded grimly. “We better have a chat with this particular technician.”
“So can I go now, Detective, sir?” asked Garrett nervously. “I mean, am I going to be…” he gulped again. “Am I going to jail now? For murder?”
“I want you to show us exactly what happened again, Garrett.”
The young man gulped. “You mean… go back there?”
“It’s called reconstructing the scene. Do you think you’re up for it?”
He swallowed again. “Will it help you find the killer?”
“It will point us in the right direction.”
Garrett momentarily gave us a look like a deer in headlights, then seemed to steel himself. “Yes, sir, Detective, sir. I’ll do it. For Steve.”
Chapter 8
The Saboteur watched as the ambulance carried the body of Steve Geyser away and some of the security personnel stood gathered around the spot where the kid had dropped dead. Blood had seeped into the sandy street and they were probably wondering whether to clean it up or just leave it.
He grinned and lit a cigarette. As usual, the underlings were waiting to hear from their master before acting. How typical. He wondered not for the first time who the real master was. Leo or Mia. The demarcation of responsibilities seemed fluid, the two of them working in tandem.
And then there was that cop, of course. He was probably going to make a big stink. Cops always did.
He blew out a plume of smoke and thanked his lucky stars. And that fat moron Garrett Midway.
A head shot—dead center in that young punk’s forehead. He couldn’t have done a better job himself. He’d hoped for some grievous bodily harm, at least some blood spilled. But this? A dead body right from the get-go? Jackpot, baby!
Switching the bullets had been a piece of cake. They were far too negligent in this stupid place—probably the lamest park on the West Coast.
He watched the cop strut around as if he owned the place, accompanied by Garrett, who was pointing a gun and looked like he was about to suffer a nervous breakdown. The idiot had just killed his best bud. Boo-hoo.
The Saboteur smirked as he shot a surreptitious look at Mia Rugg. With her boyish bob, heart-shaped face and feisty personality, she was a wet dream come alive. Maya wasn’t too bad either, though personally he wasn’t into the bratty type. And then there was Marisa. Nerdy, yes, but in a smoldering way.
He knew most guys would go for Charlene. In spite of the fact that she was pretty ancient she still looked amazing. She probably kept a plastic surgeon on retainer. And what an amazing rack. The woman was seriously sizzling.
He flicked away the butt of his cigarette. No time to be naughty. He had a job to do. Steve had only been the appetizer. The best part was still to come.
Oh, man, he loved his job. Loved it!
Chapter 9
Benny stared up at the rollercoaster. The cars were screeching as the train took a particularly nasty curve and then immediately dipped down into a steep valley, the people strapped into the ride screaming their heads off. Cool!
He turned to his friends, who were tucking into their churros.
“How much longer is this going to take?” he asked.
Martin, the brainiest of the three thirteen-year-olds, pushed his glasses up his nose and checked the line, a burly guard blocking the entrance.
“Well, the rollercoaster can hold two dozen, and there’s at least three dozen people ahead of us, so we should be good for the next run—the one after the next, in fact.”
“Well, I hope you’re right,” said Franklin, who looked silly in the conical hat he’d picked up at a magic shop. “I’m starving.”
The three friends had decided to skip lunch in favor of the Body Wrench, the scariest rollercoaster in Charleneland. All because some classmates had gone on the ride right after lunch and had left the contents of their stomachs on the car floor. Which just seemed like a waste of a perfectly good lunch.
Just at that moment, the train roared over their heads, upside down, the faces of the people contorted in a mixture of excitement and terror.
“Oh, man. I can’t wait to get up there!” he yelled over the noise and the screams.
”I don’t
know,” said Franklin. ”Don’t you think it’s too wild?”
“Too wild? It can never be too wild!”
“I once saw a movie where the rollercoaster malfunctioned and a bunch of people fell to their deaths,” said Martin.
“Yeah? What movie was that?” he asked.
”Final Destination 3. It was pretty gruesome.”
“Oh, come on, Martin,” he said. “Don’t jinx it for us, man.”
“That’s just a stupid Hollywood movie,” said Franklin. “Everybody knows rollercoasters are perfectly safe.”
“Yeah, they inspect them all the time, to make sure something like that can never happen.”
Once again, the collection of cars thundered past overhead, the screams of the people carrying down to where they were impatiently waiting their turn.
Martin studied the ride pensively, his big brain working away. “I read somewhere that the likelihood of being injured at a theme park is 1 in 24 million. The risk of being fatally injured 1 in 750 million. By comparison, the risk of being attacked by a shark is 1 in 11 million. Winning the lottery 1 in 14 million.”
“Which is good enough for me,” Benny said decidedly. He wasn’t going to be spooked by some stupid movie.
Just then, there was a loud creaking sound overhead, and the three kids looked up, as did the dozens of people in front of them, and the dozens behind. And as they looked, a big chunk of rollercoaster suddenly tore off from the main structure and dropped down!
“Wow!” Benny yelled. “Is that supposed to happen?”
“Not,” said Martin, a confused look on his face. “Chances of a piece of rollercoaster falling off are less than… well, it’s extremely rare.”
“Well, it just happened!”
There was a loud scream behind them, and some people were pointing to the train, which was still rattling along the rollercoaster, now headed to the piece of track… that was no longer there!
Now they were all yelling. “Stop! Stop the ride!”
The burly guard had seen the impending disaster, too, cause he was racing to the ride operator, who was checking his phone and munching a candy bar.
Overhead, the string of cars was on a collision course with the missing piece of track. If they hit that patch, they were going to be flung from the ride and crash down… right on top of Benny and his friends!
Everyone was now scrambling for cover and running as fast as their legs could carry them to get out of the danger zone before disaster struck.
Benny could see the guard yelling at the ride operator, who finally looked up. The pimpled kid choked on his candy bar and screamed something that was probably profane in nature, then frantically started pushing buttons.
The ride, hurtling to certain death, mayhem and disaster, suddenly started slowing down, but was still going way, way too fast.
It was now only one track length removed from the gap and closing fast.
They all stared up, a woman nearby sobbing inconsolably. “My baby. My baby is on board!”
The train was still slowing down but it took forever—too long!
It was creeping up to the gap now—closing in.
Fifty yards—forty yards—thirty yards.
The operator and the guard were looking up.
There was nothing they could do.
Twenty yards and still slowing down—ten yards.
“I can’t look,” said Martin, squeezing his eyes shut.
Benny couldn’t not look! It was like a horror movie, only real!
Five yards… creeping closer and closer and then… a loud wrenching sound as the first car reached the gap and went over—inching down the iron structure.
“They’re gonna fall!” cried Franklin. “They’re gonna crash!”
“My baby!” the woman next to us screamed.
“Christ almighty,” an older man muttered, crossing himself.
And then it was all over. The train finally came to a full stop, the people in the first car dangling precariously over the edge.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the train inched back from the precipice, then a little faster, and finally it was screeching along, sparks flying—metal grinding on metal as the car was pulled back, the whole thing backing up.
“They’re saved!” Benny cried.
Martin opened his eyes and blew out a long breath. “Tell me you recorded that, Benny. Please tell me you recorded that.”
Oh, crap. In all the excitement he hadn’t thought to take out his phone.
But then Franklin held up the old dinged-up Sony Xperia his dad had given him and flashed a big grin. “I’ve got the whole thing, you guys!”
They all shared a happy grin. They were going to be the heroes of seventh grade! Too bad school was still weeks away…
Chapter 10
We stared up at the devastation. I couldn’t believe something like this was even possible in Charleneland. I’d called Dad, but the operator had already told him what happened. He came running, huffing and puffing as he did, to join Leo, Blane and me.
“What happened?!” he cried when he came within earshot.
“A piece of your rollercoaster just came crashing down,” said Blane.
Dad shook his head, looking bewildered. “That’s not possible. We just had it inspected last month!”
He hurried over to where the piece of track had dropped, taking out a sign that listed the do’s and don’ts of riding a rollercoaster. I could still make out the words ‘Keep hands, arms and legs INSIDE car at ALL TIMES!’
“What’s going on, Leo?” I asked.
The big guy shook his head. “I don’t know, honey, but it’s not good.”
”Do you think this is connected to the Steve Geyser thing?” asked Blane.
The thought hadn’t occurred to me. “I don’t know,” I said truthfully.
We’d joined my dad, who was inspecting the heap of twisted iron. He was studying a piece closely, shook his head and looked up, his face a mask of dismay. “Sabotage.”
”What?” I asked. “What are you talking about?”
He pointed at the piece of twisted steel. “See this?”
I looked at the thing blankly. “Uh-huh.”
“No rust. No wear and tear. Just a nice, clean cut. And see that?”
He pointed at some other part of what could now be considered scrap metal. “Um…” I said, doing my best to look intelligent.
“No bolts!”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Someone removed the bolts and then put a buzzsaw to the girders keeping the thing together.”
I gasped when his meaning became clear. “You mean someone did this on purpose?”
”I’ll have to check the rest of it,” he said as he looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun. “And I’ll have to inspect the track more closely. But there’s just no way this piece simply fell off.” He fixed me with an intense look. “Someone went to a great deal of trouble to sabotage this ride, Mia.”
“That’s it,” said Leo. “We have to close down Charleneland. First the shooting and now this?”
Dad planted his hands on his hips. “Not so fast, Leo. If we close down now, we might never reopen.”
“What are you saying? We can’t put all these people at risk.”
Dad shook his head, determined to stand his ground.
Leo pointed up to the ride. “What if that train had hit that patch? The whole thing would have come crashing down. We would have had a dozen casualties!”
“You’re right, “ Dad said softly. “And that was probably what the saboteur intended. We were lucky the chunk of ride dropped out before the train hit it.”
Blane, who was crouching next to the piece of track, said, “Probably dropped out because of the vibrations caused by the train running along the track.”
“Yeah, whoever cut up our ride did a good job.”
“Which is why I say we shut her down,” Leo repeated. “The safety of the visitors should be our primary concern, Clive, not the survival of
the park.”
”We’ve got three thousand people working here, Leo,” Dad argued. “They all have families to feed. They depend on us for their livelihood. If we shut down now we’re giving a clear sign that we don’t believe Charleneland is safe. The inspectors—who I’m sure will show up any minute now—are not going to want us to reopen before they’ve checked and rechecked each and every ride. That might takes weeks, if not months. We’re going to lose the entire season—maybe the rest of the year. We can’t afford a loss like that. Like I said, if we close her down now, we may never reopen.”
“That’s a risk we have to take,” said Leo. “Who knows what else this maniac has gone and done?! For all we know he could have cut chunks out of all of our rides. Maybe they rigged the whole damn park!”
The two men stood toe to toe. “This is still my park, Leo,” Dad growled, pulling the ownership card.
“And I’m still the guy in charge of park safety, Clive,” Leo snapped.
“Okay, time out, you guys,” I said, stepping between the two men. “Why don’t we call a meeting? A decision like this involves the whole family.”
After a pause, Leo nodded. “All right. Let’s do the meeting. But I want to be crystal clear on this: we need to protect our customers against this maniac. Before more people get hurt.”
“While Dad wrangles up the others, why don’t we have a look at the security footage from the Body Wrench?” I suggested. “See if we can’t catch whoever’s responsible for this mess?”
Leo nodded, his jaw still clenched, then abruptly turned and strode away.
I clapped my dad on the shoulder. “Take this ride apart, Dad. We need to know what happened, exactly.”
“Oh, don’t worry, honey. I’m going to get to the bottom of this. No one messes with Charleneland on my watch. No one!”
Chapter 11
We jumped back on the golf cart and moments later were zooming along a hidden pathway behind the main thoroughfare to the security compound. From the outside you would never think for one minute that a modern and state-of-the-art security force is located behind the settler house facade.
