Joy of Death

me."

Prologue

Saturday, October 11

Arnold Arges enjoyed being retired from the U.S. Army. His last military assignment had been at Fort Bliss in El Paso, Texas, where he’d been a chief mechanic in the motor pool. Though he had been raised in a small town just north of Baltimore, Maryland, along the moist Atlantic coast, he’d grown to love the dry desert environment of west Texas. The fast-growing border city had captured his heart, and long before his final day as a Senior Master Sergeant, he’d decided that he and his wife Kate would stay there rather than return to their hometown.

They had taken Spanish language classes together at El Paso Community College since in that part of the United States it was often very difficult to tell that English was the de facto national language. Recent census reports identified Spanish as the first language in 38% of the homes in Texas, and in El Paso that number was as high as 72%. Many of their friends were bilingual, and Arnold and Kate wanted to fit in with the diverse, multicultural populace that they’d grown to adore.

Kate, herself a military veteran, happily supported her husband’s decision to retire and remain in Texas, but she insisted they balance his penchant for physically active hobbies like hiking, kayaking, camping, and treasure hunting with her love of traveling to exotic, beautiful, and peaceful parts of the world. She preferred visiting historic monuments and museums, taking photographic safaris, or simply relaxing on warm sandy beaches. She scheduled cruises each year to various parts of the world, but on this particular October weekend she and Arnold were tent camping at a unique municipal park just north of Deming, New Mexico, a little less than three hours from their west Texas home.

Faywood Hot Springs stood out like a lush oasis against the flat brown desert. Geyser-fed springs bubbled from the ground at the top of a solitary hill and dribbled life-giving water down its relatively steep slope. A wide variety of trees and foliage took advantage of this anomaly in the desert, and the remarkable abundance of plants provided shade and cover for the many visitors. The emerald-green one-hundred-foot knoll could be viewed from any direction for miles around.

The hot mineral water also filled a web of manmade concrete channels that were specifically built into the side of the hill to direct the soothing liquid into specially built shallow pools located around the park. Visitors paid nominal fees to soak in the luxury of the natural spas. Some of the unique bathing areas were designated clothing optional, while others were more family oriented. This Saturday afternoon Kate was lounging in one of the many clothing required natural ponds while Arnold was on an exploratory mission nearly a half-mile away.

He had, of course, taken his metal detector. He rarely left the tent without it. Though treasure hunting was only a leisurely distraction for him, his expensive multiple frequency detector was so high-end and sensitive that it was the model often chosen by professionals. It could find a variety of precious metals in amounts as small as a few grams that might be buried as deeply as eleven inches from the surface. Despite its effectiveness, most of the time his searches would come up empty, but he had used his prized possession to uncover items that included some antique tools and a few coins, although only one turned out to have any real value. He’d also unearthed a diverse assortment of jewelry that included a necklace, several women’s diamond rings, and a thick gold man’s wedding band. Treasure hunting required great patience, but Arnold loved and appreciated the anticipation of the search almost as much as actually finding something.

He had been carefully roaming through a shallow wash that must have once served as a river bed. The soft dirt was banked on both sides, so he was walking in an area that was lower than the surrounding desert. In some places the sunburnt soil was five or six feet below the original surface, but as he scanned further east, he could see that the gorge he’d entered narrowed and deepened. His head was already below the embankment, and as he strode farther, he disappeared deeper and deeper into a narrowing ravine. He stopped momentarily, pulled out his cell phone to check its signal, and found that it was still strong.

There were significant erosion striations along both sides of the shallow canyon. As an amateur geologist Arnold knew that meant flash flooding must occur fairly frequently. In fact, some small broken tree limbs and clumps of desert grass that were imbedded among the rocks clearly suggested that a rain shower must have recently filled the arroyo with rushing water and deposited the loose debris. Arnold paused his methodic search to peer at the late afternoon sky. Several thick, puffy clouds loomed to the south, but none of them seemed threatening. No storms were in the forecast, and he ventured onward confident he would not be caught in a raging torrent.

When he heard the piercing tone, he smiled. As an experienced treasure hunter, the irritating sound from his metal detector was actually exhilarating. He let the flat disc of his lightweight machine hover over the ground for several seconds. He could tell from the pitch and intensity that the object he had stumbled upon was likely silver and was only six to eight inches under his feet.

Controlling his excitement, he kneeled, carefully laid his device to the side, and began pulling items from his backpack. He laid them out in a well-rehearsed precise order of need. His tools included a spray paint can, a garden trowel, an unused one-inch paint brush with very soft bristles, and a small wooden box that was only two inches high but twelve inches wide and fifteen inches long. He had replaced the original solid bottom with an exactly measured piece from a screen that he’d stolen from one of his home windows. The carefully crafted box was used to strain dirt. The mesh filter was porous enough to sift sand and soil but left the small rocks and pebbles that couldn’t fall through the tiny holes. More importantly, valuable objects were left unharmed and visible.

After taking a sip of bottled water, he grabbed the spray can and meticulously outlined the area of interest with a two-foot square of iridescent orange paint. He stood and methodically passed the search coil diagonally from one corner to the other to confirm he had marked the correct spot. The high-pitched screech was the same as before, but as he moved to lay the sensor to his right, he thought he heard a faint, dull ambiguous echo. He frowned at the unrecognizable sound. His expensive detector had never left much doubt as to the kind of metal that was hidden beneath the surface, but now he wasn’t sure.

He used his trowel to cautiously shovel small amounts of soil onto his screen. Like a panhandler making sure not to overlook gold dust, he carefully examined virtually every grain of sand. He’d worked for twenty minutes and had removed six inches of desert grit when he saw a shimmering glint in the sunlight. He set his spade aside and used the paintbrush to gently move dirt out of the way. Within seconds he saw his prize.

Arnold reached to retrieve the silver ring that appeared to have a small solitary diamond. His fingers got within inches when he suddenly stopped. His eyes widened, and his stomach churned. He immediately sat back on his haunches and choked back the sour bile that he’d almost vomited. In his initial eagerness he hadn’t noticed until he’d almost touched it. The ring wasn’t just buried in the ground; it was still being worn on a slightly decomposed finger. The color of the bone and skin had matched the surrounding soil so well that the existence of human flesh had been obscured, almost camouflaged. He couldn’t see beneath the ring, so he was unable to tell much, but as his eyes adjusted, his emotions settled. He finally noticed that the thin, emaciated finger was part of a clenched fist.

Chapter 1

Monday, October 13,

Nevada

How are you, Senor Valenzuela? It’s been several weeks since we last saw you.

Esteban frowned at the formality. Hello, James, has it been so long that you have forgotten that I prefer to be called Esteban? Valenzuela is much too long and fills the mouth with so many syllables.

Yes, sir, I will gladly do as you request, but you know in the few months that we’ve known each other, you’ve never once called me Jim like everyone else does. Aren’t we friends, Esteban?

Please indulge an old man. I do consider us to be more than just acquaintances, but I am much more comfortable calling you James. Jim sounds too common, too plain, and unlike my name, it is just too short.

Esteban smiled and reached to shake hands as he added, I have missed our visits too, but my wife has kept me very busy as we prepare for my retirement.

Does this mean we won’t be seeing you anymore?

I am afraid that is true. I have one last assignment that will take me out of the country, and then I am closing up shop. I thought my nephew might take over the business, but he has decided to go in a different direction.

I’m truly sorry that we won’t have your regular visits to look forward to. Is there any chance we’ll ever get to meet your special friend, Ms. Nunez?

No, no that is very unlikely. Traveling is too physically demanding for her.

I understand. Well, I know you usually like to wander around our shop and look at all of Chris’ beautiful paintings, but now that we’ve gotten to know you and the style of works you have shown an appreciation for, I wonder if you’d humor me. I’d like to show you two of our newest acquisitions. They’re stunning, and I think they are exactly the kind of pieces that Ms. Nunez is looking for.

Sure, I trust your judgement. Lead the way, and I will follow, but could I get a cup of coffee?

The men walked into a small viewing room off to the side of the main gallery. The artwork was as James had described, remarkable. One of the images featured a spectacular view of a nighttime lightning strike on the surface of the ocean. The white-gold bolt lit up the navy-blue night and produced a tumultuous sky with violet, purple, and lavender layers that overlapped each other and literally seemed to move as Esteban shifted his position from left to right. The violent sky pulsated over a sea that rippled and so perfectly reflected the sudden burst of electric energy that the water actually appeared to be wet. It was a simple scene perfectly rendered.

The other piece featured a forest landscape, and though the sky was ebony dark, there was a source of light behind the wispy pine branches that was not the moon nor the stars. The shafts of radiating beams trembled and quivered. It was a wall of color from light blue and pale green to a royal, purplish blue that framed the black trees. Esteban gasped at the shimmering aurora borealis.

James waited for the proper moment to speak. He knew better than to use any kind of sales pitch or mention the prices. He let the paintings speak for themselves, but when the moment seemed right, he said, Do you think Ms. Nunez would like either one of these?

I am certain she would love both of them.

It’s a difficult decision, but which one shall we prepare for delivery?

Since this may be my last visit to your gallery, at least for a while, I think it is time to do something unprecedented. I will purchase both of them.

I hope my showing you two new DeRubeis pieces didn’t come off as pressure. I never expected you to purchase both. They are, after all, ten thousand each.

Esteban opened his briefcase and very casually removed three bundles of crisp hundred dollar bills. He laid thirty thousand dollars in three even stacks on a small antique side table, tapped the first one and said, "This is for the Lightning Strike. Please send it to the same address as before. I am certain Ms. Nunez will be pleased."

As he moved his hand to the second bundle, he said, "This is for the Aurora Borealis, but I intend this to be a gift for my wife. Unfortunately, as I mentioned before, I must leave the country on business, and I cannot take it with me. I will write down a new address that is close, but I have two requests that I insist on.

First, in three days, but not before, I want you to deliver it, not a delivery service and not an employee. It must be you, and you have to be alone. Is that understood?"

Of course. As a friend, I’ll be happy to take care of this for you, no problem. You don’t have to worry.

Good. Second, do not put this address into your files, on your computer, anywhere. In fact, once you have dropped off the painting, throw the paper away or, better yet, burn it. You know how I value my privacy.

With his hand resting on the last pile of bills, Esteban added, If you agree to my terms, this is for you. It should be enough to cover expenses and pay for your complete discretion. Are my stipulations acceptable?

James eyed the handwritten address. You are, as usual, very kind and generous.

*************

Two days later, Wednesday, October 15

Anthony, under the familiar alias Esteban Valenzuela, checked into his hotel in Maracaibo, but he didn’t unpack. This was a high risk, high paying contract hit, but from the scant details Agent Best had provided, he’d decided that the mission could best be accomplished if he could infiltrate the inner circle of friends and associates that constantly surrounded his target. That meant he would have to leave the luxury suite by the next morning, and there was no need to get too comfortable.

Given that he would be off the grid for the duration of the job, he’d used his private hot spot to log onto a dark or deep website that he’d accessed often when he wanted weapons or specific pharmaceutical drugs. He needed both items, but before he could locate the materials that he required, an advertisement grabbed his attention.

Someone was soliciting for a hitman like himself, and though the price of the contract was too low to normally interest him, the names of the people to be eliminated were familiar, Chuma and Amanda Maldonado. The pair, brother and sister, had been directly responsible for kidnapping and selling into sex slavery the teenage granddaughter of his best friend Kelvin Elliott.

After a couple of clicks on his laptop, he accepted the job. I will have to call Robert in the morning. He and Sienna can handle this. It is appropriate that killing these two will be the last mission for SNIPE.

Chapter 2

(A week later) Wednesday, October 22

in Casa Grande, Arizona

As Kai hung up the phone on his desk, he glanced at his watch to confirm the time and date. Then his eyes focused on the calendar on the wall. He reviewed the many handwritten reminders of golf lessons, business meetings, and conference calls, but what he was really interested in was printed underneath each individual date, and he realized that he had only eighteen minutes until sundown.

This late in the year the sun disappeared earlier and earlier, leaving him less and less time to finish his daily reports and still be able to reach his favorite vantage point on the eighth floor. Enjoying the panoramic view from the top floor of the Francisco Grande Hotel tower was always a unique experience, and Kai remembered that the morning weatherman had predicted a breathtaking sunset.

Without uttering a word to his assistant who was counting the money from the day’s sales, he quietly exited the rear door to his office, locked it, and walked briskly along the concrete path that led to the front of the stately old hotel. This route didn’t provide the shortest distance to the elevator, but his strategy was to avoid friends or employees who might detain him. He had little time to waste, and he needed to get to the top floor on the west side of the tower. As he sauntered with long purposeful strides, his plan seemed to have worked. He remained alone as he passed a fragrant, colorful hedge. The bright reddish-pink bougainvillea blossoms bordered his chosen path, but he ignored their natural splendor as he concentrated on getting to the hotel lobby and its ancient elevator. 

He waited impatiently, but when the door to the lift finally opened and released some passengers, he entered and was pleased that he was the only occupant for the trip up. He was in an old Otis that had been around since the building’s inception in 1961, and like all things that had aged, it seemed to have slowed. It creaked and moaned, as if moving caused great pain, and it took a full minute to rise from the ground to the eighth floor. Even hurrying, it had taken over three minutes to reach the top level.

He would have to turn left and pass several unoccupied luxury suites before he’d reach the platform that provided the highest and most unobstructed view of the western horizon anywhere in Casa Grande. From the steel railing views of the golf course that stretched to the north and west caught the eye of most people. The lush, dark green fairways, tall statuesque palms, and massive oak trees had for over fifty years provided a stark pleasant contrast to the flat, brown landscape that surrounded the expansive Francisco Grande Hotel and Golf Resort.

The elevator door closed behind him, but before he moved, Kai took a few moments to observe the bright yellow stadium lights that basked the beautifully manicured soccer fields to the east and northeast. He briefly watched the blue, red, orange, and yellow jerseys of the players as they darted back and forth across the emerald green surface like colorful blips in a video game. He quickly shifted his focus lower and closer to the hotel. He could see the swimming pool still sparkled a crisp light blue, and from this height it was obviously shaped like a baseball bat. It was one of the many reminders that the resort had originally served as the spring training facility for the San Francisco Giants. On this pleasant evening he could hear the spectators as they rooted for the youthful soccer teams, but their cheers and laughter only caused him to recall memories of similarly exuberant baseball fans who had once occupied those same uncomfortable bleachers.

The local scenery was enjoyable, but Kai easily emptied his mind of these distractions and hurried to his favorite high sanctuary. For over ten years he had worked at the resort, but he never tired of ending his work day watching the bright Arizona sun as it melted into the horizon. On this deathly still evening a miraculous desert twilight was about to unfold. The intense yellow rays were fragmented into shades of red, pink, and orange. The azure sky blended with these colorful waves to produce various shades of purple, and on this night the bottoms of some distant clouds appeared to glow like molten gold.

Kai was so enthralled with the majestic scene that he hadn’t noticed that he wasn’t alone. He hadn’t heard the footsteps of the stealthy intruder who had approached from behind. He initially thought that he’d only tripped and fallen, but as he looked back, his eyes locked on the unemotional face of the stranger who had so effortlessly tossed him over the wrought iron railing.

There hadn’t been enough time for him to call for help before his head cracked onto the pavement. The impact with the hard ground was sudden and violent but oddly quiet. The office assistant hadn’t seen nor heard the collision of the body with the asphalt. When he had finally decided to leave the pro shop, the first thing he glimpsed was a smashed cell phone lying in a wet dark stain. It was only when he’d been drawn closer that he observed the fingers that were stretched toward it, and then he finally saw the limp, crumpled body. Kai’s younger colleague was the first to yell, Oh, my God!

*************

The killer had not watched Kai die. The moment Sam Joy had looked into the eyes of his victim and had known that death was imminent, he turned away and ran to the stairwell to begin his descent. He hadn’t paused to listen to the screams of the witnesses who had just happened upon Kai’s broken body, and as he rapidly plunged down two flights of stairs, he didn’t meet anyone. He emerged onto the appropriate landing, smiled, and quickly inserted his keycard, still able to hear the tormented shrieks and calls for 911. It had taken less than thirty seconds for him to return to his protective room.

His heart raced a little, and he knew most people would have remained hidden, but he was unlike the usual convicted felon, and he certainly behaved differently from the average civilian. He removed all of his clothes and efficiently stuffed them into a large black trash bag and tied the red draw strings. Within ten minutes he was wearing dark slacks, a long sleeved light blue dress shirt, and polished black loafers. He checked in the mirror, but he knew that most of his prison tattoos were covered. Only a small portion of the Bible passage could still be seen. "Have the gates of death been revealed to you, or have you seen the gates of deep darkness? had been printed high enough on his chest that the tops of the black letters gates of" could still be seen just below his throat. As he opened the door, he rolled back the time on his watch fifteen minutes. The entire makeover had taken ten minutes.

He calmly, almost leisurely, walked to the elevator and joined a younger couple for the ride to the lobby. Stops at two other floors on the way down filled the tiny compartment with anxious people who had heard the commotion outside. Most of these hotel guests were going to investigate and were morbidly hoping to get a glimpse of the mangled, dead body. Sam languidly listened but expressed no interest in seeing the corpse.

When the doors opened, the other passengers turned to the left and hastened toward the main entrance, while he lethargically stepped out a rear exit onto a wide path that meandered toward a restaurant and a pub that had served as the hotel’s bar since the days John Wayne had stayed at the resort. The small tavern had been renamed Duke’s Lounge in his honor, and its wood paneled walls had been filled with photos and paintings of the famous actor. Sam entered the historic establishment, sat at a bistro table, ordered a dark lager and a cheeseburger, and coolly asked the waitress, Do you have the correct time?

Of course. It’s 5:45.

Darn, my watch is definitely slow. I have 5:30. He adjusted the hands on the dial, and with feigned exasperation he lied to her. I missed the sunset because of this stupid thing.

Oh, that really is too bad. I heard from several people that it was spectacular.

I’m sure they were right. After displaying his best flirtatious smile, he added, I bet it was … stunning.

He ate his meal and downed three glasses of beer before he returned to his room. He noticed the red and blue flashing lights in front of the hotel, but he ignored the urge to see his handiwork and methodically proceeded up to the sixth floor. Once inside his room, he securely locked and chained the door, sat at a small desk, and opened a manila folder he kept in a hidden slot at the bottom of his briefcase. Inside was a typed list of names.

At the top was Aydan Cooper. The words were readable, even though there was a thick red line drawn through the printed letters. Underneath hers was the listing of his latest victim. Sam retrieved his felt pen and slowly created a crimson streak through Kai Nelson Dieken.

He examined the rest of the short directory, smiled, and spoke aloud as if he were having a real conversation with his hated nemesis, Kelvin Ray Elliott. You didn’t even notice it when I killed poor Aydan, although to be fair, her death was meant to hurt her mother more than you. Just so you know, Aydan was the daughter of your former student Paula Brown. But Kai’s death … well, that was definitely meant to punish you, and your pain and suffering will only escalate in the days ahead.

There were twenty names on Sam Joy’s current kill list. The number of potential victims had fluctuated slightly over the years. His research often forced him to add people, but sometimes it was just his acerbic, prickly attitude that caused more of Kelvin Elliott’s family and friends to be included. Twenty was the round number he’d settled on, and now eighteen more people would have a fatal accident like Kai or be brutally murdered as Aydan had been.

He was rather thankful that his list was one name shorter than it could have been. Carlos Perez had been a friend while he and Sam had been in the Texas State Penitentiary in Huntsville, but he’d intended to put him on the list. Letting Perez expose him was a risk he just wasn’t willing to take. The former friend had to be eliminated, but fortunately someone else had completed the job for him. Sam credited Kelvin or one of his friends with the kill, but regardless of who had done it, he was appreciative.

Sam resisted altering the numerical order of the victims or his assassination methods. Both had been chosen so that city, county, and statewide police departments would find it impossible to connect the separate fatalities to each other or to him. Kelvin was the linchpin, but even he would be mystified by the rash of deaths among his friends, colleagues, and loved