Absolution (12 page)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

It
was day’s end and the light was quickly fading as Kyle Boone drove the Hummer along the only country road that led from the Ba’cho Ranch to Ajo.

Zack Slater was sitting in the rear.  Kyle carried a handgun but Zack was unarmed.  He was on his way to an art show, not a gunfight at the O.K. Corral.

Twenty yards behind the Hummer, Billy Santos was driving a black ice metallic Cadillac Escalade swagger wagon; a big, blocky SUV that could cover terrain that only the likes of an Abrams tank would normally venture across.

Martin sat next to Billy with the seat back as far as it could go to accommodate his giant frame. 
Shades of Logan
.  On the row of seats behind them were three other men, all armed and eager for the foray against the cabin.

Kyle signaled and made a left onto W Solana Avenue, and Billy made a right and drove out of town on the E Ajo Highway.

Logan was in place, waiting in the darkness. Just standing unmoving like a big stuffed bear in the recess of a doorway.  An alley separated the two blocks from each other.  And a low brick wall with a palisade of green-painted railings faced him, with the building that was housing the art exhibition behind it.  When the Hummer pulled up at the curb, he reached for the silenced Glock and readied himself.  He planned on walking straight across the alley he was in, to be no more than twenty feet from Slater as he exited the vehicle.  Two or three rounds would negate the threat to Fran and Andy permanently.  And even as people realized what had happened, he would be almost back at the car, and then in it and driving out of town.

The driver got out of the Hummer and walked round to the passenger side.  Logan approached the railings and was about to raise the pistol as a Merc slid into his line of fire.  He got a half-second glimpse of Slater, before his view was obscured.  He didn’t want to risk collateral damage, so backed up and put the gun away.

Plan B.  He would be inside the Hummer when Slater left the exhibition.  The gangster would climb inside the vehicle and be dead a few seconds later.  The tinted windows would prevent Slater from seeing who was inside it.  The Indian thought he had tight security, and he did, but total security did not exist.  You couldn’t ever cover all the bases.

The single whoop of a siren brought Logan to a standstill as a cruiser pulled alongside him before he had reached the Kia.

Sheriff Pierce Lovell already had his window down as he stopped and looked up at Logan.

“Help you?” Logan said, stopping and adopting an unconcerned expression and relaxed attitude.

“Maybe you can,” Pierce said. “Climb in and we’ll talk.”

“Why would I want to do that, Sheriff?”

“Because I’ve got some questions that you may have the answers to.”

Logan looked about him.  Saw a blue neon sign a few hundred feet up and across the street that he knew read DINER, even though the E was unlit and the R was flickering.

“I’ll be in the diner,” Logan said, inclining his head in its direction and walking off before the cop could reply.

By the time that Pierce turned the cruiser round, drove up to the diner and parked outside it, Logan was inside and sitting in a booth near the window.

Pierce slid in opposite him.  He looked pissed.  His dark eyes were like coals.

“So how can I help you?” Logan said.

“By tellin’ me why you’re here in Ajo, Logan.”

“If I wasn’t here I’d be somewhere else.  Is there a problem with me being where I am?”

“You tell me.”

“How did you know who I was?”

“I’m the sheriff.  I know that you found a body on the railroad track near Madison Bend.  And I was given your description.  You’re a big guy and stand out in a crowd. So answer the question; why are you prowlin’ around my town?  You’re supposed to be a drifter, so why aren’t you driftin’?”

A waitress wearing a red T and blue jeans appeared and asked what she could get them.

“Iced tea with lemon, Sharon,” Pierce said, and smiled at her.

“Coffee,” Logan said.

When she had gone, Logan said, “I’m interested in why Zack Slater gets away with murder and all the other illegal activities he’s involved with.”

“Why would you give a damn?” Pierce said.

“You obviously know that I was a cop.  That makes me wonder why he’s still on the street.”

“Lack of any evidence to prove that he’s anythin’ more than the owner of a construction company,” Pierce said.  “He’s a paid-up member of the country club, gives to charity, and knows people that have clout.”

“Including you,” Logan said.  “His right-hand man, Keno, has your home number in his cell.”

“How would you know that?”

Logan said nothing as Sharon appeared and set their drinks down.

“Because when I last spoke to him I confiscated it and checked his contacts,” he said when she had moved off again.

“Did you have anythin’ to do with him gettin’ hurt and windin’ up in the clinic?” Pierce said, leaning forward with his elbows on the tabletop.

“I had everything to do with it,” Logan said.  “Slater sent him to kill me.”

“Any proof?”

“I don’t need any.  What is, is.  I’m not pressing charges.  And he won’t want to make it official.”

“I’ll need to―”

“You need to answer my previous question, Sheriff. How come a lowlife like Keno has your number in his cell?”

Pierce sat back and picked up his glass of iced tea.  Drank some.  Then some more before setting the glass back down in the same spot on the ring of condensation it had left on the wood-grain patterned Formica.

“Keno heads up Slater’s security at the ranch and the company,” Pierce said.  “Six months ago some guys torched his offices.  I had a few meetin’s with Keno over it.  Gave him my number.”

“Did you apprehend the perps?” Logan said.

“Not as such.  We had CCTV of them, but they were wearin’ plastic masks.  Funny seein’ three Obamas’ skulkin’ around in the middle of the night.  A pickup with three bodies in it was found out on the Goldwater Air Force Range two weeks later.  They’d all been shot in the head.  One of the Obama masks was snagged on a bush just a few yards from it.  Case closed.”

“So Keno dealt with them?”

“There was no trace evidence to run with.  Whoever did it left nothin’ at the scene for us to work with.”

Logan said nothing.

“Back to you, Logan,” Pierce said.  “Why are you here?”

“You
know
why I’m here, Sheriff.  Slater perceives me as a threat and has decided to do something about it.  If it was just my own skin to worry about I’d have left Arizona before now, but there are other considerations.”

“Such as?”

“Sam Benton worked for Slater, but was dumb and got greedy.  Took money that he shouldn’t have and paid the price.  When I came to Ajo, two of Slater’s men called in at the motel where I was staying, to warn me off or kill me, I’m not sure which.  Benton’s girlfriend had followed them.  Now she and her sister are also on Slater’s hit list.  I have every intention of negating the risk to them.”

“You can’t take the law into your own hands, Logan.”

“What do you suggest, that I wait until after he finds and kills one or both of the women, then report it to you?”

“Tell me who they are, and where they are.  We can protect them.”

“In your dreams.  I don’t know if I can trust you. 
I
can protect them. Are we all finished here?” Logan said before draining his coffee and standing up to leave.

“You’ll end up a statistic if you go it alone,” Pierce said.  “Slater has kept his ass out of prison by gettin’ rid of anyone that he thinks could or would bring us to his door.”

“We all end up statistics, Sheriff,” Logan said as he put a five dollar bill on the table – with Lincoln’s granite features facing the ceiling – to pay for the drinks.  “We’re all on a one-way journey to the Promised Land.”

“The later we get there the better, though,” Pierce said.  But he was talking to Logan’s back as he headed for the door.

Zack stayed at the exhibition for over ninety minutes.  Talked to a couple of the town’s councilmen and drank a glass of merlot, but didn’t touch any of the finger food that was on offer.  He bought an oil painting that depicted a wickiup in a desert setting, with a young girl sitting on a log outside it stroking a mangy-looking dog.  The artist was known to him, and said that the girl was a representation of his great grandmother almost a century ago, in front of the temporary dwelling that had been constructed by bending young trees into an upside-down U-shape and then covering the frame in animal skins.

Logan had walked thirty feet along the street when he heard the door of the diner squeak open.

He kept walking, not fast and not slow, with his arms swinging loosely at his sides.  He knew that the sheriff was standing still, watching him, wondering what to do next.

He kept putting one foot in front of the other.  Heard the door of the cruiser open and then close with a solid clunk.  A second later the engine came to life and headlights came on.

Pierce stopped a few yards ahead of Logan.  His window was still open.  “Call in the department tomorrow, early, and we’ll talk about the situation,” he said.

Logan nodded and kept walking.  The Crown Victoria moved away, up towards the next junction, signaled left and was gone.

Logan didn’t retrace his steps.  He walked three blocks, made a left and then a right to head back to the art exhibition.  He stopped a couple of times to look in store windows to watch reflections of passing vehicles.  He’d tailed enough people in his time to know how to check for someone following him by vehicle or on foot.  He moved on, aware of all the sounds and movement around him.  Thought that the sheriff would have wanted to know where he was heading.  Decided to double back, to pass the diner and then return to where he hoped Slater would still be.  He stopped again at the corner of the street the Kia was on.  Clear.  He carried on to the intersection with W Solana Avenue and walked across the street to where Kyle had parked the Hummer.

Zack opened the rear door to stow the now wrapped painting on the seat, and froze as the gun pointed at his face became the focus of his attention.

“Get in, nice and slow,” Logan said.  “Do anything stupid and you’re history.”

Zack eased himself onto the seat.  His eyes were locked on the big man’s.  He knew that it was Logan, and that he wasn’t bluffing.

Logan had approached the Hummer from the rear. He hadn’t been able to see through the tinted windows, but supposed that the driver would be behind the wheel, just waiting for his boss to return.  Maybe dozing, or listening to the radio, or reading a paperback.  Staying in shadow for a few moments to look around and monitor what was happening on the street, he waited until an elderly couple walked by hand in hand, to vanish from view as they turned a corner into a side street a few yards farther along.

Kyle was listening to a country rock station when the front passenger door flew open.  He turned his head to see who it was, but didn’t get a chance to.  The blow could have been delivered by a ten pound sledge hammer.  The fist hit him on the side of the forehead and drove his head back to smack against the window.  The whiplash effect and the power of the punch put his lights out in a blink.

Ten minutes later Kyle was slowly coming round as Zack opened the rear door to be faced by Logan holding the Glock.

“Slide the package down in front of your legs, and then take out your piece, finger and thumb only and drop it on the floor,” Logan said.

Zack slowly, carefully lowered the painting in front of him and said, “I’m not carrying.”

“Slip your jacket off down as far as your elbows,” Logan said.

Zack shucked the tobacco-colored split cowhide leather jacket down as directed.  “Now what?” he said.  “You’re an ex-cop, Logan.  And you don’t look like the kind of guy that would shoot someone in cold blood.”

“Don’t go by looks, Slater.  You deserve a lot more than a bullet.”

“I’m a businessman,” Zack said.  “I run a construction company.  So exactly why are you threatening me?”

“How do you know my name, or that I was a cop?” Logan said.

“Gossip,” Zack said.  “It’s no secret that you found some guy that had got himself run over by a freight train.”

“If I didn’t know all about you I’d probably buy that lie,” Logan said.  “But having talked to the two guys you sent to the motel, and then to Martin Keno after he and others that are no longer with us burned a close friend of mine’s house down, I know that you’re a hoodlum and a killer.  Your good friend Glen Cahill filled me in on your activities.”

“Glen who?”

Logan smiled, but said nothing.  He didn’t intend to carry on with the verbal fencing.  He knew what he knew.  He reached over and frisked Slater.  Took his wallet and cell.

Kyle was moaning softly, but had caught the end of the conversation between his boss and whoever was in the back with him.  He slowly reached under his jacket to where he carried a Sig-Saur pistol in a shoulder rig.

“It’s in my pocket,” Logan said to Kyle.  “Check if you want, then start this mother up, take the first street on the left and park behind the Kia, or I’ll hit you again, harder.”

Kyle said nothing as he did what he was told to.  He felt dizzy and nauseous and didn’t want to be knocked unconscious again.

Logan waited till Kyle had pulled in behind the Kia and switched off the engine, and then clubbed him with the Glock, twice.

“Get out slow and easy,” Logan said to Zack. “If you get the urge to make a play, be my guest.  I
want
you to give me an excuse to put you down for keeps.”

Zack got out of the Hummer and was ordered to climb into the cramped confines of the compact Kia’s trunk.  He got in, having decided that if Logan had intended to kill him, then he would already be dead.

Logan took an indirect route through town, driving north through residential areas and keeping an eye on the rearview.  When he was positive that he was not being followed, he drove east and south to come out on the 86, to stay on it all the way to the turn off for the 286, and then drove south to pass a large sign for the Palo Alto Ranch, to stop a half mile further on at a wooded picnic area.  There were no facilities.  He went behind a tree to take a much-needed leak, and then walked around for a couple of minutes to exercise his legs.