“I think Ellis isn’t up to giving me the answers I’ve come looking for.”
“He’s not the only one.”
Jack pointed at a chain that was held in place by an eyebolt screwed into the living room floor. Together, they followed the chain’s path to the bedroom.
The last link of the chain was attached to a shackle that encircled a woman’s leg. At least it had once been a woman’s leg. Now it was a mass of tom flesh, sharp sliver of shinbone showing through.
Priscilla’s corpse lay on the bed. The room was painted with her blood. Only her face was recognizably human.
“Shotgun,” Kate said. “And there’s a Winchester Model 97 out by Ellis’s corpse.”
“So Ellis killed Priscilla … but who killed him?”
“You’re telling me that you didn’t do it?”
Jack snorted laughter. “Lady, believe it or not, I don’t even have a gun.”
She looked at him and didn’t so much as blink. He could see that her grip was firm on the shotgun. “I think it’s time you explain your part in this,” she said.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning: what the hell are you doing in Pipeline Beach, champ?”
Explaining the deal with Freddy G took a while. Kate Benteen was skeptical at first, and Jack couldn’t understand why. It wasn’t like he was telling her that he was a soldier, an Olympic diving champion, a doctor, a rodeo rider, and a movie star all rolled into one.
But in the end she seemed to believe him. So he told her about his last phone conversation with Priscilla.
Ellis’s wife had wanted out of Pipeline Beach. Bad. Jack said he’d help her if she’d tell him what she knew about Komoko and the money. She agreed and gave him part of the story as a gesture of good faith. Jack was to meet her at the trailer after Ellis left town on his flea market rounds.
If things had gone according to plan. Jack would have gotten Priscilla’s story and Priscilla would have gotten out of town courtesy of Freddy G. Of course, things didn’t go according to plan. Ellis obviously hadn’t left town, and things had gone bad for Priscilla in a big way.
Kate took her time, thinking about Jack’s story. Finally, she said, “So you don’t want the money for yourself.”
“Hey, I want my twenty percent. Freddy promised me that. But I’m not planning to steal two million from the mob. That would be crazy.”
“You think Vince was crazy?”
Jack shook his head. “No … not after what Priscilla told me.”
“Do tell.”
“Priscilla didn’t give me the whole story. But what she did say was that Komoko walked into a setup. He wasn’t stealing that two million at all. He wasn’t stupid enough to run out on the mob. Priscilla wouldn’t tell me who set him up, but I’ve got a pretty good idea. Priscilla was in on it, of course, and I think she had some help from-”
“Let me guess: the Lone Rangerette and her own personal Tonto.”
“So you’ve met Wyetta and Rorie.”
‘They showed up at the Saguaro Riptide with their rubber hoses this afternoon. We had quite a little chat.”
“Okay, then. I think we’re starting to get an idea of exactly who did what to whom. But that still doesn’t tell us where the money is.”
“That’s easy,” Kate said. “It’s in room 23 at the Saguaro Riptide, under my bed.”
“I was one up on you in the Mike Hammer department, champ. Vince left a message on my answering machine the night he was ambushed. He told me exactly where he hid the money. All I had to do was show up with a shovel and start digging.”
“He wanted you to have it?”
She nodded. “Vince didn’t tell me where the money came from. He didn’t say what he was doing with it. What he said was that there was a good chance he wouldn’t see the other side of the trouble he was in. He figured he wasn’t going to be able to take the money with him if things went the way he thought they were going to go, and that I was the only person in the world he’d want to end up with two million bucks if he had to leave it behind.”
Jack shook his head. Kate Benteen stood in front of him with a shotgun in her hands. A pistol waited snug and secure in the shoulder holster under her right arm. And the missing millions were under her bed.
“This is crazy,” he said. “If you’ve already got the money, what the hell are you doing hanging around here?”
She smiled. “I’m looking for closure.”
“Huh?”
The smile was gone. She sighed. “Look … we don’t have time for this. I couldn’t explain it if I spent all night trying. It would sound corny and awful and maudlin if I even tried. Let’s just say that I know what’s in my heart, and what’s in my gut, but I can’t put it into words because if I do I’ll be a mess, y’know?”
“You’re talking about Komoko.”
“You’re damned right I am.”
Jack nodded. “Then I’ve got kind of a working knowledge of the situation. I took your advice, remember? I’ve read your press clippings. One of them, anyway.”
“Which one?”
“The Playboy interview.”
“Oh, Jesus.” She actually blushed. “You didn’t.”
“So I know all about your adventures in the Gulf War, and a certain chopper pilot, and why you might be having a little trouble letting go of him.”
“I still can’t believe I said all that stuff to a reporter.” She shook her head. “It’s awful, isn’t it?”
“I enjoyed it. Especially the part where you threatened to plant a bomb in Hugh Hefner’s hot tub.”
“I’ll admit that was a little drastic. But the only thing that reporter wanted to know was if the Iraqis had raped me. He must have asked the question fifteen different ways. All that talk about plastique and timers shut him up.”
“You should try dealing with sportswriters sometime. Talking about plastique would only give those guys a hard-on.”
Jack was quiet for a moment. They were dancing around the important stuff now. If they were going anywhere- together-they had to get things straight.
“Cards on the table, okay?” he said.
She nodded.
“I want the money,” Jack said. “And that’s all I want. What do you want?”
“I want to get hold of Wyetta Earp. I want her to tell me where Vince Komoko is buried. And then I want to put a bullet between her eyes, and say my last goodbye to Vince, and get the hell out of Pipeline Beach, Arizona.”
“You don’t want the money?”
“No. If you’ll back me against Wyetta, you can have the money. I don’t want a dime.”
Jack thought about it.
He didn’t think long.
He said, “I think this might be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
“Bogart you ain’t.” Kate drew the Heckler from her shoulder holster and handed it over. “But you’re going to need this.”
Jack set the gun on a table before it had a chance to go off by accident. “Uh. . about guns. There’s something I need to tell you. .”
Kate popped the Caddy’s trunk. The compartment was packed light with Ellis’s bootleg cellular phones. With Jack’s help she loaded them into the Dodge Dakota. All she’d say about it was, "Only two hundred and sixty shopping days until Christmas, champ.”
Jack hopped into Kate’s truck, and she drove him to the spot where he’d parked the Range Rover.
“I almost forgot,” he said as he climbed out. “If you see a big black guy with an African hat at the Riptide, kill him. He’s a hit man, and he’s after me.”
She shook her head. “Thanks for the update, champ.”
“Sure.”
“Any other late-breaking bulletins?”
“Nope … I think that about does it.”
“Then let’s get down to brass tacks.”
They headed toward Pipeline Beach-Jack in the Range Rover trailing Kate in the Dodge Dakota. About halfway between Ellis’s place and the Saguaro Riptide, they turned off the highway and followed a dirt road for a couple of miles. Kate pulled to a stop near an abandoned shack. Jack parked behind her.
She got out of the truck and chalked a man-sized outline on the side of the shack with a soft stone. Then she gave Jack a quick lesson with the Heckler. The cloud cover had drifted away from the moon, and the desert was painted with a tarnished glow. Jack set to work firing at the target while Kate returned to the truck and made some calls with one of Ellis’s phones.