Gary Ponzo - A Touch of Revenge

“What’s that?” Walt asked.

“I’ve got to go,” Nick said. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

He shut his phone and waved the group in. The soldiers spread apart to allow the approaching riders to make their way to Nick.

Nick nudged Matt. “Why don’t you head inside, check your emails.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

All three Harley riders shut off their engines and dismounted. The silence was palpable. They all wore jeans, tee shirts, bandannas and sunglasses. The rider in the middle pulled off a pair of riding gloves as he approached.

Nick stepped down from the porch.

“Sheriff,” the man said with a nod of reverence.

Nick nodded back.

“Sarge wanted you to know he appreciated your visit … I mean the way you handled yourself. He said to tell you he’s sorry he mistook your motive. It wasn’t until you were gone that he fully understood your intentions.”

Nick shrugged. “It’s understandable.”

The leader looked around before he spoke again. His wing men stood with their hands behind their backs.

“The fact is,” the leader said, “Sarge is as American as apple pie.”

“You’ll get no argument from me.”

This put a smile on the man’s face. “So, he wanted you to know the Harley Mafia had nothing to do with any cigarette heist you two had spoken about.”

Nick waited.

“But he did a little research and discovered a coincidence in his gambling books. A little while back, a local resident came by to pay up his debt. This was someone who’d owed Sarge over three thousand dollars for most of the past two years. Sarge has a soft heart, so he let this guy run a tab longer than most. The guy’s a compulsive gambler and Sarge feels a little guilty taking his money, like he’s an enabler.”

Nick let that one go. What else would you call a bookie except an enabler?

“So,” the man continued, holding his gloves in both hands, “Sarge checked his dates correctly to be sure and discovered that the day this man paid off his debt was precisely one day after the cigarette robbery came down.”

Now the man smiled hard, as if he’d just offered Nick the key to the city.

“I see,” Nick said. “Has the man come back since then to place more bets?”

“Yes. He’s down over a thousand dollars already and six hundred of it is sitting on the books awaiting payment.”

Nick nodded. “That’s valuable,” he said. “Care to offer the man’s name?”

“Sarge told me to get a read on you, to decide whether you could be trusted to keep his name away from the connection.” He stared through his sunglasses at Nick as if he were trying to search Nick’s soul. After a few seconds, he said, “I trust you.”

“You should.”

The man began to put on his gloves. “Eddie Lister,” the man said. “They call him Fast Eddie. Mostly because he loses his shirt so quickly.”

Nick reached out and shook the man’s hand. “Tell Sarge America owes him.”

The man mounted his bike along with his two friends. As they sat back in their seats about to push the start button, the man smiled from behind the sunglasses and said, “I’ll have him put it on the tab.”

Anton Kalinikov sat by the small window and watched the horizon darken as the plane headed west. His final job, he thought. He’d never allowed himself the luxury of thinking past his next assignment, it was too dangerous. But ever since he’d heard the staggering amount he was getting paid, his retirement plans became an irresistible reality.

“You traveling for business?” the voice next to him said. Kalinikov turned to see a middle-aged man with a pot-belly and a bookmarked copy of “The Iliad” on his lap.

Kalinikov smiled amiably and spoke with a tremendous mid-western accent, “Yes, I am,” Kalinikov said. “How about you?”

The man grinned. “Just coming back from a sales trip to Philadelphia. I’ve lived in Phoenix for almost forty years, so I’m practically a native.”

Kalinikov extended his hand. “Norm Jennings,” Kalinikov said.

The man shook his hand. “Marv Sinter.”

“What kind of sales?” Kalinikov asked.

“Medical supplies. You?”

“Insurance.” The word alone always put a damper on any conversation, so it was no surprise when the he spent the next ten minutes reading the airplane magazine. He’d achieved the desired effect.

The plane began to descend and the airline attendant made all of the necessary announcements. As Kalinikov was moving his seat into an upright position, Marv nudged him and gestured out the window.

“Look,” Marv said, pointing to a long line of headlights below them. The row of cars were at a virtual standstill and seemed to continue on for eternity. They were all going in the same direction away from the mountains and toward the desert.

“What is that?” Kalinikov asked.

“That’s the road out of Payson,” Marv said. “My brother is in one of those cars with his family. They’re all heading to Phoenix.”

“How long of a drive is it?”

“An hour and a half if you step on it. But the way that looks, it’ll be four or five hours.”

Kalinikov noticed no traffic going the opposite direction toward Payson.

“They really think this terrorist is going to destroy the town?” Kalinikov asked.

Marv shrugged. “After what happened a few months back, I wouldn’t blame them if they never returned. That sheriff up there is just inviting trouble.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because, he’s a target, that’s why. If he left town, the place would be safe again.”

Kalinikov grinned. “Is that what you would do? Run away? You would spend your entire life chasing bad guys, then one of them threatens you and your community and you’d run? Is that the kind of sheriff you would be?”

Marv grinned back at him. “You bet your ass. Especially if I had kids. I’d run like a little girl.”

Kalinikov stared down at the huge traffic jam below them. “Does he have children?”

“I don’t think so,” Marv said. “That’s probably part of the problem right there. Give a guy kids and their entire philosophy on life changes.”

“Really? Tell me about it.”

“You don’t have kids?”

Kalinikov shook his head as the plane bounced on clear air turbulence. “I have two nephews however. Does that count?”

“Sorry,” Marv said. “I can’t let you into the club unless you have one of your own.”

“I see,” Kalinikov turned to face his new friend. “And this Sheriff doesn’t have any children, so that’s the main problem?”

“Yes,” Marv said with a grin threatening to break out. “That’s the issue. He’s got too much testosterone. Give him some young ones and he’d soften up a little.”

“Let the terrorist do what he wants with the city as long as his kids are safe, right?”

Marv looked over at Kalinikov incredulously. “You’re actually having fun with this, aren’t you?”

Kalinikov smiled. “Of course.”

“What about you, tough guy?” Marv asked. “What would you do?”

Kalinikov gave it some thought. “Me? I’d probably track the terrorist down and kill him.”

Marv appraised Kalinikov as if seeing him for the first time. “You’ve got some years on you, Norm, but I’ll bet you could kick some butt when you wanted.”

Kalinikov gave him a paternal smile. “You have the wrong guy, Marv.” He gazed back out the window toward the tail of the spiraling line of cars. Toward Payson.

“I don’t even like watching hockey on TV,” Kalinikov added. “Too much violence.”

Lynn Harding was sleep-deprived and she knew it. Three straight days without more than a two hour nap. As the ASAC of the Baltimore Field Office, she’d just lost four of her fellow FBI agents to a Russian assassin hired by Temir Barzani. All of this led to a nervous stomach and bags under her eyes.