Aftermath: Hide and Seek

Donnie’s phone, left sitting on that side table, whooshed. Big Sal picked it up, still flushed from all the excitement. Both girls were sitting on the round “Roman” bed, awaiting a verdict.

A text from a “Cliffie”: “Where are you?” Soon followed by, “Where the FUCK are you?” She’d have to think about this one a bit. Now with the bird out the window, this fuck-up got real difficult. One couldn’t be too hasty. She was listening to the debriefing from Leonard.

“He’s hurt. He left some blood on the window sill and a little splatter on the wall below.” He was pointing to the evidence. “He had to be hit for that splatter. He’s definitely hurt.”

Big Sal was looking at her “security crew”, Tobias was looking at his feet, with one hand over his swollen genitals from the swift boot he took; Bloodhound still rubbing his neck and coughing, spitting blood.

“What the fuck you think you’re doin’? Spittin blood on the floors of my place? You know we have to clean this shit up for customers? You know, customers? The people who pay me, so I can pay you?” He had nowhere he could go with this. And he found out long ago, try and justify any perceived misunderstanding and it only got worse with Sally. “I’ll clean it up myself, Big Sal.” He never looked up.

“Okay, finish, Leonard.”

“Well, he’s bleeding, and he’s running around out there in his boxers miles from anywhere. It’s already 50 degrees and expected to be in the low 30’s, so he’s in a fix. In a big way.”

“Who chased him?” None of the heavies answered, meaning none. But Leonard had to give the logic.

“I shot a few times as he ran, but he was well out there already. By the time I woulda got out after him, no telling where he might’ve got to. He’ll freeze by mornin’.”

“Yea, no telling when you don’t bother to fucking chase him.” She was staring her lead man down.

“I know the direction, Sal. I know we can find some blood. We’ll track him.”

“You and what dogs?”

Leonard just pointed at Tobias and Bloodhound. “We got Bloodhound.” He started chuckling, and his mates tentatively joined in. Big Sal did too. Then she stopped.

“What are you waitin’ for then? Git!”

Leonard and the two henchmen were heading for the door, while Big Sal was turning to the girls. “Wait a sec, Leonard. Got an idea. A good one, I think.” Her cryptic mind always found solutions; she had one of those brains that did glorious criminal work with a rare failure of an attempt at kindness. That was the proof she needed – she was just good at the nefarious shit.

“The patron had roughed up one of the girls… that got the other set off and screamin’.” She was streaming a full and creative story about how this all happened in case the law was brought into it. “He pulled a handgun and shot one of the girls…” immediately Susie 2-cents and Margot clenched up, their eyes asking why… Big Sal put a calming hand out, “Only a wound, don’t worry…” then she proceeded to finish. “After that, the culprit broke out the window and ran because you three came in aid of the girls… Sound good?”

The girls didn’t think so, both with stomach’s fluttering. They had to do some abysmal things in their lives in this trade, in this establishment, but willingly getting wounded was sure to be the worst. Wishing it upon the other was all they would silently do.

Leonard moseyed over to the bed, Big Sally just reached out to him. “I’ll do it. I’ll be a bit more dainty and delicate than you.” She took the 9mm, looking at the two, she told Susie 2-cents, “Stick out your arm.” Margot breathed in quiet relief. Susie clenched her eyes shut and held out her arm, “Don’t hit nothin’ important Sal!”

POW! POW!

Susie felt nothing as she blanched at the sounds. Tobias bellowed, “Jesus Christ!”

Margot lay back, almost comfortably in posture, but with one flowing hole in her chest and one in her neck. She was gasping, eyes wide, looking straight up at the Venetian Plastered ceiling… blood started percolating up from her mouth.

Susie just stood from the bed and ran into the bathroom as was the girls’ general response to the occasional murders. It was becoming too much maybe. Finally.

Margot stopped spitting blood after a minute. Stopped wheezing. Stopped everything. Eyes open.

“It’s more real if the girl is killed. It’ll get a more sympathetic law enforcement effort, ya know? That way it’s not gonna splash on me. Be sure you lose the 9mm.” It was simply Big Gal Sal’s logic that killed Margot… aka, Missy Snodgrass from the Nebraska farmlands, confirming her family’s warnings.

Then back to the business of the dirty work ahead. “Leonard, I need you in the field. You and Bloodhound go find the Pollack… Tobias, when Susie comes out, you need to bop her around some. If the customer beat her, she better look the part.” Tobias looked down, not much appreciating beating on a girl, especially the ones that would give him an occasional freebie.

“Did you hear me, you stupid nigger?”

“Yes, Big Sal. I din’t say nothin’ cuz you said for me to wait for Susie.”

Then back at Leonard, “Go find that piece of shit, and let’s see if we can’t get through this event without any other damage. I gotta call the Sheriff now.”

Leonard and Bloodhound headed out, Tobias tapped on the bathroom door as Susie’s prompt to come out and take her beating. And the Pollack’s phone whooshed from a new text.

“Donnie. WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU GUYS?”

Right then, Big Gal Sal realized she had a new set of problems.

*************************

Donnie was running by the light of the moon and stars. The nearest settlement of any kind in Pahrump was just a halo to the northwest, maybe five-miles, maybe 10. Having spent the better part of two tours in Iraq, he knew a couple things about deserts. They, after a time in their darkness, give up their own sort of ambient light. It doesn’t change the blackness, but it gives better clarity to the immediate yards ahead of you. So, he had that going for him. He also knew how to track the stars and find north, and he knew that is where he had to go for he knew only that they took a left turn off of State Road 160 to get to the whorehouse.

He just wished to God he had paid more attention to the details. It was egregious foolishness to just get drunk and get in a car to go get laid. The smartest thing in the world at the time is always the stupidest when you’re drunk. “Fuck me.” He quietly raged. He decided he had better be smart the rest of his hours, whether they be few or many.

He found a dry riverbed, one of those troughs of lowlands from the rain washouts that sprouted a variety of shrubs: Creosote and Sage bushes, Brittlebush, Banana Yucca. It offered cover to the escapee, but there was the problem as well. This area of the Mojave Desert was mostly barren, hardscrabble, with only sporadic rivulets that provided any vegetation. It made for easy discovery as the security detail is certain to be rummaging and rattling in the bush. The only saving grace, because of the hardpack and rocky gravel, he left no evidence of his escape. No boot prints, certainly nothing sufficient for these off-the-shelf heavies. So, while he had seen no movements, no cars, no flashlights, he was sure they were organizing.

Donnie stayed on the hardpack above the sandy bottom of the dry arroyo, and in his ducking, inspecting, he came upon something light half-buried in the sand. He crouched, staying below the layers of scrub, and reached into the sand blown remnant, finding a tattered T-shirt. It may as well have been diamonds for its vast wealth of needs it would provide the veteran. He teethed an edge and then pulled strips from the shirt, and began wrapping his upper left arm. He took one of the shots right in his Semper Fi tattoo, but wasn’t sure where and when. There was no record of pain for all the adrenaline-filled theater. The balance of the shirt he slipped on, grateful that It was a little too large. He knew every bit of that cotton would serve him this frigid night.

Just then he saw a bobbing of lights, then heard a gas motor turn over, probably an ATV utility vehicle made most sense. While they didn’t know precisely where he ran to, they would cover ground fast, and a pretty good bet they would start with these flush-holes.

He was satisfied that he stanched the single bullet wound, and mopped up a couple of the flowing cuts from the broken glass, at least enough he wouldn’t be leaving a cherry-red bread crumb trail right to him. It was enough of an achievement to give him a chance. The next effort was the one that would save him.

*************************

With no response from Don Juan, Cliff , Johnny and Art started plying security at the hotel. They found a cagy bit of help from an ex-marine named Clarence. He did two tours in the Iraq, one in Baghdad, one in Tikrit, with a portion of that second tour in Saudi Arabia on security detail for the US State Department. That’s how he easily cracked into the high-level industry in Vegas. It was a well-paid position, but demanding of stringent performance. No falling asleep.

So, they felt they fell into good hands of support with Clarence. But the big security official was hesitating to share any security tape from the day before for some reason, while he promised he’d review the tapes himself in detail.

Johnny didn’t buy the full-throated “Oorah!” the guy gave them, only to back off as some administrative caution, so the fly-boy called the Las Vegas Sheriff’s Office of Clark County, giving them one more card in their favor. While the Sheriff’s Office decided it was far too soon to put out an APB for grown men who clearly were on a mission of debauchery, even admitted in the texts Cliff had received, they did agree to offer one of the hotel plainclothesmen to coordinate the sharing of the video tapes at the front of the hotel and the floor where the guys had spent most of their time, before the six sort of split.

It was Art that noticed the casino slug that had tripped over Mark and then engaged.

“There, that guy. That’s the guy I saw bump into Mark… and they talked for a bit. Looked like he gave Mark a business card.”

Cliff nodding, turned to Clarence, “You know that guy, Clarence?”

There was a stiff and slow shake of the head, one that might have spoken of hesitation, not unfamiliarity. “No, can’t say that I do. But there are thousands of people a day here, ya know. Hard to recognize all of them.”

“Well, Clarence, we’re asking you to remember one guy, not a thousand.”

Again that stiff, cautious shake of the head, “No, can’t say I know him.”

The boys’ collective radar was up. “Okay, let’s play this through. See what the guy is doing?”

Clarence didn’t seem too eager about that idea, and proposed they view some pool tapes, “Because they might have met some private girls out there and went with them.”

Cliff turned to the plainclothes officer and made their point, “It’s this guy. A couple of our people saw this guy interacting with Mark Denton. It’s this guy we should follow.” So they stayed on track. And then they found out why Clarence wanted to move to the pool videos.

********************

Donnie had found a cleft in the hardscrabble above the sandy sediment of the trough. The root system of the creosote and sage had created a shelf since the washout took away some of the loose, fertile soil against the bank. Standing above the trough amidst the brush, he grabbed at the overhang and pulled at the root bed, lifting it like a toupee. That was his answer. He couldn’t outrun them, and he couldn’t just hide among the bushes, they would surely be investigating with machetes and guns… so, he thought to get beneath the brush.

He hurriedly dug beneath the peeled-up roots, and while the root thatch was breaking apart some, it seemed to hold its shape well enough. Knowing the fickle glancing light of flashlights against a cluster of bush at night throws any easy perception into question, so he figured… he prayed that this costume of bush and roots might be his safety.

After hollowing out the space a little more, tossing the sandy gravel into the bushes, so there was no remnant of fresh digging, he slid his feet in and began kicking, packing some of the remaining loose soil to make more room. He could hear the vehicles nearing, and the light glancing across the brush of the rivulet. It was as good as it could be, and his only answer. He crawled down, while leveraging the turf upward, then lay, pulling the edge of the root shelf back over him, he keeping a slender space for his nose and eye to the open air.

There, he would wait… and he began mouthing the “Our Father”, as one last plea to God and St. Michael for just one more scrape, one more salvation.

********************

Cliff just snorted, “Seen all I need to see. So, you say you didn’t know the guy, but there you are rapping like old buddies. Seem to be pretty fucking familiar to me.”

The lawman cautioned a peaceful discussion, “We’re all trying to help resolve this, and we’re not even sure what this is yet. But Clarence, you should explain this bit of video for their edification.”

“Well, it’s nothing to know. I just talked with a guy who came up and asked me something, I don’t know.”

“What did he ask you, Clarence?” Johnny was probing, but not incriminating the security guard. Surely the thing that would quiet any assistance.

“I couldn’t tell you. Couldn’t remember if I tried. Just questions, normal shit, I guess.”

Again they reran the moment where Clarence was laughing in a pretty hearty fervor. Cliff drooled in contempt, “Just questions.”

Nothing more would be discovered as Clarence called it quits, “I got work I gotta do.” Looking at Rick, the Sheriff’s man, “I did all I can for these guys, Rick. I don’t know the guy, and if he said something funny to me, I’m guilty for not remembering what a complete stranger said to me? Nah, I’m done. I was being a good guy. If they want more, Rick, let ‘em get a subpoena, and I will gladly accommodate.”

“Well, Clarence, I’m not sure I agree with your position; seems they got a reasonable concern, if indeed their buddies are in trouble. But no one can make you do this as a favor.” Then he turned to the vets, “He’s right. He tried to help, and… well, ex-marines, unable to take care of themselves? And we still don’t know if they’re not just eyes deep in some pretty muffs. That shit can be pretty distracting. Why don’t you guys just keep trying to connect with them. Take my card and let me know if you hear from them. We’ll get you help if you can’t locate them.”

It was not a solution to the vets as none of the three AWOL were responding to calls or texts. Complete silence, so they would continue where they could. It was then Art interrupted, “Can you get us into Mark’s room? Remember Amber, guys. We can’t forget. He was trying to reconnect with her at the bar. Maybe they hooked up with her.”

Clarence had no trouble with that request, because just in insinuation, it would seem to draw any more attention away from Clarence and… He didn’t even think it, for what might come out. “Yea, I’ll take you into his room, since your buddies and you have concerns.”

In the room, they found two business cards, one for a Mitchel Coggins, “Manager, Driver, Organizer, Advisor for your trips to Heaven.” No photo on the card. A Vegas address and phone number. Who needed more?

The other was for Jack Smart, “The Zanzibar Club”, “Your dream, your girl. Find them both.”

Cliff looked up at his crew, ignoring Clarence’s presence entirely, “We got to find these people.” He then looked up at Clarence as if looking for an answer, and he was giving a small shake of the head. “I don’t know nothin’, no matter how mad you might get. Now, I helped you. And if you got some real evidence your boys are in trouble, and it has something to do with the hotel, I’m right there. One marine to another.” And he belted out a pretentious “Oorah!” to cement his bullshit fraternity with the group.

But there would be no more help from Clarence.

So the security guard thought.

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