Vengeance: A Reece Culver Thriller - Book 1 (25 page)

Chapter Seventy-Nine

S
am Shanks craned
his neck sideways, surveying the green roof of Vinton Blackwell’s villa as the Lear 55 turned in a steep bank, pointing one of its wings toward the ground. He spotted Blackwell’s Black Range Rover parked behind his daughter Crystal’s red Mercedes and began laughing to himself. The plane bumped violently and his smile vanished. Shanks gripped the armrests of the plush leather recliner, wondering if something was wrong. The jet rolled back to wings level and he could feel the sensation of being sucked downward in his seat. He stared at the house, wondering if Blackwell had managed to get off one last shot.

“Sir, it might be a good idea to fasten your seatbelt if you haven’t already,” one of the pilots announced over the intercom. “We’ve met a few patches of turbulence this morning. Once we get up to cruising altitude, it should be smooth sailing.”

Shanks cinched his lap belt tighter and leaned back, but felt the plane roll right into another turn. He clenched his teeth and gripped both armrests. The plane rolled back level and he could feel the acceleration of the twin turbofans pulling them upward toward thinner air. He thought of his new home situated in the center of the two thousand acres on the outskirts of Montevideo and the priceless paintings stowed in the rear baggage compartment.

Before long he’d be free from his life of crime in the U.S. Selling the paintings in South America would bring its challenges, but Shanks had connections to more than a few people in that part of the world. He knew that wealth went hand in hand with ego, and people with ego were always interested in collecting things of value.

Shanks imagined the surprise on Vinton Blackwell’s face when he discovered the missing Van Gogh. He wished he’d been able to video the event, but just knowing he’d beaten Blackwell was good enough. He bit his lip at the thought of double crossing the psychopathic killer. It worried him. Blackwell would have been better off dead. He thought about Michael Zimeratti meeting his death while skiing with Blackwell’s daughter. He’d underestimated Crystal, as he was sure many men before him had. She was dangerous and better off left behind.

The co-pilot undid his seat belt and climbed out of the Lear jet’s cramped cockpit, heading toward the bathroom. He pushed open the cockpit door and glanced over at their sole passenger Sam Shanks.

“We’re past 35,000 feet. It should be smooth the rest of the flight until we stop for fuel, Mr. Shanks.”

“Good, I don’t like bumps,” Shanks said.

Suddenly both men heard a loud “pop” outside the airplane.

“What was that?” Shanks said, seeing the baffled look on the co-pilot’s face.

“Not sure.”

The airplane rolled violently to the right, going inverted, and Shanks watched the pilot slam face first into the wooden credenza between two seats in the row ahead of him. Blood streamed from his nose, and he lay motionless, then pushed himself up, and crawled back toward the cockpit.

Deep inside the left wing of the Lear 55, a small explosive device triggered by a barometrically activated fuse had exploded. This sheared off the attachment hinges of the left aileron. As an airplane climbs upward, the barometric pressure drops. Because of this fact a bomb’s fuse maker can dial in the precise altitude that the device will explode. In this case that altitude was 36,400 feet above ground level.

Panicking, Shanks looked out the window of the inverted airplane and felt the downward rush of G’s, as if something was pulling down on him. Up ahead the pilots shouted loudly in the cockpit. The airplane rolled back level, and he looked out the side window toward the wing. Something was wrong with the aileron. It was flapping violently in the wind. He watched as a big piece of torn white metal separated from the wing. He gripped the armrests of the plush leather recliner. The nose of the airplane pitched downward, and Shanks banged his head into the seatback in front of him. His guts tightened and he felt like puking as the airplane spun violently.

Shanks thought of the Van Gogh parked safely in its wooden crate in the rear of the plane, then Vinton Blackwell, and then he wondered whether he’d survive. Somewhere up in front of him one of the pilots was screaming, “Mayday, Mayday! Denver Center, this is Lear 557 Sierra, Sierra. We are declaring an emergency 120 miles south of Eagle Vail. I repeat, we are going down.”

Chapter Eighty

T
he warm water
felt good on Reece’s aching shoulder as he stood in the shower. He’d been filthy the whole time in the hospital. Reece reached up with his good arm and rubbed the spot on his head where he’d been struck in St. Louis. The wound had healed, but it still hurt when he pressed on it. That reminded him of Crystal and he decided to call her after he got dressed. He needed her to get to her father, Vinton Blackwell, but he had added motive now.

Reece had called the rental car place in Tulsa and reported the car stolen. He wasn’t sure it was, but he figured it would intensify the hunt for his missing mother. The call he’d received earlier from his brother Raymond was gnawing at him. The police had questioned a trucker that thought he saw a collision on a bridge over Lake Keystone west of Tulsa. It was nighttime and he’d been driving past in the westbound lanes when he saw a black truck rear-end a blue car on the opposite side of the highway. Raymond told him they were going to investigate the trucker’s statements and planned on searching the lake for the car.

Reece toweled off and did his best to get dressed without using his left hand. It was tough doing the things he was used to now that he was a one-armed man, but at the same time made it even more important to follow through with catching the bastard that took his father’s life, and might have killed his mother. Reece thought about his mother driving the Mazda rental car and felt a tremendous pang of guilt.
I hope she’s okay.

Reece stood at the window of the hotel room with his cell phone in his hand.
I should call Raymond and tell them. No, that won’t do any good. If it was Mom in the Mazda on the bridge, the damage is already done.
Reece struggled with himself, knowing what he should do, but wanting to catch Vinton Blackwell now, worse than anything. He rubbed his eyes, feeling exhausted. If only he had some time to get away from all of this and think things out. But he had run out of time. For all he knew, Special Agent Cox and the FBI were hot on Sam Shanks’ trail and they might catch him and Blackwell first.

He picked up his phone, ready to call Crystal, his ticket to catching Blackwell. He focused his mind and thought through what he’d say when she answered.

“Hi, Reece, how’s the investigation going?” Crystal said.

“It’s going well, Crystal. Hey, I just got up to the mountains for a meeting and I wondered if you wanted to get together for a drink, or something tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, yeah, I guess we could meet,” she said with a hint of reservation in her voice. “I heard the snow is still good. Do you want to make it a day of skiing and then have dinner up at my villa?”

“The dinner part sounds good, but I’m not sure I’m up to skiing right now.”

“I have extra skis and boots if that’s what’s in the way of your hitting the slopes with me,” Crystal said.

“How about you pick me up at seven and we’ll take it from there,” he said.

“What hotel are you in?”

“I’m in the Marriott in Vail. You know the place right?”

“Ok, how about I meet you in the lobby?”

“That works great.” He finished the call, wondering if his call had just precipitated a hotel fire at the Marriott later that night. He and Haisley in fact were staying at the Sheraton in Avon.

Reece heard the door open and Haisley came in with a broad smile on his face. The bandage on his forehead had a small red bloodstain in the middle, but other than that he looked like his old self.

“You know any place to get a squirrel steak in this fancy ass ski town?” Haisley said.

He walked past Reece and threw his torn ski jacket on one of the queen beds.

“Not in this town, but I know a good place up in the hills,” Reece said with a chuckle. “What did the rental car people say when you told them about the Tahoe?”

“I decided to hold off on that. Buy us a little time, so we can solve this thing before we get the police poking around out by Shanks’ place. I went with Hertz this time.”

“What do you say, we go pay Mobley a visit?”

*

Reece followed Haisley down the hospital hallway toward Mobley’s room. He spotted the nurse who’d taken care of him and gave her a big smile.
Oprah
was turned up loud on the television set hanging down from the ceiling in Mobley’s semi private room, and he failed to notice their arrival.

“Since when do you watch Oprah?” Haisley blurted out.

Mobley scrambled for the remote, hidden in the covers of his hospital bed. The television went black and he looked up, smiling guiltily.

“What’s the prognosis? Are you going to live?” Reece asked.

“I got surgery coming tomorrow on the knee, but the ribs are healing up well.” Mobley looked heavily sedated and he talked with slurred speech.

“Sounds like they got you pumped up on some good meds,” Haisley said.

“You had any visitors other than us?” Reece asked.

“Just Hughes. He came by earlier. He’s a really nice guy. Said when I get healed up, he’d take me fishing on his boat.”

“I hope you’re keeping your mouth shut about our little camping excursion,” Reece said sternly.

The nurse came in and told them:

“You need to run along now. It’s time for his bath.”

They left the room and had gone halfway down the hallway when Haisley grabbed Reece’s bad arm and yanked him into an empty patient room.

“What the hell are you doing? That’s my bad arm,” he cried.

Haisley looked over at him from his position at the door. He had it cracked and was peeking out. He turned back with his index finger to his lips.

“It’s Cox. He just got off the elevator, heading this way,” Haisley said darkly. “He just went into Mobley’s room. Let’s get out of here.”

Chapter Eighty-One

C
rystal sat in
the kitchen of the villa, suspicious of the call by Reece. “Hey, little girl,” Vinton said, coming around the corner. “You ready to take a trip with me?”

“Sure. Papa, when are we heading down to South America?”

“We aren’t.”

“What do you mean? I thought that’s what you and Shanks had planned. You’ve been spending all your time getting that plane ready to haul the paintings out of the country.”

“I’ve changed my mind. I don’t trust Shanks anymore. I’ve made other plans for us.”

“What other plans?” Crystal asked.

“We’re almost done here. We’ve got a flight to freedom on Friday afternoon,” Vinton said, taking her into his arms. She hugged him back at first and then grew uncomfortable as he tightened his grip the way you would with a lover. She wanted to tell him to stop, but thought better of it. On one level she’d spent much of her life trying to gain his love and acceptance, but on another he scared the living hell out of her.

She broke loose from his grip, but he held onto her at arm’s length. He was acting weirder than his usual unpredictable self. She needed him to get away and she figured at some point she’d strike out on her own, but now wasn’t the time. Crystal had to play along.

“I’ve got a favor to ask.”

“What’s that? she said in a meek voice.

“I need you to take care of Reece Culver. He’s been snooping around Sam’s place, and we don’t need any loose ends biting us.”

“It’s interesting you bring Reece up, Papa. I have a ski date with him tomorrow morning, and then I thought I’d bring him back here for the night. I can take care of the loose end then,” Crystal said with a devious smile.

“You sound like you have a thing for that guy,” Vinton said, distrusting his daughter. “Do what you will with him, but I want him dead. At this point Reece Culver is the only thing standing between us and our freedom.”

*

Later that afternoon Crystal walked into the True Value hardware store in the city of Edwards. She was wearing tight blue jeans and knee-high brown leather boots. She caught the clerk eyeing her physique and nodded sexily at him. With a shopping basket in hand she headed down the nearest aisle. After picking out several items, she approached the counter in front.

“Did you find everything you were looking for?” the clerk asked.

She emptied the basket and set down a roll of duct tape, a hundred-foot length of cotton rope, and a selection of clamps and other hardware.

“Are you doing some work on your cabin or something?”

“Just getting some supplies I know I’ll need next summer,” Crystal said. “Oh, I forgot one thing. I’ll be right back,” she said as she ran to grab a box cutter.

After paying, she loaded the bag into the trunk of her car and drove to the veterinary hospital where one of her ski buddies worked.

“Hello, I’m here to pick up a package of supplies from Pete,” she told the receptionist.

“Let me see here,” the older woman said, searching under the counter. “What kind of supplies?”

“It should be a cardboard box with the name Crystal Thomas. It’s for my dog.”

“Oh, I see it. Here you go,” the woman said. “It looks like you prepaid over the phone. You’re all set. I hope your dog feels better.”

“I hope so too,” Crystal said, although she knew one dog that wasn’t going to feel better tomorrow.

Chapter Eighty-Two

T
he interior of
Rebecca’s Roost looked more like a museum showing the past hundred or so years of Colorado history in a large collection of black and white photographs than a drinking establishment. Haisley and Reece took a seat on a pair of dark stools near the center of the long wooden bar. A youngish barkeep with long red hair had her back to them cleaning glasses in a series of three stainless steel tanks. The first was filled with what Reece suspected was soap, the second a rinse, and the third some kind of bacterial agent. It was the last sink that made him question whether or not he felt thirsty.

Haisley pulled the laptop computer out of its carrying case and began thumbing his way through the property records of Eagle county hunting for the names Shanks and Blackwell.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“What do you mean, am I okay?” Reece said, lost in thought.

“You just seem out of it today.”

“I guess I just have a lot on my mind,” Reece said, fighting to make the words he was thinking flow from his lips. His shoulder had gone numb from the meds and he was pain free, but his mind was getting cloudier minute by minute.

“I’d imagine you do have a lot on your mind, considering you have a date with that black widow who hired you. How many times has she tried to kill you now? Was it two or three?”

The bartender turned around with a funny look on her face and after a few seconds smiled. “What can I get you two to drink?”

“What beers do you have on draft?” Haisley said still nose down on the computer.

“We have Budweiser, Coors, Amstel, Ranger India Pale Ale…”

“That forth one. The Pale Ale. I’ll have a glass of that,” Haisley said cutting her off.

“Would you like a pint or half pint?”

“Oh, after what I’ve been through lately lets make it a full pint,” Haisley said looking up from the laptop for the first time and smiling at her.

“How about you? What can I get for ya?”

Reece stopped looking at the television set on the right side of the bar and made eye contact with her. He’d been chewing on the thought of paying Crystal a visit at her villa that night, but he knew he’d be better off sticking to his plan. Especially with Vinton Blackwell roaming the neighborhood. “I’ll take something strong. Is there such a thing as vengeance?”

“You mean a drink named vengeance?” She asked striking a pose with her hand on her hip.

“Yeah a drink. That’s what I meant,” Reece said not sounding too convincing.

“I’ve heard of something called sweet vengeance,” she said leaning over the bar toward Reece. “If you’d like one those I’ll need to look it up.”

“You’ve got me interested. What are the ingredients to sweet vengeance?” He said watching as she walked over to the cash register and start poking at the screen with her index finger.

“Here it is. It’s actually a shot. Not a cocktail. It contains 1 ounce of Southern Comfort Fiery Pepper, and a quarter ounce each of orange and cranberry juice. Is that something that sounds good to you?” she said returning to the bar rail in front of Reece and locking eyes with him.

“The concept sounds good, but I’ll pass on that drink. How about a couple of fingers of single malt scotch?” Reece said.

“I’ve got a bottle of Glenlivet 18. Sound good?”

“It does,” Reece said watching her walk down the rail to his left and disappear through a set of double doors he figured led to the kitchen.

“You got any hits in that property book?” Reece said looking over at Haisley.

“The only thing I see that looks close is a house under the name Trenton. That house is on the same road where we saw Shanks’ place.” Haisley said oblivious to the interaction between Reece and the barkeep.

“Maybe he’s renting,” Reece said.

“Oh, wait a minute, I got a 2,700 square foot two-story here that’s south of that first location, owned by Crystal Thomas. I’m guessing that’s the villa you’ll be visiting tomorrow,” Haisley said.

“Good, so you’ll know where to come pick us up when I get her confession.”

“Speaking of confessions, I was thinking we should go pay Detective Hughes a visit and see if he’s on board,” Haisley said.

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. It might be good to get Hughes dialed in to Shanks and Blackwell in case I get delayed.”

Reece looked up as the doors swung open and the bartender returned with a fresh bottle of Glenlivet. He watched her twist off the blue top, pull a fresh glass of the shelf, and pour a generous helping of the single malt. The bartender smiled at him and disappeared back through the double doors. Reece took a sip savoring the taste and started thinking about what was ahead of him the next day. He knew what he was planning to do was very risky. Going to Crystal’s lair was a fifty-fifty shot. If things turned out well, he’d catch the man who killed his dad. If things turned out bad, he’d be joining his father six feet under.