by Paul Knox
With hundreds of small airplanes, miles of hangars, but only a couple people flying at any given time, Lucky didn’t have to worry about crowds, or anyone seeing what he was doing.
Close to the Mexican border and empty of people, this had been the perfect airport to smuggle drugs into the US.
“Looks like this will be easier than I thought,” Lucky said, glancing down the endless concrete paths.
After Lucky had opened the hangar, he sat Shanahan in a folding chair that had been leaning with a few others against the side wall.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get the duffel bags. Remember, I would like to keep you alive. It’ll do my conscious good. Behave and you don’t have to ruin my goodwill.”
Lucky Luke walked back to the pickup. He was never directly out of the line of sight, but he did turn away to grab the bags from the car.
At that moment, Shanahan fell sideways, onto the ground, landing with a thud.
Lucky Luke turned around and hurried back inside with the bags.
Shanahan stayed still, not moving.
“What in tarnation are you doing? You still that drunk? You can’t even sit up straight?”
“I need some water,” Shanahan groaned.
“Liver ain’t what it used to be, is it? That’s what you get for all those years of drinking.” Lucky Luke grabbed a hold of Shanahan and pulled him to his feet, slamming him back down in the chair. “Any more moves like that, and you’ll get on my bad side, real quick.”
Strapped in Lucky’s pickup with his hands cuffed behind him, Shanahan hadn’t been able to maneuver his arms into the right position. But that predicament had changed now that he could reach his pocket. There was something inside that he’d needed to grab. Falling to the ground had been the perfect distraction.
There was a ladder that Lucky positioned next to the plane. As he climbed it with the bags, loading them into the storage compartments, Shanahan began picking the lock on his handcuffs with the same paperclip he’d used to pick the front door lock of 27 Cactus.
Forty-One
Racing to the airport, Reece dialed the sheriff’s department. “Penny, what exactly happened with those hospital surveillance tapes?”
“I never got ahold of them. Landy declared their uselessness after being analyzed.”
“Where are they, Penny?”
“I’m not a hundred percent. In the evidence room? Why, Reece, what’s up?”
“Landy is behind the murders, the missing people, everything. He’s Lucky.”
“What did you just bloody say?
“Find those tapes and review them yourself, Penny. Landy killed M. Knight. I’m sure of it. If they’re not in evidence, search his office.”
“What if he comes back?”
“He’s not coming back. Landy’s leaving town—unless I can stop him.”
“Are you sure Landy is—”
“Do you trust me, Penny?”
“Go get him, Reece.”
When Reece got to the tiny airport, she smashed right through the orange and white striped automated barricade, snapping the wood like popsicle sticks. She sped over the concrete reserved for aircraft, toward the hangar. There wasn’t a guard around, and it would take a few minutes—or more—for anyone to find security, get a golf cart, and follow.
Stopping a few doors down from ‘Jose Garcia’s’ hanger, she could see from her angle that the door was open. But she couldn’t get a good look inside. She drew her gun and slowly approached.
Then a shot fired from inside.
Reece bolted towards the deafening noise’s source.
◆◆◆
Moments earlier, Lucky had wiped his hands and climbed down the ladder, back on the ground. He locked the duffel bags in the cargo storage, and would be in the air in a matter of minutes, flying to Mexico with millions.
He approached the drunken lieutenant. “If you weren’t so goddamned smart, Shanahan, I wouldn’t have to worry about you finding me. Alas, your brain will serve one more purpose. Painting the ground.”
“I thought you said you’d let me go.”
Shanahan glared at Lucky with a startling fire. Lucky halted, standing still for a moment, almost feeling something like a force field pushing him back. Suddenly it didn’t seem like Shanahan was the helpless drunk who was broken up over his wife.
I better get this over with.
Lucky shook off the ominous feeling and raised his gun, preparing to shoot.
Without warning, Shanahan lunged from his chair with his ankles still cuffed, like the winning hop in a sack race. His hands were free and reaching for Lucky’s throat.
Never had Lucky seen such purposeful movement aimed for his jugular before.
Lucky fired, getting a single shot off before Shanahan reached him. Extra loud, it echoed against the metal hangar doors and off the sea of concrete like an acoustic guitar amplifying its strings.
The bullet ripped into Shanahan’s left arm.
But the ferocious animal within Shanahan had pounced towards his prey and barely flinched. Shanahan landed on Lucky and tackled him to the ground. Lucky resisted, fighting back and pounding on Shanahan’s bloody arm as they rolled towards the folding chair against the wall.
Shanahan wrestled the gun free from Lucky’s hands. Then, Lucky felt his old gun smacking against his head, while Shanahan groped through his pocket, snatching his keys.
“Shanahan!” yelled a familiar newcomer.
Lucky glanced at the newcomer as the butt of his gun slammed his face, bloodying it. Detective Reece Cannon had arrived.
“Stay back, Reece!” Shanahan yelled in response. “Get out of here!”
Lucky felt himself being picked up and thrown into the folding chair.
◆◆◆
“I’ll kill you!” Tommy Shanahan drilled the gun into Lucky Luke Landy’s temple.
“Shanahan, don’t do this!” Reece yelled as she slowly approached.
Shanahan hopped a foot back before using the keys to free himself from the ankle cuffs. “You don’t want to see this, Reece. I told you to stay away.”
Shanahan charged back to Landy and beat him again with the gun. “You took Jessie…and you took everything from me.” He yelled, “How does this feel?” Again he hit Landy, hoping to break something.
After four massive hits, Landy’s face started mangling. His nose dripped blood and his left eye began to swell shut.
“Landy!” Reece screamed. “Is Jessie still alive? She is, isn’t she?”
“What?” Shanahan stumbled back, looking from Reece to Landy and back again.
“Alive?” he whispered.
Forty-Two
“No more blood, Shanahan, this isn’t you.” Reece pleaded with her partner, her friend.
Shanahan viewed Landy in confused disbelief. “Answer the question.”
Landy spit blood from his mouth onto the concrete. “The jokes on you.” He snorted.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Shanahan whispered.
“Tell you what? That I slit her throat like M. Knight? That she begged for her life? That she said she’d do anything to see you again, and I laughed?” Landy deadpanned, “Ha. Ha. Ha.”
“No.” Shanahan wobbled and fell to his knees. He quietly growled, “I’ll…I’ll…” Tearfully he mouthed, “Jessie.”
Then, Reece watched him quickly stand and recover his emotions. He pushed the gun into Landy’s right kneecap. “I hope you like pain.”
“Shanahan, you’re not like him.” Reece wanted to grab Shanahan, to shake the pain and craziness out of him, but kept her distance for fear that she’d only make it worse.
“You’re just like me,” Landy moaned. “A dog. It doesn’t take much to turn a good dog bad. You could’ve married anyone. But you got all attached to one person—one insignificant person’s life. People die every day. And now, because of your flawed humanness, you’ve felt the dark side consume you. I know how it feels, Shanahan. Focus. Presence. Have you ever
felt more alive? More goal-oriented, more on fire?”
Reece witnessed the scene unfolding before her like a car accident, hoping she’d be able to pull a survivor from the wreckage. “You’re not like that, Shanahan.”
Shanahan removed the gun from Landy’s knee. But then he smashed Landy’s face again, this time with his fist. Shanahan’s left arm hung useless, blood dripping down and onto the ground.
Reece squeezed her eyes shut as Shanahan punched, surprised to feel a single tear tracing a line down her cheek.
Had Shanahan gone too far? If she played devil’s advocate, would she be fueling the fire, or illuminating the chains that bound him to his personal hell?
“Shanahan!” she called out. “It’s your choice. If I were you, I’d do it. I’d shoot him, too.” Reece held up her gun as though she were surrendering. “I won’t stop you. And I’ll leave.”
Then she slowly set her gun on the concrete, as both men stared. Reece turned around and started walking out of the hangar.
She could’ve brought up Zaki and being a father. And Reece’s aim was impeccable; she could’ve shot the gun out of Shanahan’s hand. But she didn’t want to convince, beg, or in any way take this chance from him. The chance to come back to the light on his own accord.
She believed in him. She believed he would do what was right. Because deep down, a strong mind lay injured inside his battered body.
A few moments later, she paused at the edge of the hangar’s entrance, slowly glancing over her shoulder. Shanahan had buried his face into his right hand. The gun dangled from his fingers.
Shanahan’s voice quivered. “Take him in.” Then he threw his head back, screaming at the hangar’s ceiling with a passion that made the hair on the back of Reece’s neck stand.
Far from healed and far from okay, there was one thing that had changed for the pained man.
Shanahan’s chains had broken.
◆◆◆
Lucky Luke Landy listened to Reece’s well-dramatized speech, snickering inside.
Shanahan stood before him, screaming at the ceiling like a weakling. He couldn’t pull the trigger. And now he’d pay for his ridiculous, merciful decision.
Landy sprang to his feet and tackled Shanahan to the ground, surprising him. He had very little trouble getting his gun back. Shanahan barely gripped it.
Landy pounded Shanahan’s bullet-wounded arm before dashing for Reece’s gun, on the ground only a few yards away. He grabbed it before Reece could and then aimed both of the guns—one at Reece and one at Shanahan.
“Sit down, Shanahan! Or Reece dies.”
Shanahan reluctantly sat in the folding chair, clenching every muscle in his body.
Reece said, “At least I’ll die knowing which one of you is a man.”
“Sit down!” Landy ordered. “Next to him.” He waved the gun, motioning her to walk over and sit on the concrete.
With a deep satisfaction, he watched Reece do as she was told. “Wow, Reece, after all this time, now I know how to get you to follow orders.”
She said, “If not me, some new detective will find you. Penny and Ethan know. Gomez knows. They’ll stop you. They’ll get you.”
“They won’t find me,” Landy bellowed. “Don’t you see how good I am at this? I’ve been playing the Lucky part for years and no one has ever recognized me. I have a new disguise lined up. What you meant to say is that they’ll find you—your dead bodies.”
Reece groaned. “Just get this over with. I’m ready to die—because I’ve really lived. Lived with honor and service. How about you?”
“I know you feel alone, Reece. Why do you think calling Kevin Kelvin worked so well? Everyone in the department knew you were innocent, but you let your fears best you. You were so afraid of being alone, that you hid out, reinforcing what you believed.”
“I stumbled on my path, yes. But everyone does, at some point in life. I’ve regained my footing. This world doesn’t belong to me. I belong to this world. And in that, you are the one who is really alone, Luke Landy.”
“That’s enough. Time to die.” Landy raised the gun and fired. He deliberately shot above Reece’s head to watch her flinch and duck. To cower before him.
Landy laughed. “Sure you’re ready?” He fired again, closer, but missing again on purpose.
“This is fun. You think you’re so noble in the face of death. But you’re…”
Landy’s voice faltered as he watched Reece Cannon’s eyes lock dead on his, unafraid. She stood up and started walking towards him, one deliberate step at a time. He stumbled backwards.
Then, Landy came to his senses. Maybe she really wasn’t afraid. Regardless, she would really die.
He pointed the gun at her head and prepared to end another person’s life.
“I better be going now.” He felt the trigger with his finger. So easy to pull, even a child could fire a gun. So easy to kill.
And then something happened that Landy had never expected.
A woman appeared from outside the hangar, stepping inside the shaded area from the bright afternoon sun. Her silhouette glowed from behind as she spoke.
“Hey, Landy. Remember me?”
He turned, just in time to recognize Jessie Shanahan holding the exact same type of gun that all his sheriff’s deputies carried. A Glock G17 9mm Luger 4.49in Pistol.
Jessie fired.
The bullet ripped into his chest, knocking him backwards. Landy tried to recover but Jessie fired again. The second shot fell him.
Forty-Three
“Jessie!” Shanahan leaped to his wife, before grunting in pain as he tried to embrace her with both of his arms. He held her tight, pressing his tears against her neck. “I thought you were…”
“I’m here, Tommy. I’m here.”
Reece watched as two broken, battered people shared something that could heal any wound.
Then she ran over to Landy and kicked the guns away. He was still conscious, but bleeding badly. She dialed 911.
A few minutes later, Gomez pulled up with Ethan.
Gomez jumped out of the SUV asking, “What did I miss?”
“Apparently, Jessie knows how to shoot,” Reece said.
Jessie looked over and tried to speak—maybe even almost smiled—but couldn’t stop sobbing in Shanahan’s arm.
Reece took a deep breath, reflecting. “Landy’s a poor, lonely soul that couldn’t even fathom what real connection is. He imagined loneliness as his only true ally.”
“Does this mean I can stop living in my car and get some real food?” Ethan had two thumbs up and a cheesy smile.
Soon, more deputies along with CSI showed up, taping off the scene. An ambulance whisked a badly injured, but still living Sheriff Landy to the closest hospital.
The medics wanted a good look at Shanahan’s arm, but were unsuccessful in their attempts to separate him from Jessie.
Gomez said, “Let’s get back to the sheriff’s department. I’ve got a mountain of paperwork to do after this one.”
“You gotta clear these guys’ names,” Ethan insisted.
“I don’t think that will be a problem, considering the evidence.”
Shanahan spoke. “Actually, I don’t think I’m going back to the department, Ethan.”
“Well, yeah, you need to get to a doctor and probably need some food, too.”
“I need to spend some quality time with my wife and boy. Life is what you make it. And it’s time for me to make it right.”
Reece turned to Shanahan. “What exactly are you saying?”
“I quit, Reece. I’m done. No more Lieutenant Tommy Shanahan.”
“Shanahan…” Reece searched his face, searching for the right words to say. “I’ll miss you.”
“Reece, you’ll be seeing plenty of me. Don’t you worry that new hairdo of yours.”
◆◆◆
Saturday night at Nohpalli café, surrounded by friends and free of worry, Reece Cannon sipped a warm cup of chamomile tea. Austen had propped
the café door open, letting the Fall breeze blow through the hair of every happy soul present.
Jessie bounced Zaki on her lap and the freshly bandaged Shanahan wouldn’t let go of either of them, constantly kissing her on the cheek and Zaki on the head.
“Whisky?” Austen snapped up a shot glass and displayed it. “Anyone? Cel-e-brate good times, c’mon?”
“No, thanks.” Shanahan laughed, more genuinely than Reece had heard him laugh in a long time. “I’ll have a coffee, black.”
“Darling, I’d love a drink. But I’ll take a rum. And then follow it up with a long pour of your house.” Beryl pointed to the wine cabinet.
“I’ll take one of ‘em Coors, Austen.” Jaxson leaned back. “Jus’ finished patchin’ Maisie’s drywall not two hours ago. Did you need a hand doin’ yours, Shanahan?”
“I had it taken care of, but I appreciate it. If anyone knows where to get some furniture on sale, I do need a living room set.”
“So, Jessie—should I start calling you Jessie James?—how did you know Reece and Shanahan were at the Benson Airport?” Austen stroked his hairless chin like a wizard conjuring up a cute puppy to play with.
“Reece’s dad found me and told me. Evidently the Uber driver who dropped me off had his next ride from Galaxsea—someone Sandy had personally escorted from his club because of extreme inebriation.”
“Pray tell, beautiful, I’m not completely following.”
“Sandy said the driver mentioned coming from Green Valley and picking up a woman—me—with bandages on her head. The driver said something about ‘being a public service for the injured.’ Sandy asked him for the address, and I guess he knew it was ours.”
“The Uber driver gave him your address?” Austen’s jaw dropped. “Remind me to always use my neighbor’s house for a pickup.”
“They’re not exactly sworn to secrecy.” Shanahan glanced from Austen to Reece. “How do you think Sandy knew we were at the airport?”
“Well…he told me that M. Knight and Lucky had discussed a plane before.” Reece considered the question for a moment. “Honestly, Shanahan, I don’t know. I’ll be sure to ask him next time I interrogate him—like, on Monday.”
