Sheepdogs: Keeping the Wolves at Bay by Gordon Carroll (tools of titans ebook .TXT) 📗

It was Mr. Spock, AKA Arnold Verick. “Is that right, Mr. Verick?” Silence on the other end of the line. “What, you didn’t think I could find out who you are? I am a detective after all.”

“A better detective than I thought,” he said.

“You wasted a lot of my time,” I said. “Why Black Hawk?”

“Several years ago I had a… disagreement with the CEO of The Mills Casino. I thought this a novel way of paying him back.”

“Well, you made a big mistake, Mr. Verick. I know who you are, the company you work for, your boss. Everything.”

“I still have something you want.”

“And I have something you want.”

Silence again. Then, “You have the flash drive?”

“I have it.”

“Prove it.”

I pulled into my driveway, shifted the car to park and turned the air conditioner up a notch. “I’m curious, does Mr. Doors know the lengths you’ve gone to in securing Whack the Pig for him? Or are you doing this on your own?”

“Tomorrow, zero six hundred, Cave of the Winds. Straight trade. Keep the police out of this and come alone.”

“Suppose I just turn everything I have over to the police now?”

“If you do that, no one ever sees the girl again. I go to jail, I go to court, I get the best lawyers in the world, I’m found innocent. Shortly after that, the mother dies in an accident, next the father, then Joseph and the other kids. After that, you die along with your dogs and your secretary.”

He was telling me his boss was in on it and a guy that rich could get anyone off and make anyone disappear. I wished it wasn’t true, but I’d worked the system too long not to realize it wasn’t a justice system, it was just-a-system, and a broken one at that. Still, I had some leverage and it was time to use it. “I agree to the time, but the place will be Red Rocks Amphitheater, on the stage.”

“No.”

“Then I burn the flash drive and turn every scrap of information I have over to the FBI and we can see just how good those lawyers of yours really are.” There was another pause.

“Tomorrow then.” The line went dead.

It would be a long night.

I called the Franklins, Tom picked up. I told him I had some new information and asked him to come over by himself.

I went inside my house, put down some food for the dogs, found some leftover green chili in the fridge and popped it into the microwave. I gave it two minutes, added some Velveeta cheese, and nuked it a little longer. While that was heating, I warmed some tortillas on a flat skillet, diced up some red onions and grated some cheddar. I took the lot of it to the table and clicked on the television with the remote. I ate while the national news flashed before me. By the time I finished cleaning my bowl and spoon, Tom Franklin was ringing the doorbell. I let him in, offered him a drink and tossed him a Coke. He drank it from the can. Me, I like my Dr P over ice. Civilized.

We sat at the table and I looked across at him. His eyes held the tired, sunken look of the lost. His cheeks and throat were dotted with stubble. He brushed a pale hand through oily hair. I told him everything I knew to date. He sat and took it in, burying his face in his hands when I told him about Shane deciding not to sell the game to Micro Corp. When I finished, he raised his face but kept his eyes closed as though he were seeing his dead son in his mind’s eye.

“We’d been arguing for weeks,” he said. “I felt like Shane wasn’t very close to God. I feared he might be getting into drugs. The more I talked to him the farther he seemed to drift away from me. I didn’t know what to do. Then he went missing and I thought he ran away.” He shook his head and tears fell to the table. He covered his eyes with a hand. “They killed my son, and for what… a video game?”

“I understand how terrible it is to lose a child, Tom, and I wish I could allow you to grieve. But if we’re to save your daughter, there just isn’t time — later yes — but not now. Understand?” He nodded, opened his eyes. I grabbed some tissues and handed them to him. He wiped his nose and scrubbed his cheeks.

I laid a hand on his shoulder. “You can take solace in the knowledge that Shane had turned back to God. You’ll see him again one day, Tom. You will see him again.”

He nodded, blinked several times and put his hand over mine. “Thank you for that. My faith isn’t very strong right now. I was so upset with Shane before… so certain he was playing games, trying to punish me… that I didn’t even pray for him. I didn’t pray for my son and they were… torturing him? I can’t get that out of my head.” He moved his hand and wiped his eyes.

I understood, but I couldn’t let him wander down that path. It would destroy him and I needed him to be strong. “It’s Amber you need to think of now. It’s Amber that needs us.”

Tom took several deep breaths, bucking himself up, pushing down the thoughts and memories of his dead son. I could see it in his expression. He said, “It’s been a very bad year, Mr. Mason. My wife and I… we’ve been having problems. It’s not Lisa, it’s me. It’s my fault. I’ve been so caught up in work… crazy hours… tons of stress… late nights.” He looked up at me. “The first time I saw you, after our house had been broken into and you said you were a private investigator, I thought she’d hired you to follow me.” He shook