Bloody Basin

by John R Cuneo

“No, I don’t have any piercings,” Fena told the guard. “What do you think is causing the metal detector to go off?”

  The woman shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said as she placed the wand back onto the countertop. “I need to do a physical exam of the area.”

  “Are you sure that’s necessary?” asked Fena.

  “Yes, I’m afraid so,” said the guard. “I want you to remove your bra and panties and lie on the examination table for me.”

  Fena made sure to slowly and seductively remove the garments. The guard was in heaven. Here in front of her under her control was the most attractive woman she had ever seen, and now she was going to have complete and unfettered access to this luscious body before her. The guard started her examination with Fena’s ample breasts, feeling them separately, then together, while paying special attention to roll the sensitive nipples between her thumb and forefinger.

  Then to the guard’s joy and amazement, Fena repositioned herself on the exam table with her tight butt in the air and her breasts contacting the old plastic that covered the table.

  “I thought this would make your job a little easier,” said Fena.

  She felt the woman’s fingers exploring her damp pussy. She let the woman play with her for a minute before she pulled away and took up a new position, sitting on the edge of the table with her legs spread, giving the guard complete access to her.

  “We don’t have much time,” Fena told her, “so why don’t you bring the chair over here so you can sit down?”

  As if in a trance, the woman did as she was told and placed the chair between Fena’s open legs. Without so much as a second thought, the guard placed her lips over Fena’s excited clit and began to lick and suck on the sensitive organ. Fena reached down and fondled the woman’s breasts through her uniform top, causing the guard to moan uncontrollably.

  All during this time, Fena kept a close eye on the clock on the wall in front of her. She did not want to take a chance of arousing any suspicion of their activity while at work. Fena quickly pulled herself away from the young woman, and she saw the disappointment in her eyes.

  “We’ll have to continue this at another time,” she said.

  “Anytime you say, baby,” the security guard replied.

  It did not take long for Fena to dress and check her appearance in a small mirror on a wall in the examination room, and before they exited, Fena gave the guard her most sensual kiss. “Don’t forget, baby, we have to finish this soon!”

  After presenting all his documentation to the judge, Detective Gore was able to get the warrant necessary to open the storage locker in Phoenix. After procuring the warrant, the detective, accompanied by two uniformed officers, drove directly to the storage facility in north central Phoenix. They went into the manager’s office and presented him with the warrant. The manager, who was an older gentleman, was at a loss as to what the warrant meant, so with the help of his wife, who was the other co-manager of the facility, he let the police officers on the property and directed them to the locker in question.

  Before removing the lock, the detective took photographs of the door from several different angles and a few close-ups of the lock itself. One of the photographs was taken close enough to show the manufacturer’s name and the serial number on the lock.

  He turned to the uniformed officers. “Can one of you bring bolt cutters from the trunk of the squad car?”

  One of the officers produced his keys and unlocked the trunk of the car while the other officer stayed with Detective Gore.

  “So, tell me, Detective, if you can: What do you think you’re going to find in here?” asked the officer.

  Detective Gore looked at the officer. “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure what it could be. Drugs or cash—or both, I guess. We’ll see in a few minutes, won’t we?”

  It took both the uniformed officers working together to cut through the hardened steel shank of the lock. With a final show of strength from the men, the lock broke open. The two officers, out of breath, moved out of the way and allowed Detective Gore to do the honors of opening the locker door. He knocked on the door in rapid succession—knock knock—slid the metal handle to the side, opened the door, and gazed into a completely empty storage locker.

  Chapter 17

  What A Rush

  Chuck McGowan was at home, sitting at his desk, when his secure telephone landline rang. Answering the phone, Chuck heard the voice of Lank Tygard.

  “What a nice surprise. How’s everything going?” asked Chuck.

  “I’m doing fine, Chuck, but our young friend Detective Gore had a run-in with two of Salazar’s men, and it ended up being a firefight. The two bad guys were both shot dead,” Agent Tygard said. “And how is the detective handling all of this?” asked Chuck.

  “He’s doing fine. I’ve talked to him several times during his two-week leave of absence, and he’s taking it about as well as anyone could.”

  “That’s good to hear,” said Chuck. “So, what else is going on?”

  “We positively IDed the victims. They were both known acquaintances of Nicholas Salazar. One of them was brought up from South America and was a cartel hit man. The other was a young punk that ran with a gang based in Gallup, New Mexico, and has ties to the Salazar family. The gang acts as a group of personal bodyguards for the Salazar friends and acquaintances.”

  After a few quiet moments, Chuck said, “I’m going to Gallup on a business trip regarding new property my company is going to develop on reservation land. I might shake the tree a little bit and see what I can find out about this local gang.”

  “Chuck, I know you can take care of yourself, but like you told me, we aren’t twenty-five anymore.” Chuck laughed. “You’re right about that, but the one thing I have is experience, and I don’t mind fighting dirty.” Now it was Agent Tygard’s turn to laugh. “I know you can take care of yourself, Chuck, but remember these guys are killers, and they don’t mind killing anyone they perceive as a threat, so just be careful, buddy.”

  Several days a week, Chuck and his trusted friend Cho worked out, continually honing their fighting skills. Both men had stayed at the top of their game when it came to life-and-death close-quarters encounters. Looking at Chuck, you would never guess he always carried a gun strapped to his lower leg and a knife on his belt, and he carried a nineteen-inch length of pipe up his jacket sleeve. He had found that in close quarters, a length of pipe to the assailant’s head would bring them down instantly and quietly.

  Today’s workout with Cho was conducted at an extremely high energy level.

  “So how many street punks are you planning on fighting?” asked Cho.

  “No street punks this time,” replied Chuck. “These guys are killers.”

  Cho immediately stopped what he was doing and looked at Chuck. “Maybe I should go with you on this one.”

  “I appreciate the thought, but I need you to stay here and watch over things while I’m gone. If these guys can identify and go after a police detective, then they can find out who the rest of us are.”

  “I understand,” said Cho. “How long do you think you’ll be gone?”

  “No more than three or four days,” replied Chuck. “I already have a room reservation and a dinner meeting set up with the tribal members to celebrate the new business deal. I’ve also sent word that I want all of the tradesmen to meet me at the building site first thing in the morning so I can give them the news about the new job.”

  “You know, Chuck,” said Cho, “it’s very possible some of those tradesmen are connected to Mr. Salazar and his family.” “That’s a definite possibility,” said Chuck. “So, I better keep my eyes open and watch my back. And speaking of back, let’s get a little more practice in. I want you to be comfortable taking that piece of pipe out of your sleeve as quickly as possible.”

  For the next two hours, Chuck and Cho practiced
their close-quarters techniques until both defending and attacking became second nature to them. That evening at dinner, the two men discussed the possibility of someone identifying them and the other members of the group.

  “That’s why it’s so important for us to identify them first and make them disappear,” said Chuck. “The one thing I’ve learned over the years is that when you start taking out key players in the organization, the basic rank and file run for the hills as fast as they can, so tomorrow when I’m in Gallup, I’m going to shake the tree really hard and see what happens.”

  “I still don’t like the idea of you being on your own,” said Cho. “And I know you can take care of yourself, but if they come at you with strength and greater numbers, you may be the one that disappears.”

  “I’m not going to take any more chances than I have to,” said Chuck. “I have already told the on-site foreman in Gallup to make sure they have a deep trash pit dug before I get there tomorrow morning. I’m pretty sure that if my plan works, I’ll be using the trash pit sometime tomorrow night, so after dinner, I want you to help me load the back of the work truck with a few items that may come in handy.”

  The two men finished their dinner, then went out to the large drive-through garage and prepared one of the pickup trucks for tomorrow’s journey to Gallup, New Mexico.

  In Show Low, Arizona, Carolyn and I were working our way through a large home improvement store, looking for the last few items we needed at the ranch. Our shopping cart was full of cleaning supplies and new switch plates and a floor lamp for the master bedroom.

  “You know, I was thinking,” I told Carolyn, “that according to the notebook, there is another storage locker in Gallup, New Mexico.”

  “Yes, I remember,” said Carolyn. “What’re you thinking about?”

  “Well, with everything going on at the cabin, I thought I might drive to Gallup the day after tomorrow and visit the storage shed.”

  “Are you sure you want to go alone?” asked Carolyn.

  “It’s only a two-hour drive,” I said. “I can leave just after breakfast and be back in the afternoon.”

  “If you are sure you want to go on your own, then yes, that’s fine with me. I have some work I want to get done at the cabin, and no offense, but sometimes you’re a little bit underfoot, and it slows me down.”

  “That settles it,” I said. “I guess it’s time to check out and head back to the ranch.”

  It looked like it was going to be a beautiful morning. The sun was up, and the sky was clear. Just ahead, Chuck could see the property his company would soon develop. There was a group of vehicles parked next to the foreman’s trailer and a group of approximately two dozen men standing around several burn barrels that were blazing away in the cold morning sun. After parking his truck next to the foreman’s trailer, Chuck made his way over to the group of men, shaking hands, saying hello to everybody, and thanking them for meeting him this cold morning.

  After a few minutes of saying hello and getting himself cup of hot coffee, Chuck asked everyone to gather around because he had an announcement to make. At first, the looks of the men’s faces were that of impending doom and disappointment, but that all changed when Chuck told them the news.

  “The company has secured a contract to develop an eighty-acre parcel of land. All of you will be working full time for at least the next fifteen months!” he said.

  The group of men cheered and applauded Chuck for securing the long-term contract. Chuck filled them in on the details of the development project.

  “It includes a medical clinic and approximately ninety-five thousand square feet of Class A office space. And, of course, we’ll be building parking lots and access to the frontage road off the I-40 freeway,” he said.

  After the group of men finished their celebration, Chuck reached into his pocket, pulling out a piece of paper with “Nick Salazar” written on it. Chuck once again got the attention of the group. “Do any of you know Nick Salazar?” he asked.

  The consensus was that they were not familiar with the name.

  “Why are you asking about him?” one man said.

  “I was contacted by mail from a guy named Nick Salazar from Gallup, New Mexico. He said he has earthmoving equipment and he wants to be part of any construction projects in the Gallup area. I was thinking that if this guy is legit and has some graders and front-end loaders, I could just sublease some of the work to him and not have to worry about moving equipment across the state.

  “Anyway, if any of you fellows come across Nick Salazar, let him know I’m very interested in talking to him and that he can contact me over at the Imperial Hotel,” Chuck said. He ended the meeting and made his way to the foreman’s trailer to discuss the upcoming project with his local construction boss. In the trailer, Chuck made it clear he wanted the trash pit to be dug even deeper than it was. The trash pit was something the company did to bury leftover odds and ends of building materials so that the property was clear of any obstructions the local inspectors would object to. In this case, Chuck made sure the pit was at least eighteen feet deep and could easily be filled with trash simply by driving up to the side of the pit and throwing the items directly in.

  Chuck was looking forward to putting his feet up and closing his eyes for a well-deserved nap before going out to dinner. His day started before 5 a.m., and the two-hour drive to Gallup for his 7 a.m. meeting made for an awfully long day, so now that he was comfortable in his hotel room, he would settle down and close his eyes for as long as he could.

  The hotel room was dark, and Chuck was sound asleep on the sofa when he woke up to the ring of the telephone. He was startled by the sound that drew him out of his deep sleep. “Hello, this is Chuck,” he said. “Hello. I am Nick Salazar. I have some heavy equipment available for the Gallup, New Mexico, job. I’m sorry it’s been so hard to get in touch with me,” said the voice over the phone. “I’ve been very busy and just now got back to Gallup after some work up north.” Chuck knew this guy was full of shit and that at least one of the tradesmen from this morning’s meeting was involved with the gang of punks protecting Salazar’s friends and associates. The two men spoke about the upcoming construction job and the possibility of Chuck’s company utilizing the heavy equipment allegedly already in Gallup. “I would like to see the equipment before we agree to a price,” said Chuck. “The equipment is stored just off the frontage road next to a self-storage facility. I would be happy to meet you this evening to show you the equipment,” the voice said. “I can meet you at nine o’clock this evening. It will be a quick meeting; I’m tired after a long day and don’t feel very well,” Chuck said, and the phone conversation ended.

  Chuck looked at his watch and saw he had plenty of time before the meeting. He prepared himself for what was to come. After grabbing a bite to eat, Chuck drove to the frontage road location and stopped his truck about a hundred yards away on a small dirt road where he was able to conceal his presence from the designated meeting place.

  Grabbing the set of binoculars he kept in the center console of his vehicle, he viewed the area ahead and clearly saw the well-lit and gated self-storage complex. Next to the storage facility was a large vacant lot surrounded by a ten-foot-high chain-link fence. There was several tractor and trailer rigs parked closely together, but there was no sign of any heavy equipment.

  Chuck also saw three men standing together at the entrance of the self-storage facility. He thought back to Cho’s offer of accompanying him on this trip; seeing the men made Chuck wish he had taken Cho up on his offer. The three men were talking, and the youngest of the three, in his early twenties, was taking quite a browbeating from the other two, both of whom brandished knives in the waistbands of their pants. The oldest of the three produced a pistol from his jacket pocket.

  One thing Chuck could not do was read lips. If he could, he would have seen the oldest of the three telling the youngster not to lea
ve the storage unit under any circumstances and that it might be a full day or two until they returned after dumping that guy’s body and getting rid of his vehicle.

  It was almost nine o’clock, and Chuck made his final preparations. He once again checked that the revolver strapped to his ankle was loaded and that the knife he carried was in position just under his belt and easy to get to. He took his pipe and placed it up his left jacket sleeve. His final preparations involved shoe covers over both of his shoes and small adhesive strips over his fingers and thumbs. At exactly 9 p.m., Chuck parked his truck at the locked gate that was the entrance to the property holding the heavy construction equipment. He saw in his rearview mirror two men walking toward the truck. They had come from the self-storage facility. As the men got closer, Chuck exited the vehicle. “You must be Nick Salazar,” he called out.

  One of the men waved in response. “And you must be Chuck.”

  As the two men approached, Chuck quickly scanned the area for the third man, wondering where he had gone. If it was just these two men, then Chuck had a rather good idea what he was going to do, but he would let them play out the game before he jumped into action. “Thanks for sending me the letter,” said Chuck. “But I was surprised when you didn’t leave a phone number.” “I’m sorry about that,” said the man who claimed to be Salazar. “I’ve been pretty busy lately and must’ve forgotten all about it.”

  “Well, as you probably know, we have a big construction project starting in a couple weeks, and if the price is right, I would like to rent some of your equipment for the job,” said Chuck. “By the way, is this where you keep all of your equipment?” He motioned to the locked fencing. “I have several areas around town I use for equipment storage,” said the fake Salazar. “Let me show you what I have in this one.”

  He reached into his pocket and removed a group of keys, one of which open the lock to the chained fence. While the gates were opened, Chuck had time to observe both men up close. He saw they were both jumpy, and from time to time, they reached into their pockets as if they were going to produce a weapon.