No Honor Among Thieves: An Ali Reynolds Novella (Kindle Single) by J.A. Jance Page A
Book: No Honor Among Thieves: An Ali Reynolds Novella (Kindle Single) by J.A. Jance
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Authors: J.A. Jance
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come to rest against the doorjamb. Ali immediately grabbed it and flung it into the underbrush. Then, with a strength she didn’t know she possessed, she took Cami by the arm and dragged her from the vehicle. Once Cami was safely on the ground, Ali slammed the door shut. The Tahoe was a cop car after all. Anybody who was imprisoned inside the back passenger seat behind the safety divider and with the doors locked wouldn’t be going anywhere until someone on the outside opened the door.
Cami simply sank down on the pavement as though she didn’t trust her legs to support her.
“Are you hurt?” Ali asked.
“You shot him!” Cami exclaimed breathlessly. “How did you do that?”
“First off, you have to have a gun,” Ali said. “And if you’re going to keep working on this job, you’re not only going to have one, you’re going to learn to use it. Now, call 911. Tell them we’re about two miles east of the Bisbee roadblock with a gunshot victim in the back of Sheriff Brady’s Tahoe. In the meantime, I’d better call B. I have a feeling all of this is going to take time, and I don’t think we’ll want to have that helicopter on standby while everything is being sorted out.”
“Hey,” B. said cheerfully when he answered. “I was worried about you and I’m glad to hear your voice. Are you on your way?”
“Not exactly,” Ali said. “Cami and I may need some help getting back home.”
“Why?” B. asked, sounding suddenly worried. “Did something go haywire with the helicopter? Did you wreck the rental car?”
“No to both,” Ali said. “You’ll be happy to know that we seem to have solved at least part of your missing-LEGO problem, and I just shot one of the responsible parties.”
“You did what?” B. demanded.
“You heard me,” Ali said. “I shot the guy. He’s not dead. He’ll be fine eventually. Cami just called 911, and the cops are coming this way even as we speak. I’ll have to tell you the rest of it later. Just get in the car and come get us. Please.”
• • •
Joanna dragged her weary body into the house a full twenty hours after leaving it. Butch was already sound asleep. She’d called him earlier to tell him what was going on. Now, with him snoring softly beside her, Joanna lay on the bed and tried to force the day’s ugly images out of her head.
What had started out as a single dead truck driver the day before had turned into the wholesale slaughter of eight people. The first victim, Alberto “Taquito” Mendoza, a small-time hood who regularly hauled stolen goods for Hans Holzmann and some of his coconspirators, had been shot to pieces gangster-style on the far side of the San Pedro.
Then there were the four truck drivers gunned down together in what was probably a single volley of bullets from an AK-47. It would be a long time before Joanna would be able to wipe that bloody carnage from her memory bank. They’d been slaughtered, mostly likely with the same weapon a Naco, Sonora, gangster wannabe had been carrying when Spike knocked him to the ground and chewed a hole in his wrist.
So far Joanna’s people had managed to identify only one of the slain drivers. Undocumented immigrants, they had been recruited from the day-laborer pool at a Home Depot store in Tucson. None of them had been carrying driver’s licenses at the time, so three of their names were still a mystery. The one they had identified was “known to law enforcement” due to three separate DUIs. He had been identified through fingerprint records.
Next came Helmer and Hans Holzmann, father and son. As far as Joanna knew, Helmer was a good man who had raised a wretch for a son. Ernie Carpenter and a relatively new member of the department, Deputy Jim Rider, had found the bodies of both Helmer and Hans Holzmann in the barn behind the house. Helmer’s body exhibited clear signs of torture. Both men had been bound, gagged, and then shot to death execution-style.
And who was the
Cami simply sank down on the pavement as though she didn’t trust her legs to support her.
“Are you hurt?” Ali asked.
“You shot him!” Cami exclaimed breathlessly. “How did you do that?”
“First off, you have to have a gun,” Ali said. “And if you’re going to keep working on this job, you’re not only going to have one, you’re going to learn to use it. Now, call 911. Tell them we’re about two miles east of the Bisbee roadblock with a gunshot victim in the back of Sheriff Brady’s Tahoe. In the meantime, I’d better call B. I have a feeling all of this is going to take time, and I don’t think we’ll want to have that helicopter on standby while everything is being sorted out.”
“Hey,” B. said cheerfully when he answered. “I was worried about you and I’m glad to hear your voice. Are you on your way?”
“Not exactly,” Ali said. “Cami and I may need some help getting back home.”
“Why?” B. asked, sounding suddenly worried. “Did something go haywire with the helicopter? Did you wreck the rental car?”
“No to both,” Ali said. “You’ll be happy to know that we seem to have solved at least part of your missing-LEGO problem, and I just shot one of the responsible parties.”
“You did what?” B. demanded.
“You heard me,” Ali said. “I shot the guy. He’s not dead. He’ll be fine eventually. Cami just called 911, and the cops are coming this way even as we speak. I’ll have to tell you the rest of it later. Just get in the car and come get us. Please.”
• • •
Joanna dragged her weary body into the house a full twenty hours after leaving it. Butch was already sound asleep. She’d called him earlier to tell him what was going on. Now, with him snoring softly beside her, Joanna lay on the bed and tried to force the day’s ugly images out of her head.
What had started out as a single dead truck driver the day before had turned into the wholesale slaughter of eight people. The first victim, Alberto “Taquito” Mendoza, a small-time hood who regularly hauled stolen goods for Hans Holzmann and some of his coconspirators, had been shot to pieces gangster-style on the far side of the San Pedro.
Then there were the four truck drivers gunned down together in what was probably a single volley of bullets from an AK-47. It would be a long time before Joanna would be able to wipe that bloody carnage from her memory bank. They’d been slaughtered, mostly likely with the same weapon a Naco, Sonora, gangster wannabe had been carrying when Spike knocked him to the ground and chewed a hole in his wrist.
So far Joanna’s people had managed to identify only one of the slain drivers. Undocumented immigrants, they had been recruited from the day-laborer pool at a Home Depot store in Tucson. None of them had been carrying driver’s licenses at the time, so three of their names were still a mystery. The one they had identified was “known to law enforcement” due to three separate DUIs. He had been identified through fingerprint records.
Next came Helmer and Hans Holzmann, father and son. As far as Joanna knew, Helmer was a good man who had raised a wretch for a son. Ernie Carpenter and a relatively new member of the department, Deputy Jim Rider, had found the bodies of both Helmer and Hans Holzmann in the barn behind the house. Helmer’s body exhibited clear signs of torture. Both men had been bound, gagged, and then shot to death execution-style.
And who was the
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