TWENTY-EIGHT

THEY waited, and then waited even longer, having decided to hit the ranch late, when all the lights had gone out and it was safe to assume that everyone inside was asleep.  They knew that Palmer was armed, but had no idea how many people were inside, or whether they would also have weapons.  The ethos in many parts of the States was to shoot to kill intruders, and neither of them wanted a shootout.  The plan was to break in as silently as possible and whack everyone without having a confrontation.  All they wanted from the ranch were the cell phones of Palmer and the kid, just in case either of them had taken the time to video anything before they took off from the cabin.

“Bring the bag of money,” Jimmy said.  “Last thing we need is for some punk to break into the Caddy and steal it.”

Jogging through trees, Jimmy and Yuma stopped at the edge of them.  Yuma placed the heavy duffel bag down behind the thickest trunk he could find, and by the light of the moon they studied the property, searching out the placement of sensor-operated security lights and CCTV cameras.

“There’s nothing that I can see covering the rear corner,” Yuma said as he pulled on the gloves that fitted like a second skin, and then once more screwed the suppressor onto the barrel of his Glock, as Jimmy did the same.

Keeping low, they made their way across open ground to the porch and moved stealthily along it, testing the timber boards with every step, not wanting to make any undue creaking sound as they approached the rear door.  Handing his weapon to Jimmy, Yuma took a small leather wallet from an inside pocket of his denim trucker jacket, flipped open the top and withdrew the tools he needed to pick the lock.

Once inside, and with the door closed behind them, both men made their way slowly through the utility room into a large farmhouse kitchen, to cross a wide hallway beyond it and check out the downstairs rooms.  The ground floor was clear.  Back at the bottom of the stairs, Yuma made his way up to the landing, his intention being to kill everyone in the house, while Jimmy went back outside to keep watch, due to the balcony around the second floor being a means of escape, should anyone inside it hear Yuma and attempt to drop down from it.

It was almost three a.m. when Zack left the car and walked across the Mac’s lot to enter the outlet and use the restroom before purchasing two more cups of cappuccino.  In the main, stakeouts were boring and usually came up blank, but this one was different.  Zack was in the company of a woman that he’d decided was a keeper.  Something extra special had blossomed between them, and they were on course to become a couple planning a future together.  The time had flown by as they’d told each other of their pasts, talked about their families, and had given the relationship a foundation to build upon.  Zack had told Heather that he was a member of the White Mountain Apache Tribe and had been born and raised on the Fort Apache Reservation.  She had asked him if he resented the way that Native American Indians had been treated by the whites, and he had admitted that until he had been a teenager he had done, but then, due to talking in depth with a tribal elder, Baishan Youngblood, he had accepted that what had happened in the past was as dead and gone as the tens of millions of bison that had been slaughtered by white settlers.  ‘You need to deal with living in the now, Zack’, Baishan had said.  ‘Do not spend a second of your life dwelling on bad shit that cannot be changed’.

The sun came up over the mountaintops east of the city, and the XT4 that Jimmy Samson and the others had left in had not returned.

“Time to put an APB out on the vehicle,” Heather said through a yawn as she scrolled down the contact list in her cell and called Fess Anders.

“This better be good, Detective,” Fess said as he answered his phone.  It’s five-thirty in the freakin morning, and my ankle is killing me.  I’ve hardly had a wink of sleep.”

“We need an All Points put out on the vehicle that we know Samson and three other guys are driving, Lieutenant.  We’ve been sitting in a parking lot opposite the casino all night, and they haven’t returned as yet.”

“You positive that they shot the cabin up, murdered Mitchell and took the bank money?”

“Absolutely.”

“OK, give me the vehicle details and the names of the guys that are with Samson and I’ll jack it up.”

“We’ll be having a few hours downtime,” Heather said after she had given Fess all the relevant information.  “Neither of us has slept for at least thirty-six hours.”

“Fine.  I’ll let you know if we get lucky,” Fess said before disconnecting.

“Let’s have a full breakfast in the Cochise,” Zack said.  “I think we’ve earned it, and who knows, Samson could turn up and make our day.”

“I’ll probably fall asleep while I’m eating,” Heather said.

“No problem, I’m starving, so whatever you leave won’t get wasted.”

Entering the Geronimo Grill, which was upstairs on the mezzanine level, they asked to be seated in a booth by a window that overlooked the staff car lot.  An hour later they left feeling full, tired, and more than a little disenchanted due to their still being no sign of Samson.

“I need to sleep for ten hours straight,” Heather said.  “But I think we should check out the addresses of Reynolds, Perkins and Mason, to see if any of them have returned home.”

No luck.  All three men were absent from their homes.  It was as if they had been swallowed up by the desert.

Back at Zack’s apartment, both of them were too dog-tired to have a shower or fool around.  Heather pulled the drapes to, and they undressed, climbed into bed and were fast asleep within a minute of Zack giving Heather a goodnight kiss and cuddle.