Deadeye

by William C. Dietz

  Machinery whined as Nickels sat down, and the guests gathered around. Amanda was reminded of the times when her father met with the church elders. “Good evening,” Nickels said gravely, as his piercing blue eyes swept the crowd. “Each of you is here this evening to receive special recognition for your contribution to the corporation’s success. Let’s begin with Chief Dokey.”

  That produced a round of applause, and the police chief looked suitably embarrassed as he stepped forward. He was dressed in a business suit, which, although custom-made, couldn’t hide the hump on his back. Nickels smiled approvingly. “Nice job, Chief . . . Thanks to you and your people, crime in and around the casino is at an all-time low. Please accept this gift as a token of my appreciation.”

  That was when the two-headed man stepped forward. Amanda knew that each head housed a separate brain and personality. But for reasons not apparent to her, the conjoined twins were collectively referred to as “Tom-Tom” and typically present for such occasions.

  Both of Tom-Tom’s heads had some independence of movement and conveyed their own expressions as they came forward to present Chief O. K. Dokey with a stack of so-called pumpkins, which was casino slang for thousand-eagle chips.

  That produced more applause, and so it went, as a steady stream of public officials and executives came up to claim their bonuses. Eventually, after all the rest of the guests had been thanked, Nickels summoned one last person. “Frank Grifty . . . It’s your turn! Please step forward.” Grifty had bright eyes and a monotonous head tic. He shuffled forward to stand just feet from the platform.

  Nickels eyed the crowd. “As all of you know, Frank is in charge of the baccarat tables. What you don’t know is that he’s been stealing from the casino.”

  Grifty tried to bolt, but a couple of burly men were ready and stepped in to seize his arms. “Stealing is very bad for your health,” Nickels said sternly. “Especially when you steal from me.”

  Grifty attempted to speak, but Nickels brought a metal finger up to his lips. “Shhh . . . Don’t embarrass yourself, Frank. You knew the chance you were taking, and you took it anyway. So let’s behave like grown-ups. These nice gentlemen are going to take you out to the city dump and shoot you in the head. Don’t worry, you won’t feel a thing. And no, there won’t be any severance pay.”

  The last comment produced some awkward laughter from the crowd. Grifty was led away, the tiger licked a paw, and Nickels came down to mingle with his guests. It was early yet, and the party had just begun.

  * * *

  It was midmorning, and Lee was driving the rent-a-wreck south from Phoenix to Tucson. And, because Interstate 10 wasn’t considered to be safe at night, there was lots of traffic during the day. The southbound flow consisted of trucks for the most part—but there were plenty of passenger vehicles, too.

  There wasn’t much to look at other than the occasional bullet-hole-riddled wreck next to the freeway and lots of desert. If Lee had driven a more boring stretch of road, she couldn’t remember when. She glanced at Omo. The deputy was slumped in the passenger seat with his Stetson pulled down over his mask. Lee smiled as she turned back to the road. “I don’t need you.” That’s what she’d told him. It was a lie of course—but he didn’t know that. Or did he?

  Either way, Omo had insisted that they go to see Arpo, and the sheriff opposed the plan. “Nickels owns Chief Dokey,” Arpo said, “not to mention the rest of the department. And Tucson is outside my jurisdiction. That means your badges will be worthless down there. Detective Lee can do whatever she wants so long as her boss agrees. But there will be political hell to pay if I let an active-duty officer work in someone else’s territory without their okay.”

  “So I can’t go?” Omo had inquired.

  “You can’t go on my time,” Arpo answered. “But what you do while you’re on vacation is up to you.”

  So Omo was using his vacation to escort an LA police detective to a potentially hostile city where he could get shot. Why?

  Lee felt a lump in her throat. Omo was coming for the same reason that Bryce Conti had gone out to confront the bank robbers. For her.

  She felt a tear trickle down her cheek and turned to make sure that Omo wasn’t looking. He was snoring gently, and she could see a pistol butt through the opening at the front of his jacket. I want you to survive, she thought to herself. I want you to live. Don’t do anything stupid.

  Thanks to the early start, they arrived in Tucson around 9:30 A.M. And, since the twins were employed by George Nickels, the first order of business was to visit their place of employment. That was easy to find as they followed the freeway south. “See that hill?” Omo inquired as he pointed off to the right. “That was called Sentinel Peak back before the plague. Then Tucson fell on hard times, and George Nickels Sr. offered to buy the hill and the park around it for half a million eagles. In return, he promised to build a complex that would employ a thousand people. And he kept his word. A hotel, casino, and mall were constructed at the base of Nickels Peak.”

  “And the park?”

  “It’s gone. There’s a playground, though,” Omo replied. “Take the next exit. Once we enter the complex, there will be lots of cameras. I think some disguises are in order.”

  That made sense, so Lee took the next off-ramp and followed Omo’s directions to a small shopping center. She remained in the car while he went to purchase the things they needed. Once Omo returned, he threw some packages into the backseat before sliding in next to her. “Let’s find a spot where we can change without being seen. There are at least three cameras in this parking lot.”

  So Lee drove them into the ruins of an old housing development, where they could get out and don their disguises without being observed. Lee’s outfit consisted of a full-length burqa similar to the one that Mrs. Fuentes had worn in LA. It was sky blue and hung all the way to the ground.

  Omo was able to alter his appearance by turning his back to Lee and trading his cowboy hat and mask for a privacy hood. That, too, was an accepted piece of apparel inside the red zone and unlikely to attract attention. “What about our weapons?” Lee wanted to know, as they reentered the car. “What if they scan us?”

  The deputy laughed. “You must be joking. Everyone in the Republic of Texas has the right to carry a gun anywhere they want to. It’s in our constitution.”

  Omo directed Lee onto West Congress Street. It led to Nickels Peak Road. They passed below a fancy-looking arch shortly thereafter and followed the signs into a large parking lot. It was early in the day, so there were lots of empty slots. Lee took one, got out, and locked the car. Shuttles were available, but they chose to walk. It didn’t take long for Lee to realize that the burqa was too long. But, by holding on to the side seams, she could lift it up off the pavement.

  Dozens of palm trees had been brought in and planted all around to give the impression of a desert oasis—and the mall was designed to resemble someone’s fantasy of what a North African city might look like. The jumble of buildings included domed buildings, minaret-like spires, and boxy structures with arched windows. All of which bore Mediterranean colors. The goal was to transport customers out of their humdrum lives and into a state of mind where they would be willing to risk their hard-earned money.

  But the police officers didn’t see the real pièce de résistance until they passed through the so-called western gate and entered a large open area within. When they looked up, the pair could see the point where water shot out of the hillside, splashed into what appeared to be an ancient aqueduct, and was then delivered to the lake via a spectacular waterfall. That created a mist that drifted out to cool the mall’s shoppers. Or so it seemed.

  A more careful inspection revealed that most of the water vapor was being produced by misters concealed in the old-fashioned light poles that circled the lake and were used to support hanging plants. It was a clever way to not only add some ambience but combat the ste
adily rising temperature.

  Logically enough, the mall had been built so that most of the stores enjoyed water views. That meant shoppers could walk an endless loop that would carry them past shop after shop until fatigue forced them into a restaurant, or they ran out of money.

  It was important to appear normal, so the couple wandered in and out of stores, fingered merchandise, and conversed in low tones. “The whole place is lousy with cameras,” Omo said, as they strolled down an aisle of women’s clothing.

  “And the merchandise sucks,” Lee observed. “Most of these dresses are knockoffs of items manufactured in Pacifica. I have this top at home.”

  “Try to focus,” Omo said. “We have a tail now . . . A woman wearing a flowered dress.”

  “Oh, her,” Lee said dismissively. “My guess is that she works for the store rather than Nickels.” And that theory proved to be correct because the woman stayed behind once they left the store.

  More people were arriving all the time. That made Lee feel less exposed as they circled the lake and arrived in front of a second gate. This one promised to provide access to the “Medina,” or oldest part of the imaginary city. And there, according to the signs, they would find the Palms Hotel and the Happy Nickels Casino. Both of which were bound to be of considerable importance to Mr. Nickels and his co-CFOs.

  So they passed through the gate, followed a winding path past all sorts of small shops, and were delivered into the hotel’s enormous lobby. Or were they in the casino? The two businesses were so intertwined, it was difficult to tell where one started and the other left off. Both were housed under a series of interlocking domes. And as Lee looked up, she could see the sort of intricate geometric designs that she associated with North Africa. Shafts of dusty sunlight entered through a cupola and streamed down to splash the tile floor. The temperature was almost too cool and kept that way at considerable cost.

  The reception desk was a circular affair located directly below the cupola. Radiating out from that were pie-shaped sections of seats, various types of gambling setups, and restaurants with different themes. The whole thing was very impressive. But where to start? A feeling of hopelessness settled over Lee. Traveling to Tucson was a stupid idea. So what to do? Keep looking, she told herself, and followed Omo out into a well-furnished wilderness.

  * * *

  Amanda was terrified as she stood next to the door, metal tray in hand, and waited for the kitchen man to come. She’d been there for ten minutes by then—much longer than necessary. But it had taken days, no weeks, in which to build up sufficient courage. And should he come early, before she was ready, Amanda wasn’t sure that she could summon the courage required to try it again. So she stood there, body trembling, waiting for the sound of his key in the lock.

  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she heard movement outside. A knock followed. That was the signal to tighten her grip and raise the tray high. One blow, that’s all she could be sure of, so it had to be good.

  The door opened, and the kitchen worker stepped inside. Just as he did every day to retrieve the breakfast dishes. Except it was a woman this time . . . A fact that didn’t register on Amanda’s brain until the tray was already in motion. It came down hard, struck the back of the worker’s head, and sent her sprawling.

  Amanda kicked the door closed, just as she had imagined that she would, and rushed to administer a follow-up blow. It produced a dull clang. Amanda regretted having to hit the woman again but had convinced herself of the necessity days earlier. She was a prisoner, and prisoners have a right to escape. Or so it seemed to Amanda. That didn’t stop her from checking the woman’s pulse or being glad that there was one.

  Then it was a race to remove the woman’s clothes. That was a stroke of luck, actually, since she’d been expecting a man. A small man to be sure but a man nevertheless.

  First, Amanda had to roll the woman onto her back in order to unbutton the shirt. That went pretty quickly but getting the kitchen worker’s arms out of the sleeves proved to be more difficult than anticipated.

  In the meantime, seconds and minutes continued to tick by. How long until somebody like Mac noticed the cart and wondered why the woman was taking so long? That’s all it would take to bring Amanda’s escape attempt to a disastrous halt. Concentrate, Amanda told herself as she pulled the shirt free. Think about what you’re doing.

  Amanda was wearing nothing more than a bra and panties so as to complete the change of clothing speedily. All she had to do was pull the shirt on and remove the woman’s shoes. Her pants were next and proved to be easier to cope with than the shirt had been.

  Amanda tossed the trousers aside and went to work with the strips of cloth torn from one of her bedsheets. The plan was to bind the victim’s wrists and ankles before gagging her. Hours had been spent on making that decision. What if the woman came to—and started to scream? Maybe the gag should be applied first. But if her hands were free, she would remove the gag. The “what if” process continued until Amanda had gamed every possibility she could think of.

  Fortunately, the kitchen worker didn’t come to. And Amanda was able to bind and gag her without interference. The pants were too big, but that was better than being too small. And by cinching the belt tight, Amanda could keep the trousers from falling down. Rather than wear shoes that were too large, Amanda chose to wear a pair of her own slip-ons.

  With her heart beating like a trip-hammer, Amanda loaded the breakfast dishes onto the tray and carried it to the door. The trick was to hold it up with one hand while turning the knob and stepping out into the hall.

  The stainless-steel cart was waiting. Amanda opened the cargo area, slipped the tray into an empty slot, and closed the door. Then she heard voices. Would the disguise work? There wasn’t much to it. Another piece of the sheet had been used to fashion a harem-style veil similar to one she’d seen at a party. That would cover her nose and the lower part of her face. As for the rest, well, she knew that people see what they expect to see. And having grown up with a houseful of servants, Amanda knew how they could fade into the background unless one made a conscious effort to track them.

  And sure enough, the men in the business suits didn’t even glance at her as they walked past. Thus encouraged, Amanda pushed the cart toward the lobby. The rest of her plan was simple: She would take the freight elevator down to the tunnel, push the cart all the way to the hotel’s kitchen, and leave as quickly as possible.

  Would employees have an exit of their own? Amanda thought so . . . That would provide her with a quick way out. Then, she would have to wing it. There would be cameras, of course. But maybe, just maybe, she would manage to get off the grounds quickly enough to evade capture.

  And after that? Well, there was whatever money might be in the wallet the woman had been carrying plus her own resourcefulness. Somehow she would find a way to make contact with her parents, and they would send help.

  The thought made Amanda feel better as she pushed the DOWN button and waited for the elevator to arrive. It took three long minutes. Finally, the doors parted, and rather than the full car that Amanda feared, the interior was empty.

  The cart made a rattling sound as she pushed it onto the lift and touched the button below the word TUNNEL. The lift began to drop, and kept dropping, until it coasted to a stop. Then the doors slid open to reveal the twins known as Tom-Tom. Amanda felt a stab of fear as they stepped to one side. All she could do was put her head down and push the cart out into the lobby. The wheels rattled, and she was just starting to feel a sense of relief, when a hand grabbed the back of her collar. Another jerked her around. “Wait a minute,” one of the twins said. “I recognize that smell.”

  “Yes,” the other one agreed. “Remove the veil.”

  A hand tore the piece of sheet away, and Amanda saw the looks of recognition on both faces. “Amanda Screed!” the one called Ethan said. “What are you doing here?”

>   “She’s trying to escape,” Orson put in sourly.

  “You’re a very naughty girl,” Ethan said as he sniffed the air. “Yes, it’s you all right . . . My brother and I can smell things most people are entirely unaware of. Now get back on the elevator.”

  A shove accompanied the order, and Amanda fell. She didn’t bother to get up. The escape attempt had failed, and the only thing she had to look forward to was some sort of punishment. The twins laughed.

  * * *

  After hours spent wandering around the mall and inspecting the hotel-casino complex, the police officers returned to their car. A short drive and a bit of searching turned up a midpriced hotel that catered to shoppers and gamblers on a budget.

  Once they were checked in, the hard work began. Because even though the trip to the mall had left Lee feeling less than optimistic about their chances of success, she wasn’t ready to give up. So she asked Omo to visit the city’s Planning & Development Services Department in hopes that the deputy would be able to obtain a copy of the plans for the residence that sat atop Nickels Peak. As well schematics for the hotel, casino, and mall. It was a risky thing to do because even though such inquiries were legal, there was the chance that the inquiry would arouse suspicions.

  Meanwhile, Lee spent the afternoon using the city’s info net to search for information pertaining to where Nickels and/or the Ebben twins might be holding Amanda. Hours of effort turned up a single lead—and that was a brief article about a medical clinic to which Tom-Tom had given some money. By then Lee had concluded that free medical care was something of a passion for the twins. The reason for that was obvious given the extent of their physical problems.

  But what if the clinic was a front for a surrogate farm? So Lee copied the clinic’s address and continued her search. It was a fruitless endeavor, and she was happy to quit once Omo returned.