End Of Thieves: The Final Book in the Thieves Trilogy

By Gil Roscoe

End of Thieves is the final book in a trilogy covering one year in the life of con artist, Warren Allison. Book Three begins exactly where Book Two ended. Warren is standing at the bottom of The Grand Canyon watching a rubber raft move swiftly down The Colorado River. The raft contains his stolen one million dollars and his double-crossing partner. He has been betrayed again. Warren has nothing with him, his hand is bleeding, and he must now hike out of The Grand Canyon toward a very uncertain future. On the long trudge to the South Rim he meets a woman who will change his life. But his reckless past will come back to haunt him and result in his being forced into one last con. He will have to slip into neutral one more time and yet again attempt to use the art of seduction in order to steal something of great value.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9781667894119

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End Of Thieves

©2023 Gil Roscoe

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ebook ISBN: 978-1-66789-411-9

Contents

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

TWENTY-EIGHT

TWENTY-NINE

THIRTY

THIRTY-ONE

THIRTY-TWO

THIRTY-THREE

THIRTY-FOUR

THIRTY-FIVE

THIRTY-SIX

THIRTY-SEVEN

THIRTY-EIGHT

THIRTY-NINE

FORTY

FORTY-ONE

FORTY-TWO

FORTY-THREE

FORTY-FOUR

FORTY-FIVE

FORTY-SIX

FORTY-SEVEN

FORTY-EIGHT

FORTY-NINE

FIFTY

FIFTY-ONE

FIFTY-TWO

FIFTY-THREE

FIFTY-FOUR

FIFTY-FIVE

ONE

I stuck my bleeding hand into the Colorado. The stream of red pouring from my wound quickly disappeared. My blood was instantly taken away by the river. Just like my recent financial victory.

I cursed my decision to trust Joanne. I snarled my upper lip and shook my head in disgust. I hadn’t liked her friend, Steve, when I first met him, earlier in the summer. Last night, interior alarms had gone off when she suggested we stay in his cabin. I foolishly didn’t act on them. When was I going to stop doing that? When would I start listening to the messages my brain delivered? How stupid is it to not pay attention to your own built-in survival system?

The cold water numbed the pain. But when I lifted my hand out of the river it didn’t take long for the throbbing to begin again. I could see the gash clearly, and it looked fairly deep. There would probably be a scar. The throbbing began to work its way up my arm, so I shoved my hand back into the cold water. I shook my head as I looked at the bend in the river where my temporary fortune had vanished.

Past experience had taught me to try to relax and think through these kinds of situations. Panic would serve no purpose. Joanne and the money were gone. That fact couldn’t be altered. My dreams of Hawaii would have to wait. Right now, I needed to assess my present situation and then come up with a whole new plan for myself.

I had a hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars in a safe deposit box in Fredonia. I also had the three remaining Old Globe Sovereigns in a safe deposit box in Calgary. The coins were a thousand miles away and I didn’t want to cash them in for years. I had come to think of the three sovereigns as my retirement fund. They would gain value over time and would surely come in handy during my gray-haired years. I had a lousy seventy-five dollars in my wallet. Those were my total assets in this world. I had to hope what I had in my wallet would be enough to get me the two hundred miles around the canyon and up to the bank in Fredonia.

It made sense to go back to Phantom Ranch and see if I could get a bandage for my hand. After that, I’d eat breakfast, buy a bottle of water, and start the long trudge out of this thing. I’d learned enough about the place to know it would take most of the day to get to the South Rim. Immediately following the worst rip-off of my life, I’d have to endure the exhaustion of walking uphill for eight hours.

I got lucky and saw a ranger on my way through the Bright Angel Campground. He took me up to Phantom Ranch, where he had a first-aid kit. After my hand was sanitized and wrapped, I swallowed a couple of aspirin, and went to the café for breakfast. The eggs, toast, and sausages, filled me up for the journey. When the meal was done I decided it was best to just get on with it. I bought a bottle of water and a couple of granola bars before leaving the café. The trail ran right past the front porch. I walked down the steps, turned left and started the ten-mile journey out of this upside down mountain.

Going back to the North Rim would have brought me closer to my money in Fredonia, but I’d just stolen over a million dollars from the man in charge up there. Also, my ex-partners in the New Zealand scam were looking for me on the North Rim. I had no choice but to go the long way around and then scoot away from this disaster as quickly as possible.

Not far into the hike there was a narrow suspension bridge over the Colorado River. I stood in the middle of the bridge and watched the water for a few minutes. It wasn’t the churning white water I had expected. Instead, a smooth green flow passed beneath my feet. It may not have been swirling and bubbling, but it still moved along at a pretty fast rate. I knew Joanne and Steve were riding their raft on this same current. Probably laughing while they did it. I could look down at the water and see the exact speed at which my money was moving away from me. I couldn’t help but hope those two would meet with some watery accident.

As I reached the other side of the bridge, I got a cramp in my right calf muscle. I rubbed it until it relaxed, and then decided some warm-up stretches might be in order. I was about to do the most difficult walk of my life. It made sense that my muscles would benefit from some loosening. After reaching down for my toes, I stretched both arms over my head. I noticed the throbbing in my right hand decreased when I held my hand high. As I continued on my way I tried walking with my right hand above my head. My arm muscles soon protested against that idea. This damn cut was going to throb for a while. I just had to get used to it. I also had to find something stronger than aspirin.

It was already warm. Today’s new sweat, combined with last night’s old sweat, turned me into a walking stink bomb. The trail was paralleling the south side of the river and I eventually came to a little beach where a small, clear, eddy circled. I knew the water would be cold, but I was very disgusted with my sticky self, so I decided to go in. There was no one else on the trail. I quickly took all my clothes off and walked into the water. A very slimy mud oozed up between my toes. The water was cold, but tolerable. When it got to just below my hips I sat down while being careful to keep my bandaged hand resting on the top of my head. The little eddy swept around my body and served as a gentle scrubber. I closed my eyes and tried to forget my recent losses. I made an effort to enjoy the sound of the river and the refreshing coolness it brought.

When I opened my eyes, I saw a beautiful woman sitting on the little beach. She had long black hair and dark eyes. Even though she was sitting, I could tell she was tall. She had a stern look on her pretty face as she stared at me. I immediately felt attracted to her.

You’re not supposed to go into the river, she said. It’s against the rules. People get swept away by the current.

This current? I asked as I pointed at the gentle eddy.

Well, not right there, but if you go out any further, you’ll have a problem.

I’m not going out any further.

If a ranger sees you, you’ll get fined.

You’re not going to squeal on me, are you? I asked.

She shrugged her shoulders. After we stared at each other for a few seconds, she stood, and grabbed her large backpack. She slowly worked it up onto her back and got strapped in while making a series of unhappy grunts.

How much does that thing weigh? I asked.

Too much. It was manageable coming down, but it’ll be a killer going up.

You’ll be fighting gravity all day long, I said.

Gee, thanks, Isaac Newton she said as she headed up the trail. At least I’m a body in motion.

Good one, I said to myself as I watched her walk away.

I felt revived and clean as I stepped onto the sand. The aspirin must have started working because the throbbing in my hand had decreased. I sat on the little beach and let the sun and the soft wind dry me.

I should’ve been angry and depressed by what’d happened, but those feelings had already faded. There was a stunned numbness and odd peace of mind that had taken their place. Maybe that’s how my brain chose to stop me from focusing on this devastating betrayal. The anger would inevitably return and re-form itself into plots of revenge. For now, I think my mind was saving those reactions for the return to level ground. My present assignment was to direct my body’s energy into the up-coming physical torture. That was enough to think about for now.

The trail eventually curved away from the river and began its true ascent. After walking less than a mile I came across the same woman. She was resting again. She sat in the shadow of a large boulder and already looked exhausted.

What happened to your body in motion? I asked.

This isn’t a break, she said quickly. "I came down here because I had some thinking to do. That’s what I’m doing, thinking."

So, what are you thinking about? I asked as I opened my water bottle.

Only my entire future.

Well, there’s something we have in common, I said. Let me guess, did some guy ask you to marry him?

That’s a little personal, don’t you think? I don’t even know you.

You’re the one that brought up your entire future.

Well, you’re the one who was sitting naked in the river. That water was pretty clear. Your penis looked like an eel doing the hula.

That’s interesting, I said. I was just thinking about Hawaii.

Your thoughts have a weird way of manifesting themselves.

They always have, I said with a shrug.

She got up and began to get strapped into her backpack while going through another series of grunts.

What’ve you got in there? I asked.

The normal camping stuff, plus a few books. I shouldn’t have brought the books. Where’s your pack?

It got stolen this morning.

Stolen? Jesus. You’d think you could trust the type of people who would walk to the bottom of the Grand Canyon. Were your car keys in it?

I don’t have a car. I have to hike to the top and then figure out how to get to the town of Fredonia. It’s above the North Rim. I have money in a bank there.

How far is it?

About two hundred miles.

You’re going the wrong way, Isaac Newton. You should be hiking to the North Rim.

I burned my bridges up there, I said. I have to go up to the South Rim and then all the way around this gigantic hole.

I don’t get that, but all right, she said as she finally finished adjusting the straps.

She should’ve been about the same height as me, but the heavy pack created an angle to her upper body. It made her appear shorter. She didn’t look happy at all. Her pretty face was scrunched up with the effort of supporting the pack while trying to keep her balance.

Are you going to make it? I asked.

I have to walk out of here. What choice do I have?

Do you happen to have a car? I asked.

A car? I don’t think they let you drive out of here.

No. What I mean is, I have a proposition for you.

Be careful.

No. A business proposition.

What are you talking about?

It’s very simple. I’ll carry your backpack up to the South Rim in exchange for a two hundred mile ride.

What? I don’t even know your name.

I’m Warren.

I’m Sohsay, she said as she reluctantly shook my hand.

Sohsay, I repeated.

It’s an Iranian name. My parents brought me here when I was one.

So, Sohsay, I said with a grin. Do we have a deal?

Where is it you want to go?

A town called Fredonia. It’s directly north of here, but from the South Rim you have to go around the canyon to get there. It’s two hundred miles.

I don’t know about having you in my car. Sohsay said as she turned and started up the trail. Sorry, I don’t like the idea. You’re a complete stranger.

All right, I said as I walked behind her. No hard feelings. Maybe I can catch a bus or hitchhike. There’s a solution to every problem.

Now you sound like my father.

I walked behind her in silence. I was pretty sure she’d eventually take my deal. After twenty minutes, Sohsay stopped and undid the straps again. She let the backpack slowly slide down off her body. The pack raised a mini dust cloud as it hit the ground.

How am I supposed to know if I can trust you? she asked.

Because I sounded like your father? I said with a smile.

That gets you nowhere with me. Sohsay said.

Sorry to hear that. Sohsay, I’m in a bit of a jam. I’ll carry your pack to the top and I’ll be a good boy on the ride to Fredonia. I promise. I’d be so grateful, I wouldn’t even think of offending you. Maybe you’re headed that way anyway.

I’m not, actually, she said as the backpack fell over and created another dust cloud.

I’m harmless, Sohsay. I just want a ride and I’m willing to work for it.

I don’t know, she said.

Let me try the pack on and see how it feels. It may be too heavy even for me.

I hoisted the pack and pulled the straps over my shoulders. It was a lot heavier than my earlier pack with the half a million dollars in it, but it was manageable. I figured it weighed about forty pounds.

All right, I said as I adjusted the straps. I can handle it. Do we have a deal?

How about if I just pay you to do it?

Sorry, I need a ride more than I need money.

Oh, all right, she said after a few seconds. It would take me forever to carry that thing out of here. You better behave on the ride.

I’ll be too exhausted to offend you in any way, I said as I turned and started up the trail.

I looked back and saw that Sohsay was standing still. She let out a long sigh and started following me.

I hope the two hundred mile diversion doesn’t put you too far behind schedule, I said.

If you must know, I’m sneaking up on something. I’m not in any rush.

Sneaking up, huh, I said as she started to catch up to me. Is where you’re going a secret?

Yes. I’m tired of people saying stupid things about it.

Just trying to make conversation, I said.

Well, think of something else.

Would you mind carrying my water bottle?

That wasn’t part of our deal, she said as she walked past me. But I do have food in there. If you’re nice, you’ll get a free lunch.

The more I eat, the less I have to carry, I said with a laugh.

Not really, if you think about, she said. Oh, one other thing you need to know. Before we leave we have to stop at Bright Angel Lodge for a bowl of chili.

We have to?

Yes, I’m told it’s a tradition. After you hike out of the Grand Canyon you have to go to Bright Angel Lodge for chili. With onions and cheese, by the way.

I guess that’s a tradition I can live with, I said.

You’ll have to live with it. If you don’t have the chili after the hike it’s very bad luck.

I’ve certainly had my fill of that lately, I said as I fine-tuned the straps of the backpack.

Your bad luck isn’t over yet, Isaac Newton, she said as she smiled. You’ll be fighting gravity all day long.

TWO

What happened to your hand? Sohsay asked after a silent half hour.

I fell this morning, I said.

"Boy, you are having a bad day."

Until I met you.

What do you mean? she asked.

Well, I’ll be getting a ride, for one thing. Plus, I can tell you’re a strong woman who stands up for herself. I like that.

Oh. Thanks, I guess, she said. By the way, there’s a mule train coming. I saw it above us. They have the right of way. We’re supposed stand over to the side and stay perfectly still. If you don’t, those leather-faced old wranglers get mad at you.

Sounds like a great excuse to rest, I said.

That it is. Let’s stop here and take a break. They’ll be coming through in a few minutes.

Fine, I said as I unstrapped the backpack. How do you know about that stuff?

The camping permit comes with a lecture. Didn’t they talk to you about it?

I started from the North Rim in the middle of the night. I didn’t talk to anyone about it.

You don’t have a permit?

Nope, I said as I sat down and leaned against the backpack.

Let’s see, Sohsay said as she sat on a nearby rock. You don’t have a permit, you don’t have a backpack, and your hand is freshly bandaged. What’s going on with you?

I had a little trouble with some people up on the North Rim. I had to leave in a hurry. My backpack got stolen and I fell chasing the guy who took it.

You’re starting to sound like trouble. I don’t know if I want you in my car.

Well, please make up your mind. I’m not carrying this pack out of here for nothing.

What do you do for a living? Sohsay asked.

I just left a job as a desk clerk up on the North Rim. I got bored with doing the same thing over and over again, so I quit.

That sounds familiar, Sohsay said as she laughed. I just did something like that. I wasn’t a desk clerk, but I was having the same conversations over and over again.

I had to get away from it.

Me, too, Sohsay said as she nodded. All right, we’ll drive around the canyon together. But I’m counting on you being be a good boy.

I promise, I said.

We soon heard the steady clop of the mules. The wrangler was on the first mule. He looked like something out of an old west movie. He wore a very floppy cowboy hat. The texture of his skin was strangely similar to the texture of the saddle underneath him. His sloping posture and grizzled face relayed the message that he’d done this trip more than a few times. He gave us a very small nod as if to acknowledge our wisdom in getting off the trail.

I bet his name isn’t Bernard, Sohsay whispered.

Or Milton, I whispered back.

When the wrangler’s mule let off a rip-roaring fart, I started to laugh. The wrangler’s head snapped in my direction and his eyes burned holes in me. I immediately clammed up.

Don’t spook the animals, he said in a very serious voice.

Behind him came a line of brightly dressed tourists riding on mules of different shades of gray and brown. There were an even dozen of them and the guy on the last mule was sound asleep. As the sleeping rider and his mule got near us, the man let out a loud snort, fell out of the saddle, and onto the dirt. He quickly jumped to his feet and looked around as if he were trying to remember where he was. He mumbled Oh yeah and then trotted after his mule. The mule must have experienced this kind thing before because it stopped and waited. After several tries, the man managed to get his foot in the stirrup. He then heaved himself up into the saddle. In less than a minute they were gone. Sohsay and I both stared at the shiny black wallet lying in the middle of the trail.

I suppose I should run after him, she said. Or at least yell.

Don’t spook the animals, I said as I got up and walked over to the wallet. You might start a stampede.

Don’t open it yet, Sohsay said as I picked it up.

Why not? I asked as I went back and sat down next to her.

Because you need to have a philosophy about these things. Have you ever found a wallet before? she asked.

Yeah. I found one when I was sixteen years old. It had two hundred dollars in it.

What did you do?

I showed to it my father. We got the address from the driver’s license and he drove me over there to return it.

So you did the right thing.

Not really. When my father saw the gigantic mansion with three cars in the driveway, he kept right on going.

So you kept it?

Well, we mailed back the wallet and the credit cards, but my father used the money to buy a lawnmower.

Were you all right with that?

No, I wanted to use the credit cards to buy a motorcycle.

Oh boy, Sohsay said as she laughed.

Let’s open the wallet, I said. I’ll take out the cash and then put it back exactly where I found it. We’ll leave it up to the gods of the Grand Canyon.

You picked it up, so it’s your responsibility, Sohsay said with a shrug.

The wallet had three hundred and eighty dollars in it. I looked at the driver’s license for the man’s address and couldn’t help but laugh when I saw it.

Oh yeah, good-bye cash, I said. He’s from Beverly Hills.

Really? Sohsay asked. So am I. What’s his name?

Dallas J. Walker.

Never heard of him, she said.

So, are you rich? I asked.

My father is. You might as well know that you’ll be riding in a brand new Mercedes.

I’ll be damned, I said. Well, I’m invoking my dad’s rule about lost wallets. You want half the money?

No, you keep it. Take the cash and put the wallet back where you found it. Let’s get going.

I’ll buy the chili, I said.

Maybe I can get a song out of this, Sohsay said after we started walking again.

A song?

Yeah, I write country-western songs. Here we have mules, cowboys, and lost money. There’s got to be a song in there somewhere.

Could be, I said. Throw in a dog and you’ll be on your way to the top of the charts.

I’ll write it while you drive the Mercedes.

I’m driving? I asked.

Yeah, I drove all the way from L.A. I need a break.

You just want to keep my hands occupied.

I was starting to like you, Sohsay said. Now you’ve ruined it by being disgusting.

Sorry. Sometimes I go for the joke before thinking about it.

Well, then, I’d appreciate more thinking, if you don’t mind.

Three hours later we came to a place called Indian Gardens. There were picnic tables, tall cottonwood trees, and a spigot where I could refill my water bottle. After I plopped the backpack onto the ground, Sohsay rummaged through it, and came up with four baloney sandwiches. I donated my granola bars for dessert. We sat at one of the picnic tables and attacked our lunches. The sandwiches were just slices of baloney, with mustard, and wilted lettuce, on white bread. But they tasted wonderful.

Isn’t there pork in baloney? I asked as we munched away.

Don’t know, she said.

You were born in Iran. Aren’t you a Muslim? Isn’t eating pork against the rules?

I’m a lapsed Muslim, she said. One of the reasons I’m on this trip is because my father wants me out of the house. He bought me the Mercedes to ease my departure.

Wow. Sounds like he’s loaded.

Oh, he is. A documentary he produced was nominated for an Oscar a few years ago. He owns twenty-three oil wells in Baldwin Hills and four apartment buildings in Santa Barbara.

Does he think it’s time for you to be out on your own? You’re not exactly eighteen.

I’m twenty-eight, if you must know.

And still living at home?

You’re getting very personal again.

Maybe. But I am lugging your underwear out of the Grand Canyon.

There you go with being disgusting again. I don’t think carrying my underwear qualifies you to probe into my private life.

I guess not, I said.

Most people ask what movie my father produced.

I don’t go to the movies that much, I said as I grabbed a second sandwich. I’m more interested in why your father wanted you out of town. But I guess you don’t want to talk about that.

We ate quietly for a few minutes as we watched another mule train clop through on the nearby trail.

If you must know, I actually wanted to leave, Sohsay said when she finished her sandwich. My father just made it easier.

Were you being a bad girl?

"No, I was being an American woman. As opposed to the submissive Muslim woman he wanted me to be."

Why did you chuck the ways of Allah?

It’s too long a story, she said. Finish your sandwich and let’s get going. You can keep your granola bars. I want that bowl of chili for dessert.

It got more difficult as we