Vengeance: A Reece Culver Thriller - Book 1 (8 page)

Chapter Seventeen

O
wen Roberts drove
his boss’s prized black Range Rover south out of Tulsa in the black night on his way to a place he’d called home for the past several years. He’d once entertained the thought of driving south and stopping for nothing until reaching Mexico, but that thought had failed to return since the day his boss caught up with him two hours east of Amarillo, Texas. Two chops of a meat cleaver cost Owen both of his pinky fingers, persuading him to never attempt such pursuits again.

He pulled off the two-lane blacktop onto the single-track road that looked like an entrance to a farm. Tall plants grew on both sides of the trail, and it seemed like forever until he saw the lights and parked cars of the casino rising out of the overgrowth in the distance. Owen drove the Range Rover behind the single-story red brick building that looked nothing like a gambling establishment.

A chill ran down Owen’s spine when he pulled in to park next to the bright white Ford van he’d earlier noticed was missing from its parking place. Owen had heard a rumor from the one of the female bartenders that Rocco, the blackjack dealer, had insulted their boss one too many times.

Owen Roberts went inside, dressed in pressed black dress pants, a white dress shirt, and a black vest with gaudy gold trim. Greeting several of the regulars, he took up his post behind a green oval Texas Hold’em table. Four men sat in front of him watching as he slapped the shuffling boot and started play.

A few minutes later, Sam Shanks, dressed in a black pinstripe suit, walked past the long bar, nodding at the female bartender. His alligator loafers glided through the thick shag carpeting.

“What’s Owen doing working the table tonight? I thought we had agreed Rocco was a better choice,” Shanks said.

“Ah, Mr. Shanks I didn’t know you were here,” Michael Zimeratti said, turning around on a stool to face his boss and sliding a hand over his thick black hair. “Rocco seems to have disappeared, so I made a last-minute personnel change, thinking Owen was better suited for the Texas Hold’em table than the other dealers.”

“So who are our guests at the table tonight?” Shanks asked.

“That’s Dr. Hank Johnson, the dentist there on the far right. Tavo Sheave, the city councilman, is next to him, Dan Kochi’s there, and the new guy, Melvin Phillips, is on the far left.”

“Oh yes, good to see Mr. Phillips made it. I met him at the museum. We’ll have to keep an eye on him,” Shanks said.

“How about the fancy dresser, what was his name? Angelo, was it? Have you seen him around?” Shanks asked, turning back toward the bartender and raising his hand with a wave.

“You mean Angelo Messerman. No, I haven’t seen him around lately. Maybe he ran out of money,” Zimeratti said with a laugh.

“Good evening, sir, will you be having your usual?” the bartender asked. Both men smiled and nodded, sending her back toward the bar.

“What do you know about this guy named Phillips? He looks well dressed, what’s he do for a living?” Zimeratti asked.

“Oil, goes back a couple of generations on his wife’s side of the family. They’re big art collectors. I get the impression he comes from family money too, but I don’t know much more about him. I had him tailed when they left the museum. They have a very big place in Southern Hills, and he mentioned having other homes across the country.”

“Sounds like the kind of people we’re trying to attract.”

Shanks let out a snort. “Sounds like the kind of mark who would like to donate his art collection to us.”

Chapter Eighteen

T
he stranger in
the combat boots and trench coat walked toward Reece Culver’s unconscious form, shining a large flashlight beam downward. He squashed what remained of a shattered Miller Lite bottle. The room was silent except for the distant moaning of the vagrant he’d paid in methamphetamine.

The old man was still bleeding from the contact he’d made earlier with the steel cylinder of Reece’s gun. He slouched on the half burned couch and sucked at his glass pipe. The stranger in the trench coat saw the orange glow cast light on the vagrant’s lips.

He stood over Reece and shined the light down. The top of his scalp was painted red with blood from the blow he’d sustained. The stranger smiled, then pulled one of his boots back, avoiding the puddle that was forming from the blood dripping down Reece’s face. The stranger bent down and pulled Reece’s gun from his side holster. He squatted just to the left of Reece’s outstretched body, and laid the flashlight onto the floor with the beam shining toward the vagrant’s chest. The room smelled of burning meth, and was filling with a white cloud of smoke.

The stranger grinned at the old man, watching him get high. The addict stared into the light like a deer staring into headlights. The stranger grabbed Reece’s outstretched right hand, peeled back his fingers and wrapped them into the .357 Magnum with his index finger on the trigger. The stranger stuck his gloved right finger into the trigger guard and aimed the gun at the old man’s chest. The stranger pulled back on Reece’s finger and fired twice.

With a comical groan the bum dropped the pipe, and the smile faded off his face.

Chapter Nineteen

I
nside the hotel
bar Crystal spotted George Kendall sitting in the last booth. She walked toward him, checking her navy blue skirt and red silk blouse in the mirrored wall.
I still got it
, she thought to herself.

“I’m glad you decided to join me. Did the headache go away?” he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

Crystal sat down across from him. “The aspirin did the trick. I feel much better now. Would you like a martini?”

“Yeah, that sounds great. Are you going to join me?” George asked.

“Only if they have Grey Goose, It’s the only vodka I drink,” Crystal answered. A blond woman wearing a pressed white cotton shirt came to their table with two dinner menus and a wine list.

“What can I get for you?”

“Two Grey Goose dirty martini’s,” George said.

“Make mine with blue cheese olives,” Crystal added.

The waitress nodded, and turned back toward the bar.

“So what did you think of the briefing today?” George asked.

“Agent Cox sounds pretty confident that the raid will be successful, and he’ll take Shanks into custody. That wasn’t your plan, was it?” Crystal said, hoping he wouldn’t mention Owen Roberts.

“No, it wasn’t my plan, but this is not over yet,” George said, biting his lower lip.

“Good, I’m glad you’re not going to let them steal your case.”

“I have to say, I got a little uneasy when they brought up the slide of Owen Roberts. I sat through that entire meeting trying to remember where I’d seen his name,” George said, staring at Crystal.

She tensed, pressing the nail of her pinky finger under the tip of her thumb, mixing pain with the anxiety she felt coming back.

“When I got back to my room, I went into the employment files, and I figured it out.”

“You figured what out?”

“Owen and Tracey Roberts are your parents. It’s a conflict of interest,” George said flatly. “You’re related to a member of Sam Shanks’ gang by blood.” He leaned forward, sliding his clenched fist along the tabletop.

Crystal threw her napkin toward him and stood up in the booth. “Is that why you invited me down here?”

“Hold it. What are you doing?” George demanded. He reached out and grabbed her right wrist.

“Let me go,” Crystal cried.

“Calm down. Let’s talk about this,” George shouted.

“No!”

“Leaving the table is not a good idea, Crystal.”

She lifted her arm, breaking his grasp, and slid back into the booth. She forced some tears to her eyes, making herself look vulnerable.

“It’s okay, Crystal. It’ll be our secret. The others don’t have a need to know,” George said. She knew he was lying, but that was okay. She wasn’t going to take him at his word, anyway.

“I know your story, Crystal. I know your mother went missing and you were put into an orphanage. I know it’s been tough on you, and this job is your whole life,” George said in a low voice.

Crystal offered a reason that she knew would make sense to him.

“I’m not a violent person, but if I can track down that son of a bitch, Owen Roberts, I’d…”

She let the words trail off. After a significant pause, she added, “That’s why.”

*

Later that evening, George and Crystal took the elevator to the third floor. On the ride up George apologized for his earlier comments in slurred speech. Crystal smiled to herself, knowing that the multiple rounds of martinis she’d ordered were to blame. The elevator lurched as it came to a stop, and he lost his balance, grabbing for the side rail. He had no idea that Crystal could drink any man under the table.

She stepped off the elevator and walked ahead swinging her arms with George close behind. She was buzzed, but not to the extent that he was. With the key card pushed into the slot, she grabbed the door handle but it wouldn’t open. She pulled the card out, turned it over, and heard the click of the lock open. She turned back toward George.

He had a lustful smile on his face but said, “I’m sorry, Crystal.”

“Come on, you’re coming with me.” She pushed open the door, grabbed him by his necktie, and pulled him into her room, kicking the door shut.

“Why don’t you show me how sorry you are, Mr. Kendall?” she said, wrapping her arms around him, putting her mouth on his, and French kissing him.

“Whoa,” George said, pulling away and then moving toward her to kiss her back. They both dropped down onto the edge of the bed. She looked down at the gold wedding band on his left ring finger. That was her ticket out of the mess she’d made.

She squeezed the flab-covered muscles of his upper back, disgusted. How long had it been since he’d set foot in a health club? Crystal slid her tongue back into his mouth and let him have it. She felt his hands slide down, cupping her ass. She tipped back, pulling him on top. She moaned for effect as they made out, and George, who had been way over served, forgot all about his wife and kids.

“Why don’t you lose some of those clothes? I’ll be right back,” Crystal said, sliding out from under him. She walked to the mirror on the other side of the room and activated the video camera feature on her smart phone. She turned back and looked at her pathetic, flabby boss. He was bent over at the waist, struggling to untie his shoes. She walked into the bathroom, hiked up her skirt, and pulled her thong down to the floor before stepping out of it.

Crystal took a seat on the toilet and began to choreograph what she wanted to capture on the video. She returned to the bed wearing only her open red silk blouse and black stiletto heels. She turned on the lamp for good lighting. George stared at her with a devious smile, wadded up his dress shirt, and tossed it across the room laughing.

Crystal stopped a few feet away, reached into her blouse, and began to massage herself. George watched, then began fumbling madly with his belt.

She put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him backward. He smiled up at her. She smiled at him, running her tongue over her lips. She knelt down between his legs, unzipped his fly, and grabbed the waistband of his trousers above both hips. Then she pulled off what remained of his clothing.

*

Crystal woke the next morning and climbed out from under her boss’s sweat-dried body. George grunted, blowing air from his nostrils like a whale breaching, and rolled back over with a hint of a smile on his face. Crystal heard a rattle from the dresser on the far side of the room, and realized it was the vibrating ring of her phone in silent mode. She saw that she’d missed the call.

Crystal gathered up George’s clothes and set them in a wrinkled pile on top of his shoes. She went to the closet and wrapped herself in a hotel robe. She looked down at George’s half covered body and listened to him snore. She thought how stupid a man could be when offered the naked flesh of a beautiful woman. She smiled, feeling in control again.

She grabbed his shoulder and nudged him. He mumbled something and rolled over, still asleep. Crystal sat on the side of the bed and bent down toward his ear.

“George, it’s time to get up,” she said, poking him in the stomach with the tip of her index finger.

George blinked and opened his bloodshot eyes. He stared up at her with a sheepish grin, and both of his hands went down to his genitals, trying to cover himself up in a sudden moment of modesty.

“Your clothes are on the chair. I’m going to take a shower. You better go before the maid comes,” Crystal said, getting up off the bed and disappearing into the bathroom. She turned on both handles of the shower and took a seat. George was grunting on the other side of the bathroom door, hurrying to get dressed. She heard the door close and was glad he’d gone.

Crystal emerged from the bathroom, opened the door to her hotel room, and put the do not disturb sign on the door handle. She picked up her cell phone and dialed the number for the man she called Papa.

“Crystal, how are things in St. Louis?”

“Better now, but there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Yeah, Diane and I were just talking about you. We were wondering if you’d like to come down and spend the weekend with us?”

“Oh, Papa, that sounds like fun. Let me see if I can catch a flight out tomorrow morning.”

“Crystal, there’s one more thing. Would you mind coming to a dinner party with me Friday night? It’s black tie.”

“That sounds great. What’s the occasion?”

He ignored that question, instead posing one of his own. “So, what was it you wanted to tell me?”

“I was in a meeting for work yesterday, and they told us that Owen Roberts is an informant for the FBI. Papa, they’re planning a raid on the casino.”

*

The flight back to Denver on the government jet was nothing if not awkward. Crystal wore a dull green pantsuit with a choker collar. George sat catty corner from her with his nose firmly buried in the screen of his laptop computer. She congratulated herself on how clever she’d been. George wouldn’t be doing any talking now.

The flight touched down on a snow-covered runway at Centennial Airport, and after Crystal emerged from the plane, she took her bag from the co-pilot and started rolling it toward her car.

“Crystal, wait one minute,” George yelled. She was standing at the back of her car with the trunk open. Crystal saw George’s panic stricken face as he hurried toward her.

“What’s the matter, George?”

“About last night. You can’t tell anyone. I have a family, and—” George stopped talking. The co-pilot approached carrying the bag he’d left behind in his haste to catch her.

“Here’s your bag sir,” the co-pilot said, setting it next to Crystal’s car.

“Thank you,” George said.

Crystal watched the co-pilot walk back into the hangar.

“George, it sounds to me like we both have secrets to keep.”