“No. I was going to.”
Lyle pointed ahead. “This road goes in a big horseshoe. If you keep following them, I can take a short cut and come out at the other end. Maybe we can trap ’em.”
Martinez seemed reluctant to let Lyle out of his sight, but he nodded assent. Martinez walked down the road trying to keep halfway between the car in front of him and the one behind.
Lyle worked his way to a behind-the-scenes walkway. At that point, visitors’ cars passed into narrow corridors lined with boarded-up doors and windows. Realistic mechanical ghouls reached through the boards in continuous, but always unsuccessful, attempts to seize visitors. Groans and low-pitched screams from the artificial zombies filled the air.
Lyle stood next to a moving ghoul--actually the mechanism that controlled a head, torso, and one arm--and peered through the boards. Renke and his partner were groping their way down the corridor. Renke’s companion tripped over the track that controlled the cars. He fell in front of one of the small vehicles. The two passengers--a teenage couple--thought he was part of the show. They laughed.
The man stood and took a swing at one of the teens. The youth screamed. Martinez appeared down the road. He shouted above the noise, telling the man to freeze. Instead, the gunman spun around and pointed his pistol at Martinez. As Lyle tried to shove his gun through the boards and take aim, Martinez fired.
Chapter 72
The bald gunman fell to the side, crashing through the false-front scenery. Before Martinez could get to him, he stumbled off, swearing. Lyle ran around to the end of the passageway hoping to cut off Renke, but Renke was nowhere in sight. Lyle moved farther along the ride’s path toward the sound of shots in the distance. He knew the shots were sound effects at the end of the ride. The ride mirrored the climax of the movie. The cars were steered down a lane lined with ghouls on one side, an armed sheriff’s posse on the other. As the cars approached, the automated lawmen started shooting across the road at the ghouls. Just as the cars were about to enter the line of fire, the road suddenly dipped and passengers sped down a steep chute toward the exit.
Before the riders reached the shoot-out, cars slowed and passed through a farmyard brightly lit from flames that engulfed a smashed-up truck. Natural gas provided the fuel for the flames. Lyle always marveled at the authenticity the blaze lent to the scene.
As he moved around in front of the burning truck, he noticed the cars passing him were empty. Kate had stopped new passengers from entering the ride. Lyle hurried ahead realizing he was backlit by the flames.
“Deming.”
He turned and saw Renke twenty feet away, standing on the edge of the road, pointing his gun at him. Renke took a half step back to get out of the way of an empty car as it passed. “Drop it.”
Lyle tossed his gun down on a chicken coop.
“Finally asshole, you’re gone.”
Renke raised his arm, aiming squarely at Lyle’s chest. As he did, Lyle dropped flat on the ground behind the chicken coop.
In the same moment--behind Renke--Kate appeared inside an approaching car where she had been crouching. She held her pistol in her right hand. Renke didn’t turn around.
Instead of shooting, Kate swung her gun in a short arc and hit Renke in the neck. His arm jolted to the left as he fired. He fell and the shot went wild. Kate jumped from the car and pinned him down. He’d hit his head on a genuine boulder--not all the props were fiberglass. His grip on the gun relaxed. Kate pulled it out of his hand. He didn’t move.
Lyle snatched up his gun and leaped across the road next to Kate. Above the monotonous, make-believe gunfire, the sound of two real gunshots ricocheted through the ride.
“Go ahead,” Kate said. “I’ve got him.”
Lyle jumped into an empty car and it took him to the sound of the shots, both real and artificial. As he approached the posse attack on the ghouls, he saw something was wrong. One of the ghouls had a gun and he was shooting at the posse.
As he got closer, Lyle saw the armed ghoul was really the huge gunman Martinez had wounded. With his bald head, crazed expression, and shirt soaked with his own blood, the gunman looked like another artificial zombie. On the other side of the road, Martinez was sprawled on the ground next to an automated, make-believe deputy. Blood covered his right shoulder. His gun was in the dirt, six feet away.
The gunman took slow, staggering steps toward the road, to get an unobstructed shot at Martinez. Lyle leveled his gun at the live ghoul, now just a few feet away. Martinez saw Lyle. So did the gunman. As Lyle squeezed the trigger, his car jerked downward at the exit chute. His shot missed.
He let go of the gun, stepped on the seat, and leaped for the edge of the road. As he flew toward solid ground, his shoulder collided with the gunman’s ankles. The man struggled for a second, then pitched, head-first, over Lyle and onto the roadway thirty feet below.
Chapter 73
“How’d you do it?” Lyle asked. “I lost track of you when the ambulances arrived. How’d you get Renke to talk?”
“After you left,” Kate said, “he started to come around. I could see he wasn’t completely conscious so I told him we needed to blow up the train, but I didn’t know where the explosives were.”
“Renke thought you were on his side?”
“He was delirious.”
“You have that effect on people.”
“I told him they were coming for us and he had to tell me quickly. I said the explosion would be a distraction. We could get away.”
A San Navarro County sheriff’s deputy motioned for Lyle and Kate to step farther back. They were standing above a ravine, looking at a flood-lit scene of deputies and a bomb-disposal crew working near a stretch of railroad track.
“Renke should never have come to Arizona,” Lyle said.
“Bedrosian offered him more money, plus the chance to get even with us. He couldn’t resist.”
“With Sean’s help, he knew damn near everything there was to know about the park.”
“I feel sorry for Drenda. She was close to her father. Saw him almost every day. She didn’t know he was working with Bedrosian.”
“I wonder how Bedrosian recruited him.”
“They must have met when the FedPat loan was negotiated,” Kate said. “Sean was still closely involved with NC back then.”
“So when Bedrosian learned that Sean and Max had a falling out, he moved in. Maybe bribed him. Maybe stroked his ego, told him he should be running the park instead of Max.”
“So Sean started to figure out ways to sabotage the park.”
“He’d done business with the Indians through his shop for years,” Lyle said. “Maybe he used his contacts to persuade Cooper to wreck the bridge.”
“And anything he didn’t already know about NC, he got by pumping Drenda.”
“That’s how he found out we were staying in Provincetown.”
“Must have been bitter. He couldn’t afford Drenda’s college tuition, so Max paid for it. Then somehow Max ran him out of Nostalgia City.”
“Kate, back there in the ride. Thank you. You saved my bacon. That’s twice now.”
“Yeah, I did, didn’t I?” Kate grinned.
“Is that a superior look I see?”
“What? You want me to say, ‘Warn’t nuthin’. Just doin’ my job’? I think that’s a guy thing.”
Lyle looked into the ravine and saw Sheriff Jeb Wisniewski making his way up the hill. He wore a uniform shirt and gun belt over jeans.
Wisniewski’s cowboy boots dug into the loose soil and he stepped up on the rise next to Lyle and Kate. “So if you two have this whole shit-mess solved, would you mind telling me who’s what, and why in hell they’ve been trying to destroy the park?”
“Like we said in Vincent’s office,” Lyle said, “FedPat Corporation wanted to take over. They hired Renke and his thugs. Turns out, Sean Maxwell was giving them inside information.”
“All that crap was true, huh? Be damned. Well, the little explosive charge is out of the wa
y. They had it so the engine coming by would set it off. You can run your train across now, no problem.”
“That deputy...” Kate said.
“Yeah,” Lyle said, “the one out in front of my condo. Is he--”
“He’s in big trouble. But he’s not hurt bad, if that’s what you mean. They just knocked him out.”
Chapter 74
“And so, ladies and gentlemen, the turmoil, the protests, the discord that was a big part of the country as America lurched from the sixties to the seventies, that created the foundation for today’s world. The upheaval shocked our society and forced us to look at ourselves in a new light.”
Archibald Maxwell stood on the bunting-covered dais and spoke to the hundreds of media representatives, tourists, and employees who crowded into Protest Plaza--the newest theme area at Nostalgia City. At the back of the crowd, listening conscientiously, Lyle and Kate stood in front of a sales cart that displayed tie-dyed shirts and peace-sign medallions.
“Much of the equality and tolerance--and yes, love--that we have today grew out of the protest marches of the past decades,” Max intoned. “To truly appreciate the authentic joy of those times that Nostalgia City represents, I realized it was important for us to put all the events of the past into perspective. And into our exhibits. Our dedication of this plaza today, the ’60s and ’70s news gallery plus the civil rights exhibit and the veterans’ memorial, symbolize the accomplishments and the heartache that marked the era.”
“I didn’t know he felt this way,” Lyle said. “This is an amazing speech.”
“Thanks. I wrote it.”
“Then Max doesn’t...”
“Oh, he does, in his own way. But it dawned on me, when I was writing this speech, that Max was an adult when the protests were going on. He didn’t take time for politics because he was struggling to make a living. But he’s come around. He understands what the protests brought about.”
“It all depends on your perspective,” Lyle said. “Everything does. Remember what I told you about Vietnam?”
“About accepting the past, because you can’t change it?”
“It’s true for everything in life. My dad, Collins and Bensen at the PD, everything. It’s past. Gone. My dad pushed me into things, but it was what he thought he had to do. It’s done now. Nothing to do but accept it. Everything.”
“And so you’re moving on?”
“I’m workin’ on it.” He held up his wrist to display the rubber band.
“You still need that?”
“Keeps me centered.”
“Maybe you should try TM.”
“I’ve been thinking about meditation. It’ll also help to be back in my comfortable cab, in a nice, quiet theme park.”
“I don’t see your police escort this morning.”
“The sheriff decided I was worth a risk.”
“I’m glad he agreed to keep the details of last night’s shooting under wraps.”
“At least until the media go home.”
“Your saving Martinez didn’t hurt. How’s the bullet wound?”
“Mine or his?”
“Yours.”
“It was a scratch. I’ve got it taped up. Martinez is okay, too.”
“And Renke’s in the hospital and his men are...”
“In jail or, in Morgan’s case, the morgue.” Lyle looked at the peace-sign medallions, hefting one of the larger ones in his hand. “Rey said they can prove that big guy is the one who killed my dad. They got statements from the others, and a stray fingerprint matched.”
“What about Johnny Cooper?”
“He and the sheriff have an agreement. It’ll work out.”
Kate turned toward Lyle. “You know, I suspected Bates for a while. He knew about your background all along. I thought he brought it up when he did just to divert suspicion from himself.”
“I wondered about him, too. He did know my background from the start. The only reason he recommended me to investigate is because he thought I was a nut case who wouldn’t threaten his job. Marko told me he earned some commendations at the FBI. Guess Max will keep him around.”
“For one second, I was worried about Max. I saw the name Maxwell on Kevin’s calendar. But it was Sean who came to see him. He probably wanted to find out if Kevin suspected anything.”
***
As Max worked toward the conclusion of his speech, Kate led Lyle around the crowd and behind the platform. “I want you to see the exhibits and shops.”
Two sides of the new plaza were lined with displays featuring newspaper front pages, their headlines telling a story of recent history: Martin Luther King’s assassination, anti-war protests, Nixon’s resignation, and many other events. Kate and Lyle walked past the exhibits to a new store at the back of the square, Mrs. Ashbury’s. It offered long, Indian-cotton dresses, fringed vests, beads, necklaces, incense, and posters.
“Cool,” Lyle said, “a headshop.” He pointed to a window display of three white jars. The small China containers were labeled, Marijuana, Hash, and LSD.
“There’s no drugs for sale here. It’s a joke.” Kate grinned. “I hope Max is ready for hippie culture.”
Lyle looked at his watch. “By now the cops in Boston have rounded up Bedrosian and anyone else who was in on the scam.”
“Kevin will be glad to testify against him, especially after Bedrosian sent Renke’s men after him.”
“And hey, I got an email from FedPat. They’re going to cover all of Samantha’s expenses.”
“That was quick,” Kate said.
“Had to be a coincidence. But in the future, I think they’ll know who I am.”
Kate and Lyle wandered along the square and stopped in front of a coffee house.
“We tried to make this espresso joint look authentic for the period,” Kate said. “But it came out looking like a Starbucks.”
“Have time for coffee today, or do you have to pick up Bruce?”
“No problem. Bruce is still working on the condo sale.”
“Maybe we could go to the movies. There’s a new double bill at the NC Cinema. Looks good.”
“I know. The Godfather and Easy Rider.”
***
“As we look to the future,” Max boomed, “we see an expanded view of the past. Different directions and different expressions for Nostalgia City.”
“What’s he mean by that?” Lyle asked.
“Didn’t you know? Max wants to widen our market. We’re pushing up to the ’80s.”
“Cool. I’ll get out my Blondie albums.”
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Many thanks to the editorial team at Black Opal Books for polishing my prose and making this book happen. I’m indebted to Lauri Wellington, Faith, Reyana and the rest of the talented professionals.
I consulted a variety of people for editing assistance and technical details on subjects including insurance, law enforcement, flight scheduling, and music. Many thanks to Christel Hall, Denise Harrison, Gene Michals, Craig Holland, J. David Pincus, Sgt. Jim Mead, Angie White, Gary and Shirley Bria, Jane Gorby and Jacci Wilson. Any errors here are mine not theirs.
Also, I wish to recognize mentors and friends, Arnold Weitzen, Dayle Molen, Jim Tucker, Nathan Heard, Bev Place, Barbara Cloud and David Shaw.
Thanks to my wife, Anne, for her love and support.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Mark S. Bacon began his career as a newspaper police reporter in southern California. He later became a copywriter, creating ads and commercials for cars, electronics, and Knott’s Berry Farm, the California theme park. He is the author of several business books including one that was named a best business book of the year by the Library Journal and printed in four languages. His articles have appeared in The Washington Post, Cleveland Plain Dealer, Kansas City Star, USAir Magazine, and many other publications. Most recently, he was a regular contributor for the San Francisco Chronicle. Bacon has taught journalism at Cal Poly University -- Pomona, the University of Redlands, and the
University of Nevada.
His early background, covering a police beat daily and working for a theme park, influenced his creation of Nostalgia City, the setting for his first murder mystery novel. Bacon is also the author of two collections of mystery flash fiction stories. He lives in Reno with his wife, Anne, and their golden retriever.
GENRE: MYSTERY-DETECTIVE/SUSPENSE/ROMANTIC ELEMENTS
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, businesses, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only. The publisher does not have any control over or assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their contents.
DEATH IN NOSTALGIA CITY
Copyright © 2014 by Mark S. Bacon
Cover Design by Jacci Wilson
Map by Alice Pierce
All cover art copyright © 2014
All Rights Reserved
EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-626941-73-1
FIRST PUBLICATION: OCTOBER 4, 2014
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
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