The Assassin's Case (17 page)

TWENTY

Colonel Cane squeezed the crook of the walking stick. He held his temper in check through sheer force of will. “They all got away.
All
of them.”

              “Yes, sir.”

              Cane stood and began to pace around his desk, tapping the walking stick on the floor.

              “We did locate their hotel rooms. We recovered the case.”

              “Okay. Keep trying to locate them. If you don’t find them soon, return to base.”

              “Yes, s—”

The colonel ended the call with a jab of his finger. Grant Sawyer and Jimmy Tedesco had outmaneuvered him again. He swung the cane, smacking it against his palm. The men the two of them overpowered delivered their message. It made no difference.

He knew with his actions he had stepped, no leaped, over the line. But this command had been given to him for a reason. Duty first. He would do what must be done. Regardless.

* * * * *

The 1972 Ford F100 pickup creaked, groaned, and rattled its way to the top of the hill. Tedesco levered the three speed column shifter into a lower gear as they lost speed, a groaning-grind pealing from the transmission.

              The truck jounced over yet another pothole on the ancient dirt road, lifting Grant from the seat. The pale blue pickup’s paint was marred with rust, the suspension rattled, and the play in the steering wheel made it a battle to keep on the road. The blue vinyl seats were cracked and the interior had that unmistakable musty old car smell. Even so, the engine ran like a top. The truck had been purchased for twenty-seven thousand
pesos
, about two-thousand dollars, from the owner of a mom-and-pop store
the cab driver had taken them to. The owner, obviously a savvy business man, must have sensed their need, because no amount of bartering by Tedesco had been able to get him to come down on the price.

              The store had also provided them with a change of clothes. Both men wore jeans and dark tee-shirts.

              After spotting black SUV’s on the 200 highway north of Puerto Vallarta, they had decided to leave the main road. When it veered east toward Tepic to join the 15 highway to Mazatlan, they turned on a small side road, using a map to follow a zigzagged series of turns toward the north. Unfortunately 15 was the only main artery traveling to the northwest. Upon leaving the state of Jalisco, the home of Puerto Vallarta, and entering the state of Nayarit, the roads took a decided turn for the worse. They needed to traverse the entire state of Nayarit to reach the state of Sinaloa, the location of Mazatlan.

              On highway 200 there had been little traffic; hence there decision to leave it, they were the proverbial sore thumbs. There were truck stops, little more than shacks with tents attached, with signs advertising items such as
Mariscos
,
Sopades
,
Ricos
,
Pozoles
, and
Birreay
s, and the occasional
Frutas
stand. But since leaving the highway they had seen nothing but the infrequent village, brown grass, skeletal trees, and thatched roof huts along the winding dirt trail they now traveled on.

              A bump forced an involuntary groan from Grant. It seemed they had been driving forever. The truck scratched its way to the top of the hill and a stretch of blacktop dissected their path.

              Tedesco studied the road. “I don’t know about you but I’m ready to get off this goat path.”

              Grant nodded. “Me too.” He spread the map across the dashboard. “I think we’re here.” He pointed to a faint line on the map marked with the number 66. If they went right they would intersect with the main highway north of Tepic, the capitol of Nayarit. Left would apparently lead them on a winding path through a couple of villages, still eventually taking them back to the highway.

              “What do you think?” Tedesco asked.

              “We should stay out of sight for as long as we can. Maybe we can find a place to hole up for the night in one of these villages.” He tapped the map with a finger. “Tomorrow we can hit the highway to Mazatlan. Hope for the best.”

              “Yeah, okay.”

              “You want me to drive for a while?”

              “No, I’m good.” Tedesco eased off the clutch and turned left on the blacktop, which turned out to be a collection of potholes connected by the occasional stretch of pavement.

              Tedesco shifted through the gears and brought the grizzled old Ford up to a comfortable cruising speed. He placed a hand on the backpack lying on the seat next to him. It seemed to provide some sort of comfort. Grant couldn’t fathom the reason why.

              Grant stared at the man’s profile. “So,
Boom
. How did you get your nickname? Was it some mafia initiation thing?” Grant needed a reason to dehumanize this man. He needed to hate him. “Your preferred way of killing became your moniker?”

              Tedesco shook his head. “No. Nothing like that.”

              He didn’t seem to notice Grant’s mocking tone. Or at least he didn’t acknowledge it.

              “When I was fourteen I was at football camp,” Tedesco said. “Our coach was in our dorm room ranting about something, I think it was our long hair. Anyway, when he finished and turned to leave the room I called. ‘Hey coach.’ But he didn’t stop. He just slammed the door.” Tedesco smiled at the memory. “I’ll never forget it. The metal door made a loud boom. From that day on my buddies called me Boom. And it stuck.”

             
Oh well, isn’t that sweet.
“So, how does a guy become a hit man? Correspondence courses? A general propensity to enjoy causing pain? What?”

              Tedesco took a deep breath through his nose, his jaw muscles bunching as he seemed to gather his thoughts. “My mother worked like a dog to keep a roof over our heads. Food on the table. She met a guy and re-married when I was twelve. He was a real bastard. Within six months he was beating on her. I tried to talk her into leaving.” He drew another long breath before releasing it in a sigh. “She wouldn’t. She was more afraid of starving than she was of him. Do you really want to hear this?”

              Grant nodded. He actually did.

              “Through it all I made good grades. I began high school. Earned a starting position on the varsity football team my sophomore year. Not long after my fifteenth birthday I came home from practice and found my mother lying on the floor. Both of her eyes black. Bruised all over. Strangle marks on her neck.” Tedesco’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the wheel. “I took her to the hospital and went back home to wait. When he came home I killed him. I used a kitchen knife. And I ran.”

              “Why? You were under age. Under the circumstances I don’t think you would have gone to prison.”

              “The guy was a cop. A decorated police officer. Who would have believed me?”

              “So, what happened?”

              “I found my uncle. My mother didn’t think I knew about him, but I did. He sent letters over the years. My mother kept them hidden in a drawer. I found them. Anyway. My uncle was connected. Organized crime. He took me in. Protected me. I did odd jobs. I learned explosives in one of his legitimate businesses. A demolition company. We tore down bridges, old buildings, and such.” He guided the truck around a curve. “Later I killed another man. My uncle asked me to. I couldn’t say no.” Tedesco worked his jaw muscles. “It just snowballed from there.” He risked another glance toward the passenger side. “I know it wasn’t right. I’m not trying to make excuses. It was a vile world. Filled with vile men. But I had rules. The rules made me at least feel human. At least … well … until, you know.”

              Grant’s anger boiled. 

              “I know there’s nothing I can do or say to make things right between us. But I am truly sorry.”             

              He appeared about to say something else, but Grant held up a hand. “That’s enough. I don’t want to hear it.”

              They drove without talking, the wind blowing through the windows and the creaking protestations of the truck the only noise. As the miles melted beneath the old tires Grant found his anger dissipating. In spite of his best efforts he just couldn’t hold onto it. The truck rounded a curve and they reached the crest of a hill. The trees parted to reveal a valley spreading beneath them.

              Tedesco steered the Ford to the side of the road.

              “What’s up?” Grant pivoted his head left, right, back, his hand drifting to the pistol beneath his shirt.

              “Nothing. I just need a second.” Tedesco swung the door open, stretched and went to the front of the truck. He leaned against the grille and crossed his arms.

              Puzzled, Grant stepped onto the gravel and moved next to Tedesco.

              “Awesome isn’t it?” Tedesco waved a hand toward the vista beneath them.

              A river wound towards a lonesome section of beach. Marshland and forest surrounded the waterway, which in turn was bordered by hills. Every hue of green imaginable melded with an azure sky. To the west a stretch of white sand against a cobalt sea framed the scene.

              “All we’ve been through. All we’ve done in the past couple of days,” Tedesco said. “I just need a reminder.”

              “Of what?”

              “The goodness of creation. My place in it. That God is in control, even when we don’t see His purpose.”

              Grant coughed. “What?”

              The big man pulled his eyes from the panoramic view. “You don’t believe me? That I’m a changed man?”

              “Oh, I believe you. It’s just this God stuff I don’t buy.” Emotions welled in Grant. “If God is there, he’s either forgotten us, or he’s just a bully. Pushing us around on his chess board. Laughing while using us as pawns for His entertainment. Watching us stumble and struggle through life. Hearing our cries and doing nothing to ease our pain.” Grant shook his head. “No. I haven’t been on speaking terms with the man upstairs for a very long time.”

              Seemingly at a loss for words, Tedesco’s mouth hung open. “I can’t believe you would feel that way—”

              Grant spun and poked the man in the chest. “
You
can’t.
You
can’t believe. He allowed you to steal everything from me. Everything!”

              Tedesco seemed to deflate, his shoulders slumped. “God is good, Grant. Sometimes we just can’t see it. If I hadn’t done what I did, I might still be in that world.” He stared into Grant’s eyes. “He saved me.”

              Lowering his finger, Grant turned toward the valley.

              “When I think about your family—”

              Grant spun, felt his nostrils flaring.

              Tedesco backed away, hands up in front of him. “When I think about them, which is everyday. I know they’re okay. They were innocents with their lives stolen from them. They’re with Him.” He pointed up. “They’ll never know any more pain.”

              Grant swung from the hip. An uppercut.

              Luckily for Tedesco, although he couldn’t avoid the blow, he clenched his teeth, saving himself from heavy damage. The blow forced him back a couple of steps. He went to his knees, and held his arms down by his sides, eyes closed, waiting for the next blow. “They wouldn’t want you to live this way. They would want you to have a life. Please try to forgive. Not for me. For them.” He just knelt there. Penitent. Waiting for Grant to finish venting his anger.

              “Damn you, Tedesco.” Grant hovered over him. Unable to deliver the next blow. His emotions roiled. Anger, despair, and loneliness like a tide ready to batter him to his own knees. All he had left was the need for vengeance. If he pulled the gun from his waistband and spilled the hit man’s life force on the road, what then? The image of Jaime flashed through his mind and it calmed him. Did they have a future?

              Grant stared at the contrite form at his feet. More irony. The man who had stolen his faith from him attempting to convince him of the goodness of God. “Get up.”

              The big man stood and dusted off his knees. He worked his jaw around and rubbed it with a hand.

              “How many times are you going to let me hit you like that before you fight back?” Grant was truly curious.

              “As many times as it takes.”

              Grant shook his head. “Let’s go. I’ll drive.”

* * * * *

Using the palm of his hand, Tedesco rubbed the back of his neck. The blow to the chin had jarred him pretty good. He realized Grant hadn’t put all he had into the blow, but it still hurt. Tedesco had to admit to himself that it also made him mad. His initial reaction was to fight back, no matter the outcome. But he tamped it down, realizing he deserved it. And more. He placed his left hand on the pack by his leg, its feel comforting.