by Dave Stanton
“How did that happen?”
“Jeff Jordan’s father was a CIA operative in Africa. He stole the diamonds and smuggled them here through Los Angeles. For whatever reason, he gave them to Jeff.”
“Wait a minute. You told Detective Humphries this was about gold, not diamonds.”
“Jeff Jordan traded some of the diamonds for gold. It was through an unlicensed, black market trader. The Volkovs found out about it.”
“But they dug up the gold when they killed Jeff, right?”
“Only a small part of it. They returned to get the rest.”
“Tonight, you mean.”
“Yes.”
The chief shook his head, then turned to watch the paramedics pull one of the charred officers through a squad car window and lay the carbonized remains on a gurney.
“That officer was married with three young children,” the chief said. His jaw was shiny and I could see black pits in his nose. “I’ve got to tell his family.” He stared at the ground, and I watched him clench and unclench his hands. “Someone needs to pay for this,” he said.
“They already have,” I said, nodding toward the house. “With their lives.”
His eyes flashed, and he stared at me. “You killed them?”
“In self-defense. They were all armed and firing. But maybe one survived—Serj Volkov. He’s the one who blew up your cars.”
“He’s inside?”
I nodded, and when we looked at the house, two cops were carrying Volkov out the front door. They yelled for the paramedics.
“You want a live perp, there you go,” I said.
Two paramedics rushed to tend to the bleeding mobster, leaving a hapless fireman behind to extract the second dead Cedar City policeman from the patrol car sitting thirty feet from us. The fireman had jammed a crowbar into the door frame, and it finally came open with a wretched screech. He reached in, fit his gloved hands around the rib cage of the corpse, and tried to lift it out the door, but it appeared affixed to what remained of the seat. He put his hands on his hips and looked around for help, then bent to the task again.
“What about the little Jordan girl?” the chief asked.
“My partner and I found her earlier today, locked up in a restaurant run by the Volkovs. She’s safe with Vegas PD now.”
The chief raised his eyes, and I saw a glimmer of hope, as if there was some small degree of redemption in my words. Then we both looked over at the fireman, who had his foot on the bottom of the door frame and was pulling hard on the body.
The chief took a quick step toward the car, but at that moment a loud crack sounded, and the fireman stumbled back, holding the blackened arm of the corpse, while the rest of the body remained upright in the seat.
“Ah, shit!” the fireman yelled. He tossed the arm aside and returned to the car.
“Good lord,” the chief said. He bent over, his hands on his knees, and spit on the ground. “Good lord almighty.”
“Are we done here?” I asked.
When he straightened, his eyes were red and watery and his mouth hung open. “God, I almost lost my cookies,” he said. “No, we’re not done. I need to call the state police and the FBI.” He pointed at me. “Don’t you or your friends leave town. You can stay at the hotel across from our station.”
I looked around and didn’t see Cody’s hotrod, which meant that Abbey must have ridden here with the police. “Hey, Chief, we’re gonna need a lift,” I said.
He began marching back to the house. “Fine,” he said. “We’ll take you when we’re done.”
I knew better than to ask how long it would be. Instead, I walked away from the lights, over to the horse stables. It was dark, but then my eyes adjusted and a horse approached and whinnied softly. I patted his neck, checked the time on my cell, and found the number for Greg Stillman, my CIA contact. It was eight p.m. on a Wednesday night, and I knew Stillman had my number in his phone, so he’d know who was calling. Whether or not that would prompt him to take the call was a different matter. But he must have been in a curious mood because he answered after a single ring.
“Reno, I have to admit I never expected to hear from you again,” he said.
“Evening, Greg.”
“I take it this isn’t a social call.”
“No, I’m calling about one of your agents, Bur Jordan. Ring a bell?”
“What about him?”
“Have you been investigating his murder?”
He paused. “What do you know about it?”
“I know he was shot and killed in November. I also know who did it.”
“How would you know that?”
“Because I was hired to investigate his son’s murder. They were both shot and mutilated—arms hacked off. It was the same killer, an illegal from Africa. He’s here now in Cedar City.”
“You sure on your facts, Reno?”
“Damn sure.”
“Is he being held by the police?”
“Not exactly.”
“What, then?”
“His body will be on the way to the coroner shortly.”
I heard Stillman tongue click in his mouth. “Let me guess—you shot him.”
“Nope, not me. It was Melanie Jordan, wife of Jeff, Bur Jordan’s son.”
“What’s the African’s name?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you hop on a plane, meet me at Cedar City PD tomorrow morning, and take possession of the body? You can probably still catch a flight to Las Vegas. It’s only a two and a half hour drive.”
“I’ll alert our investigating agent.”
“I’m sure he can sort it out with the FBI.”
“The FBI?”
“The killer crossed state lines, along with some Russian mobsters. The Feds are probably already on their way.”
Stillman cursed under his breath. The CIA and FBI have a long history of conflicting agendas. I knew Stillman would take a dim view of FBI involvement in Bur Jordan’s murder case. I was hoping he’d react with a sense of urgency.
“Keep your cell on,” he said. “You’ll be contacted.”
We hung up, and I stood in the darkness. I watched a van and a second ambulance drive into the clearing, their frames rocking on the uneven terrain. A fireman began sawing the crushed roof from the second destroyed police car. After a moment I turned away and saw that the porch was empty.
I walked to the house and went in, then followed the sound of Cody’s voice to the dining room. He and Abbey were sitting at the table across from two plainclothesmen. When they saw me, the cops looked up with bewildered expressions.
“Yes?” one of them said.
“Sorry to interrupt,” I said.
“That’s all right,” his partner said. “I guess we’re about done.” They closed their notebooks and slowly rose, as if uncertain what to do next.
I turned away and walked into the family room, where Melanie sat on the couch with Taylor Humphries and two uniformed officers. All three were silent, and none acknowledged me. I sat at the end of the couch and that seemed to snap the cops out of their stupor, but when they turned to me, I couldn’t tell to what degree they were stunned, confused, angry, or suspicious.
“I’ll take it from here,” Humphries said. “You guys go and…” When he couldn’t decide how to finish his sentence, he motioned with his hand, and the uniforms stood and walked out. As they left, Cody and Abbey walked in.
No one spoke for a minute, until Humphries rose from the couch. “Well,” he said, “If you can all fit in my car, I’ll drive you back to town.”
******
The small, family run hotel on Main Street was a minute’s walk from the Cedar City PD building. A Mormon church sat next door, and its steeple loomed above, as if to remind all of the city’s moral code.
“Hey, man, where’s the nearest bar?” Cody asked the hotel clerk, a teenaged kid I assumed was the son of the patriarch. As if on cue, a bearded middle-aged man opened a door from behind the reception counter and peere
d at us over his spectacles.
“The tavern is two blocks up, on Hoover,” he said.
“Right on, kemosabe.”
The man hesitated and eyed Cody warily, trying to decide if a reply was advisable.
“They serve chow?” Cody asked.
“I believe they do,” he said, and retreated to his office.
“Are you tired?” I asked Melanie.
“No, but I’m starving.”
“Me too,” Abbey said.
“Come on, then,” Cody said, and he led us into the cold like the captain of a brigade on a life or death mission. We marched behind him for three minutes, past the dark shops on the main drag, until we came to a single-story, flat-roofed structure with neon beer lights in the windows.
We filed in dutifully, and inside it was warm and there was a long bar. Tables were set up in front of a stage, and the ceiling was covered with white acoustic tiles. The place looked like it could comfortably hold a hundred people, but there were only a dozen patrons scattered about; evidently nine p.m. on a Wednesday night was not prime time for partiers in Cedar City.
We took a table and ordered from the menu on the wall, which offered burgers, nachos, and wings. Cody began ordering a round of tequila from the waitress, then he paused.
“I’d like a vodka tonic,” Abbey said.
“Could I get a glass of Chardonnay?” Melanie asked. I studied her face, looking for any hint that a mental breakdown might be looming. She had been kidnapped, her life threatened, and had shot a man dead. She’d also witnessed the violent death of innocent small town policemen simply trying to make a living. The stress of those events could cause even the most mentally stable person to fall apart. Given all that Melanie had been through, I was surprised she hadn’t lost it yet. I prayed she wouldn’t be beset by another migraine, or almost worse, an emergence of Sasha. I was still employed by the McDermotts and was responsible for Melanie’s welfare as long as she was with me. The weight of that task had returned the moment after she killed the African.
“What about for you, Dan?” Abbey said.
“A Coke for now.”
“What?” Cody said.
“Melanie, how are you feeling?” I asked.
“I’m happy to be alive. And I can’t wait to see my daughter.”
“Any headache, or light-headedness?”
“No, I feel pretty normal.”
“You’ve been under a lot of strain.”
“I guess I can handle it,” she said, then reached over and patted my hand. “You shouldn’t worry.”
I crossed my arms. “I’ll try not to,” I said.
“That’s the spirit,” Cody said.
I sat looking at the bar, where the neon glow illuminated the rows of bottles with an almost magical radiance. I knew I had to call the McDermotts and give them an update. It was all good news, and they owed me their gratitude, but I doubted it would be forthcoming from Lillian McDermott. As long as I got paid I really didn’t care, but the prospect of speaking to that woman made me feel as if nothing had been resolved and I had a lot of explaining to do. I knew that was illogical, but I simply wasn’t in the mood to listen to her guff.
I rubbed my forehead with my fingertips, and thought, What a bunch of crap. Call her and get it done with. Who cares what kind of bullshit she spews? It’s her burden, not yours. Hang up on her if she cops an attitude.
And then something clicked in my head, and I felt myself rise from my chair, the legs scraping loudly against the floor. I walked to the bar as if I were alone, hooked my boot on the rail, and motioned to the bartender.
“Double Canadian Club, straight up,” I said.
Before the words left my mouth, Cody was beside me. “Feeling all right, old buddy?”
“It’s time to blow off some fucking steam,” I said.
“Easy, Dirt,” Cody said, and I felt his giant paw massaging the muscles around my neck. “Have a drink or two, use it like medicine, but don’t abuse it.”
“That, from you?”
“I know how you are. You hold it all in, like nothing affects you. In the meantime it’s grinding away in your gut. When you finally blow, you’re out of control.”
“Thanks for the analysis,” I said, watching the bartender pour two measured one-ounce shots.
“Bring the booze back to the table and chill out. Eat some American food. Let the alcohol relax you. Don’t start pounding and get obliterated.”
“You got all the answers, don’t you?”
“True enough,” he replied, watching the bartender bring me two miserly shots. “Besides,” he added, “This is Utah. It ain’t easy getting ripped here.”
“Just my luck,” I said, but I was already feeling like a fool.
We went back to the table, and I sat with the shots before me and waited for the waitress to bring the rest of the drinks.
“Everything okay?” Abbey asked.
“Hey, we all been through a lot today,” Cody said. “Some bad stuff, indeed. Let’s not try to claim otherwise. But we should focus on the positive. We’re the good guys, and the bad guys got what they had coming. Now Melanie’s gonna get her daughter back, and Dan can get home to his fiancée. Abbey just had a valuable learning experience, and me, well, I…”
“Now you can be my dad, dum-dum,” Abbey said.
“Yes, of course,” Cody sputtered, his face startled. Then he smiled sheepishly as Abbey reached over to hug him. She tried to wrap her arms around him, but Cody’s shoulders were too wide. “Thanks for being there when I needed you,” she said.
“What did you expect? You’re my daughter.”
When Cody returned her hug, I saw him grimace, and I remembered he’d been wounded and should probably be at the hospital. But when I said as much, Cody waved me off. “Tomorrow,” he said.
“And Candi’s not my fiancée,” I reminded him.
“I’m sure she will be soon enough,” he replied, as the waitress delivered the drinks. I poured the two ounces of whiskey into my Coke and Cody raised a shot glass of silver tequila.
“To love and justice and wild times,” he said, and if ever Cody had uttered words that better captured his outlook on life, I’d never heard them. I took a big swig from my highball and felt an amazed grin take hold on my face. Never in my life had a drink tasted so good.
******
After my second cocktail I felt decompressed enough to call Lillian McDermott. I informed her that Cody and I had rescued Melanie from her kidnappers, who would never bother anyone again.
“I’m appalled they were able to kidnap her in the first place,” she said. “That never should have happened.”
I ignored her comment and told her we’d be in Vegas in the morning. She started saying something else, and as soon as I heard her disparaging tone, I set my phone on table and jabbed the disconnect button. Then I called Candi. I let her know I’d be home soon, and the sound of her voice reminded me how much I’d missed her.
“It’s been lonely around here without you,” she said. “Smoky misses you, too.”
“I’m sorry the case took longer than I hoped.”
“It’s only been a week.”
“Huh. Sure feels like longer.”
“Have you been burning the candles at both ends?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“You’d best get your butt on home.”
I suddenly became distracted by thoughts of taking Candi to bed, and I did not dwell upon Lillian McDermott for the rest of the night. But after another drink I did take Melanie aside to a quiet table.
“The diamonds were given to Jeff by his father,” I told her. “Jeff traded a batch to a broker in Vegas for the gold coins.”
“I never knew Jeff’s father. Jeff never talked about him, either.”
“They reconnected, somehow.”
“But, why?”
“We can only guess, Melanie. My guess is Jeff’s dad wanted to make up for being absent.”
Melanie ran her t
humb over a lipstick smear on her wine glass. “But look what happened. The diamonds got Jeff killed.” Her eyebrows were raised, her lips parted.
“I’m sure Jeff’s dad thought he was doing the right thing,” I said.
She looked away, then her eyes narrowed. “I’m not buying it. Why wouldn’t Jeff have told me?”
“Maybe he thought you would insist on managing the money, put it in the bank.”
She frowned and rested her chin in her hand.
“Or maybe he was getting more paranoid and thought it would be best to not tell you until later.”
When she raised her head, I saw a certain sadness in her eyes, as if she realized she would need to admit certain things to herself about her late husband if she wished to heal.
“He was getting more paranoid,” she said, “and I couldn’t stop it. But I never thought he didn’t trust me.”
When I didn’t reply, she said, “I know he loved me. He was a good man, and I’ll always remember him that way.”
******
We left a little before midnight, after Cody’s painkillers wore off and he conceded he’d better get stitched up. I left him at the emergency clinic, then returned to the hotel and fell into bed with a faded buzz. I knew there were interviews, or perhaps interrogations, in store for the morning, but I wasn’t concerned. The mess that remained was one for the authorities to clean up. My part was done. Or so I thought.
CHAPTER 13
It was 7:30 when my cell rang the next morning, and I’d just woken.
“Reno, Stillman here. Where are you?”
“In a hotel.”
“Where?”
“Across the street from Cedar City PD.”
“There’s a coffee joint right there. You know where it is?”
“I’m sure I can find it.”
“Meet me there at eight o’clock, please.”
“All right.”
I showered but didn’t have time to shave. I put on yesterday’s shirt and left the hotel at five before eight. It was a gray, cold morning, the skies heavy and colorless. Most of the shops on Main Street weren’t open yet, and only a single flatbed truck rumbled down the road.
I crossed the intersection and found the restaurant. Once inside, I spotted Stillman right away. The CIA man wore a gray suit and a yellow necktie knotted perfectly against his white collar. He sat at a table at the rear of the small place, facing outward. His pitted face seemed gaunt, and when he spotted me his intense blue eyes looked mismatched to his complexion.
