Vengeance: A Reece Culver Thriller - Book 1 (22 page)

Chapter Sixty-Eight

S
am Shanks and
Vinton Blackwell stood in the front yard.

“Who the hell do you suppose that was up in that airplane?” Shanks yelled, pointing his finger toward the taller man’s chest.

“I imagine it was just some flight students out doing maneuvers,” Vinton said calmly.

Shanks reached into his pants pocket for his ringing cell phone. He walked away from Blackwell as he answered his call.

In short order he returned. “Okay then, thanks for the call. I’ll make it up to you later,” Shanks said, ending the call.

“Who was that?” Blackwell asked.

“None of your goddamned business,” Shanks growled.

The two men stared at one another like dogs ready to fight. Shanks’ lower lip was twitching and Vinton pulled his hands into fists. Shanks finally turned his back on Blackwell, walking back toward the house. His phone rang again.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“You saw them too. What did you make of it?” Shanks said.

“Two men. Did you get a look at them?”

“Yeah, I see, so what’d you do a stupid thing like that for?” Shanks asked. “Remember our plan. We don’t want any attention. The last thing we want is someone reporting gunshots.”

“Who was that?” Blackwell asked, coming up behind.

“The gate guard. He took a few shots at the plane the second time it came over,” Shanks said, exasperated. “We’ve got to get all of this shit under control or we’re going to lose what we’ve all worked so hard for.” Shanks turned his fury on Blackwell. “Do me a favor. Get that daughter of yours back in line and don’t let her pull any more stupid tricks.”

“You be careful what you say about Crystal,” Blackwell yelled right back. “If it wasn’t for her, your buddy Owen would have led us straight to prison. She’s sacrificed a lot for you, old man.”

“Who are you calling old? I’ve had enough of this. If you’re going to continue to work for me, you’ll get yourself together,” Shanks said. “When we get to South America, you and your daughter can do what you want, but between now and then you both still work for me.”

*

Later that day, Shanks stood in his upstairs bedroom, brooding about Blackwell and all he’d done to ruin Tracey Roberts’ life. He’d been thinking about her each night when he’d drift off to sleep and found the thoughts of a woman he once loved comforting. That’s not to mention what Blackwell had done to Owen Roberts. Owen had been a snitch but deserved better than to have been handcuffed to the steering wheel of a truck and gunned down in cold blood. Vinton Blackwell was a problem and needed to be taken care of.

He stared at his image in the dresser mirror in his bedroom. Blackwell had to be taken care of but how? Shanks liked the idea of Ecuador, but he wanted a sure thing. He considered the plan for the upcoming burglary. He thought about tipping off the police so that Blackwell would be caught inside the home red-handed.

“No good,” Shanks said out loud.
That would only bring the police back here.

“Vinton Blackwell is a dead man,” Shanks said out loud, grinning at himself in the mirror.

He heard a creak outside his bedroom door and turned to see who was there. The door to the laundry room squeaked just down the hall. Shanks walked to his bedroom door and looked down toward the adjacent door. He caught the scent of cigarette smoke and went down the hall to see who had the nerve to smoke in the upstairs of his home. Before he’d taken his second step, he knew who’d be there. Shanks thought of his earlier comment spoken out loud. He cringed, not wanting a confrontation.

Blackwell emerged from the laundry room with a lit cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

“I heard you to talking to yourself in there. You crazy bastard, are you losing it or what?” Blackwell said with a knowing smile.

Chapter Sixty-Nine

R
eece thought about
the phone call he’d just received from Haisley’s wife, Mavis Averton. The Toyota dealer in Tulsa had contacted her the day before. They’d been trying to reach his mother Helen to let her know the Camry was ready to be picked up. Mavis didn’t seem too worried about Helen and mentioned maybe she’d gone out of town for a few days with one of her lady friends. She’d gone on to tell him that Helen and her friends were selling canned fruits at local swap meets to make extra money. Reece had asked why the dealer called Mavis. How the dealer had gotten her number? She’d told him they found a small phone book in the center console with her number in it.

It seemed weird to him that his mother didn’t answer her cell phone. Reece picked up his phone and dialed his mother’s number once again. It went right to voicemail like the phone was turned off.

“Mom, it’s Reece. When you get this, give me a call. I hope you’re doing okay. I love you.”

Reece propped himself up with two pillows at the head of his motel bed and paged through his notes on his laptop. He still wasn’t clear about whether Tracey Roberts was alive and if so, where she was hidden. At least they’d gained some clarity. It made sense that Blackwell and Shanks were working together at the enclave in the mountains, and the bullet hole in the wingtip of the rented Cessna confirmed that he’d been flying over the right place.

Reece felt the vibration of his phone in his pocket and pulled it out to answer.

“Hello.”

“Reece, it’s Natalie. How are things going up in the mountains?”

“Good. I think I’ve figured out where Sam Shanks and Vinton Blackwell are holed up.”

“Do you want me to set something up with the local sheriffs office so you guys can go in?”

“No, let’s hold off on that until I verify we’ve got the right place,” Reece said. “So, what’s going on down in Denver?”

“I did a little more digging and found an arrest of Vinton Blackwell in Santa Barbara County, California, back in 1997,” Natalie said.

Reece sat up abruptly. “That’s great. How much time did he serve?”

“One week in the county jail and then he was released on a technicality,” Natalie said.

“A technicality?”

“They forgot to Mirandize him,” Natalie said. “They had to release him, and by the time they got to a point where they could charge him with another crime, he’d vanished.”

“Interesting. Does the case file tell who he assaulted?”

“Tracey Roberts,” Natalie said. “Isn’t that the name of your missing person?”

Reece ended the call and sat staring at his phone.
So Tracey Roberts is alive, or was back in 1997. I wonder where she is now.

Chapter Seventy

V
inton Blackwell stood
at the kitchen counter of his Minturn villa, contemplating a hunch he’d had for the last week or so. The house was quiet. He headed up to the second floor, on his way to Crystal’s bedroom. The scent of her perfume pleased him. He thought of how nice it was having her living with him. It was good to have a woman around.

On the table beside her bed he spotted a thriller novel. Blackwell picked the book up and paged through it, not sure what he was looking for. He considered looking under her mattress and then dismissed the thought.
No one puts anything under the bed anymore.

He noticed a jewelry box on the dresser. The box was finished in dark mahogany, a little bigger than a cigar box but with twice the depth. Vinton opened it and found a wad of folded papers. He went through them. They were the papers Crystal signed the day she transferred jobs at the Federal Center. He folded them back up and placed the sheets of paper back into the box. Pressing the lid down, he noticed it wouldn’t close all the way. The last thing he wanted was for Crystal to discover he’d been snooping through her things. He needed her for one last burglary. Especially now that Michael Zimeratti was no longer around. Crystal would be a perfect replacement.

Vinton pulled the papers and a tray of rings out of the box and set them to the side. He pulled out a second green felt tray that held an assortment of gold and silver necklaces. Who had bought all of this jewelry for her? Underneath, he found three taupe envelopes. He picked up the first one, examined the postage mark and noted that there was no return address.

Blackwell read the letter. Who ever wrote it was telling Crystal that she’d met a sophisticated man who was charming and was going to take her away. At the bottom of the letter he saw the name Tracey.

“That fucking bitch! I should have cut her throat when I had the chance!” Blackwell shouted. He thought of the last time he’d seen her. He’d done savage things to her, things that would drive a person crazy. The vein in his right temple was throbbing. He wanted to kill someone.
Crystal. I’ll slit her throat. No, not Crystal. What’s wrong with me? I need her.

He stormed out of the bedroom and ran down the stairs to the kitchen. He was headed for the knives in the butcher’s block. He pulled out the meat cleaver and slammed it down against the marble counter leaving a white mark where the sharp edge hit the polished rock.

Maddened by his thoughts, Vinton picked the knife up and pressed his thumb against the blade, drawing blood.
I should have ended that bitch when I had a chance. Another man. That’s what she did last time back in Santa Barbara. I thought I taught her a lesson. I put her in a god damned mental institution. Wasn’t that enough?

Chapter Seventy-One

A
fter eating lunch,
Reece climbed into the Tahoe wearing jeans, hiking boots, and a ski jacket. He and Haisley had filled Mobley in on what they’d seen from the air and their plan to go see what they could turn up on foot. Reece drove the truck west on I-70, following Haisley’s directions as they navigated to the waypoint he’d saved on his handheld GPS receiver.

He hoped they’d get a chance to verify that Blackwell and Shanks were at the compound they’d seen from the air. He’d decided not to mention the bullet hole in the wing to Mobley, but because of it he’d brought along his gun, and a box of bullets.

“Take the Highway 24 exit to Minturn. It’s just ahead,” Haisley said, sounding like he was excited. Mobley had his window down, smoking and coughing in between puffs. It reminded Reece of Crystal’s Aunt Fletcher and her oxygen, and he thanked himself for never picking up the habit.

“You’re going to take a left onto Line Shack Road up here,” Haisley said. Reece followed his directions and took them onto the forest-lined road. The gravel ricocheted into the fenders of the truck, and he noticed the air coming out of the vents had cooled considerably since they’d left the hotel.

Reece guessed it was about ninety minutes or so before sunset, and was hopeful they’d have enough time to see something. He could feel his adrenaline building and was excited to be getting close to the man who’d murdered his father one and a half years earlier. The road turned to rough gravel, and after a mile or so they took a left at a place where it split off in two directions forming a Y. He heard Mobley rummaging through his backpack and wondered what he was doing. Reece eyed him in the rearview mirror, then glanced back ahead. The road was dropping downhill and traversed a series of sharp switchbacks.

“There’s a good spot up there on the left. It looks like an old logging road. Pull off there,” Haisley said. Reece put the truck into four-wheel drive and eased down the trail until they came to a spot where several trees had fallen, blocking further progress. As they got out of the truck, Reece noticed once again that Mobley had put on a bulletproof vest and a sidearm in a holster. Reece had to question if Mobley knew more than he’d let on.

They used the GPS to move up a hill on their right. Mobley lagged behind the whole way, wheezing and coughing, and Reece figured it wouldn’t be long before he turned back. He topped the hill with Haisley just behind—and saw a large stone house to the west. It was about a half mile away in a straight line, but probably a couple of miles by road. Reece took the lens cap off the camera and cranked the zoom, pointing toward the house.

He thought of his father and the photographs he’d taken at the Malum Farms casino on the last day of his life. He wanted revenge, and he needed to get Vinton Blackwell not only to settle the score, but also to redeem himself.

Reece spied the same trucks he’d seen from the air, but the black Range Rover was gone. He heard crunching and looked over to see Mobley making his way out of the forest to their right.

“Do you think you could pick a steeper hill to climb?” Mobley blurted out, still wheezing. His face was bright red and his hair was wet with sweat.

“You better sit down, Mike,” Haisley said, pointing at a large rock. Reece stared at the house through the lens and saw movement near the front door. He started snapping off pictures, hoping to get something he could analyze later.

“That looks like Shanks,” Haisley said. Reece looked to his left and saw him squinting through a pair of large green military-issue binoculars.

“Let me see,” Mobley said, jumping up from the rock. Mobley took the binoculars from Haisley and stood watching the house.

“We got those bastards,” Mobley said, making his first complete sentence since scaling the hill.

Reece followed the others down the hill toward the Tahoe in the dim light. The sun was dropping fast, and the last bits of light were yielding to darkness. Haisley was just ahead and Mobley was leading the way, cracking twigs underfoot and griping every step of the way. Reece smelled smoke and wondered if there was ever a time he didn’t require a cigarette. As Reece slid downward at a weird angle in the loose footing, he grabbed the rough bark of a pine tree, trying to slow his descent

They got to the truck, and Reece backed the Tahoe out of the woods and onto the gravel road. It was almost dark and he drove slowly with his high beams on, remembering the switchbacks they’d descended earlier.

“When we get back to the hotel, we need to come up with a plan. I don’t want to wait on this. I don’t want Cox stepping in and blowing this thing.” Reece said.

“We’re with you on this, Reece. We’ll figure something out, and put these bastards behind bars for good,” Haisley said.

As Reece drove around one of the switchbacks, he saw a flash of light through the trees. He turned left, driving up the steep road, and curved back to his right. Coming around the corner, he saw a large moving van pointing straight at them with its high beams on. It was coming fast and he was blinded. Reece hit the brakes and the Tahoe started to skid in the gravel toward the left shoulder. The truck stopped just short of a steep cliff, but the headlights were shooting off the steep drop into blackness.

“Back up, back up!” Mobley yelled.

Reece slammed the transmission into reverse, stomped on the gas pedal, and took them backward away from the cliff. All the while the moving truck was just sitting there in the middle of the road. Reece slowed their retreat as he neared the curve and wondered if he might be able to pull a U-turn.

“We’ve got company coming up behind us fast,” Mobley yelled.

“Guns,” Haisley said, then bumped Reece’s arm with his palm outward as if to say give me yours, but Reece kept both hands on the steering wheel and yanked left, shooting the tail end of the truck to the right for a U-turn. He hit the gas, pulling them forward in the opposite direction. They shot down the hill toward the other moving van. He saw a chance to slip past the truck on the right side, but couldn’t be sure if there was enough room. It was now or nothing.

“Hold on, I’m going for it !” he yelled. As they got close to the truck, it looked like he was going to make it. They were just about past when Reece heard the truck’s engine rev and felt their rear bumper smash into the side of the Tahoe. He floored the gas pedal, hoping to shoot by.

The bumper of the moving truck was grinding into the side of the Tahoe, and Reece could hear the metal crushing. They were sliding sideways. The Tahoe was starting to tip, and the right front tire was off the side of the cliff. Reece bit his lip and cringed.

“Holy shit!” Haisley yelled.

Reece pulled his foot off the accelerator and thought about trying to reverse, but it was too late. He jammed on the brake pedal and felt the nose of the Tahoe going over the side. In the rearview mirror the face of the truck driver was giving him a shit-eating grin. Reece squeezed the steering wheel in anger and held on.

The Tahoe capsized and started rolling sideways down the steep embankment. In the rapid revolutions Reece lost all sense of which way was up. He heard the engine of the Tahoe rev and Mobley talking loudly, but not making sense. Pushing his feet past the brake pedal into the floorboard, Reece tried to brace himself for some kind of stability. The noise was horrendous with snapping trees and scraping metal.

He heard the other two groaning. Reece closed his eyes and hung onto the steering wheel. His ears filled with the sound of breaking glass. At any second he expected the Tahoe to explode into a fireball, killing them all.

When the noise stopped, Reece lay in a daze. His head was throbbing the same way it had the day he’d been in that St. Louis interrogation room. He smelled gas and fought to open his eyes. He could feel gravity pushing his head into the ceiling. The Tahoe was upside down, and he was still strapped into the truck by the seatbelt across his lap and shoulder.

Reece opened both eyes and looked out the shattered windshield. A large tree limb had punctured it a few inches to the right of his head and scraped the side of his face. He struggled with the seatbelt and unlatched it, falling down into a crumpled mess on the headliner. Reece tried the door, but it was jammed shut. He heard a groan from somewhere behind and looked into the rearview mirror to see what it was. The mirror was gone. Reece heard voices in the distance yelling. They were coming closer. He pulled desperately on the door handle, rocking back and forth trying to get out. He could still smell that gas and was beginning to panic.

Something touched his left shoulder and Reece looked over. Haisley was poking him with a tree branch. He was outside the truck, kneeling on the ground. His forehead was stained with blood and his eyes were bloodshot.

“You got to get out of there, Culver. Can’t you smell the gas?”

Reece tried the door again and Haisley ran around the front of the truck to help. The two men tried, but they couldn’t get it to budge.

The smell of gasoline was intensifying and the voices up above were getting closer. Reece could make out their words. Shanks’s men were coming for them. He had to get out. He thought about kicking out what was left of the front windshield, but he was in an awkward position and couldn’t get his legs up to kick out the glass.

“Use my side, Reece. You got to get out before this thing blows.”

Crawling across the ceiling, Reece got to Haisley’s door. He spied a small gap where Haisley had kicked it open to get out earlier.

He squeezed through and felt the steel door frame scrape hard across his back. Reece tried to stand up, but he was dizzy, and he dropped instantly to his butt. He was trying to stay conscious. His head was spinning and he felt his left eye twitching. To calm himself, Reece took deep breaths. He smelled the gas and tried once again to stand. He was on his feet, but he felt wobbly. The voices up above him, Shanks men, were getting closer.

“Where’s Mobley?” Reece said under his breath.

“He’s right here, but he doesn’t look good,” Haisley said.

Reece felt the twinge of a smile and felt like asking if Mobley ever looked good. Using the truck for support, he made his way around the back of the Tahoe and saw Mobley’s backpack. He reached inside for it, watching a trickle of fluid run down the slope toward his boot. He sniffed the air and realized it was gasoline.

Reece stumbled around the truck toward Haisley, with the backpack hoisted over his right shoulder. It was heavy and he wondered what Mobley had brought along. Haisley had the heavy man propped up against a tree and was wiping blood out of his eyes with the back of his shirtsleeve. Mobley wasn’t moving.

The voices from above were getting louder. Reece heard a gunshot and felt Haisley’s hand on his bicep, urging him down the hill. No words were spoken, but Reece knew what Haisley wanted. Together, they picked Mobley up, and with him leaning down with an arm around each of their necks started skidding down the steep slope. Mobley grimaced fiercely in pain and Reece was glad he was still alive.

They hobbled their way down the loose-scree slope, gaining distance from the truck. Reece could distinguish the voices and figured there were two or three men hot on their trail. He reached into his coat and felt his gun in the right pocket and a smashed box of ammo in his left. He kept skidding down the mountain, trying to keep from dumping Mobley. They started going out of control, and Reece grabbed a tree to slow his descent. The rough pine bark scraped his hand, drawing blood. He felt the pain and took a deep breath. He almost went down sliding across a patch of ice and then stepped in between two branches, stopping when his foot sank into the deep snow.

Up above, he could hear tree limbs breaking near where the truck had come to a stop. Reece pushed Haisley’s shoulder and held his finger to his mouth.

The two men stood silent, listening, and could make out three voices.

“Do you see tracks? Which way did they go?”

They pressed on, edging down and to their right, away from the truck and the men who were hunting them. The forest was pitch black now and Reece started to feel lightheaded again, squinting to see.

He lost his footing on some loose shale and stumbled. Haisley made an “oomph” sound, and all three of them went down, sliding toward who knows what in the darkness. Reece’s foot caught a tree and he spun sideways, coming to a stop. He caught someone’s arm and stopped him too. Reece lay there, stunned, catching his breath. For the first time he had a chance to notice the beauty of the starlit blackness above.