Revenge Code

by Paul Knox

  Sandy handed his phone over. “If you do, you might want to interrogate me further, which might take long enough for the other deputies—on the way here—to find you. And then they’ll want to arrest you, for sure. It seems you’re in deep waters for all of this.”

  “Other deputies?”

  “You’re not the only one who wishes to speak with me, my dear Reece. I do apologize for being your father and causing you so much trouble, time and time again. It seems I’m always in the middle of something, and now everyone knows you’re my daughter. I hear that’s bad for you.”

  “It was bad for me when I supported mom at a funeral and you were nowhere to be found. It was bad for me when I didn’t even know where to find you—to tell you your son died. Bad? It’s not bad. It’s deplorable. It’s miserable having to come to this—” Reece glanced from the large, empty stage to the row of alcohol bottles over the bar area. “—this place and question you about murder.”

  Sandy followed her gaze to the bar, and then he lowered his eyes to the floor.

  Reece needed to get out of there. She turned her attention to Sandy’s phone, looking through his call history and texts. M. Knight’s secret number wasn’t in there, and she didn’t find anything incriminating.

  There was also the possibility that Sandy had a secret phone. But she had neither the time nor the resources to hunt it down at this moment, if there even was one.

  Reece looked up. “Have you ever heard of a man named Lucky? Likes to gamble?”

  “Lucky with the Magnum, P.I. mustache?”

  “Yes. You know him?”

  “I’m afraid I’ve seen him, here, talking with M. Knight during normal business hours. He’s a big spender, but wasn’t a regular by any means. Didn’t exactly fit in with our normal fare, if you know what I mean—not quite young enough. But no, I haven’t the faintest who or where he is. If I do see him, I’ll be sure to phone you. You have my word.”

  “Was Lucky ever with anyone else? Someone that might’ve been from Eastern Europe, like Poland or Russia?”

  “No, but I heard him once talking about flights and travel with M. Knight. I’m not sure where to. And like I previously mentioned, he wasn’t a regular. This is based on a conversation I walked into, that’s all.”

  Reece made a mental note to check the Tucson airport, but doubted anyone named Lucky booked flights. Maybe Penny could dig something up.

  “And, Reece, not that I don’t relish your company, but if you want to stay out of jail for the time being, you should go. However, I’m still hoping we can do lunch sometime. There’s a lot to explain about…the past.”

  “Speaking about the past, guess where I was last weekend. Lake Patagonia. I was kayaking, like how we all used to do before… Anyway, you missed out. You missed out on a lot.”

  “You don’t understand, Reece. I had a difficult choice to make. I hope you give me a chance to explain.”

  It was a strange feeling, having her estranged dad suddenly seem to care about her. After all these years, he was back and wanted to ‘explain.’

  Could he really be trying to help? Was he innocent in all of this? Or was this a ploy to throw her off the trail?

  One thing was certain. He always had an excuse.

  Regardless, she had to leave.

  Twenty-Seven

  Parking her old mini-clunker at a McDonald’s, Reece phoned Sheriff Landy to discuss her employment situation. “You can’t believe this nonsense, Landy. It’s not true. Not in the slightest.”

  “I know, Reece. I don’t believe it, either. But unfortunately, an investigation has been launched into your role regarding the kidnapping.”

  “Can’t you stop it?”

  “Reece, I’m responsible for law and order in all of Pima County. Tax-paying citizens would bring the rain down on me if I gave you special treatment because of my feelings. If I did, the next news program Kevin covered would be how corrupt and lawless the sheriff was—I assure you.”

  “What am I supposed to do, Landy? Let myself be locked up? I have to find Jessie—and Shanahan. He’s gone rogue and I’m worried about him. He’s not in the right frame of mind and might do something he later regrets.” Reece hung her head. “I need some real advice.”

  “You already know I think you overstepped with the news reports. Look where that all ended up. I had a bad feeling the ‘heat’ you wanted would backfire. We’re not dealing with amateurs. We’re dealing with international criminals.”

  “You think this is really my fault?”

  “Come back, Reece. I’ll get you out on bail, quick. You don’t have to run. We’re going to find Jessie and clear your name. It’s only a matter of time.”

  “You’re right, Landy. It’s only a matter of time.”

  Reece hung up. Then she wrote down all the important numbers in her phone.

  She stepped out of the little pickup and put the cell under the tire. She ran over it. A few times.

  She couldn’t risk the department tracking her.

  Her next stop would be to get a burner phone.

  I’m not stopping until this investigation is over.

  ◆◆◆

  Ethan Wilson had been watching the casino for almost fifty continuous hours. He watched the clock carefully, his stomach grumbling. Back on Wednesday, he’d made a trip to the grocery store and stocked up on sub sandwiches, granola bars and Cheez-Its.

  Alas, he had eaten all the food.

  He was tired. And super-duper hungry. He’d slept for a few minutes, on and off during the wee hours of the morning, when only the oddest of die-hard gamblers showed up. Upon waking, he’d drive around looking for the green Lamborghini. It hadn’t returned.

  Delirious, he had to leave the premises to get more food. The closest grocery store was about ten minutes away. Once there, Ethan sprinted through the place as quick as he could, grabbing every box-o-whatever off of the shelves.

  A couple loaves of bread and few pounds of deli meat later, he sped away, headed back to Casino Del Sol.

  When he arrived, he drove around the premises—three times—to make sure the Lamborghini hadn’t snuck in. It was nowhere to be seen. Ethan sighed happily.

  Now to make some sandwiches!

  Ethan didn’t use mayo, only French mustard. No cheese either. Just meat, bread and mustard. He would have enjoyed lettuce and tomato, but hadn’t wanted to take the time going to the vegetable and fruit part of the store.

  Meat took precedence.

  He happily slapped everything together and moaned over the wonderful flavor of food in his mouth. It was so delicious. He had been so hungry. Before he knew it, he had eaten five sandwiches.

  I’m still a little hungry, but that should be enough meat for now.

  And then he fell asleep. It wasn’t his fault. At least, that’s what he told himself later, after he awoke. How could anyone blame a man who’d barely slept for two days and then just engorged himself on a mountain of food? His muscles needed to feed. And they needed to rest.

  It really, really wasn’t his fault.

  But Ethan did wake up—from a wonderful dream about his future restaurant-gym—to the loud roar of a sports car tearing by him in the parking lot. A bright green Lamborghini.

  Ethan sat straight up, wiping the drool from his mouth and shaking the crumbs from his shirt. He jammed the keys in the ignition and took off.

  He drove his unmarked car a ways behind, as inconspicuously as possible. The Lamborghini wasn’t arriving. It was leaving. Ethan must have slept the entire time the occupant had been inside gambling.

  As he followed, he phoned Reece. It went straight to voicemail.

  Why didn’t she answer?

  Ethan followed that green Lamborghini into a hilly, desert neighborhood not too far away, where the homes all had plenty of breathing room and lay nestled behind the landscape, mostly hidden from one another.

  He watched as the sports car pulled into a driveway and stopped. There was one person inside the car, a w
hite guy with his entire left arm tattooed. He exited the car and went into the house.

  Ethan tried Reece again, but her phone still went straight to voicemail. He had heard the news about her supposed-involvement situation from Penny.

  I hope she’s not in jail!

  Ethan watched the house for a few minutes before the same tattooed man came back out, with a second man who appeared much older and possibly related. They got into the Lamborghini and left.

  Ethan followed.

  ◆◆◆

  Tommy Shanahan had been up all night watching Lucky’s house.

  Lucky hadn’t arrived home until after midnight, almost nine hours after Shanahan had seen him on the side of the road.

  Watching Lucky pull into the garage, Shanahan cursed himself, thinking he should’ve just followed Lucky from the beginning.

  Every fiber in Shanahan’s body wanted to go in after him and rip his heart out. To bash his face in and break every bone in his body until he talked.

  But Shanahan didn’t want to jeopardize anything due to his anger, and just painfully continued to wait. Lucky would lead him straight to Jessie.

  His body writhed in anxiety and his jaw was sore from being clenched. He hadn’t slept for a second.

  But finally, early Friday afternoon, Lucky drove away from the house.

  Shanahan followed.

  As Shanahan trailed, he flipped on the radio. Maybe he felt hopeful, maybe he needed something loud to stay awake, maybe he hoped to hear his and Jessie’s wedding song. But what came out of the speakers flabbergasted him.

  Someone had pinned the kidnapping on Reece. The news program was all about her connection to Jessie’s abduction. Shanahan listened in horror as he followed Lucky onto the freeway.

  After driving for a dozen or so minutes, Shanahan realized they were probably headed for either Sahuarita or Green Valley—two towns twenty minutes south of Tucson, right next to each other.

  Getting off at one of the exits for Green Valley, Shanahan scrutinized Lucky’s pickup. He wasn’t letting it out of his sight.

  Back on the surface streets, the Heatmaker began talking about M. Knight’s murder. Not surprising, Shanahan himself was now a suspect in that.

  But then the Heatmaker said that Shanahan might be a suspect in his own wife’s kidnapping. Shanahan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He pounded his steering wheel in frustration and anger.

  How could this kind of blasphemy be on the news?

  Shanahan yelled in agony, unable to contain his sleep-deprived emotional hell.

  And he blinked. One, single, teeny-tiny blink.

  Boom!

  Shanahan’s head slammed against the side window of his pickup, breaking it. His truck spun around like a top before slamming into a wall on the side of the road. The airbag went off, throwing white foamy dust particles everywhere, choking him.

  Dazed, he fumbled with the door handle, half-unconscious from smashing his head against the glass. He could barely breathe. The door wouldn’t open.

  Twenty-Eight

  Lucky had called Viktor and arranged to meet him and his father at a little store erected on its own beaten path, called the Green Valley Market. It was one of those places that looked like a gas station, but didn’t actually have any gas pumps.

  A small, inconspicuous parking lot, it would be easy for Lucky to give them the last of the cocaine and get his next paycheck. Lucky would have preferred to meet at his Green Valley safe house, but Dmitry, Viktor’s father, insisted on meeting somewhere Lucky wasn’t holding a hostage. Something about ‘testing fate.’

  Lucky waited in the parking lot for their arrival. Soon, Viktor’s bright green Lamborghini pulled into the lot. Lucky cursed under his breath, looking around, wishing Viktor hadn’t driven such a noticeable vehicle.

  What kind of serious criminal drives such a thing? Those flashy cars were for amateurs, like gangsters in Los Angeles or wannabe rap stars.

  And then Lucky saw him. A sheriff’s deputy. Lucky recognized Ethan Wilson, following Viktor. Ethan pulled across the street and waited.

  Lucky watched Viktor park and then accompany his father into the Green Valley Market. While they were inside pretending to look at items in the store, Lucky pulled out his phone and called Dmitry.

  “You’re being watched. There’s a sheriff’s deputy who followed you. Abort.”

  “How did this happen?” Dmitry demanded.

  “Ask your son with the clown car. Buy some milk or something, go back home and wait for my signal. Whatever you do, don’t draw any more attention to yourselves. I don’t know how he found you, but there’s no way he knows about your organization.”

  “This is unacceptable, Lucky. I can’t be mixed up in your amateur games.”

  “Trust me. Just go home. Act like normal people. I’ll fix this.” Lucky hung up.

  While Lucky sat in his pickup, he felt his face redden and body warm. This situation was getting out of hand, fast.

  There wouldn’t be any more ransom. The fifty grand was just a ploy. He’d have plenty of money after these last batches of cocaine were sold.

  He had to get rid of Jessie and take control of this conundrum.

  ◆◆◆

  Shanahan finally got the jammed door open and stumbled out of his pickup, coughing and wheezing.

  As far as he could tell, another pickup had slammed into him when he crossed an intersection. It wasn’t clear to Shanahan whose fault it had been.

  After gulping in the fresh air, Shanahan ran to the other truck, still in the intersection with the front smashed.

  “What the hell?” The man yelled. He seemed fine enough.

  Shanahan didn’t waste any more time. He had to catch up to Lucky. An approaching car slowed to a stop. A friendly, elderly man rolled down his window and asked if everyone was all right.

  Shanahan flashed his badge. “Sir, please step out of your vehicle.”

  “Me? What on earth for?”

  “I apologize, but I need to borrow your vehicle, sir.”

  A minute later, Shanahan drove the cream-colored Buick sedan, flooring it, frantically trying to catch up to Lucky.

  It was too late. Lucky’s truck was gone.

  “No. No, no, no…” Shanahan whispered.

  Then he saw a green Lamborghini flying by him, going the opposite direction. And then he saw Ethan Wilson following the car.

  Shanahan flipped around and followed Ethan. He followed him all the way to a hilly, desert neighborhood where the green Lamborghini parked in a garage.

  Before the garage door had closed, the driver stepped out of the car. He had tattoos all over his left arm. Shanahan recognized the tattoos. He’d seen those kinds of symbols before.

  The Russian mafia.

  ◆◆◆

  Ethan Wilson parked a distance away from the desert home, so he wouldn’t be seen. He tried to understand everything that had just happened.

  First, they drove to Green Valley Market, only to turn around and drive back. Did they know he was following?

  Soon his phone started ringing. He didn’t recognize the number.

  “This is Deputy Wilson.”

  “Ethan, this is Reece. This is my new number. Save it.”

  “Boss! I’m so glad to hear from you. I found the green Lamborghini! I followed them back to their house and then to Green Valley Market, and then back again, which was really weird—”

  “Them?” Reece asked.

  “Yes. A younger guy and someone older, maybe his father, live in the house.”

  “Anyone in a straw hat?”

  “No, I didn’t see Lucky. But, I did see someone else. He’s driving a Buick I’ve never seen before.”

  “Who?”

  “Shanahan.”

  Twenty-Nine

  Viktor Ivanov clenched his teeth, listening to his father go off—again. Dmitry ranted and yelled at him.

  “It’s that idiotic car. I know it is. You have no discipline. None. I wanted you, m
y only son, to be a capable disciple but you disappoint me at every turn. You’re like a child that can’t grow up.”

  Viktor remained quiet, tired of listening to the old ways. He wanted to do what he wanted to do.

  Dmitry continued. “I have to do everything myself. Why has God given me such an imbecile as you? Do you think we’ll just sit here and do nothing? We’re going to finish what we came for.”

  Viktor responded through a clenched jaw, spitting as he spoke. “The organization can wait a day longer for the tithe. We have always paid before.”

  “They will not tolerate tardiness and failure! We need to move the product and send the money we owe back to the motherland—on time. Every time.” Dmitry disgustingly glared at his son.

  Viktor stood and growled, “We can’t leave if law enforcement is watching us.”

  “You dare question me?” Dmitry grabbed Viktor by the ear and pulled him across the living room. “You haven’t learned how to survive. I have.”

  Viktor said nothing more to his father, fearing the unmerciful things Dmitry was capable of. But silently Viktor fumed, yelling in his mind about having to follow the rules of the old world, the old ways, the old man.

  Viktor thought himself grand and wise enough to take on a leadership role, yet his father treated him like a worthless peon.

  Dmitry peeked through the window, to the street outside. “You see that car down the road? Look with your lazy eyes. That is our tail.” Then he rapped Viktor over the head before storming to the back door. “This way, imbecile.”

  Leading Viktor behind their house, Dmitry scaled the neighbor’s fence and went to their driveway. “We will take a new car.” He reached in his pocket and took out a key. “Always keep a copy of your neighbor’s car keys, just in case of an emergency.”

  After leaving in the stolen car, Dmitry commanded, “Call Lucky. Tell him we’re on the way.”

  Viktor cracked the glass on his phone when he resentfully squeezed his thumb into the send button.