Sin City Assassin (The Bill Dix Detective Series Book 3)

by Swinney, C. L.

  “Yeah, tastes kind of salty,” he took another drink and it tasted fine. He shrugged. “What have you got?”

  “This number you gave me is on Blass’s records, but none of the others. In fact, it only communicated with Blass’s phone two times, once about six months ago and then yesterday.” Pierre watched Dix intently.

  Dix felt giddy as the room began to sway back and forth. What the hell is going on here? Then he started seeing double vision and couldn’t move his arms like he wanted to.

  “Dix, Dix! You okay?” Pierre tried to help him up. He struggled at first, but was able to get him up and moving toward the door. In the struggle to help Dix, he inadvertently left his laptop behind.

  Dix sensed Pierre was trying to help him, but something didn’t feel right. He resisted Pierre’s effort to put him in his car. But, when he flexed his muscles, he couldn’t pull away from him. What the fuck? He should be on the ground after I pushed him that hard! Is this a heart attack?

  Pierre pushed him into his car and hopped around to the driver’s side. “Don’t worry, bro, I’ll get you to the hospital!” Pierre drove erratically out of the parking lot. He looked over as Dix’s eyes rolled up in the back of his head. He pulled over and re-positioned him so he was on his side. He got back in the car and drove with purpose. He smiled as he pulled into his ranch and closed and locked the gates behind him.

  Chapter 48:

  The barista at Peet’s wasn’t sure, but she thought she’d seen the hot guy on his laptop pour what looked like water from his water bottle into the drink of the handsome older man as he walked toward the bathroom. She found it be strange for sure, but became busy with orders and continued to make drinks until she forgot about it.

  When the older man began acting strangely and appeared to try to get up and stumbled, she instantly realized what she’d seen. Holly cow, that kid drugged him, she thought while stunned. The incident presented itself like something you’d see in the movies. The younger guy wrestled with the older guy and something fell out of the older man’s pants. In a matter of seconds, the hot guy struggled to get the older man into a vehicle while telling all of them watching that he would take his friend to the hospital. In his haste, he’d left his laptop and carry bag. Her mind couldn’t process what she saw. Geez, what am I supposed to do? She ran around the counter and snapped a photo of the car as they raced off. She managed to get the license plate in the photo and called 911. While the phone rang she walked back inside. One of her co-workers handed her a brown wallet, which had fallen from the older man’s pocket.

  “911, what is your…” the dispatcher was cut off.

  “This guy was just taken from our store, I think he was drugged,” she replied in a worried tone.

  “Ma’am, please calm down. Can you describe…” the dispatcher was cut-off again.

  “I won’t calm down! You better send some cops here right now. I watched this dude pour something in another guy’s drink and it made him all messed up, he was stumbling and now he’s been taken.” People in the coffee shop stared at her, but all she could think about was the poor guy that got taken.

  The dispatcher sent two units toward the Peet’s and continued to try to handle the call. “Ok, Ma’am, I’ve got two units on the way. Can you describe the man who did this, and what he’s driving?”

  “Yes, I took a photo. It’s a brown sedan,” she opened the photo larger, “with a license plate of 619-N51. The guy was a little older, in good shape with salt and pepper hair. He didn’t look good after he drank whatever the dude gave him,” replied the barista.

  “Ok, you’re doing great,” she worked on running out the license plate, and continued talking to the reporting party, “Ok. What did the suspect look like?”

  “He’s about my age, twenty-two, tall, skinny, with blonde hair,” the barista said impatiently.

  “Ok, thank you.” The dispatcher added the suspect information to her broadcast of a kidnapping in progress. Then she continued, “Ok, any more you can give me about the victim?”

  The barista paused at first while she tried to remember something helpful. Then she looked through the wallet in her hand. There was a Florida driver’s license in it. “Yeah, the guy’s name is Bill Dix and—” now she was cut off.

  “What! What did you just say?” asked the dispatcher.

  “His ID says Bill Dix,” the barista said again.

  “Jesus. Hold on, honey?” The dispatcher jumped on the primary radio channel.

  “All units, respond code three to the Peet’s at Charleston Boulevard. Bill Dix has been kidnapped!”

  Every unit available, and those scanning the channel, responded to the Peet’s. Based on the security cameras, the barista’s photo, and the wallet, the officers believed Dix had been kidnapped. An officer called the local hospitals and confirmed no one named Bill Dix, or fitting his description, had recently been checked in.

  Frazier was last to the scene and asked to see the surveillance footage. It played, and he stood there with his mouth agape as he saw his analyst, Pierre, dragging a clearly incapacitated Bill Dix into the parking lot and pushing him into a vehicle.

  A manhunt began for Bill Dix and Pierre. The license plate to the car they left in came back to an address just outside downtown Las Vegas at a home that looked like a ranch surrounded by trees. They had no other leads, so Frazier worked on getting a few units over to the ranch to see if they could see the car. While that was happening, a U.S. Marshal approached Frazier.

  “Hey man, I’m not trying to butt in,” he pointed at Pierre’s laptop, “but is that the suspect’s laptop?” asked the Marshal.

  Frazier looked over his shoulder at the bevy of analysts working on Pierre’s laptop and shrugged, “Maybe, and you are?”

  “I’m John Sabel with the U.S. Marshals. If the suspect left that, but still has his phone, we may be able to locate him right now,” replied Sabel.

  Frazier snorted, “Again with these damn high-tech devices.” He looked back at the computer. “Hey Clint, this guy’s gonna help us, let him look at the computer.”

  Sabel walked over and accessed the computer. Google was easy enough to find and his heart began to race as he noticed the suspect’s smart phone was connected to the Google account on the laptop. After a few seconds, he swung the laptop in the direction of Frazier. “Hey Frazier,” he pointed at the Google map window on the laptop, “The suspect’s phone is right here.” The whole coffee shop grew quiet.

  Frazier ran over to check the map. The phone was at the same location the vehicle was registered to. Frazier smiled and ordered every available law enforcement member to rally up, brief, and hit the ranch with everything they had to save Bill Dix.

  Chapter 49:

  Dix woke up and immediately tried to stand up. His arms and legs were restrained to a cot and he grimaced while trying to break free. Holy shit, I’m trapped. After a few minutes he heard an evil laugh coming from behind him. He tried to see who it was, but he couldn’t see behind him. The last person he recalled seeing or talking to was Pierre. What the hell is going on here? Somehow he felt his current situation was obviously related to Blass, but he couldn’t figure out how. Then his eyes bulged as he did the math in his head and realized Pierre was the right age to be Blass’s son. He’d overlooked his Canadian name. Son of a bitch, Pierre is Blass’s kid. The newspaper cuttings and shrine to killers at the office had bothered him before and now he knew why.

  Pierre walked slowly at an angle revealing himself to Dix. “The great Bill Dix was just one step behind us,” he laughed uncontrollably, “None of those imbeciles could capture one old man,” He stood there pointing at Dix and giggled.

  “Listen you little prick, I’m going to kill you like I killed your dad!” Dix seethed with rage then he violently threw up. What the hell is wrong with me? He examined the bindings holding him to the bed and couldn’t free himself. Desperation and the will to survive forced him to interact with Pierre. His subconscious, however, thought if he
talked to Pierre long enough, maybe it’d buy him some time to find a way out. He became completely deflated when he noticed the newspaper articles, magazine cut-outs, and internet stories on the walls surrounding him. Each story was about him, from his military days until the last big case he had. Dix had a serious admirer, but instead of wanting to shake his hand, Pierre wanted him dead.

  At the mention of Blass, Pierre stopped laughing and walked over to a table. Dix could see it had been placed so he could see what was on it. Several shiny instruments, some he recognized as medical or dental tools were on the table. He tried not to let the sight of them bother him, but a worried expression covered his face. He finally understood that Pierre was going to torture him. Pierre smirked and grabbed what looked like a tooth extractor and walked over to him.

  “Open your mouth, or I’ll open it for you,” Pierre said sadistically. Dix kept his mouth closed and shook his head violently. He absolutely hated the dentist when things were normal, and this was far from normal. The glassy look in Pierre’s eyes and the bulging vein in his forehead made him look psychotic. He wondered how the hell he had subdued him anyway.

  Pierre shrugged. “Have it your way.” He jumped up on Dix’s chest and began prodding his mouth with the extractor.

  He thrashed back and forth and tried to buck Pierre off, but he was weak and there was no way to generate enough force to get him off. Pierre had an evil grin on his face as the extractor finally clamped down on one of Dix’s teeth. He smiled and yanked on the extractor with so much force he fell off Dix while Dix screamed in agony from his tooth being ripped out of his mouth.

  Pierre stood up and waved the extractor around like he was showing off a trophy. Inside the clamps were two of Dix’s teeth. “These will look great in my collection back at the office. Too bad none of those morons will know they actually once belonged to the Bill Dix.”

  Dix moaned in pain and wished he could have just one shot at Pierre. He believed in justice and doing things by the book. However, if Pierre made one mistake, he had already determined he’d kill him with his bare hands. He’d survived war, broken limbs, and gunshot wounds and now it looked like a computer geek was going to kill him. He thought about his wife and children, Snead, and Petersen. He tried to figure a way out, but none seemed evident. He wasn’t accustomed to being out of the driver’s seat. So this is what it feels like just before you die, he thought as tried to wiggle free.

  “It’s no use, bro. You can’t escape this time. I’m going to finish what my father failed to.” Pierre dropped the extractor and went back to the table of instruments. Dix noticed several bottles in various sizes and colors next to the instruments. One of them read, “GHB.” Son of a bitch, the water bottle at Peet’s, the salty taste, he fucking dosed me!

  “You little piece of shit! You had to drug me to subdue me. What a coward! Free me and I’ll show you how to fight like a real man,” Dix screamed as he tried to prolong his life.

  Pierre shook his head slowly and put his finger up to his mouth, “Shhhhhh. You think I’m gonna free you? No way man, I’m going to torture you,” he waved his hands over the tools on the table nearby, “with each of these. When I’m done, you’re gonna beg me to kill you,” He spat on the floor and walked slowly toward the tools. He stood over them while tapping on his chin. “Decisions, decisions,” he said as he looked back and forth from the tools to Dix.

  He looked over at Dix and rubbed his eyes like he was crying, “Oh look it, big bad Bill Dix is in tears,” he whined.

  Dix scanned the room for something to help him get free.

  Pierre noticed Dix scanning the room. “It’s no use, pal. I’ve been killing people in this ranch house for ten years.” He paused and pointed at various photos of men and women hanging around the room. “None of them ever got away, and obviously none of them survived.”

  Dix saw terrified looks on the faces of the people in the photos. He looked to his right and cringed. Hanging among all the other photos of dead people was an image of him.

  “You sick son of a bitch! What the hell did any of these people ever do to you?” Dix said as he spit out a mouthful of blood.

  Pierre became very serious and spoke in a monotone voice. “It’s very simple. All of these people mocked me, hurt me, or didn’t give me what I wanted.” He shrugged. “So, I made them feel as bad as I did, and then I killed them.” He said it so nonchalantly that Dix knew his time was almost up.

  “What the hell did I ever do to you?”

  Pierre cast him a dirty look. “You killed my father. He was my mentor, he taught me how to kill, and now he’s dead.”

  Pierre chose a tool and his eyes lit up. Dix could see it had a long handle and a serrated blade—it was a bone saw. He began to shiver and thrash about, trying as hard as he could to free himself from the leather restraints holding him to the cot.

  “Fuck you! You’re gonna rot in hell for this, you little shit!” Dix screamed in frustration and fear. Never in his life had he felt so weak and emotionally destroyed. His world had fallen apart and he felt hopeless.

  Pierre feigned a puzzled look. “Really? And who do you suppose is going to rescue you?” He pulled on a leather strap tightening the cuff holding Dix’s left hand down.

  Dix instantly thought about his shooting hand. He jerked and twisted, trying to stop Pierre—knowing even if he somehow survived the ordeal, he’d have to retire if he couldn’t shoot anymore. The irony hadn’t hit him in the face yet, but Pierre was trying to make Dix feel the pain and anger Petersen had felt when he was shot outside the casino.

  Pierre looked at Dix for a long while. He’d admired him from afar for as long as he could remember, but only because he had captured some of the greatest criminals of his time. Pierre was obsessed with society’s sick and vial killers and drug pushers—people Dix put away or killed. He collected tid-bits of their lives and surrounded himself with them. However, he planned to show the world he was smarter and more evil than all of them combined. If they would have listened to me, Dix and his little buddy would have been dead days ago, instead, I’m the only one left, and I have to clean up yet another one of my father’s messes.

  He tried to grab Dix’s left index finger, but Dix used what little strength he had left to fend him off. After several minutes of struggling, Pierre firmly grabbed Dix’s ring finger.

  “Stop! I’ve got a wife and kids, damn it!” Dix tried to rationalize with a stone cold killer to no avail.

  Pierre smiled at him and began sawing right next to the wedding band on Dix’s finger while laughing uncontrollably.

  “Aaghhh!” Dix screamed and tried to roll and contort his body in an effort to free his finger. The pain shot up his arm, through his shoulder. He’d never felt such pain, and he’d been shot before. His will to survive forced him not to give up so he shook harder. He finally accepted that he was at a minimum going to lose his finger, but he was not willing to give up completely.

  His yelling fueled Pierre and Dix felt his grip on his wrist tighten as the pain increased. He watched as Pierre’s arm frantically slid back and forth, and got sick again as the nerves and bone were being mutilated. Then the room echoed from a loud boom, followed by several more, and Dix felt the pressure on his wrist immediately go away.

  He lifted his sweat soaked head to see Pierre standing over him with the saw in his hands and a blank look on his face. Blood dripped from his mouth and Dix could see bullet holes in his chest. Each second felt like an hour and Dix’s heart fluttered as he thought he might actually survive. He couldn’t hear anything due to the loud explosions, but he could see Pierre’s mouth moving as he tried to say something.

  With a second burst of energy, Pierre brought the saw blade up over his head and tried to bring it down on Dix’s neck. He never made it. His body convulsed and thrashed as bullets riddled him until he slumped over, bouncing off the cot, finally coming to rest on the floor out of Dix’s sight. He felt the restraints get tighter on his arms and legs and he used what
little energy he had left to try to fight it until he looked up and saw Petersen, Frazier, Sullivan, and several local cops. They frantically worked to free him and stabilize his left hand. He sobbed and couldn’t believe what had happened. Whether it was fatigue, the lingering effects of GHB, or his body saying it was time, Dix lost consciousness still not knowing how they found him and whether he would live.

  Chapter 50:

  Petersen paced back and forth in the hospital waiting room. Dix’s wife’s thoughts rambled in her head and for the first time she could really remember, she completely broke down and cried in the corner of the room while Petersen’s wife tried to console her. The initial report for Dix stated he’d had a few teeth ripped out of his mouth and his finger likely needed to be amputated. The crowded waiting room bustled as his whole narco team from Florida had arrived, as did most who knew him who lived nearby. Petersen was teary eyed and kept shaking his head in disbelief.

  A man walked into the room. He walked with a slight limp and appeared clean cut. Petersen instantly grinned as he recognized Snead. He gave him the update and they embraced. Then they both patiently waited to hear from the doctor.

  Several hours later, a tall man in a white coat came to the room. He was surprised to see so many people in his little waiting room. He cleared his throat. The room grew completely silent. “I’m looking for Mrs. Dix. I’d like to share your husband’s status with you.”

  Dix’s wife looked around the room. The people she saw were just as much of his family as she was and she wasn’t about to keep them hanging any longer. “It’s okay, you can share it with all of us.”

  “Very well. He’s gonna need some dental work, but I think that’s the least of his concerns,” he replied. The room was as quiet as a library and people sat on the edge of their seats waiting to hear more.

  The doctor continued, “I was not able to save his finger.”