Desert Kill Switch

by Mark S. Bacon

  “Did he know Busick wanted to move RSD?”

  “I’m sure he did--even though he lied and said he didn’t.”

  “Doesn’t sound like Jacques would kill him, but why did he deny knowing about moving the event?”

  “I don’t trust him for several reasons. That’s one of them. He might even think he’d benefit by turning me in. Could you scope out his office tomorrow? We need to talk with him before I show my face at Busick Motors again, just in case. He lied to the police so we have some leverage.”

  The table pushed away, Lyle and Kate sat in chairs next to each other. Lyle reached over and put a hand on Kate’s arm. “I’ll run him down first thing. Want me to find out what he knows, put a scare into him?”

  “I’d like to be there, too. I have an appointment early in the morning. When you find his office, maybe we could meet there later.”

  “What are you doing tomorrow morning?”

  “I’m interviewing Busick’s stepson at the muscle car lot.”

  “I’ve never seen him,” Lyle said, “but I talked to a lot of car collectors in Reno and every time I mentioned his name, people got a funny look on their faces. And I don’t mean that like Rick is a funny guy. I got the impression he’s about as honest and easy going as Busick was.”

  “I’ll let you know--” Kate pulled on her glasses. “--when Jennifer Wicker has a talk with Ricky.”

  “That’s something else. I’m told that Mr. Rick Stark has a distinct dislike for the name Ricky. Where’d you pick it up?”

  “I got it from Louise, his mother. And Nina calls him Ricky too. She’s the girlfriend at work that I mentioned.”

  “Be careful tomorrow.”

  “Oh, Ricky--Rick--wouldn’t strike a poor woman in a wheelchair.”

  “Nevertheless, I’m in town now, and you have my number.”

  “Thanks, Lyle. Working together, I have a feeling things’ll work out.”

  “Guess I’d better see about getting a room here.” Lyle stood up.

  “Yes, it’s best.”

  Chapter 41

  Mr. Rick is not here yet, but you can wait in the office,” said a man with an Eastern European accent. Kate had parked a block away and rolled into the Busick Pony Cars lot, glasses in place, brown hair arranged, more or less.

  A row of highly polished, powerful looking cars of a vintage Kate’s dad would envy sat in front of a showroom building. As Kate started to pivot the chair and roll inside, a silver SUV with dark tinted windows and Busick Pony Cars painted on the door pulled up and stopped next to her. Stark rolled down the window and smiled, a slightly crooked, boyish smile she didn’t see yesterday. She wheeled her chair back to let Stark open the door and get out.

  “Ms. Wicker,” Stark said, stepping down, still smiling. “Sorry I’m late.”

  Kate knew she was early so Stark’s apology was an unnecessary courtesy.

  “Let’s go inside. How are you this morning?”

  He moved his trim body gracefully. He wore light-colored slacks, a short-sleeved linen shirt, and expensive-looking loafers. Perfect business dress for the weather. It would be well over 100 degrees today.

  A long entry ramp--specifically for wheelchairs, Kate assumed--fronted the office making it easy for Kate to roll herself inside. The general manager’s office occupied a corner of the large room and was separated by glass partitions. The opening to the office lacked a door. While retro pin-up posters and car parts hanging on the walls made the majority of the room look like a sports bar, Stark’s office was furnished with a sleek, light-wood desk and matching chairs and tables. Stark pushed aside a chair to give Kate room to roll her wheelchair in front of his desk.

  “Let me get you some coffee,” he said.

  “Thanks, just black.”

  Stark returned in a moment and set a mug bearing the Mercedes-Benz logo at the edge of his desk, in front of Kate. As he moved around the desk, Kate got the impression of an Olympic swimmer, a lean, athletic body, hair and beard trimmed short, muscular arms. Certainly the antithesis of his lately departed stepfather.

  “So, this is an obituary of Alvin Busick,” he began.

  “More like a profile.”

  “Okay. How long have you worked for Lifestyle Vegas?”

  “I don’t work for them, per se. I’m a freelancer on assignment.”

  “Is that difficult?”

  “Freelancing is not the most lucrative occupation. But it has rewards. I get to meet lots of remarkable people.”

  Stark offered his crooked smile and Kate followed up to get the conversation on him, not her. “How old were you when Mr. Busick and your mother got married?”

  “That was about fifteen years ago, so I would have been in my late teens.”

  “College?”

  “For a couple of years. I thought you were writing about my stepfather.”

  “I am. Just a little background. Did you go to work for the Busick company after college?”

  “Not right away. I wasn’t interested.”

  “In the car business?”

  Stark leaned forward. With elbows on his desk he brought his hands together steeple fashion and brushed his moustache. “Honestly, we didn’t have the greatest relationship. Al didn’t have kids of his own. He didn’t know how to relate to a stepson.”

  But he did okay with babes in the office, I’ll bet, Kate thought and made a mental note to follow up on Busick’s girlfriends.

  “Things were tough,” Stark continued. “Al just bought the third dealership when the big recession hit. He...ah...he worked a lot of hours.”

  As Kate asked questions about Busick, Stark’s smile seemed more difficult to maintain. When someone walked into his office, Stark looked as if he welcomed the interruption.

  “Rick,” said the man Kate had seen earlier, “Manuel is great mechanic but he not know how to maintain this kind of classic.”

  Stark excused himself, walked into the main office area, and became part of a three-way conversation. The man with the accent talked to another man wearing coveralls. Kate couldn’t hear what they said, but they appeared to be arguing--until Kate caught a menacing look on Stark’s face. It lasted just a moment, but the mechanic became quiet and took a step back. Soon Stark and the man with the accent walked back, talking softly. Kate made eye contact with the other man forcing Stark to introduce him.

  “Jennifer, this is Alex Rudenko. He’s working with us on some special cars.”

  “Is pleased to meet you,” Rudenko said then took Stark’s cue to leave.

  “Is he from Ukraine, or someplace like that?” Kate asked.

  “Sounds like it, doesn’t it? Alex is a good friend. We’re partnering with his company for some classic sales.”

  “Expensive cars?”

  “Most of our cars are expensive, compared to what you’d buy a new car for. Mostly for collectors.”

  Kate heard a noise, turned and saw another man standing in the doorway.

  “Sorry we bother you,” he said with an accent that mirrored Rudenko’s. Manuel, he say ve put wrong part in suspension.”

  The tall, dark-haired man was in his twenties. He, too, wore coveralls and waved his hands when he spoke.

  “Dammit, Sergei, tell Alex to deal with it.” Stark’s voice had an edge. “What the fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

  “Ah, we were talking about Al building the business,” Kate said. “When did this classic car enterprise start?”

  This time Stark clasped his hands and extended two index fingers to rub his moustache. “About five years ago. He bought the lot from a used car dealer, then he purchased inventory from a dealer in California. Except most of the cars he got were crap. Had to do lots of restoring.”

  “And you’re running this now?”

  “Yes. I manage the lot, go to the car shows when we exhibit, arrange for restorations, stay in touch with collectors. Lots of details. Al never had time to understand it. You can’t sell a ’fifty-seven Chevy like you do a Pri
us. But that didn’t stop him from...”

  “Meddling in your business?”

  “You going to put this in your article?”

  “No.” Kate set her pad on her lap and stopped taking notes. She waited for Stark to continue.

  He compressed his lips, lowered his brows. “I learned from him.”

  Kate wondered what wisdom Big Al might have imparted to his stepson. “Mr. Busick and you were both involved in the car event in Reno.”

  “Every year since Al joined the board.”

  “You live there?”

  “I have a small apartment and a storage space for car equipment. I only go for August and skiing in winter.”

  “You just came back from Reno, didn’t you?”

  Before Stark could answer, a loud voice carried across the office. “See what Rick says about that.” It was Rudenko.

  “Shit,” Stark said, getting out of his chair. He didn’t look at Kate as he rushed out a door to another part of the building, slamming the door as he went through it.

  Kate sat staring at Stark’s empty chair. Then she heard his voice. It echoed through the building. “No, never. Never again,” he shouted. “Get out of here, you fucking Mexican.” Almost immediately the building shook with the sound of a large garage door slamming down or a slab of metal hitting the floor.

  Kate eased back her chair and turned it around. She didn’t know what to expect next. After several minutes of silence, she started to roll herself out of Stark’s office. Rudenko appeared.

  “Mr. Rick is sorry. He have important job now. He says you can talk to him some other day.”

  Kate simply nodded, tried to smile, and rolled to the front door. Before she could move all the way down the ramp, her phone rang. Only one person had the number.

  “Sorry to bother you,” Lyle said. “I found Jacques. The people at his office say he’s leaving this afternoon on a business trip. We need to get to him soon.”

  Chapter 42

  “He just walked out of the building,” Lyle said as Kate pulled up in the ad agency parking lot. “Over there. Isn’t that him?”

  Kate had described Jacques, and Lyle had seen his picture on the agency’s website.

  “That’s Jacques,” she said.

  “Best thing is to follow, see where he goes.”

  Lyle jumped into Kate’s rental Ford and they watched Jacques’s Lexus back out and pull onto South Durango Drive. Lyle tried to watch Jacques’s car, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Kate. She looked almost like Kate again: blonde hair, no glasses. Only her makeup looked a bit off. A bright blue and green silk scarf wrapped around her head and trailed over her shoulder.

  “What’s happening?” Kate asked.

  “I called the office early and he wasn’t there. When I called back, they said he was about to leave on an out-of-town trip. He’s not driving toward the airport, so he’s probably going home first.”

  “So we’ll follow him ’til he gets home. Oops, turning already.”

  They followed Jacques into a neighborhood of large homes surrounded by mesquite trees, Palo Verde, and manicured desert landscaping. Jacques pulled into the drive of a substantial Spanish-style home. Kate stopped at the curb, down the block. Lyle and she both noticed the “for sale” sign near the front of the lot.

  “He’s had enough time to get in,” Lyle said after a few minutes. They walked to Jacques’s front door. “You did a quick change job. How’d you change your hair back?”

  Before Kate could answer, the front door opened. Although Lyle stood in front, Jacques looked past him and fixed his eyes on Kate. He stood taller than Lyle, about Kate’s height. He’d already taken off his coat and tie.

  “Marshall,” Kate said, “could we’d talk to you about the murder and about Rockin’ Summer Days?”

  “I’m really busy right now. I have to get back to Reno for the end of the event.”

  “We won’t take too long, but you’ll want to talk to us,” Kate said.

  Lyle took the first step into the house while Jacques still held the door, looking like he wanted to close it in their faces. Lyle noticed a sitting room off to the right, but Jacques didn’t move from the entry way.

  “Could we sit down and talk for a minute?” Kate said.

  When Jacques hesitated, Kate said, “We know Al Busick wanted to move Rockin’ Summer Days here to Vegas. I think you know the details.”

  Jacques frowned. Already, Lyle could see, Jacques didn’t like the way the conversation was going. “We can go in here,” Jacques said walking slowing into the nearby seating area. Lyle and Kate followed him, but he didn’t sit down. Jacques looked at Lyle as if he were a party crasher.

  Kate introduced Lyle and the two of them sat on a lush white couch. Jacques slowly lowered himself onto the edge of an upholstered chair opposite them.

  “Al’s death was tragic and caused a lot of uproar,” Jacques said.

  “More than meets the eye, it turns out,” Kate said.

  “How do you mean?”

  “Busick was scheming to move Rockin’ Summer Days to Vegas while he tried to blame me for it. Now the police are trying to blame me for his murder. At the same time, Al’s plans were already known to some people. You, for example.”

  Lyle and Kate had not spent much time discussing this meeting. Lyle listened as Kate took the lead.

  “So what makes you think I knew about it?”

  “You didn’t look too surprised just now when I mentioned it. And since you were Al’s closest buddy on the board, I’m sure he discussed it with you and his scheme to use me to divert suspicion.”

  Lyle looked at Jacques. His clothes were expensive, his house, a sprawling symbol of success. His haircut probably cost a hundred bucks. He clearly had a position and possessions to protect.

  “He might have mentioned something about a possibility to me,” Jacques said. “But I don’t think I want to have this conversation with you. From what I’ve seen in the news, you’re a fugitive.”

  “Yeah, that’s because someone stabbed big Al, and I got blamed for it. Maybe you did it.”

  “Ridiculous. I think we’re done.” Jacques stood up.

  Kate remained seated. “If I’m a dangerous fugitive, maybe you should humor me for a minute.”

  Lyle noticed a tiny smile forming at the corner of Jacques’s mouth. His eyes flashed for a moment.

  “So you seem to have fooled everyone at Busick Motors with your news reporter impersonation.” Jacques put his hands on his hips. His smile turned into a sneer.

  “You got me there, Marshall. But let’s take a look at your collusion and how it should make you the prime murder suspect.”

  Jacques grunted, remained standing.

  “This is what I think happened,” Kate said. “Al had big leverage over you because Busick Motors is your agency’s cash cow. Think of all those commissions on TV commercials. But you didn’t necessarily want to support moving RSD to Vegas, did you? You’ve opened an office in Reno and have picked up some accounts there. You’ve tried to land some big state-wide accounts like banks and utilities in the past and your move to Reno tells me you want to try it again. But what would happen if you help steal Reno’s biggest special event? You piss off the Reno chamber and the rest of the civic boosters and you’re back to being a one-city ad agency, cranking out tacky Busick Motors commercials.”

  “So I can just call the police, you know. I should have called them yesterday.” Jacques took a step toward Kate.

  “Let’s hear the rest of this, Marshall,” Lyle said standing up. “This is getting interesting.”

  “This is bullshit,” Jacques said. “My agency would be fine without Busick Motors.”

  “Really?” Kate said. “But you wanted it all. With Al out of the way you could claim ignorance of the Rockin’ Summer Days fiasco--as you told me you did with the police. Yes, you saw me at Busick Motors. And I saw you, too. Al’s dead, but the account lives on, right? Now you’ve got everything you want. Is that
why you killed him?”

  Jacques blew air out his lips. “I have an alibi for when he was killed.”

  “Maybe you do, Marshall, but you’d still have to explain everything to the police--including why you didn’t tell them about Busick’s plan in the first place.”

  “No one would believe you. You’re a fugitive. The cops wouldn’t listen,”

  “Right again. But I wouldn’t have to identify myself. My colleague here could do it. Did I tell you he’s an ex-detective sergeant? Or I could just use the secret witness program. The police would have to check it out. And of course I could also tell the story to the media. You’d get tarred pretty good in Reno.”

  Jacques sat down. Lyle could see his jaw muscles contract.

  “There’s got to be another way around this for Mr. Jacks,” Lyle said, “something that won’t wreck his career.”

  “Easy,” Kate said with a matter-of-fact look at Jacques. “Why don’t you just tell us the whole story now, and we’ll leave you alone? You probably didn’t stab Al, anyway.”

  Jacques eased back into his chair. “So, you know most of it already,” Jacques said after extracting Kate’s solemn promise to keep him out of her campaign to exonerate herself. “Al wanted to bring Rockin’ Summer Days to Vegas. He already had some local support and he picked out someone to run the event here. He figured he’d sell more classic cars, and his dealerships would be leading sponsors of the event. So he needed other board members to vote with him. Chris is an ex officio member without a vote. I didn’t have much choice, so I told him I’d vote for it. He tried to persuade Marge Drysdale. She refused. But then you came to town.”

  “And he blamed me.”

  “Yes. Nostalgia City was the perfect foil. You’re big time. You’ll own the nostalgia market before long. Al told Marge that Nostalgia City was going to take Rockin’ Summer Days away--somehow. Maybe start your own event and take our customers. Marge seemed to believe him. He said his plan would save RSD for Nevada, keep it from going out of state.”