Tahoe Killshot Page 7

  “Don’t,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Hurts.” I struggled for air.

  “Oh. Spot, c’mere.” She pulled him back.

  “When Diamond comes...” I said.

  “I’m here,” he said as he walked in. “Was ist das? Sometimes Mexicans take siesta on the floor, now you? It’s not that hot out.” His words were sarcastic, but his tone was without spirit. He was in civilian clothes, frayed jeans and dirty, worn-out running shoes, a sharp contrast to his normal uniform.

  “He’s hurt,” Street said. “Something happened, but he didn’t want an ambulance. Could it be a heart attack?”

  “No, look at this place,” Diamond said. “Must have been a fight. Where is the pain?” Diamond squatted next to me.

  “Everywhere. He...” I stopped to breathe again.

  “You got yourself worked over. Guy in the ski mask?”

  I tried to nod.

  “How did I know that,” he said, his voice monotone. Diamond lifted the edge of my collar with his fingertip and looked underneath. “You’re going to have more color than a rainbow.”

  “You got beat up!” Street was horrified. “You should go to the hospital. You could have internal bleeding.”

  Diamond used a tissue to pick up the piece of handrail. “Break any bones?” Diamond said, hefting the wood.

  “I don’t think so,” I said.

  “Even so, the muscle and organ bruising could be severe. Street’s right. We should take you to the hospital.”

  “No,” I said. “Help me sit?”

  Diamond and Street each took an arm. With much effort they got me into my desk chair.

  Spot was sniffing all over the office.

  Street got a beer from my mini fridge and found aspirin in my drawer. I knew it would thin my blood and make any hemorrhaging worse. But the pain was too much. I took four tablets. Swallowing didn’t hurt at all. Life is good.

  “Did you call Doc Lee?” I said.

  “Yes,” Street said. “He’s golfing at Edgewood. Said he’d be over as soon as possible.”

  “Just one bruiser?” Diamond asked.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “You get a good look at him?”

  “No. But it was the same guy I chased at the casino.”

  “He was here to warn you off something.”

  I gave Diamond a feeble head shake.

  Street saw it. “What do you mean?” She said.

  Diamond looked at me.

  I shut my eyes and concentrated on breathing.

  “Owen,” Street said, alarmed. “Why was he beating you?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “She’s going to find out anyway, Owen,” Diamond said. “May as well be honest.”

  “Okay.”

  “Guy was going to kill him,” Diamond said.

  Street’s eyes were panicked. “Then you should have police protection.” She looked at Diamond.

  “I can’t help,” he said. “I’m on administrative leave. I only came up from the valley to... hang out at the beach.”

  “I don’t understand,” Street said.

  “Had a problem at the casino yesterday, involving the same guy who worked on Owen.” He held up the handrail. “I took a shot at him. My round ricocheted and hit a girl’s doll.”

  Street’s eyes grew. “Oh, Diamond, I...”

  “Now I’m a civilian.” He looked out the window. “I can’t work any protection for Owen. I’m here only as a friend.”

  “How’s that going?” I said.

  “Bad. It turns out the mother of the little girl with the doll is Violet Verona.”

  “I’ve heard that name,” Street said.

  Diamond nodded. “She owns the Scents Of Love perfume chain. A thousand boutique stores nationwide. Very rich, very connected. Rockport told me that the sheriff got a call from Senator Stensen’s office. They’re saying the senator is very concerned about Nevada’s reputation for having cops who abridge the civil liberties of innocent civilians. Their wording. The senator wants to be assured that the Douglas County Sheriff will show no benefit of the doubt to a rogue cop. Their words again.” Diamond took a deep breath and let it out. “And I thought I was going to make Sergeant. Now it looks like I’m going to lose my job. Maybe worse.”

  I got a decent breath in me. “Do you think the sheriff’s decision will be affected by what the senator says?” I asked.

  “I think the sheriff is a straight shooter. He will go by what the shooting review board says. But this is one of those big gray areas where they are making a subjective analysis about my judgment. In that situation, how can a sheriff stand up to the senator?”

  Street said, “I’m so sorry, Diamond.” The air in the room seemed thick. The only sound was my labored breathing.

  Street went over to the little sink, found a cloth and moistened it. She used the cloth to wipe my forehead. “Owen, you belong in a hospital. What’s the point of being so stubborn?”

  “Couple reasons,” Diamond said. “First, hospitals are expensive. Isn’t Owen still doing that pay-his-own-way thing?”

  Street said, “You’re going to worry about money when you’ve been beaten half to death?” She bent over and looked at me.

  “Plus,” Diamond said, “going to the hospital communicates that you’ve been beaten down. That you can’t take it. Whereas, Owen is a tough guy. A tough guy eats some aspirin, then goes to the ball game.”

  Street said, “Owen, tell me this macho bullshit has nothing to do with you.”

  I didn’t have the energy to speak.

  Diamond said, “It’s not just macho bullshit. If the enemy thinks Owen is tougher than nails, he’s less likely to come back soon. He knows that Owen will fight. The guy won’t try him again until he has a really good opportunity. Like if Owen were lying in a hospital bed with Valium in his system.”

  Street turned to me, anger and confusion on her face. “There won’t be a good opportunity if you get police protection.”

  The door opened and John Lee walked in. He had on tan pants and a tan golf shirt. His watch was the kind where you can switch watchbands. Today, it was tan. He looked around, a fierce intelligence behind small, dark eyes. “You got in a tussle,” he said. Doc Lee was a master of understatement. “Concussion?”

  “No. He missed my head,” I said.

  “Any major injury?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Doc Lee poked and prodded and looked under my clothes. “What did he hit you with?”

  Diamond held up the handrail. “This,” he said.

  Doc Lee nodded. “Tell me the places of impact.”

  “Traps, deltoid, abdomen, chest. My knee was the worst.”

  Doc Lee carefully lifted my pant leg up to the knee and looked at the swollen, purple bulge. Then he inspected the other places I’d mentioned. “Owen, I know you understand the difference between muscle damage and injury to other organs. If we need to repair muscles we have some time. But if you have intestinal damage we may need to address it immediately. You took major blows to your belly. What’s your assessment?”

  “If I make any tension in my abdominal muscles the pain is significant. But I don’t feel intestinal trauma.”

  Doc Lee looked at me, wondering if I was as lucid as I sounded. “The sit-ups paid off?”

  “I think so.”

  “Doc Lee pulled a prescription pad out of his pocket, scrawled on it and tore off the sheet. “You’re going to be sore. Take one of these every four hours.” He glanced out the window toward Edgewood golf course. “It’s a nice day, and even cardiac surgery is usually scheduled in advance.”

  “You better get back to your golf game,” Diamond said. “We’ll watch over his carcass and feed him beer.”

  SEVENTEEN

  After Doc Lee left, Diamond said, “How come this guy runs from you at the casino, but isn’t afraid of you here?”

  “Probably because the casino is crowded and my office is not. An
d here he had the element of surprise.”

  “Why you figure he wants to kill you?”

  “The most likely answer is Tyrone is worried I’m going to uncover evidence that implicates him in Glory’s death. Maybe Faith’s, too. So he hired the guy with the mask.”

  “You got a less likely answer?”

  “The masked guy didn’t like me chasing him at the casino, so he came to teach me a lesson?”

  “First theory sounds better,” Diamond said. “So we’ll concentrate on Tyrone.”

  “I’ll concentrate,” I said. “You already made it clear you are out of it.”

  Street said, “If talking to Tyrone brought on this beating, then you should stay away from him. The police should take care of it.” She looked at Diamond. “Right?”

  “You want the official or unofficial answer?” Diamond said.

  Street waited.

  “Officially,” he said, “I’d tell Owen to leave this problem to Tahoe’s finest. He should go home and take up a hobby. Bonsai trees. Model railroads.”

  “Unofficially?” Street said.

  “There’s no point in cops going to interrogate Tyrone. He’ll be gone.”

  “Does that mean you’re not going to press charges?” she said to me.

  “I’ll get Rockport to file a police report,” Diamond answered, “but my guess is we won’t find any suspects to press charges against.”

  “If this guy wanted to kill Owen, why didn’t he use a gun?” Street said.

  “Makes a lotta noise,” Diamond said. “Bullets can be traced. But a stick of wood can be burned. Murders are hard to prosecute when there’s no murder weapon.”

  Street looked horrified.

  Diamond turned to me, “You said this guy wore a ski mask. Could you tell what color he is?” He got out a pad and started writing.

  “White.”

  “Way he talked, or skin peeking through the mask?”

  “He didn’t talk. But even if he did, that wouldn’t necessarily indicate his color.”

  Diamond stopped writing. “Don’t give me that politically correct bullshit.”

  I shrugged. That hurt.

  “You saw skin?”

  “Yeah. On his neck.”

  “He wore gloves?” Diamond said.

  I nodded.

  “Size?”

  “Good-sized. Six-two. Two-ten.”

  “Eye color?”

  I shook my head. That hurt, too.

  “Any other observations?”

  “He smelled of mouthwash, but I could still tell he’s a smoker. He ate garlic last night. And he was tense and nervous. He had bad B.O.”

  “Well, ain’t you a Perry Mason,” Diamond said. “Why do you figure he didn’t talk?”

  “Who knows? Maybe he thought I’d recognize his voice. Either that, or he’s a deaf mute.”

  “Right. Okay, let’s get you home,” Diamond said.

  He and Street each took an arm and with much effort got me down the stairs. Spot thought it was fun, three people abreast on the stairs. He tried to nose in between us. We eventually made it out to my Jeep. The beer and aspirin had begun to take effect.

  Street left her VW Bug in the lot and drove my Jeep with Spot in it. Diamond followed with me in the passenger seat of his old blue pickup. It was a painful journey to my bed. Once there, Street brought me another beer. Diamond had me go through the beating once again.

  “How did he move?” Diamond asked.

  “Fluid and strong. He’s an athlete.” I stopped to breathe. “He’s had some fight training. Something useful in the street.”

  “Karate?”

  I shrugged again and winced. When was I going to learn. “I think I’ll try and sleep a little,” I said.

  Street frowned. “He didn’t hit you on the head, did he?”

  “No.”

  “You’re certain? Concussion can make you sleepy.” She was remembering last winter when the doctor in Kauai admonished me not to ever bump my head again.

  “I’m certain,” I said.

  Diamond gestured with his pad. “I’ll give this and the handrail to Rockport. He’ll probably call you for confirmation. Oh, one more thing. I got some of the explosion debris back from the lab. I’ll get it out of the car.” Diamond left and returned a minute later. He handed me a bag with a bunch of pieces of green paper in it. “This’ll keep you occupied. Jig-saw puzzle for your convalescence.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  EIGHTEEN

  I barely moved out of bed for the first two days. Street brought me meals and newspapers and walked Spot. When I had enough energy I reached for the bag Diamond had brought and poured the green pieces of paper out onto a piece of cardboard.

  There were hundreds of pieces, all deformed by their time in the water. They had ragged edges. Most were green. A few were tan and gray. The color looked like it had been applied with felt marker. Some pieces had printing on them, carefully-formed block letters similar to the way architects print. None of the groups of letters made any sense. I spent a couple of hours on it, but could not fit any of the pieces together.

  The second evening after Street left, she called me shortly afterward. “Owen, as I drove away I saw a van parked in the dark over by Mrs. Duchamp’s. Could someone be watching you?”

  “Maybe. But there isn’t a lot of excitement in staring at this cabin with me in bed. I’ll call Diamond, though.”

  “You’ll stay inside?”

  “With Spot next to me,” I said.

  We said goodbye and I dialed Diamond. “Are you up at the lake or down in the valley?”

  “Up at Roundhill, doing a little side work at the new Company Twenty-Five grand opening.”

  I remembered the name from my talk with Bobby Crash who endorsed Company Twenty-Five snowboards. “Isn’t that pushing the terms of your suspension?”

  “I don’t think so. No gun, no uniform. It’s like being a retail clerk. I stay outside and help with traffic and such. You should see the crowds. People buy tickets for Twenty-Five bucks. Every ticket wins something. Either a Ride Twenty-Five snowboard, a Skate Twenty-Five skateboard or a twenty-five percent discount coupon to Club Twenty-Five in Cabo.”

  “Sounds like an expensive promotion.”

  “Ya. But it is sehr gut promotion. TV crews are here from Reno and Sacramento. Even Senator Stensen put in an appearance. Made a little speech about the new Camp Twenty-Five for disabled kids that Company Twenty-Five is sponsoring. Hold on a sec,” Diamond said. I heard a big party in the background, a DJ making announcements over a loud rap track, a car horn, kids shouting. “Hey, I gotta go,” Diamond said.

  “When do you get off?”

  “They said they’d need me until they shut the doors at midnight.”

  “Want to swing by? I’ve got cerveza.”

  “Sure.”

  “When you come, look for a van near my cabin.”

  “Will do.” Diamond hung up.

  I went back to work on my green puzzle. I managed to find four pieces that seemed to fit together. I joined them with tape.

  Spot gave a woof shortly after midnight. He lifted his head off the floor and stared at the wall. His ears turned one way, then the other. I eased my way out of bed. Spot stood up and trotted to the front door. I kept my hands on the walls to steady myself as I followed him. Spot didn’t make any other sound, so I knew he recognized my visitor. I don’t know how it works. The sound of footsteps or something.

  Spot pushed forward to greet Diamond as I opened the door. Diamond did the requisite ear rub as I turned and worked my way toward the kitchen nook to fetch us beers.

  “Last time I saw anything move that slow, it had four legs and a shell,” he said.

  “Would have helped when he tested his handrail on me.” I handed him a beer. “How’d the grand opening turn out?”

  “There was a mob. You should have seen the kids swarming around Bobby Crash.”

  “The snowboarder.”

  �
�Yeah. About twenty-five years old, of course. It’s like an art, the way he dresses. So carefully attired to make it look like he just threw on any old thing.” Diamond sipped his beer. “They paid me my hourly rate and tipped me twenty-five bucks.”

  “You can upgrade your brand of Scotch.”

  “Naw, I’ll add it to the next money order I send my mama in Mexico City. She already thinks she’s a greenback queen. Told me her new TV made her the hot spot of the barrio.”

  Spot swung his head around at the sound of his name.

  “Not you, Spot,” Diamond said. “A barrio spot.”

  Spot stared at him, ears focused, nostrils twitching.

  “Help me with the puzzle?” I said.

  “Sure. Where is it?”

  “In the bedroom.”

  Diamond got the bag of pieces. We spread them out on the kitchen counter.

  “See a van outside?” I asked.

  “No. I also cruised Street’s condo. No van.”

  “Thanks for checking,” I said. “This camp for disabled kids that Senator Stensen is promoting. That doesn’t sound like a big profit center for a sports company.”

  Diamond picked up one of the green pieces and looked at it. “I read a thing about the camp in the paper. Company Twenty-Five is trying to change their image. Until now they’ve been fixated on profit. Their market share among kids twenty-five and under is huge. Snowboards and skateboards. Wall Street loves the company. But there is a growing backlash. A group of mothers was so upset over their kids getting tattoos that say twenty-five, that they’ve started a protest group. Mothers Against Company Twenty-Five. The camp for disabled kids is just the thing to help. And Senator Stensen is big on helping disabled kids. The camp is supposed to go in somewhere on the North Shore. According to his speech, the idea is to tear down some old cabins and a motel and apply those water and sewer units to the new complex. Even so, they need some major rule bending from the Tahoe Regional Planning Agency. But Senator Stensen can probably apply some pressure.”

  “Any idea what the T.R.P.A. thinks?”

  “Don’t know.” Diamond frowned. “But I can’t imagine they’d be amenable to a big development right on the lake. Probably want some serious environmental mitigation fees.” He held his hand out palm up and rubbed his fingertips together.