Smoke & Mirrors

by John Ramsey Miller

  Having counted his shots, Tug was peeling a shell from the bandolier as he made his way around the blade. Albert grunted and clawed desperately at the noose and began spinning and kicking, moving in a jerky circle. In the time it took to get a shell in the tube, jack it into the gun’s receiver, and aim at the swaying rope, Albert’s tongue was already sticking straight out between his teeth.

  The lead pellets cut the ski rope and Albert fell, flattening the crate.

  As Tug rushed past Finch, he kicked his Browning away. He set the shotgun down and loosened the slipknot. Albert gagged and choked, but he picked up one of the shoes he’d kicked off and hummed it at Finch.

  Albert couldn’t talk, but he grunted pitifully, pointed a fat finger at Finch, and made a throat-slashing motion.

  “Good idea,” Tug said, plucking out a foam earplug. He stood, took out his folding knife, and went over to Finch, who looked at him with furious eyes. “Go ahead, wanker. You don’t know what you’re in for,” he said.

  “I know what you’re in for,” Tug said.

  Finch smiled. “They know you’re…” Tug grabbed Finch’s ear, and as he was drawing the serrated edge hard through Finch’s throat, the man said something that sounded like “Paulazar.” Whatever it was, he wouldn’t be saying it again, because Tug severed Finch’s windpipe as he drew the blade through his neck, with no concern for the warm spray that hit his face. When Tug stood and looked at Albert, he saw figures moving behind him and several bright muzzle flashes. The kneeling Albert White jerked like he’d grabbed a live wire. His shirt sprouted red blossoms as more red spray filled the still air.

  Tug felt dull punches all over his body. He threw himself behind the manager’s shack as the dirt where he had stood was still being churned. Bullets pinged the pieces of equipment as, with great effort, Tug pulled out his pistol and fired several rounds toward the figures dressed in black who’d come through the same door he had. He heard a loud grunt and smiled bitterly. At least he’d hit one of them, but they had to be SWAT because they were in black assault suits with body armor, so the hit wouldn’t do more than knock the breath out of him. He had seen at least four shapes, though it was likely there were twice that many.

  “You think you’re going to arrest me?”

  A man laughed. “We aren’t the arresting type. Here’s the offer. Come out and we’ll hold fire.”

  “Go fuck yourself with a stick,” Tug barked, spitting blood. If they weren’t cops, were they Finch’s backup? Christ, what had the man expected he might run into? He could hear more men running into the building and dispersing. In a few seconds they would kill him where he lay mortally wounded.

  He looked from the door to the explosives safe facing him. Sitting up, he crawled over, aimed, and used two bullets to blow off the hasp holding the large padlock. Painfully, he pulled the door open and scooted inside the dark cold space.

  “You aren’t getting out!” the voice yelled.

  Tug set the handgun down and used the flashlight from his pocket to look at the stacked crates of TNT. He figured there were several hundred pounds of explosives in the small shack. He was losing focus as the blood ran in gushes from a dozen holes in his body. The bullet-struck organs were closing down, and coupled with blood loss, it made it difficult to remember why he was there. He stared at the boxes in the circle of light from the flashlight he had dropped, reached for one of the small cardboard boxes on the shelves beside him, and put it on the floor against the carton of dynamite closest to him.

  “Hey!” he yelled, coughing. “Come on in. I’ve got something for you!”

  He heard men talking outside the structure and, opening the box, he looked at the cylinders stacked inside.

  “Ten seconds to come out or we start filling that shed with holes,” a voice replied. “Ten, nine, eight, seven…”

  Tug used his remaining strength to stick the muzzle of the HK down against the blasting caps and tighten his grip.

  “Three, two…”

  His hand trembling, Tug felt the trigger giving.

  “One!” the voice outside yelled.

  Smiling, Tug Murphy closed his eyes and squeezed.

  108

  KURT KLEIN STOOD IN THE LIVING ROOM BESIDE A tall balding man wearing an expensive-looking suit, horn-rimmed eyeglasses, and a yellow and blue paisley silk bow tie. The man smiled when he saw Billy Lyons.

  “Billy?” he said, crossing to shake hands. “I didn’t know you were representing Mrs. Gardner.”

  Shaking the man’s hand vigorously, Billy said, “Jerry, I can’t believe after all these years with me thinking you knew everything, you’re admitting there’s something you don’t know.”

  Jerry laughed and turned to Leigh.

  “Jerry Cunningham, may I introduce my client, Leigh Gardner.”

  “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Gardner. My condolences,” he said, taking her offered hand in his.

  “For whom?” she asked.

  Jerry’s smile faltered. “Your ex-husband. I understood he was killed.”

  “He and Sherry Adams, who worked for me. Nice to meet you, Mr. Cunningham.”

  Winter was looking at Klein when Leigh spoke. He saw the industrialist’s eyes turn away, but the German’s smile stayed perfectly focused.

  “And these gentlemen are Winter Massey, who I’ve known longer than I like to admit, and Bradley Barnett, the sheriff around here. Him, I’ve only known since Ole Miss. We were fraternity brothers,” Billy said jovially.

  Jerry shook each of their hands as they were introduced. “And this is my client, Kurt Klein,” he said, stepping back as Kurt approached, hand outstretched.

  “Mrs. Gardner. So nice to finally meet you.” He took her hand, held it for a second, and said, “My condolences in the matter of both of your recent tragic losses.”

  Winter half expected her to say something like, “You’ve done enough already,” but she chose to let it go. What she said was, “Thank you,” and she smiled as she said it.

  Kurt indicated that they should take seats in front of the roaring fireplace, which was a natural gas fire licking steel logs that appeared to be real.

  “These are the bearer bonds,” Kurt said, pointing at an envelope on the table. “Ten instruments each worth five hundred thousand U.S. dollars.”

  Billy took the bonds out, inspected them, and nodded his approval.

  Signing the papers took two minutes. Once notarized and signed by Leigh, along with Winter and Brad, who served as witnesses, they stood and prepared to leave.

  Leigh handed Brad the envelope. “If you’ll see this is put in a safe place.”

  “Safest place there is,” Brad said.

  As they were leaving, Kurt said, “Mr. Massey, might I have a word with you in private?”

  Winter followed Kurt across the living room to the windows.

  “About that other matter. We have discovered by interviewing Albert White that Mulvane did hire Beals to shoot Mrs. Gardner and to kill her children, which luckily he never had a chance to do. He also had a man named Tug Murphy, his private security agent, kill Beals and Jacob Gardner. I could not hold Mulvane, and he was seen leaving with two suitcases an hour ago in the company of Mr. Murphy.”

  There was a bright flash on the horizon. Winter assumed it was lightning, since a cold front was moving in.

  “Albert White told my man Finch that Tug Murphy shot Mr. Gardner as he was driving. Perhaps you should have someone with the necessary forensic knowledge check that out. I don’t believe Mr. White lied, since he admitted his own involvement in the matter.”

  “And where is Mr. White now?”

  “We had no authority to hold him, and he left after making a full taped confession. I was told that he seemed genuinely remorseful. He shouldn’t be hard for the authorities to find. His recorded confession will be delivered to the sheriff’s office in the morning.”

  Winter stared into Kurt’s eyes for several seconds and said, “I’m glad your man was able to obtain
a confession.”

  “He is very good at these things,” Kurt said, smiling. “I won’t keep you.”

  I won’t hold my breath until Mulvane, White, and Murphy turn up. He shook Kurt Klein’s hand and said, “Glad it all fell into place so perfectly. I expected no less from you.”

  In the hallway outside Klein’s suite, Leigh called Cyn’s number, and she answered, “Mama?”

  Winter and Brad stood next to Leigh, Winter’s head against Leigh’s so he could hear.

  “Okay, darling,” Leigh said. “The papers are signed. Tell the people who have you I want to speak to them.”

  There was a pause and a man’s voice came on. “Okay?”

  “I signed the papers. Let my daughter go.”

  “I know you did. I’ll let her out in five minutes.”

  “Where?”

  “A public place. She’ll call you when I’m gone.”

  “If you aren’t telling the truth, I can cancel the deal.”

  Winter nodded.

  “If she doesn’t call me back in six minutes, I’ll do what I said. And if you harmed her…”

  “Nobody’s done shit to your brat,” he said. “And, lady, you’re welcome to her.”

  They were outside the casino six minutes later when Cyn called.

  “He let me out at the Blue & White,” Cynthia said. “Dr. Barnett is here.”

  “Let me speak to him,” Leigh said. “Your father is with her at the Blue & White,” she told Brad.

  Brad took the phone from her.

  “Dad? Is Cyn all right?”

  “She’s fine. A little shook up. She told me she was kidnapped?”

  “She was. Does she need to go to the hospital?”

  “I don’t think so. She says she just wants to go home.”

  “Take her home. We’re on our way.”

  109

  A MINUTE AFTER CYNTHIA BROKE OFF THE CALL TO her mother, Alexa drove within sight of the Gardner house, stopping at the end of the driveway near the waiting cruiser. The deputy got out, and pulling up his hood against the rain and wind, stood by the truck as she lowered her window. The deputy recognized her and gave a friendly nod to the killer. He looked in the backseat at Cynthia.

  “Welcome back, Miss Gardner,” he said cheerily. “Y’all go on up to the house. Deputy Chief Bishop and Clarke are up there. I’ll call them so they don’t shoot at you. I guess I can call and cancel the BOLO.”

  Alexa looked at Styer, who nodded and patted the seat using the cell phone. “You best get back in your car and stay dry,” Styer said.

  “I will, sir. Y’all be safe.”

  Alexa pulled away slowly, closing the window.

  “I think that went well,” Styer said. “When we get to the house, I’m going to cuff you.”

  Alexa’s heart fell.

  They pulled onto the circular front driveway as Alexa saw a single bright flash. She waited for the thunder to follow, but the storm was still too far off.

  “I’ve given your request some thought,” Styer said. “About allowing Massey to live.”

  “And?” Alexa asked.

  “I can’t do it,” he said. “You already knew that, didn’t you?”

  Alexa nodded. “And you lied when you said you never lie, didn’t you?”

  “I only lie when it suits my purpose. I have to tie up the deputies in the house. Don’t make me kill them, because I will. Winter will come after he is done at the casino, and he and I will conclude our business.”

  “He’ll kill you,” Alexa said.

  “I promise I’ll be really careful.”

  Styer laughed, but she didn’t. Alexa figured that he had to have made the mask he was wearing over his own features by casting it on the owner’s face, which meant he had most likely killed the subject before replicating his features. She gritted her teeth hard.

  Alexa parked behind a cruiser as freezing rain pelted the hood of the truck. She believed Styer planned to kill her, the deputies, and everybody else, but she didn’t think he would as long as he needed them. Leigh might call, and if nobody answered, Winter would know it was because Styer was there.

  Styer got out and came around. As promised, he cuffed Alexa’s hands behind her back before helping Cynthia from the extended cab. With rain pouring down on them, the three started toward the porch.

  “Easy, girls,” Styer hissed.

  110

  BRAD WAS PUTTING THE ENVELOPE CONTAINING the bonds in the evidence vault when Brad’s deputy, who was posted at the Gardner’s driveway, called to say that Cyn had arrived at the plantation with Agent Keen and Dr. Barnett. Brad asked him how the girl looked and the deputy said she looked the same as usual to him.

  “Thank God,” Leigh said with a shaky sigh.

  As they were leaving the building, Brad’s phone rang. “Sheriff Watson from next door,” Brad said, reading the caller ID. He listened for a few seconds, said, “I’m on my way,” and hung up. “There was a big explosion on six twelve. Seems it came from the levee right there at the county line. Sheriff Watson’s on his way out there with firefighters and units.”

  “That’s out at the equipment barn by RRI’s land?” Winter asked.

  Brad nodded.

  Winter said, “I think I saw that explosion when we were in Klein’s suite.”

  “I need to check it out,” Brad said. “I can have somebody take you home.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Leigh said.

  “If it’s going to take a while, Winter can drive you home and I’ll get a ride,” Brad said. “I know you want to see Cyn and I’m sure she wants to see you.”

  “I think Cyn’s in good hands,” Leigh said, smiling and slapping his shoulder playfully from the backseat.

  111

  AS SOON AS THEY DROVE OUT OF TUNICA COUNTY, they ran into a line of vehicles behind a highway patrol cruiser with flashing blue lights. Using the shoulder of the road, Winter pulled even with the cop. A patrolman wearing a Smokey the Bear hat with a plastic cover and a reflective vest over his raincoat was waving cars through, and he gave Winter an irritated glare. Brad climbed out and spoke to the patrolman, who nodded and waved Winter through.

  At the gravel road ahead on the right, a sheriff’s department car illuminated the roadside. A female deputy looked in at Brad using her flashlight.

  “Sheriff’s expecting me,” Brad said.

  “He’s on up this road at an equipment shed, Sheriff Barnett,” the deputy said.

  “What’s the deal?” Winter asked.

  “Explosion. Big hole in the building, and what’s left of a limousine. Just park out of the way of the fire trucks. I’ll radio Sheriff Watson you’re coming in.”

  As he drove in, Winter slowed and looked at the SUVs parked beside the graveled road at the mouth of the woods. A deputy was using his flashlight to peer into the last one, a Toyota Highlander with Tunica County tags. The other two parked behind it—a Yukon and a Trailblazer—had Tennessee plates and dark film on the windows.

  Winter drove out into the open landscape. The fenced lot around the barn was alive with the flashing lights of cruisers, EMT buses, pickup trucks, and three fire trucks. Winter pulled through the open gates and parked. A dozen deputies were walking around the lot, shining flashlights on the ground to search for evidence.

  There was indeed a hole in the barn, although the word hole didn’t begin to describe the opening in the shed, which was large enough to push an eighteen-wheeler rig through sideways. The aluminum roof that remained was blackened and peeled sharply back, and a fan-shaped blast crater extended out from it for fifty feet. The limousine, only distinguishable as such by its length, looked like a giant had picked it up, plucked off the tires, twisted it like a pretzel, and drop-kicked it through the hurricane fence. A section of the fence was down, and the poles that had held it up were bent over or snapped off.

  “Stay here,” Brad told Leigh.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, looking off to her right where her parcel was located
. “I’m as close as I want to be.”

  Winter followed Brad to the sheriff standing at the mouth of the hole, using a powerful battery-operated searchlight to peer into the building. Winter could see other moving light beams scattered around inside the structure. The sheriff saw Brad and handed the light to the deputy beside him.

  “Brad,” Watson said.

  “Sheriff Watson,” Brad said. “You know who was in there?”

  “‘Was’ is the operational word,” he said. “I don’t know who they were, but they ain’t nothing at all now. I’ll get some dogs here from Jackson to help find the pieces. Doesn’t look like there are any survivors. They found a pair of boots with the feet still in ’em, some meat and scraps and cloth so far. Hopefully we can find some wallets or something. Whatever they were doing went wrong. I don’t imagine they knew what hit ’em. Looks like they must have had a few hundred pounds of dynamite in there that went up.”

  “Sheriff!” a deputy hollered as he ran up, holding something pinched between his gloved fingers like it smelled bad. “It’s a gun with a silencer on it. Was back over there by the bottom of the fence.”

  “Sure is,” Sheriff Watson said. “That ain’t any construction equipment I know about.”

  “Destruction equipment’s more like it,” the deputy added.

  Winter looked at the remains of an MP5SD with a blasted away stock and a bent suppresser. “Have you run the plate on that limo and the other SUVs?”

  “I did,” Sheriff Watson said. “Limo belongs to an RRI corporation. You know of it?”

  Brad looked at Winter, and Winter nodded his agreement that he should tell the sheriff. “The Roundtable casino is owned by RRI. They own all that land they’ve been clearing there in my county.”