The Front Range Butcher: A Jarvis Mann Private Detective HardBoiled Mystery Novel (Jarvis Mann Detective Book 7)

by R Weir

  “Jill,” he said, happily. “Is that you?”

  She turned uncertain as to who it was calling her name. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

  “Of course, you do, silly. You’ve been such immense help in the store for me. You’re so knowledgeable, always take me right where I need to be. That place is so huge, and they are always moving stuff around making it hard to find.” He gushed.

  The uncertain look in her eyes showed that she still wasn’t sure. He removed his sunglasses, so she could see him. It took a minute, but she seemed to remember, as they had crossed paths the few times he went out of his way to ask her for help.

  Her face relaxed as recognition entered her eyes. “I remember now. Though you have me at a disadvantage, I don’t know your name.”

  His heart leaped at the thought of her recalling their encounters.

  “Bob,” he said, cheerfully.

  “Hi Bob. Nice seeing you. I would love to stay and chat but I really need to get home before this ice cream melts.”

  He smirked at her as he tensed, ready to pounce. “With the chill in the air, I’m sure it will last a while longer…”

  He lunged at her and she crashed into the side of her car with a squeal. His left hand grabbed her shoulder, the right plunging the needle into her neck. She tried to fight, but couldn’t, the sedative having an immediate effect, her knees starting to buckle.

  “Oh, my Jill! What is wrong, are you sick?” he said, speaking as if someone was around. “Let me take care of you. Soon you’ll feel much better.”

  She was a big gal, but he got his arms around her before she hit the ground and dragged her to his car, his eyes scanning for signs of anyone watching. His car remote popped the trunk and he rolled her inside, and then closed the lid, with one last breathless look. He went back to grab the bags, wondering what else she’d purchased. Besides the ice cream she had some sliced roasted turkey, fresh baked bread and salad. All items he would enjoy for a meal before beginning to prepare her for his viewing pleasure.

  Chapter 53

  We were sitting in a parking lot on the corner of Tower and Hampden in Aurora. We were early, waiting for those to arrive, eager owners ready to show off their vintage cars. There was a big open space where the vehicles parked and the crowds would gather around to enjoy the spectacle. I sat in the front seat of Rocky’s Corvette trying to get comfortable. I had the seat all the way back, my injured limb stretched as far as I could, with the cane sitting between my legs. Rocky hadn’t been thrilled when he had to come all the way out to west Denver to get me. It didn’t appear he felt much sympathy for the story of how I was injured.

  “Beat up and now shot,” he said, when I first got in the car. “It would appear you’re in the wrong business.”

  “If I could sell cars or insurance, I would,” I replied. “But I’m no good at either. At least I’m not dead and I’m still able to help you.”

  “You and that cane are intimidating,” joked Rocky. “I’m sure a couple of pokes with it and the bad guys will surrender.”

  “It’s my new secret weapon.” I smiled.

  “It had better pack some 9mm power or some type of stun capabilities, because it won’t scare these guys.”

  “Maybe it will make me look less dangerous and get them to put their guard down.”

  Rocky didn’t comment, and his mood changed to deadly serious. His eyes were on the cars starting to show up. Pretty soon a cherry red, with black stripes, 69 Camaro drove by, followed by a newer BMW. It was Vicente’s car and it roared like a jet engine, a stunning classic sixties muscle car, as he found a parking spot on the end of one of the rows. It glistened from a recent washing and waxing. It was an amazing looking vehicle and one of the many jewels that began showing up.

  The door opened, and Vicente stepped out. He wasn’t real tall at 5’9”, though his height was helped by boots with heels. His big muscular arms and legs had tattoos covering every inch of brown skin showing, up to and including his neck. He was wearing a black muscle shirt and worn-out blue jeans. I could see the sparkle of a diamond earring on each lobe, his dark hair long to his shoulder in back and shaved at the temple. If he was carrying a gun, it would be hidden well. I suspected the BMW holding his protection would provide the firepower.

  “What is the plan?” I asked.

  “You distract Vicente with your chit chat ways and old-man cane, while I make sure his guards aren’t a problem.”

  “What will you do to them?”

  “Whatever it takes.” Rocky was calm, eyes scanning the scene.

  “And then?”

  “We grab him and take him for a ride.”

  Rocky put on a ball cap and sunglasses, as a modest disguise, along with a pair of brown leather gloves. Both of us stepped out and I lumbered, cane helping to steady me, towards the Camaro, while Rocky headed to the BMW. As I approached the Camaro, I whistled.

  “She is a beauty,” I said. “Don’t make them like that anymore.”

  Vicente looked at me. With cane in hand, I looked basically harmless. Not that I would have scared him much anyway from what I knew of his reputation.

  “She is my baby. Runs like it’s brand new,” he stated like a proud poppa.

  “Looks like you’ve put a lot of work in her. Interior appears immaculate.”

  “Custom leather seats. All the inside trim restored.”

  “Engine?”

  He opened the hood up, so I could see.

  “Muscle car all the way with 425 horses. Four speed manual transmission. She can outrun pretty much anything out there.” His chest threw out in pride.

  The muscle under the hood sparkled almost as much as the outside did. Someone must have buffed and polished the engine every day. I saw no dirt, grease or oil anywhere. The old cliché, you could eat off the engine was possible.

  “May I sit inside?” I asked.

  He hesitated but nodded his head. I opened the passenger side door and tucked my injured leg in. It was healing, but still stung. I ran my hand across the dash and found no dust. The seat was fabulous and comfortable.

  “Is she for sale?” I asked, as he stuck his head in the window, to make sure I wasn’t doing anything to damage her.

  “No way. I would never part with her no matter how much was offered.”

  “What is she worth?”

  “Probably forty-five to fifty thousand.” Vicente sounded pleased at the car’s value.

  I whistled again. If I took better care of my Mustang I wondered what it would be worth. We were bonding over classic cars, which was a good distraction.

  “I have a 69 Mustang. She is not in as great a shape, but I love her.”

  “Put the time and money into her and she could be a jewel.”

  From behind Vicente I saw Rocky approaching. When he was a few feet away, I heard him say his name. Vicente turned around, and I saw the flash of a gun as it pushed into his ribs. He wasn’t sure who it was but didn’t appear scared or nervous. I discreetly put on my gloves before removing my own gun, keeping it hidden from view.

  “What are you doing?” he asked calmly.

  “Get in the car, we are going for a ride.” Rocky prodded him.

  He looked over Rocky’s shoulder for the guards.

  “No one is coming to help you. Your men are incapacitated. Cooperate, or you die right here.”

  Vicente looked my way and I waved for him to get into the car. He thought about it for a minute, weighing his options, but Rocky pushed the gun harder in his chest as a warning. He had no options. Reluctantly he climbed behind the wheel and started it up.

  “Pull around a few rows back and follow the Corvette,” I said, showing him my weapon.

  “You’re making a mistake,” he replied.

  “Wouldn’t be the first time. Now drive!” I was speaking firmly, taking charge of the situation.

  Rocky got to his car and we followed, heading east on Hampden, then south on Gun Club, before going east on Quincy, out into farm c
ountry. We came up to a dirt road and headed down it, with no one around the entire journey. Rocky pulled off to the side of the road and I told Vicente to park behind him. Rocky walked over and grabbed him, dragging him with little effort before tossing him into some sage bush.

  “This is a big mistake you’re making, whoever you are,” warned Vicente, with all the vigor he could muster. “Do you understand who I am!”

  Ignoring him, Rocky walked up and punched him hard in the jaw, a staggering blow I could feel myself. I stood and waited from a distance, my gun in hand, the cane in the other, keeping an eye out for any passersby. But in this area, that wasn’t likely.

  “Who the hell are you?” said Vicente, after the cobwebs cleared, blood dripping down his chin.

  Rocky pulled off his sunglasses and tucked them in his back pocket, along with his ball cap. His hair was flowing in the wind. Vicente took a minute and then seemed to remember. He smirked.

  “Been a long time, Garrett,” he said. It was a name I’d not heard before. “How is the family?”

  Rocky stepped in and punched him again, drawing more blood as Vicente spat it out on the ground. He could take a punch, but you could see the welt forming over his eye.

  Still he started laughing. “I don’t know what to say.” He stammered in between his laughs. “I thought you were dead. Killed in that bomb. Yet here you are. It would seem you lived through it somehow.”

  Rocky remained composed, but the news about almost being killed by a bomb was a shock for me to hear. I wondered what other tidbits and secrets I’d learn.

  “I was lucky,” Rocky said, before pointing to the scar under his eye. “Piece of glass hit me here. Metal shards in my torso, legs and behind my ear you can’t see. Hurt like hell and took time to heal, but I recovered.”

  “Same can’t be said for your wife and son. How old was he again? Pretty young, maybe three.”

  Rocky pulled out his gun and aimed for Vicente’s head, who just smiled and closed his eyes. I was hearing a story I’d not heard before, now understanding the personal reason for his quest, shocked he had a family that had been killed. It had never once crossed my mind he’d once been married and had a child.

  “Rocky, killing him doesn’t get you any answers,” I said gently. “I’m assuming that is why we are here. To find out who hired him.”

  “So, it’s ‘Rocky’ now,” said Vicente. “I like it. Makes you sound tough.”

  “I am.”

  Rocky fired the gun. It was loud and echoed across the prairie. Instead of at his head, he’d moved his aim slightly to the right and shot him in the left shoulder. Vicente twisted and went backwards, hitting the ground, the pain exuding from his yell ear-shattering. He clutched desperately at the wound, the blood flowing, and then pushed himself back up on his knees. His smile was replaced with pain, and maybe an ounce of fear.

  “Tell me who hired you, and you might live.” said Rocky. “Otherwise I take you a piece at a time.”

  Vicente didn’t say anything, so Rocky stepped forwarded and squeezed his wounded shoulder. I think I heard bones break over the screaming. It wasn’t fun to watch, though I understood the pain of losing loved ones. He had stood with me while I helped put a man down who had murdered my brother. Today I would stand with him as well, no matter what happened.

  “Do I put a hole in the other shoulder?” demanded Rocky.

  “I’d do what he said,” I stated for effect. “He is vested in this mission. You can tell him or die and die slowly. But know this, in the end, he will get the answers one way or another.”

  Vicente looked around and to the heavens, weighing his options. No angel was going to save him. Rocky aimed again, and he finally gave in.

  “OK. Don’t shoot. I’ll tell you.” He tried to stand up, slowly finding his feet and then in a flash he had pulled a knife, likely stored on his ankle, and lunged. It was a gutsy, but stupid move. Even at full strength, he was no match for Rocky. Doing so while injured was plain suicide. Rocky blocked the first swipe, then grabbed the wrist, twisting the arm behind and then stabbing the knife into the back of Vicente’s thigh. After Vicente hit the ground with a scream, Rocky pulled the knife out and tossed it away into the weeds. The wound was now openly bleeding down his leg—it looked bad. Rocky took his foot and pushed him over. This finally had taken the last bit of resistance out of Vicente.

  “Not smart on my part,” he said, panting loudly. “But I had to try. Sometimes being a man means doing something stupid out of macho pride and self-preservation.”

  “Pride will get you killed,” observed Rocky. “And I’m out of patience. Give me the answers or I break a leg.”

  “You aren’t going to believe me if I tell you.”

  “Try me.”

  Vicente sighed, groaning as he shifted his weight. “Maximillian Conway.”

  Rocky looked surprised by the name. I had no idea who it was.

  “You’re right. I don’t believe you.”

  “I’m not lying. Maybe not him directly, but someone inside ordered it. For all I know he was behind it.” Vicente was breathing heavily, feeling pain, but seemed to be telling the truth.

  I went over to Rocky to pull him to one side.

  “Who is Maximillian Conway?”

  “I used to work for him in Southern California. He is a big shot real estate mogul, besides other things.”

  “Are those other things illegal?” I asked knowing I wouldn’t get details.

  “Yes.”

  “What did you do for him?”

  “Guess.”

  “Something illegal?”

  Rocky pointed to his nose and turned back to Vicente.

  “Why the order for the hit?”

  Vicente started laughing again. “Hell, I don’t know. Ask him yourself. When the money is right, you don’t ask questions.”

  “Was my family part of the contract?”

  “Yes. We were supposed to take you all out. I guess I owe them a refund. From what I heard you were killed too. Imagine my surprise…” He coughed a laugh.

  The anger swelled up in Rocky again as he kicked Vicente in his bleeding leg. The yelp was loud, but not as loud as the others. The blood loss was starting to affect him.

  “You murdered my family. What else can you tell me?” His voice was as intense as I remembered it.

  It took him a minute to respond. “Cash transaction all the way. Nice haul.”

  “Did you carry out the hit on your own? Or did you farm it out?”

  “My men took care of it.” He paused, taking a few breaths finding the strength to talk. “I supervised, orchestrating all the details.”

  “I swore I would avenge their deaths,” Rocky stated calmly, while aiming his gun steadily, though I could see the tiniest tremble in his grip. “Best you walk away Jarvis, so you don’t have to be a witness if called.”

  “What about the guns and drugs he was on the verge of distributing?” I asked.

  Vicente looked surprised I knew.

  “Yes, we know about the deal you had in the works,” I said, before turning to Rocky. “I’d imagine this deal will still happen even if he is dead. I think we should call my contacts and see if we can put an end to it and put him away for a long time.”

  “Would you have been satisfied if The Bull was put away for a long time?” asked Rocky, breathing heavily. He was referring to the man who had my brother killed.

  “Probably not. But still I don’t want those guns and drugs on our streets. A lot more kids and families will be harmed by them.”

  “That won’t be a problem. We can kill two birds with one stone.”

  Rocky holstered his gun and walked to the Camaro. He opened the trunk with the keys. Walking back, he grabbed Vicente with one hand by his bleeding shoulder and dragged him to the car, lifting and then throwing him in the trunk before locking him inside. He then went to his Corvette, opened the trunk and pulled out a gas can.

  “Can you drive?” Rocky asked.

&nbs
p; “Not his car, since it’s a stick.”

  Rocky tossed me the keys to his Corvette. “Follow me. We are heading back to Vicente’s complex. Park out on the street once we get there and wait for my signal.”

  “What do you have planned?”

  “Like I said, killing two birds...”

  I followed him along the back roads, until we came upon Vicente’s home. It was quite a way east of town, a wall of blue spruce surrounding the many acres, a security gate inside the tree line. It was getting dark, so it was hard to see, but I sat and waited while Rocky turned the Camaro down the long road to the main entrance. Someone was sitting at the gatehouse and opened the metal gate on seeing the familiar car. I saw a muzzle flash and down went the guard and a second one followed, the shot hitting someone on patrol inside. Rocky had surely surveilled enough to know the layout and knew exactly what he would face.

  He pulled the car inside the gate, blocking it so it remained open, pulled out the plastic can, pouring gas inside first and then outside, leaving the can on the hood. Tossing his gloves into the car, he lit a match, flinging it, the classic car instantly catching on fire. I thought I heard distant screams and pounding from inside the trunk, but they wouldn’t last forever, as the car was quickly consumed with flames.

  Rocky walked confidently up the road. I pulled up and he jumped into the passenger seat, his burner cellphone in hand, dialing 911.

  “I want to report a car on fire and gunshots,” he said, while giving them the approximate location. “No, I don’t want to give my name. But I’d send police and fire. The place I believe is a den of criminal activity.”

  He listened for a minute and then hung up. He took apart the phone, pulling the SIM card and battery out, breaking the SIM in two, then tossed each piece out the window as we drove.

  “Where to now?” I asked.

  “We’ll drive to your place and then I’ll move on.”

  “Where are you headed?” I said, though I was pretty sure I knew.

  “I have business in Southern California to attend to.”

  “Maximillian Conway?”