CH10
"Jack we need a new hotel reservation in Reno for tonight."
Silver Legacy Resort Casino Reno
Address: 407 N Virginia St, Reno, NV 89501
Phone:(775) 329-4777
Hotel class: 4 stars
"Four stars finally. I was beginning to think you didn't like me anymore." Rick teases.
"Sorry, Blackwell isn't Las Vegas. You're lucky they all weren't Motel 6." Jack teases back.
After arriving at Reno, Rick rents a car and heads to the address on file. Since it's a weekend they should be at home unless they are out. Rick reasons.
Arriving at the address. "Jack time for another disguise if you please." Rick asks.
Stepping up to the door Rick rings the bell and waits. A lady opens the door.
Rick holds up his ID. "I'm Jason Mann of the FBI, I need to speak with a Vicki and Henry Anderson."
"I'm Vicki and my husband is out back on the BBQ making lunch." She tells him.
"May I come in ma'am? I need to speak with both of you." Rick asks.
"Of course, please follow me." As Vicki closes the door and leads him out back.
"Honey the FBI is here and he wants to talk with us." Vicki approaches her husband.
"Good afternoon sir, I'm Agent Jason Mann. I'd like to talk to you two about your son." Rick tells them wondering what kind of reception he will get.
"Our son is dead Agent Mann." Henry tells him with hate in his voice.
"That is part of what I would like to talk with you about." Rick explains trying to get past the obvious hate in his voice.
"Our son was a murdering piece of scum before he died. He got what was coming to him." Henry tells him still filled with hate.
"Henry?" Vicki scolds him.
"You were here when we were told what he was doing on his second deployment to the hell of a place. Bush's personal little war. May he rot in hell." Henry is maybe even more mad.
"You know what your son is doing?" Now Rick is lost.
"Doing? Dead people don't do anything. Except in our son's case die over and over again in the method he used to kill all those people to appease Bush.
You want to talk about my piece of scum of a son you can do it without me." And Henry drops his tools on the side table and goes inside.
"You'll have to forgive him, our son didn't follow the rules of god very well. He lost his way over there." Vicki tells him.
"It was a war; killing is part of a soldiers life." Rick offers.
"What our son was doing had nothing to do with killing enemy soldiers. Ray was dropped behind enemy lines to assassinate political or high ranking military people. Then get extracted to do it all over again.
He was seduced by the Devil and sold his soul. My husband believes Ray came to like killing. That doing it by hand up close and personal gave him a thrill. Ray's getting killed over there was GOD taking away his pain, and ours." Vicki adds softly.
"May I ask how you know he died?" Rick asks since he knows he is still alive and killing.
"The military sent two men to our home to tell us." Vicki tells him.
"Did the military ship home his body for you to bury?" Trying to find out what they saw.
"No, they said he was killed on a mission and his body was not recoverable." Vicki explains now getting curious.
"And they didn't tell you what mission he was on of course." Rick states trying to calm her down a little.
"No, they spouted the usual National Security crap and they were sorry, but he died for his country." Vicki sounds like she is telling him word for word what they told her. "You know what he was doing don't you?"
"No ma'am I don't. I have someone who died in New York City that died in a method that mimics your son's known preferred method. I'm trying to eliminate everyone I can so it will lead me to the person I'm after." Rick explains backing off. These people are not likely to help him if they knew their son was still alive and killing.
"You could have read all about that without coming out here." Vicki insults him a little for opening old wounds.
"Yes ma'am I did. However written reports tend to leave out the little details that an in person interview could give me." Rick explains. "For example it didn't tell me about your personal take on the war he was involved in."
"I hope we've answered all your questions Agent Mann?" Vicki wants this to end.
"Yes ma'am, you have. Thank you for your time. I'm sorry for opening old wounds, however if the families of the person that was killed in NY could thank you for your time today I'm sure they would." Rick tells her with a voice of thanks.
"I hope you find this person for their sake. Killing is an evil thing." Vicki sounds sad and with good reason.
"I'll let myself out. Please thank you husband for me. It was not my intention to cause pain for you today." And Rick leaves and watches Vicki close the front door behind him.
"Might as well make arrangements for our next trip now Jack. Hopefully they will be more help." Rick asks of Jack.
Rick was in Reno and the urge to do something was almost overwhelming, however he was here because of work not fun and there was nothing about these three that was fun.
Rick had however given the pilot $500 to play with as he pleased, just so long as he was sober enough to fly come tomorrow morning. That and the size of the room Rick had gotten him had more than made this guy happy.
"Mr. Rogers, you can fly with me anytime." The pilot was smiling.
Next stop was Buffalo, Wyoming, Johnson County Airport (KBYG).
Hampton Inn and Suites
This hotel in Buffalo, Wyoming offers an indoor pool with hot tub and a gym. The hotel is located off Interstate 25 and Big Horn National Forest is 10.5-miles away.
Each guest room at the Hampton Inn & Suites Buffalo is furnished with a microwave, a refrigerator and coffee facilities. Cable TV is also available in every room.
Buffalo Hampton Inn & Suites is 12.3-miles from lake De Smet. The hotel is located halfway between Mount Rushmore and Yellowstone National Park.
"JACK?" Rick whines about the choices. "You're killing me here! …. Fine, fine book it. It's only one night, I hope." Rick isn't dying but he likes making Jack suffer once in a while.
MEANWHILE WHILE RICK IS LEAVING OKLAHOMA:
"Beckett we got a fresh one, you in?" Espo asks her.
"Grab Ryan and let's go." As Kate grabs her coat and pulls her gun from her desk drawer.
After arriving they find that Lanie is already there. "Hey Lanie what have we got?"
"Hey girlfriend. Male 42 years old, no external wounds, no guns shots. It might be natural causes." Lanie tells her.
"Ok so why are we here?" Kate asks.
"The wife over there called it in. She said she killed him. That she had to. There is one thing about him that is unusual." Lanie tells her.
"Do tell." Kate is waiting.
"His finger tips are discolored." Lanie explains.
Kate bends down and with gloves on her hands lifts up his hand to look at his fingers."
It's a hot day and I hate my wife.
We're playing Scrabble. That's how bad it is. I'm 42 years old, it's a blistering hot Sunday afternoon and all I can think of to do with my life is to play Scrabble.
I should be out, doing exercise, spending money, meeting people. I don't think I've spoken to anyone except my wife since Thursday morning. On Thursday morning I spoke to the milkman.
My letters are crap.
I play, appropriately, BEGIN. With the N on the little pink star. Twenty-two points.
I watch my wife's smug expression as she rearranges her letters. Clack, clack, clack. I hate her. If she wasn't around, I'd be doing something interesting right now. I'd be climbing Mount Kilimanjaro. I'd be starring in the latest Hollywood blockbuster. I'd be sailing the Vendee Globe on a 60-foot clipper called the New Horizons - I don't know, but I'd be doing something.
She plays JINXED, with the J on a double-letter score. 30 points. She's beating me already. Maybe I should kill her.
If only I had a D, then I could play MURDER. That would be a sign. That would be permission.
I start chewing on my U. It's a bad habit, I know. All the letters are frayed. I play WARMER for 22 points, mainly so I can keep chewing on my U.
As I'm picking new letters from the bag, I find myself thinking - the letters will tell me what to do. If they spell out KILL, or STAB, or her name, or anything, I'll do it right now. I'll finish her off.
My rack spells MIHZPA. Plus the U in my mouth. Damn.
The heat of the sun is pushing at me through the window. I can hear buzzing insects outside. I hope they're not bees. My cousin Harold swallowed a bee when he was nine, his throat swelled up and he died. I hope that if they are bees, they fly into my wife's throat.
She plays SWEATIER, using all her letters. 24 points plus a 50 point bonus. If it wasn't too hot to move I would strangle her right now.
I am getting sweatier. It needs to rain, to clear the air. As soon as that thought crosses my mind, I find a good word. HUMID on a double-word score, using the D of JINXED. The U makes a little splash of saliva when I put it down. Another 22 points. I hope she has lousy letters.
She tells me she has lousy letters. For some reason, I hate her more.
She plays FAN, with the F on a double-letter, and gets up to fill the kettle and turn on the air conditioning.
It's the hottest day for ten years and my wife is turning on the kettle. This is why I hate my wife. I play ZAPS, with the Z doubled, and she gets a static shock off the air conditioning unit. I find this remarkably satisfying.
She sits back down with a heavy sigh and starts fiddling with her letters again. Clack clack. Clack clack. I feel a terrible rage build up inside me. Some inner poison slowly spreading through my limbs, and when it gets to my fingertips I am going to jump out of my chair, spilling the Scrabble tiles over the floor, and I am going to start hitting her again and again and again.
The rage gets to my fingertips and passes. My heart is beating. I'm sweating. I think my face actually twitches. Then I sigh, deeply, and sit back into my chair. The kettle starts whistling. As the whistle builds it makes me feel hotter.
She plays READY on a double-word for 18 points, then goes to pour herself a cup of tea. No I do not want one.
I steal a blank tile from the letter bag when she's not looking, and throw back a V from my rack. She gives me a suspicious look. She sits back down with her cup of tea, making a cup-ring on the table, as I play an 8-letter word: CHEATING, using the A of READY. 64 points, including the 50-point bonus, which means I'm beating her now.
She asks me if I cheated.
I really, really hate her.
She plays IGNORE on the triple-word for 21 points. The score is 153 to her, 155 to me.
The steam rising from her cup of tea makes me feel hotter. I try to make murderous words with the letters on my rack, but the best I can do is SLEEP.
My wife sleeps all the time. She slept through an argument our next-door neighbors had that resulted in a broken door, a smashed TV and a Teletubby Lala doll with all the stuffing coming out. And then she bitched at me for being moody the next day from lack of sleep.
If only there was some way for me to get rid of her.
I spot a chance to use all my letters. EXPLODES, using the X of JINXED. 72 points. That'll show her.
As I put the last letter down, there is a deafening bang and the air conditioning unit fails.
My heart is racing, but not from the shock of the bang. I don't believe it - but it can't be a coincidence. The letters made it happen. I played the word EXPLODES, and it happened - the air conditioning unit exploded. And before, I played the word CHEATING when I cheated. And ZAP when my wife got the electric shock. The words are coming true. The letters are choosing their future. The whole game is - JINXED.
My wife plays SIGN, with the N on a triple-letter, for 10 points.
I have to test this.
I have to play something and see if it happens. Something unlikely, to prove that the letters are making it happen. My rack is ABQYFWE. That doesn't leave me with a lot of options. I start frantically chewing on the B.
I play FLY, using the L of EXPLODES. I sit back in my chair and close my eyes, waiting for the sensation of rising up from my chair. Waiting to fly.
Stupid. I open my eyes, and there's a fly. An insect, buzzing around above the Scrabble board, surfing the thermals from the tepid cup of tea. That proves nothing. The fly could have been there anyway.
I need to play something unambiguous. Something that cannot be misinterpreted. Something absolute and final. Something terminal. Something murderous.
My wife plays CAUTION, using a blank tile for the N. 18 points.
My rack is AQWEUK, plus the B in my mouth. I am awed by the power of the letters, and frustrated that I cannot wield it. Maybe I should cheat again, and pick out the letters I need to spell SLASH or SLAY.
Then it hits me. The perfect word. A powerful, dangerous, terrible word.
I play QUAKE for 19 points.
I wonder if the strength of the quake will be proportionate to how many points it scored. I can feel the trembling energy of potential in my veins. I am commanding fate. I am manipulating destiny.
My wife plays DEATH for 34 points, just as the room starts to shake.
I gasp with surprise and vindication - and the B that I was chewing on gets lodged in my throat. I try to cough. My face goes red, then blue. My throat swells. I draw blood clawing at my neck. The earthquake builds to a climax.
I fall to the floor. My wife just sits there, watching.