The Prosecution of General Hastings

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Kincaid pulled off of Interstate 19 at the Maricopa Road exit at 9:17 according to the clock on the dash of the Honda. He turned right, drove the tenth of a mile and pulled into the parking lot of the McDonald’s. He found a vacant space in the corner of the lot behind the restaurant and backed into it so that he was facing any cars that might drive in and around toward the rear of the building.

  “Give me a hand here, Pete,” Kincaid said exiting the car. Pete got out on his side and met Harry at the trunk. Kincaid turned the key and the lid popped open. “Put your bag and the ice chest on the back seat,” he said to Pete. “We need to make room for our guest.”

  Von Karmenn grabbed the ice chest and placed it in the back seat, then he picked up his bag and tossed it in onto the floor. Kincaid reached into his own bag, searched around and removed the duct tape and cable ties. He placed them over to the side of the trunk behind the left tail light. He removed the satchel that he had taken to his meeting with Lopez and Carmello. He checked to make sure there was nothing of danger in it. He then removed the overnight bag that contained everything else and shoved it into the back seat on the driver’s side. All that remained in the trunk was the tape, cable ties and the satchel, full of papers that lay in the middle of the trunk. He lowered the lid of the trunk without latching it.

  Kincaid moved back around to the driver’s door and got in. Von Karmenn followed suit, getting in on the other side. “Now. We wait,” he said.

  But they didn’t have to wait long. At ten minutes to ten Kincaid watched as a white panel van pulled into the McDonald’s lot off of Maricopa Road. There was one man driving… or, was it a boy? Kincaid squinted to get a better look at the driver. The van continued slowly into the lot with the driver looking from side to side, searching. Kincaid got out of the Honda and stood beside it, watching the driver of the van. Von Karmenn got out as well. Kincaid seemed to draw the driver’s attention as he stopped looking about and focused on Harry. But the van began the shallow turn to continue around the building.

  Kincaid nodded toward the driver of the van, “Hacha,” he said.

  The driver raised a hand acknowledging Kincaid. He backed up enough to make a turn and pull into the space beside the Honda. Kincaid and Von Karmenn walked around to the driver’s side of the van just as the driver jumped down from his seat. He was a small man, no taller than five and a half feet, but not young. He had the worn skin of a man that had spent many of his years in the sun. Kincaid guessed him to be about forty. He was wiry. He could have easily been a construction worker, one who worked with his hands and lifted heavy objects all day.

  “I am Kincaid,” he said in Spanish. “Lobo called you.” The man looked at Von Karmenn. “He is with me,” said Kincaid.

  “Lobo says you have work for me,” said Hacha.

  “You took care of the woman in Oklahoma?” asked Kincaid.

  Hacha grew wary. “Lobo told you?” he asked.

  “Si. I admire your work,” said Kincaid. “You used an ax?” he asked.

  “A machete,” he said. “It was an easy job.”

  “No,” Kincaid said, shaking his head. “Lobo said you used an ax. Your name… el Hacha.”

  Kincaid knew that he wasn’t dealing with a Rhodes Scholar, but what Hacha did next truly surprised him. Hacha stepped back to the driver’s door of his van. He reached inside between the two front seats and, without lifting it outside of the van into public view, he held up a blood stained machete.

  “Machete,” said el Hacha.

  Von Karmenn could not contain himself. He snickered. Then recovering quickly, he said to Kincaid, “See? I told you it wasn’t an ax. A machete,” he said acting like he had won an argument.

  Hacha watched the two with some degree of amusement.

  Kincaid smiled at el Hacha’s blatant admission to the murder, even providing the murder weapon. “I pay $10,000 for you to kill another woman. She is in Phoenix.”

  Hacha smiled. “When you want her dead?”

  “Tomorrow,” Kincaid answered.

  “How you pay me?” Hacha asked.

  “I pay you $5,000 now… and $5,000 on Sunday, after she’s dead,” said Kincaid. “Come. See,” he said and began leading Hacha around to the Honda. “I show you the money.”

  Hacha followed Harry around the front of his van with Pete behind Hacha. Harry raised the lid of the Honda’s trunk and pointed inside. “There,” he said. “In that bag.”

  Hacha leaned over to look in the trunk. The heel of Kincaid’s right hand came down on the back of Hacha’s neck with the force of a sledge hammer. The Mexican fell limp, his torso and head pitching forward into the trunk. His legs were like wet noodles as he began to slide backward to the ground. Von Karmenn stepped up and caught the roll of duct tape Kincaid tossed to him. He pulled a strip from the roll and quickly wrapped it around Hacha’s mouth. He wrapped it three times around his head, covering his ears, and across his mouth. At the same time, Kincaid pulled three cable ties from the bundle held by the rubber band. He put two in his mouth, quickly crossed Hacha’s wrists behind his back and secured them with the first tie. He then lifted Hacha into the trunk of the Honda. He pulled another tie from his mouth and bound Hacha’s feet together at the ankles. He looped the third tie through the one holding Hacha’s wrists and the one around his ankles. He pulled the last tie tight. Hacha, still out cold, was hog tied in the trunk of the Honda.

  Kincaid slammed the trunk closed. He looked over at Pete and said, “Hop up there in our little buddy’s van, Major Von Karmenn and follow me to the Tucson airport.” He winked at Pete and said, “You’ll have time to give Carol a call.”

  Carlos Garcia-Mendoza was in and out of the McDonald’s lot in less time than it would take to buy a Happy Meal. Looking around as they left, Harry Kincaid saw no one who took notice of what had happened. In less than two minutes, he and Von Karmenn were back on Interstate 19, forty minutes from Tucson International Airport where Bobby Lawson sat waiting.

  The Citation was fueled and waiting to depart. As with all private aviation terminals, clients are permitted to drive their vehicles onto the ramp and load their belongings into their aircraft. With the aircraft shielding their activities from the terminal, Kincaid and Lawson removed el Hacha from the trunk of the Honda and carried him the few steps across the tarmac and onto the aircraft. Hacha was conscious but too dumbfounded at what was going on to put up a fight. Once onboard, Kincaid used two more cable ties to secure Hacha to the base of one of the seats in the passenger cabin.

  Von Karmenn left the van in the parking area of the private aircraft terminal. He threw the keys on the floor under the brake pedal. He then used an old rag that was lying behind the passenger’s seat and put the machete in a plastic grocery bag that he also found in the van. He put the bag under his arm and strolled out onto the ramp and climbed into the aircraft. As soon as Pete was inside and had pulled the door closed and secured it, Bobby Lawson was rolling, taxiing to the end of the active runway. Four minutes later the Citation was airborne. Next stop, Will Rogers World Airport, Oklahoma City.