Tahoe Killshot Page 14

  “But I could get caught in the crossfire.”

  I drank more beer, dark thoughts intruding. “If he’d been up on the highway, watching the right stretch, he might have seen you pick me up.”

  Diamond looked at me.

  “In which case,” I said, “he could have followed us to the vet hospital and then here, to your house.”

  “But you said, ‘Shoot a cop, start a war?’ Just the thought would attenuate bad boy behavior, eh?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “First thing that came to mind. Attenuate.”

  Diamond looked at the puzzle pieces. He grabbed one out of the pile. “Look at this. It goes right here. And here’s another. I thought you said this was difficult.”

  “It is. But I’ve been concentrating on the hard ones so you could find the easy ones.”

  “Of course,” Diamond said.

  “Have you ever thought about intruders?” I said as I found a piece, this one brown with the letters ‘CL’ on it.

  “In this little hamlet,” Diamond said, looking around at the house, his eyes pausing on the two narrow, double-hung windows near where we were sitting. The windows had white, plastic roller shades pulled down to the sill. There was a narrow slit between the shades and the window frames where I could see black window glass. The spaces weren’t wide enough to see much from the outside. But even from a distance you could maybe tell where people were sitting.

  I picked up an empty beer bottle, walked over and set it on the window sill. The sill was narrow and the bottle just barely balanced in place. But it did a good job of holding the shade close to the window frame, making it so no one could see in. I used another bottle on the other side of the shade, then did the same on the other window.

  I glanced across to the kitchen where tiny slits were visible on either side of those window shades. “Would it be paranoid to put bottles on all the window sills in the house?” I said.

  Diamond shrugged and fitted another piece of green paper onto the puzzle. “In Mexico, the rich people build walls with broken glass embedded along the top. Maybe they know something.”

  “You’re not rich,” I said.

  “So bottles on the sills is the next best thing?”

  “How many windows does this house have?” I said.

  Diamond looked into space and counted. Then he looked at the empty beer bottles scattered around. “We’d have to drink some more beer.”

  I pulled two more bottles out of the case and handed one to Diamond. “Good to have a mission.”

  We did our best to produce empties. Much of the time we sat in silence, working on the puzzle. It had grown to an oblong shape about six by nine inches, perforated by several holes. There were light green areas surrounded by darker areas, also green. The one brown piece looked like it had a hard edge, as if it were a portion of a building out on a field.

  I said, “I was thinking about Violet Verona and your round hitting her little girl’s doll. Remember you were saying you thought it was fishy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You think Rockport has somehow manipulated that? If not the round in the doll, then the aftermath?”

  Diamond was quiet for a minute. “He’s ambitious. Told me once he wants to be sheriff some day. I remember when we got the results from the exams. He was pretty bent out of shape at coming in number two.”

  “With you number one.”

  “Yeah.”

  “If Rockport is unethical, he might try to screw your promotion.”

  Diamond sipped some beer.

  “He could also be doing some muscle work on the side,” I said. “If so, he’d have some money to show for it, right? Notice any extravagance on his part? A new car? Coke habit?”

  Diamond made a slow shake with his head. “More I think about Rockport, he’s so earnest and focused that I can’t see him for it. It’s like he really wants to be perfect. Everything with him is just so. Kind of guy who irons his jeans. He gets what he wants. He’ll probably make sergeant now that I’m out of the way. Probably be sheriff one day, too.”

  We were quiet some more, drinking, working on the puzzle. Diamond had assembled a small sub-group. He suddenly saw how it fit into the main group. I helped him tape it in place.

  “You know what it looks like,” I said. “A golf course.”

  “You’re right. This brown thing could be the clubhouse. Would explain the letters CL.”

  “The course is shaped like a mitten,” I said.

  “Yeah. Like the state of Michigan,” Diamond said.

  We kept working and drinking. In time it became clear that it was, in fact, a drawing of a golf course. It had nine holes, an assortment of sand traps, a clubhouse and many houses scattered throughout.

  “You think this is what Faith Runyon wanted to show you?” Diamond said.

  “I don’t know. Doesn’t seem like anyone would kill her to keep her from showing me a golf course.”

  We kept sorting the pieces, trying to fill in the many gaps. We drank more beer.

  “Big mistake, squeezing off that round,” Diamond said.

  “You made the best decision you could at the time,” I said.

  “Still a big mistake. But then you know how that works.” Diamond’s voice was thick.

  “Yeah,” I said, trying not to think about the worst moment of my life.

  “I coulda hit that girl.”

  “No, Diamond, don’t think that way. You said no one was nearby. Just you and the guy in the mask. He had a handrail, looked like a sawed-off. It was a freak ricochet.”

  “Freak or not, I hit the doll. I coulda hit Violet’s girl.” Diamond leaned forward, elbows on his knees, beer bottle hanging from a curve of forefinger. “It was a terrible thing to do. Makes me wonder what kind of guy I am.”

  “Don’t focus on it,” I said. “A capacity for self-critique is a good thing, but you want to keep it in check.”

  Diamond swigged beer. “Nietzsche said the most contemptible man is one who can’t ever feel self-contempt. So I should be glad, huh?” In the dark I could see the glint of tears in his eyes. “But what if I’d hit the girl, Owen? What then?”

  I knew the answer but kept my mouth shut.

  Later, I took Spot out for fresh air. The desert had cooled and the sweet scent of sage wafted through the neighborhood. Spot walked stiffly, favoring his left front leg. Dick Siker hadn’t said anything about whether there could be nerve damage. He’d only mentioned that Spot wouldn’t like breathing for the next month or so, and that the pain that accompanied chest expansion would worsen over the next few days.

  I watched for any sign of a murderous rifleman, but saw no one.

  Diamond had gone to bed by the time I got back. Spot and I were staying upstairs in the narrow, attic bedroom. Spot didn’t like climbing the steep stairs.

  There were two gable dormers with a window in each. I snugged up the shades with more beer bottles and put my clothes on a small wooden chair.

  It took a long time for me to doze, lying there in a place that seemed vulnerable. Worse, I made Diamond vulnerable just by my presence.

  I was dreaming about Turner being tied to the mast when the first beer bottle fell.

  THIRTY-ONE

  I sat up fast. My breath came in short gasps.

  Spot growled.

  “No, Spot!” I whispered. I swung my feet out of bed, reached out and put my open palm on his nose. He tried to jerk to his feet, but was slowed by pain. A low growl came from his throat. I tapped my palm against his nose again. The rumble stopped, but the vibration in his body continued.

  Once again, I rued my decision to give up guns. But just as quickly, I realized that the intruder could be a kid. Better to be helpless against an armed man than to risk that again.

  I didn’t know where the bottle had fallen, but I thought it was downstairs. I was about to head down when I stopped. If I could get outside from one of the upstairs windows, I could have surprise on my side.

  The roof shingles w
ere too rough for bare skin, so I pulled on my pants and shoes. I was reaching to remove the beer bottles from one of the windows when I sensed movement outside.

  I froze and waited. The shade was dark, but a tiny bit of light came in where the beer bottles held the shade against the window frame. Something moved. A shadow on the roof, just outside the dormer window.

  I stepped back, grabbed the wooden chair and took two fast steps toward the glass. The chair crashed through the glass. I kept up the speed, my upper body going through the window.

  The chair hit a man, hard to his middle. The guy made a high-pitched grunt. I gave the chair a final heave as my thighs hit the wall under the window. The intruder went down the roof backward. A pistol arced up and back as the man rolled, scrambling to grab onto the edge of the roof.

  Gunfire erupted from downstairs. A torrent of angry Spanish. More gunshots, more Spanish.

  The man rolling down the roof couldn’t get a grip. His shirt caught on the gutter and ripped. He went off the roof and fell to the ground.

  Two weapons fired downstairs. Booming cracks shook the neighborhood. Barking erupted from a dozen dogs at once.

  It stopped as fast as it started. I heard movement out toward the back of the dark yard. The fence gate opened and someone yelled ‘hurry’ in a rough whisper.

  “Diamond!” I called out.

  “I’m okay!” he yelled back. “You?”

  “Okay,” I said as I ran down the stairs.

  Diamond squatted in the hallway, his legs and bare feet dark brown under white boxers. He held his Glock up toward the kitchen windows.

  “I think they left,” I whispered.

  Holding his gun with one hand, Diamond grabbed his radio off the kitchen counter, called in and gave them the details.

  “My guy ran,” he said when he clicked off the radio. His voice was a hiss of anger. “You had one upstairs?”

  “Yeah. Fell off the roof into the side yard.”

  Diamond went out the kitchen door, both hands holding his gun. Spot and I went out the front door. We stayed against the house. I peeked around the house’s front corner and waited while Diamond came around the back corner.

  The yard was empty. In the distance, an engine started up and a vehicle raced away.

  “The roof guy had a pistol,” I said. “It went into the air and fell toward where you’re standing.”

  Diamond looked around at the dark grass. “I’ll turn on the lights when we get some backup.”

  “You got off, what, six or seven rounds?”

  “Six,” Diamond said. “Which meant he got off four.”

  I was thinking four at the same time Diamond said it. Like many cops, my subconscious tallies gunfire automatically, something I acquired at the range when I was at the academy.

  “Where’d the bottle fall?”

  “Kitchen window. Guy broke the glass. Next thing I knew, you were destroying my upstairs.” Diamond was pacing, fast angry steps. “What’d you do, kick through the upstairs wall?”

  “Chair through the window,” I said.

  Diamond looked at me. “American dream for a brown boy is first get your citizenship, then buy a house. I finally got both. Now you’re ripping my house apart. Perps are shooting it full of holes. I wanted to make sergeant by my birthday, but after the shooting review board finishes my inquisition, they’ll probably revoke my citizenship.” He turned his head and spit. I’d never seen Diamond spit.

  “I don’t think they can do that,” I said. “You get a look at either of them?”

  “No. I was ready when the guy busted through the kitchen window. I fired a warning shot into the kitchen ceiling. He returned fire, so I aimed at him. He moved to the side, poked his gun back in the window. I fired at the wall by the stove, hoping my round had enough punch to get him on the other side. But he still reached in and fired in at me. I kept shooting and he finally ran off. But I never saw his face. Sonofabitch.”

  “I didn’t see the guy on the roof, either.”

  Sirens came from two different directions, stimulating more dog barking, then finally overwhelming the dogs.

  It took three hours to complete official business, including a search of the yard and alley, which did not turn up a handgun or shell casings. I didn’t know Douglas County had so many deputies, red-faced middle-aged guys with thick chests and thicker stomachs, young, eager men with trim middles and hard arms and shoulders. Rockport was one of them. He was quiet and efficient as he gathered evidence. The sheriff was there as well. Shoot at one of them, they all rally round. Even if the guy being shot at is a Mexican on administrative leave.

  They retrieved slugs from walls while other deputies double and triple-searched the yard and surrounding area.

  By the time Diamond and I were alone again, it was dawn.

  “Back to bed?” I said.

  “Being a victim of attempted murder makes me want to take a nap, sure.” He was pacing again. I’d never seen him so mad.

  “I could make some breakfast,” I said. “Leftover enchiladas?”

  Diamond was inspecting bullet holes in his wall. “Mi casa, my castle!” He smacked the wall with the palm of his hand.

  I heated up the leftovers in the microwave. Diamond cut off a chunk with a fork and blew on it to cool it off.

  “You’ve got some focused canine attention trained on you,” I said, trying to reduce the tension.

  “To be expected with a Great Dane and an enchilada in the same room.” He tossed it to Spot.

  We ate, not mentioning again what had happened. At 8:00 a.m., Diamond handed me the keys to the Karmann Ghia that was under the tarp in the backyard. I understood that he’d rather I leave in his beloved sports car than stay and put him and his beloved house at further risk. “I gotta go,” Diamond said.

  “Not to work, Diamond? You’ll make things a lot worse.”

  “I could spend my day interviewing contractors who specialize in tear-downs with a bulldozer?”

  “Diamond, it’s not that much damage. A few bullet holes, couple windows to replace. I could do the repairs myself when I get some time. Anyway, you need to stay away from work. Play some golf or something.”

  “Right, I show up at the last bastion of rich, white Republicans, I’d probably meet Violet Verona and Senator Stensen on the links.” He opened the front door, then turned back and walked into the kitchen. He handed me my cell phone and a battery. “I recharged it last night. Same brand as mine. Here’s my spare battery. Take it with you.” He walked back to the door. “Don’t worry about Street. I’ll check in on her at Caesars.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  Spot and I became pariahs. Exile was the only choice that made sense considering the danger I presented to anyone near me.

  I was about to leave when I remembered that the guy had torn his shirt on the gutter when he fell off the roof. Maybe there were some threads that I could take to a lab for analysis.

  I found a plastic Ziplock bag in the kitchen, took it upstairs and climbed out the broken window. The roof was steep. I eased my way down the shingles. I found far more than a few threads. Wedged into a gutter seam was a sizable portion of shirttail. I turned the plastic bag inside out and got the shirttail inside it without touching it. Back in the kitchen, I double-bagged it.

  The last thing I needed to find was Diamond’s camping equipment. I’d been on a fly fishing trip with him in the past and knew he had the basics. I figured he’d rather I borrow some gear without asking him than presume to stay in his house another night. I found his stuff jammed on shelves up high in the coat closet.

  I took the camp stove and cookpot combo, a sleeping bag, flashlight and backpack and carried it out to the backyard. I untied the tarp and lifted it off the car. The orange Karmann Ghia glowed in the morning light. I stowed the tarp behind the driver’s seat.

  I put the puzzle and camping gear in back, then urged Spot into the front seat. I eventually got him situated so his butt was over against the shifter and his rig
ht side was against the seat back. I got the door shut and went around to squeeze into the driver’s seat. My knees came up on either side of the steering wheel.

  Spot was trying to shift into a more comfortable position. He pushed with his front feet and twisted against the seatback.

  There was a loud snap and the singing sound of tearing metal. The seatback fell down to a level position. Spot lay down on his right side, happy that the now-broken seat was much more like a bed.

  “Forgive me, Diamond,” I muttered and turned the key.

  The Karmann Ghia cranked and fired, then killed. I tried it again and it only cranked. The smell of gas wafted in the window. Flooded. I floored the pedal and cranked some more to clear out the carburetor. It fired, coughed blue smoke, then smoothed out.

  I briefly considered driving to Canada, changing my name and starting my life over. But that would make visits from Street few and far between, so Spot and I headed back toward Tahoe.

  The old VW barely went 40 mph during the long climb up the mountain, and I worried that the engine would blow its gaskets. I was grateful for the distraction when my cell phone rang.

  It was Street.

  “Sweetheart,” I said. “When this is over, will you go with me to a deserted beach far away?”

  “It sounds like you are already there. I hear a dull roar in the background.”

  “It’s the Orange Flame cresting Kingsbury Grade.”

  “Did it go all right at Diamond’s house?”

  “No. From now on, I’m on the move.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Two shooters came last night.”

  I heard Street inhale. “What happened?”

  “We scared them away. But the message was clear. I’m marked goods. I dare not stay with anyone.”

  “Where are you going to stay?”

  “I’ve got Diamond’s camping gear. I can hide out or bounce around motels and such. I’ll be okay. You’ll be safer if you don’t know my whereabouts. Did you get any sleep last night?”

  “Yes. I think I’ll stay at Caesars for the time being.”