Excess Baggage Page 4
“Duke, when the horse comes down, tell the guys I want one of those pickups unloaded to take these bodies up to the barn. After the bodies are out of here, I want the place cleaned up. I want bleach and soap in the water, and I want the place scrubbed. Make sure the truck we use to carry the bodies to the barn gets cleaned up good, too, before we carry anything else in it. I can’t sell horse smells like shit. Tell the other pickup, and any that come in before we’re ready to unload, to stay out here ‘till we’re ready for them. Let’s get this place back up and runnin’ quick as we can, eh?”
“Got it.”
Shiv turned from the intercom as the detectives approached.
“Okay, Shiv, looks like somebody slipped something into the ventilation system. The only way you can kill a bunch of people at the same time, in an enclosed space, without shooting or suffocating them is some kind of gas that works fast. That’s probably what made them all throw up, too.”
“Carbon monoxide, maybe?”
“Couldn’t have been carbon monoxide, ‘cause it’s too slow, and it works on different people different speeds. And they don’t throw up, they just go to sleep. Besides, the first ones to go down woulda been spotted by the others. None of these guys had any warning; they all just dropped where they were at the same time. If one of them had dropped first, there’d be at least one more on top of him, tried to help.
“I’m guessing something like Sarin, like those crazies used in that subway attack in Tokyo. I was working vice then, so that would put it around ’94 or ’95. You can’t see the stuff, or smell it, and it works fast. It dissipates fast, too. That’s why it could kill these guys and not hurt us. How long ago this happen?”
“Between seven and eight tonight. My people work staggered shifts. One comes in every hour on the hour. The first one here after it happened was Duke, in there. He comes in at eight, and he called me right away, so it couldna happened any earlier’n an hour before he called me. So that makes it six, seven hours ago.”
“Okay. So, it’s an inside job. The guy who was in that booth musta known it was coming, but why ain’t he dead?”
“There was a gas mask outside the door by the barn.”
“So he puts on a gas mask, and this guy out here figures out something’s hinky. He opens fire, but this bullet-proof glass you paid a fortune for worked like it’s supposed to. He bought it before the glass did. The others, in that room with the vault, and that other room with the empty shelves…”
“The dispensary.”
“Yeah, the dispensary, anyway, they probably dropped at about the same time. There wasn’t time for anybody to get clear.”
“They couldna got out, anyway.” Shiv pointed out. “The guy in Ops woulda had to open the doors, and he obviously wasn’t innerested in witnesses gettin’ out.”
“Okay, so whoever was working with him obviously puts on masks, and he lets them in. They go through and pick the place clean, except for a coupla grand on those tables. Anyway, so these palookas come in, clean you out, and make a clean getaway.”
“Sonny, grow up. Nobody says ‘palookas’ no more. You bin watchin’ too many old movies. Besides, I know who the other two guys were that helped. We found them up by the barn.”
“Dead?”
“Pretty much. Shot in the back of the head, both of them.”
“Okay, so you’re only looking for one guy, right?”
“Right. Guy’s name is Lawrence John, not Larry, Lawrence, and he’s drivin’ a ’73 Chevy pickup, some hay bales and a set of old tires in the back, Wisconsin tags. Here, I wrote down his driver’s license, and the tag number off the truck, too.”
“Christ, Shiv, you don’t need us. You got everything you need.”
“ ’Cept bein’ able to put out the tag number and have cops all over the state lookin’ for him.”
“We can take care of that. We’ll call the State Patrol and tell them a Wisconsin pickup was reported stolen in Chicago this morning, and was spotted this afternoon headed north out of Madison. We’ll call in the report. Can I get a cell signal down here?”
“Nope. Only phone down here’s a landline in Ops. Go call from up by the chopper. Wait a minute, Sonny. Bastard might still be carrying his cell. It’s got a GPS in it, and I got the phone number. It’s a 608 number, out of Baraboo.” Pulling a small notebook out of the inside pocket of his jacket, Scott copied the number Shiv gave him, nodded, and went out the door. “Ralph, when you guys back on duty?”
“This morning.”
“Okay, we done here?”
“Yeah, I think so. We could seal it and wait for the lab techs, but I don’t think it’s too important to try to save evidence for trial, you?”
“Nah, I don’t think so. We find this bastard, he ain’t gotta worry about no trial. Listen, I gotta talk to Duke for a minute, then you guys fly back with me. I’ll meet you by the bird.” di Stasio nodded and walked out.
Shiv walked over to the intercom panel. “Duke.”
“Yeah, Shiv.”
“Call everybody. Tell them we’ll be working 12 on - 12 off for a while, instead of eight-hour shifts. Start with the zero four hundred post, and tell him to come in at eight, instead of four. Then stagger the rest of the posts. Tell the ones that are here and coming in to start at their regular times tonight, and tell them they’ll be working a twelve-hour shift. Chris’ll call you later and tell you who’s drivin’ the new pickup. The Chicago truck will be the same one we been usin’.
“Oh, and tell Chris I want two cars of guys up here right away. Tell them to check into the hotel over by Ho-Chunk, but I don’t want them in the casino. I want them ready to move quick. You got that?”
“Got it, Shiv.”
“And Duke.”
“Yeah, Shiv?”
“You think of anything, anything at all, you let me know.”
“You bet. Listen, Shiv, I got money in the bank and a beautiful wife at home. I got a great life up here, my family loves it, and I owe it all to you. If you can’t count on nobody else in this world, Shiv, I want you to know I’m here.”
“Thanks, Duke, I appreciate it, but I already knew that. I’ll send some guys up to get rid of the bodies tomorrow. And call Chris with a list of the names of the ones we lost here, tonight. I’ll take care of their families.”
“Got it, Shiv. Never doubted that you would. Safe home.” Shiv turned away from the intercom, then turned back to the panel.
“Duke.”
“Yeah, Shiv?”
“What did you just say?”
“Safe home.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Just something my old man used to say when anybody was leaving our house.”
“Where you from, originally?”
“I’m from Chicago, but the old man came over from Dublin.”
“Oh, okay. Night, Duke.”
“Night, Shiv.”
Shiv walked out the door and up the ramp. Duke passed Shiv’s instructions to Security, buttoned the place up, and poured another cup of coffee. Reaching behind his chair to the clipboard on the back wall, he reached for the phone. It was going to be a long night. Better call home, first.
§ § §
Shiv was just approaching the chopper when Scott waved him over. “We got a hit already. State trooper found the pickup over by Ho-Chunk.”
“Is he there?”
“We don’t know, yet, but I doubt it. Nobody’s that dumb; hit you, then drive a couple of miles to a casino, and stay there? We got his driver’s license info and picture out, though. And I had the cops pull his DMV records. Besides the Bronco that’s still in the lot here, he owns a ‘96 Monte Carlo. Deputy went by his house. It’s not there. We got an APB out on both him and the Chevy. We’ll find him. You want us to stay here?”
“Naw, you can’t do me any good if you can’t explain why you ain’t at work. We’ll go back and you guys go to work like nothin’s wrong. Just make sure the state troopers up here have your phone numbers, in
case they find something. If they do, you call me quick.”
“Of course. Say, Shiv, how much you lose here, tonight? What are we looking for?”
“64 kilos of horse and just under fifteen million in Benjamins.” Scott let out a long whistle.
“You putting out a reward on the stuff?”
“Shit no. I don’t want nobody knowin’ I got hit. The minute some hustler hears that, they start figurin’ ‘Hey, somebody else did it, I can do it’, and I ain’t up for that.”
§ § §
The chopper was passing Woodstock when Scott’s cell phone started vibrating. Holding it up to his ear to hear it over the sound of the engine, he kept nodding and taking notes. Thanking his caller, he hung up and turned to Shiv with a smile.
“Hey, Shiv, you wanna know where your boy is right now?”
“You’re shittin’ me. Where is he?”
“Lac du Flambeau.”
“What the hell’s a lack doo flambo?”
“It’s French. Means ‘Lake of the Torches.”
“Lake of the Torches?”
“It’s an Indian casino. The Lake of the Torches Casino and Hotel. It’s in Lac du Flambeau, Wisconsin. That’s a couple hundred miles north of the Dells. GPS signal has him just sitting there. I’ll bet he’s checked in, either playing or getting a good night’s sleep.”
But, Shiv was no longer listening. He was on his own phone. “Chris! Call the guys on the road. Tell them that rat bastard’s at the Lake of the Torches Casino in some place called lack doo flambo, Wisconsin. Tell them to go there ‘steada Ho-Chunk. They better get up there before that sonuvabitch leaves. Tell them bring the bastard back, I wanna have a chat with him.”
§ § §
5
The sun had just come up when Drew Sherry finished his breakfast and checked out of his room. The twenty-eight year old former Marine still wore his light brown hair close-cropped, and at six even, one eighty, he was in pretty good shape. He still ran five miles a day, when he could. He’d been up at five this morning to get his run in before his shower.
After two tours in Iraq, and another in Afghanistan, Drew had thrown in the towel. Instead of re-enlisting, he had come home to Milwaukee. He’d been driving charter buses since his discharge.
Yesterday he had driven the first leg of a three-day, two-night tour, three Indian casinos in three days, spending the first night here at Lake of the Torches. Actually, all the casinos in Wisconsin were Indian casinos. The old folks felt like they were on an adventure, and the tour operator/guide, Ashley Lynn Bevan, his twenty-six year old roomie-cum-fiancée, always requested him as her driver.
§ § §
Ashley Bevan was studying college catalogs. It was homecoming weekend of her senior year and something her homeroom teacher said the first day of school had resonated with her. Mr. Marx had related a story about one of his students the first year he taught. He told them how this young man had lettered in four sports his senior year, and at the reception after graduation, when asked about his plans for college, told Mr. Marx, “I haven’t really decided, yet.” As it turned out, he never did decide and, in spite of graduating as an honor student, was making his living as an auto mechanic. Mr. Marx was quick to point out that there was nothing wrong with being an auto mechanic, if that was what you wanted from life, but for a student who took college prep courses, it didn’t seem like the logical end to a scholastic career.
The story had sunk in, and Ashley had gone home that night and started her research. She first sent for catalogs for Marquette, Carroll University in Waukesha, several of the schools in the UW system, and the University of Chicago. Ashley had spread them out on her bed and was perusing them when her phone rang.
“Hey, girl, need a favor.” It was one of her friends. “I’m supposed to be talking to the Air Force recruiter this afternoon, and I ran over a couple of nails at that construction site on Beaver. I have three flats. Could you give me a lift?”
“Of course. I’ll be right there.” Ashley had accompanied her friend into the recruiter’s office and signed up for the delayed entry program, starting basic training after graduation. She told herself that the primary reason was to save money for college, but she knew better. The uniforms, the wide array of career fields, the panoply of duty stations worldwide, the whole program, she felt, was exactly what she had been looking for.
After basic, she had gone to tech school right there at Lackland, where she’d gone for basic training, and become a Security Force Specialist. She found the police and combat training exhilarating and could fight, shoot, and drink with the best of her classmates. SF school had been exhilarating for the former cheerleader, and she had no problem earning her blue beret with the Defensor Fortis flash.
She quickly mastered the Beretta 9mm, and put in for every specialized training course she could find. She mastered hand-to-hand, and got into martial arts, becoming an instructor on base. Eventually she was rotated back to the SF Academy as an instructor.
Ashley had loved every minute of it. She had excelled at everything the Air Force threw at her, and used the autovon – the military’s worldwide telephone network - to stay in touch with her high school boyfriend, Drew Sherry, who had joined the Marines. She was home on leave just before re-enlisting when she heard that Drew had been badly wounded in Afghanistan. She returned to Lackland and told the Air Force she had changed her mind about re-enlisting, took her discharge, and was waiting when Drew got home. They had been together ever since.
§ § §
When Drew Sherry stepped off the plane at Mitchell Field in Milwaukee, his dad and Ashley were waiting. After embracing his father and thanking him for his lifelong support, he excused himself and took Ashley’s hand. They both kissed his father and walked away, lost in each other. John sherry smiled, picked up Drew’s bag, and went home happy.
A week later, Drew and Ashley had moved in together, and neither had regretted a minute of it since. Ashley’s family had all died in a head-on crash with a drunk driver when she was in high school, so she was alone, and Drew’s folks had adored Ashley from their first date. It seemed like a perfect match, not only to them, but to everyone who knew them.
Shortly after they moved in together, Ashley had been laid off from her security job at Allen-Bradley, at the plant on 2nd Street, the one with the four-sided clock. Drew’s dad used to call it ‘the Polish nightlight’, an appellation dating back to the early days of Milwaukee, when that area was a predominantly Polish neighborhood. Ashley had tried to tell Drew that it was the biggest four-sided clock in the world, bigger than Big Ben, but he wasn’t sure he believed it.
§ § §
They were eating a late dinner at home one night, after Drew had come off an all-day casino run, and he was telling her about the casino tour he’d driven to Indiana that day. These were small, one-person operations. The operators would charter the coach for the day, and then advertise the trip. They would contract with the various casinos they planned to visit and just like that, they were in business.
“Okay,” she had said. “I can see how they make their money. They charter the coach for so much a day. Then they charge their passengers so much for the trip. They take the money, pay the coach company, and keep the rest, right?”
“Kind of.” Drew told her.
“What do you mean, kind of?”
“Well, there’s actually two ways of doing it, depending on the casino. With some casinos, the tour operator buys the casino packages at a discount, and provides them to the passengers as part of the tour package they’re paying for. A casino package includes cash for gambling plus lunch. So, the casino sells them to the operator in bulk, and then she sells them to her customers.
“Now, say she pays ten bucks a head to the casino for their package, and about ten to the bus company. If she charges thirty bucks for the trip, her profit is ten bucks a head. If she has forty passengers, that’s four hundred bucks profit for the day. I don’t know if those numbers are accurate, I�
��m just using them for examples. At the casinos that run it that way, they usually let the driver and the tour guide buy the package for the same discounted price, too. That’s where I get my gambling money. I pay ten bucks for twenty bucks in cash and lunch.”
“What’s the other way?”
“The other way is that the casino charges the customers for a package that includes the cash for gambling plus lunch, and then pays the operators ten bucks a head for every one they bring. Security counts every bus load and the casino sends the tour operator a check at the end of the month. At those casinos, they usually give a free package to the guide and the driver.”
“Is that the way it works all over the country?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he told her. “That’s how it works at the casinos I’ve driven to in and around Wisconsin. I suppose there could be other business models, but I’m not familiar with them.”
“So, how much does the bus cost for a day?”
“I’ll be honest, honey, I don’t know. I just drive. I know how much they pay me to drive, and I know how much they give me for expenses on overnight trips, but I’ve never gotten involved with the marketing end of it. I asked one time, right after I started, and they told me to have the customer call the office. So, when people ask me, I just give them my company business card and tell them to call the office. You could call the office in the morning and find out.
“I can tell you that I’ve driven tours where we only picked up ten people, and the operators cried about how they were losing money, but I don’t know if that was true, because I don’t know what the break-even number is. Don’t forget, you’ll have advertising costs, and then you have to pay your taxes, including self-employment taxes, too.”
“My God! How does anyone make any money at it?”
“It must be profitable, there’s a bunch of folks doing it. There’s even a couple of tour operators that own their own coaches. They’re one-bus operations, and they only have one driver, the owner, who does his own maintenance, and either hires, or is partnered with, the tour guide. I can’t imagine where they get their seed money for that kind of operation. Those buses cost an arm and a leg. But, the bus parking sections of the casino parking lots are always full.