Simon Says... Hide (Kate Morgan Thrillers Book 1)

by Dale Mayer

  At the far side of the street, a homeless man playing a guitar on a corner smiled hopefully at her. She studied him for a moment, then turned her back on him. But still she had that weird chill about being watched. She spun around a couple times unable to shake that feeling. Finally she got tagged. The call was from Missing Persons.

  “What the hell is your problem?” Jennifer asked. “Our tail is following him and wondering why you keep looking around.”

  “Because, damn it,” she muttered, “it feels like I’m being watched.”

  “Well, my tail has about had enough of seeing you,” she said in frustration.

  “That’s fine,” she said, “but somebody else is out here in this game.”

  “Like who?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Kate said. “I’m going off the grid. Your tail knows I’m out here,” she said. “I’m not disappearing. I’m just going a different route.” And, with that, she hung up.

  She walked around, took a corner, and cut through the alleyway, then headed up on the far side, so she was ahead of Simon. Mostly because she knew the angle he was walking, and he was heading toward the park entrance. He wasn’t likely to go all the way around the bridge, up to the top and across. That was miles yet. But a lot was going on down here, and she wouldn’t doubt that he had a specific purpose in mind. But that didn’t mean that the missing child Leonard had anything to do with it. She just hoped this wasn’t a wild goose chase. Not when a child was at stake.

  Sure enough, she caught sight of him again.

  His phone rang, and she watched as he answered it. But he didn’t gaze left or right, he just kept going straight forward. Something that really bothered her was that, every time he walked up to a crosswalk, the opposing traffic was stopped with a red light, so he could walk across without changing his stride. She watched him a couple times and thought it was a coincidence, but now she realized it was anything but. She wondered if he had some mechanical device in hand that altered the traffic lights. She frowned and then quickly sent her contact a message. The damn lights keep doing him favors.

  So? He’s lucky.

  Or has a device to control it. She got a question mark back. With a heavy sigh she frowned; of course they would think she was crazy. But something was eerie about him to always cross on a perfectly timed green light without breaking his stride. As she came up to the intersection that he’d sailed right through, the light changed. She frowned, but, since there was no traffic, she darted across. She could almost see him laughing at her from up ahead.

  Then he called back and said, “You might as well come walk with me.”

  “Hell.” She headed out and joined him. She also knew that whoever was following him from Missing Persons would be pissed.

  “Why are you out here after me?” he asked smoothly.

  “I’m not,” she said, “but I sure as hell would like to know how you end up crossing in perfect sync with the lights all the time.”

  “Just lucky,” he said.

  She shook her head. “Lucky is fifty percent of the time. Maybe even sixty,” she said. “With a hundred percent of the time, no luck is involved.”

  “So what now? You’re accusing me of interfering with the traffic lights?” he asked.

  “Maybe,” she said, “if I could ever figure out what the hell you’re doing.”

  He chuckled. “You’re such an untrusting soul.”

  “I don’t trust anyone out here,” she said. “Even you.”

  “Good,” he said calmly. “I don’t trust myself either.” She stared. He shrugged and said, “When you live your life, you learn whether you can trust anyone out there or only trust yourself.”

  “I know I can trust myself.”

  “Good for you,” he said, but his tone deepened. “What I do know is I can trust everyone out there to do whatever it is they want, knowing it’ll be in their personal best interests. If you don’t expect anything more than that, you never get taken. Now trusting yourself? That’s a whole different story.”

  She stopped in her tracks, thinking everything he said was completely backward. When she turned and looked up again, he’d disappeared from sight. She walked forward to find him leaning against a wall inside a doorway. She just stood and glared at him.

  “Have a good evening, Detective.” And the door opened for him, and he stepped in.

  She studied the building. It was a private club. She’d heard he was a bit of a gambler but didn’t know to what extent. Her phone rang, and she knew who it was. “He’s gone into a club.”

  “And you completely broke the tail,” Jennifer said in outrage. “I’m catching complete hell here thanks to you.”

  “Well, he saw me, and he asked me to walk with him. I didn’t have a whole lot of choice at that point.”

  “What the hell?” she said. “You know this isn’t a game. We have a child missing.”

  “I know,” she said. She frowned, thinking. “I’m backtracking.”

  “Why?”

  She stopped and turned. “Because a panhandler was back there, and Simon tossed some money into his tray.”

  “And?” Receiving no answer from Kate, Jennifer continued. “Good thing you’re not on my team,” she snapped. “I would have fired your ass for that stunt.”

  “Maybe so,” she said, “but I’m not done. The evening is young.” With that, she turned and pocketed her phone.

  She didn’t know what was bothering her, but something was. She headed back toward the area where she’d seen Simon drop some coins in the panhandler’s tray because, at that time, something had changed. As she came back, the panhandler moved quickly down the street. She raced behind him.

  “Wait,” she said. But instead of waiting, he pulled his jacket tighter and moved faster. “Stop,” she said. “Police!”

  He broke into a blind sprint. What had appeared to be an old man suddenly looked to be someone in prime shape, as he raced down the street ahead of her. She’d already been running, but he quickly dodged into one of the back alleys, and, by the time she got there, he’d already disappeared. Standing here, swearing, she was pissed beyond belief.

  Not only had she not caught him but he’d completely fooled her the first time around.

  She didn’t have any photos of him either. As she walked down the alleyway, gathering her breath, the coins had spilled from his tray. She bent and took a look. One was an oddity, like a casino coin. Instinctively she knew whose it was. She pulled a tissue from her pocket and quickly wrapped it up and tucked it back into her pocket. Why had he dropped that here? Just then her phone rang. She pulled it out.

  “We got a sighting of a lost little boy two blocks away,” Jennifer said. “Where are you?”

  Kate quickly gave her location. “Who called it in?”

  “We don’t know,” Jennifer said in frustration. “But he said the little boy needed to be picked up because somebody else was after him.”

  Kate raced back out onto the street and started searching. “Where? North, south, east, west?” She was frantic as she ran toward the coordinates. Just as she hit the corner across the street, she saw a little figure up against a doorway. She bolted in that direction, just as another man came closer to him. “Get away from him,” she roared.

  He turned and looked at her, startled. Then he hurriedly stepped back. She only caught the briefest glimpse of him, as he bolted down the opposite side of the street away from her. She bent down to see it was, indeed, a little boy. “I’ve got him,” she said into her phone a moment later. “Another man was literally ready to snatch him up again.”

  “A good man?”

  “No,” she said, her voice deadly soft. “No, I wouldn’t say so. But I don’t know. Maybe I’m being too harsh.”

  “Is he alive?”

  She reached out, checking the little boy, and he whimpered and cried. “He’s alive,” she said, “but I don’t think this is the one you are looking for.”

  “Why the hell not?” Jennifer asked.
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  “Because this one is only two, maybe two and a half,” she said. “Easy, little one. Just take it easy.” The little child started to sob. He held out his arms; she sat down on the steps beside him and tucked him into her lap. “This guy is little,” she said. “And he needs help.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “He is exhausted and cold.” She could tell from his body temperature through the clothing. “And he’s crying, in case you can’t hear that.”

  “Got it,” she said. “I have an ambulance heading toward you. Hold him close. We are still looking for the other boy—Leonard. Damn it. What the fuck is going on? Did you get a good look at the other man?”

  “No.” On instinct, she said, “Send somebody after him. He headed down Thurlow. See if you can run him to ground.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I have two others in the neighborhood. Description?”

  “Midcalf overcoat, dark brown scarf, looking a little odd. Something weird about his eyes. Black gloves.”

  “Got it,” she said. “You stay with that child.”

  “He’s not going anywhere,” she said. In fact, he was curled up against her chest, her big coat wrapped around him. And, although he still sobbed, he was calming down. She heard the sirens in the distance. “It’s okay, little one,” she said. “The police are coming and so is an ambulance.” He just tucked in closer and hung on.

  And she knew she wouldn’t hand him over easily. As soon as the ambulance arrived, she pulled out her badge, showed the EMTs. They nodded and came over to talk to the little boy. When she opened her jacket, and one of the men reached for him, the little boy started screaming. She winced and tried to soothe him, but there was nothing for it. She had to hand him over, so he’d get checked out. Very little light was back here in this alleyway, but the medics had flashlights, and, once the little boy was on the gurney, she didn’t even need lights to see that his pants were bloody. She looked up at the officers. “Please tell me that it’s not—”

  They wore grim faces and said, “We’ll get him into the ambulance first and get him to the hospital. Did you find any ID on him?”

  She shook her head. “None that I saw in this light. It seemed more important to hold him close at the time,” she said, but her heart was being wrenched from her chest as she listened to the little boy’s cries and anguish. “Dear God,” she said, “get him some help.”

  “We will,” he said.

  She quickly took a picture of the license plate on the ambulance to make sure that nothing else happened with this little boy. She didn’t even know why she was doing that, except that everything in life right now seemed upside down and backward, and she wouldn’t let this little guy go without a damn good reason. The fact that he was exhausted was one of them though.

  As soon as the ambulance left, two police officers came and asked her for the details. She quickly gave them an outline. “One man was looking to snatch the child.”

  They looked up from their notes at her. “Are you thinking he knew who the child was?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, “but something really weird is going on here.”

  “We’re also still missing that seven-year-old,” he said.

  “I know.” Just then she got a phone call from her unit.

  “Kate, this is Owen,” he said. “We’ve got another body.”

  She closed her eyes, stared up at the sky, and said, “I’m on it. Where am I going?”

  “You’re almost there,” he said. “Take two blocks, turn right, head up one.”

  “You already know I’m here? How?”

  “Heard you found a child.” After a heavy pause, he added, “Good job on that, by the way.”

  “But?”

  “The but is, we’re standing over a little girl. This child is dead.”

  *

  Well, that didn’t work out quite the way I thought it would.

  Simon had ditched Kate at the first club, but, not liking the odd sensation inside him, he’d only stayed for fifteen minutes, then had headed out again. He’d walked toward a private game that he’d considered hitting later but figured early would work too. Except, as he’d started walking, his instincts had kicked in, sending him in the opposite direction. He wasn’t even sure where the directive was coming from, but he felt compelled to follow until it. He hit the alleyway shadows and saw something gleaming in the darkness.

  Sorrow and anger had kicked in with equal force. He stood silent for a moment, then made the phone call.

  And had left right after speaking with the first officer on the scene. He’d left his information and had promised to return later to speak to whoever notified him.

  And had promptly joined the private game, now around the time he’d originally planned to step in, and had several stiff drinks. Anything to blank out that image of the dead girl from his mind.

  Simon folded back his cuff and pushed up his sleeve, as he waited for the next round of cards to start. He had a stack of chips in front of him, but it wasn’t too high. This was a game he’d been planning for, for several months. A game of revenge. On a cheater. It was one thing to wreck somebody else because you’re good at cards or because you had inside knowledge.

  It was another thing to have a cheater drain somebody else who didn’t have the money to lose. Simon planned to take the cheater to the cleaners tonight. The one man the cheater had cheated wasn’t here and wouldn’t likely be back ever. He’d lost way too much on another night and would spend months, if not years, paying it back.

  That’s the problem when you got into these games. You got in heavy, and things got ugly.

  Simon had a beer beside him, and the smell of smoke was heavy. He wished to hell they’d all stop smoking. It clogged his nose and filled his lungs. It would be days before he’d get it out of his clothing. As he waited for the cards to come his way, he checked out what his opponents all had. Making a decision, he bounced one chip in and said, “I’m good.”

  “Seriously?” said one man, with an honest laugh. “You are holding at that?”

  Simon placed his cards facedown, nodded. “I am.” And he just stared back at the man. Some of these guys he knew; some knew him. Some knew of him.

  One of them tossed his cards into the center and said, “I’m out.”

  “You can always get another set of cards,” his neighbor protested.

  “Not if he is holding his,” he said. “It’s just much easier on my bank account this way.”

  The guy snorted. “I don’t believe it,” he said. “I’m in.”

  Simon wanted two cards, and he tossed in a coin and raised him one, so round and round the game went. He didn’t take any more cards, but he kept playing to the pot. Finally the other guy settled down, and he laid out four in a row. Simon nodded, then laid out four aces. A chorus of groans came all around the table, as he pulled in his pot.

  “Jesus Christ,” his opponent said. “You’re one lucky bastard.”

  Simon shrugged and said, “Hey, I’ve been here lots and left without winning anything.” Because he had deliberately set that up, they all knew it to be true. Yet this was Simon’s night, and he would make sure it was a good one.

  “Hope you’re not walking home with that money,” the losing cheater said. “You’re likely to get mugged.”

  The evening proceeded much the same. Simon would win a little, lose a little, but he kept his stack, and, over time, it built and it built. Finally his neighbor tossed in his cards and said, “I’m done for the night.”

  Simon looked over at him and nodded. “Good call,” he said. “I think it’s time to leave too.”

  “You can at least give us a chance to win some of that back,” the cheater said.

  “What do you want to do?” Simon asked. Then he shoved everything into the pot. “I’ll take you on,” he said. “Push your little pile in against my big pot.”

  The man’s eyebrows shot up; he looked at the two stacks, and he nodded. “This is
all I’ve got for weeks,” he said, “but hell yes. Absolutely.” All the others were out, so Simon and the cheater did a quick twenty-one hand, and, within seconds, Simon flipped over his cards. Then he scooped up his opponent’s money and added it to his already big pot. He looked to the owner of the club and asked, “Can I get a bag, please?”

  “Jesus,” he said. He got up, came around with the club bag, and handed it to him. “I don’t think we’ve ever seen anybody walk away with that kind of money.”

  “And yet I’ve probably put that kind of money into this place over the last couple months,” Simon joked. But he was aware of an ugliness emanating from across the table. He looked over at the cheater. “What’s the matter?”

  “You must have cheated,” he said.

  Simon froze, and a sudden stillness fell around the room. “Did you just call me a cheater?”

  The man stuck his nose up pugnaciously and nodded. “Hell yes,” he said. “No way you got that hand.”

  “I didn’t deal it,” he said. “I didn’t have anything in my hands except the two cards I was given. Why the hell would you think I was cheating?”

  The guy looked at the dealer. “Because you will probably split it with him at the end of the evening.”

  An outcry came from the others.

  “Watch your mouth,” said one of the men. “It’s one thing that you’re sitting here, pissed off that you lost after all the times you’ve won in here,” he said, “but you don’t get to call anybody a cheater just because you’re pissed.”

  “Oh, yeah, I know he’s cheating. I’ve seen that con before.”

  Simon sat back down, the bag of money in his hands. “What con?” he asked.

  But the man looked frustrated. “No way you did that honestly.”

  “And why is that?” Simon asked, staring at him with a note of humor. “Are you a cheater yourself? Is that what you think this is? That you’ve been out-cheated?”

  The other guys laughed.

  The cheater got up and said, “I’m definitely done for the night.” As he walked to the front door, he turned around and said, “You better watch how you walk out.”