part0022

“What do you call a lead?” Naiche said as he swirled slices of ice around in a crystal lowball tumbler, before taking a sip of the Glenmorangie Signet single malt whisky.

“We found out that Jack Mitchell owns a cabin out in the boonies, west of the city.”

“Sweet, Jimmy. Let’s hope that he and his crew are there. I want the hundred K that Cooper owed us.”

“What if Mitchell and his pals don’t want to part with it?”

“Persuade them that if they want to live to enjoy their ill-gotten gains, then parting with a small amount of what they’ve stolen is the way to go.”

Jimmy nodded. “I’ll keep you up to speed with the situation.”

“Just let me know when you’ve dealt with it. I don’t need a running commentary.”

“OK chief,” Jimmy said. “With any luck we’ll be back this afternoon.”

Naiche poured another large measure of the malt whisky over the melting slivers of ice after Jimmy had left. Perhaps he was being a little finicky in holding some lowlife bank robber to account for money that was owed to the casino by a dead man, but Mitchell had murdered Cooper, and so he was now responsible for the man’s debt. It was that simple; black and white. Someone always had to pay the piper, and it didn’t matter if it was fifty dollars or a million. His belief was that if you can’t pay, don’t play. He had never in his life owed anyone a red cent. Gamblers were, in the main, addicts, the same as alcoholics, junkies or smokers, to be taken advantage of as they threw good money after bad. None of that was his problem, because the punters that entered the Cochise did so voluntarily under no obligation to part with their cash.

Jimmy walked out into the sunlight holding a lidded cup of coffee and climbed into the front passenger seat of the XT4.

“Let’s do it,” Jimmy said to Lester. “Hit the road, it’s time to collect what’s owed and hopefully come away with a big bonus.”

“Bonus?” Ben Reynolds said from the rear.

“Yeah. This modern-day James’ gang has robbed four banks. They’re probably sitting with the best part of a million dollars, and all we need to reclaim for the casino is a hundred grand. Anything else we get is a four-way split.”

“Like the time we caught up with McGiver?”

“Yeah,” Jimmy said.

Reece McGiver had been a big player at the Cochise, but a poor one. He had got in over his rug-clad head, lost everything but his shirt, but still had an unpaid tab of seventy thousand. It came to Naiche’s attention that the guy had enjoyed a rare run of good fortune at the Wild Horse Pass Hotel & Casino south of the city off the Maricopa Freeway in Chandler. McGiver had got lucky rolling dice and walked away with over a quarter million dollars, but had not settled up with the Cochise, and so Naiche had told Jimmy to collect the outstanding debt. Accompanied by Ben and Yuma, Jimmy had located McGiver at an apartment in Mesa and gave him an ultimatum; full payment of the money he owed or a lengthy stay in an intensive care unit, with the prospect of having a lot of interest being added to the amount that he already owed.

McGiver had said that he had the cash in the apartment and would pay in full, but instead of withdrawing money from a drawer in his bedroom he had pulled out a handgun, only to be shot dead by Yuma, who had not trusted him and was quick to annul the threat. They had taken more than two hundred thousand in one hundred-dollar bills that were in the apartment, to pay seventy thousand of it back to the casino and share the rest equally between them. The body of Reece McGiver had never been found. Yuma had taken it up into the Tonto National Forest, to dismember and burn before burying it in the wilderness. Lots of losers became victims of their addiction to gamble, and ended up taking their own lives or being killed by organizations that did not accept their frailties and were only interested in being paid in full. Not so many were murdered these days. Dead men can’t repay their debts. Time had in some ways moved on from back when the mob ran Vegas in Nevada and many bodies wound up buried in the desert, where their bones still laid.

Lester pulled in to a slot outside the Superstition Saloon restaurant in Tortilla flat. They ordered a mess of burritos, tacos, quesadillas, and a couple pots of coffee.

“Let’s assume that there are four armed men in the cabin,” Lester said to Jimmy. “How do you suppose we’ll be able to get them to open up and hand over the money?”

“Burn ‘em out,” Yuma said.

“If we do that, the dough will go up in smoke,” Jimmy said. “I’ll talk to them and let them know that all we want is the hundred K that Cooper owes the casino.”

“And if they tell you to take a hike, and that Cooper’s debt isn’t their problem?” Lester said.

“Then we open up with the AR-15s to let them know that we mean business. If this Mitchell guy has any sense at all he’ll pay up and hope that we leave it at that.”

“Could end up being a war,” Ben said.

“I doubt it. They’ll be pinned down and know it,” Jimmy said, and then paused as a waitress appeared with the pots of coffee.

“Best if we just whack ‘em and take the loot,” Yuma said after the young blonde waitress ‒ dressed as a cowgirl in a rhinestone covered blouse, tight ultra short denim skirt and wearing patent leather pointy-toed white western boots ‒ had swung her shapely ass back towards batwing doors that led into the kitchen.

“You’re a born killer,” Jimmy said, smiling at Yuma as he poured the strong black coffee into a ceramic mug.

“Can’t argue with God’s honest truth, boss,” Yuma said.

They tucked into the platters of spicy Mexican food when it came, and each of them was lost in their own thoughts for a while.

Lester wished that he was back at the casino, working his computer and looking forward to a BBQ that evening with his wife, kids and a few friends and neighbors. He wasn’t by nature a violent man, but did what was required of him, legal or otherwise, because he enjoyed a very good salary that paid the mortgage on his ranch style house situated on a small development in North Mountain Village. He was, or liked to believe that he was a decent human being, but working for Jimmy Samson necessitated him having to do some things that he would rather not.

Yuma was looking forward to a confrontation with the bank robbers. He had a proclivity for violence, and an inborn dislike of whites in general and most other folk, that he thought of as being little more than steers born to be led to the slaughter house. He had not enjoyed his formative years, and had found that thinking of himself as being a true American was not viewed as such by the masses of the population that were the descendents of alien peoples from other parts of the world. He had no empathy for anyone, and had the capacity to maim or kill others if required, or if it suited him to do so. It crossed his mind that if they succeeded in taking perhaps a million dollars from the robbers, then he may kill the other three, flee the area and start over.

Ben Reynolds ate his tacos and refried beans and looked forward to being back at the apartment he shared in Ingleside with his partner of five years, Bobby Turner, the love of his life and the owner of a boutique on W Camelback Road in Scottsdale. What Ben did as a security officer at the Cochise was totally separate from the life he lived with Bobby. He had the capacity to keep the conflicting areas of his life detached in his mind. He was able to do whatever was necessary to earn his pay and do what was bid of him.

Jimmy was giving the impending undertaking a lot of thought. It always helped to put yourself in the position of whoever you were dealing with. He decided that Mitchell and his gang would not roll over like cowed dogs and pay up. Why would they? They’d be fools to believe that settling Cooper’s debt would be an end to it. It was highly likely that the four robbers would have to be eliminated.

Jimmy paid ‘Cowgirl’ the check when she brought it, and they drove off into the hills with full stomachs and the expectation of making a lot of money within the next few hours.

Nothing worth having comes without a certain amount of hard work, risk, or both, Jimmy reckoned. Taking perhaps a million bucks from men that had proven they were prepared to kill for it would not necessarily be a walk in the park.