by Lynn Lorenz
Who the fuck was Donovan? From some of the descriptions the people gave, he must have at least four guys out looking for Sammi. No way in hell they were good friends of Sammi’s. More like Donovan’s paid muscle, if the guy who’d come to his work was any indication.
What Mitchell did know was that he needed to catch up to Sammi before Donovan or his men did.
* * * *
Sammi and Otis trotted across the street and down the alley to the restaurant’s back door. Otis unlocked the door and they went inside. Sammi began setting out all the clean dishes, wiping down tables, and filling salt and pepper shakers and ketchup bottles.
Otis fired up the grill and fryer and started to prep his work area. There were fresh tomatoes to cut, lettuce to wash and tear for salads, onions to chop, and lots and lots of potatoes to cut into fries.
Sammi kept his eye on the old man as he worked, in hopes of picking up some idea of what a cook had to do before he even started to cook. At the penthouse, he’d often spent his free time in the kitchen, watching the housekeeper prepare their meals. Sammi hoped a time would come when Otis would let him do some prep work, but for now, he was content to wash dishes, clear tables and do whatever was asked of him.
He finished his work and came over to Otis. “Mind if I watch?”
“Sure. Knock yourself out, son.” Otis chuckled, then gave Sammi a side glance. “Okay, you want to learn?”
“Yes!” Sammi bounced on his heels.
“Calm down, boy. See, this is an easy chop. See how I hold the knife?”
Sammi nodded.
“Now, I curl my fingers under, like this, so I don’t add something extra to the chop.” He demonstrated for Sammi, who hung on every movement of the man’s deft fingers and the slicing of the wide blade.
“This is a coarse chop. I use it for the soups.” He brushed the cut veggies into a pot and put it to the side. “I’ll add some chicken stock to this, the shredded-up chicken, some noodles and we got our chicken soup.”
“Sounds delicious.” Sammi licked his lips.
Otis laughed. “Okay. Now, I’m doing the onions for the burgers. We grill them first, then add them to the patties.” He pulled over a peeled onion and sliced it. Sammi watched and took mental notes as Otis lectured him on the prep work.
“It’s nearly eleven, boy. Time to open up for the lunch crowd. You got the tables ready?”
“Yes, sir!” Sammi saluted.
Otis pulled out his keys. “Here. Go open the door and flip the sign on.”
Sammi took them and navigated his way through the café to the front door. His first real day of work was about to start and he was so excited.
Today, he’d work enough hours to earn seventy-five dollars. With what he’d made yesterday, he’d have one hundred twenty-five dollars. He hadn’t had so much money in his pocket since he’d worked the street.
Hoping he’d earn enough this week to rent a room somewhere, Sammi’s spirits rose. The thought of staying at one of the shelters made him shudder. When he was younger, he’d been beaten several times at them, over stupid things like where his cot was, or that he had someone’s blanket. Most of those men were angry at the world, and Sammi had been a convenient punching bag. Never again.
He wasn’t going to be anyone’s punching bag, or anyone’s whore, ever again. He had a better plan for his life now.
Without Mitchell, his life might never be complete, never happy. But maybe, for once, he could be proud of the life he did have.
* * * *
Moretti decided to swing by Collins’s place again. Ever since he’d called the fag’s work number and had been told Mitchell Collins was no longer an employee, he knew he’d made the man’s life a disaster. He’d cancelled his credit cards, emptied his accounts and destroyed most of the idiot’s property.
Teach him to fuck with him or Donovan.
Now he wanted to catch the bastard alone, lean on him, break a few bones, knock out a few teeth, and make him tell where that little shit Sammi was hiding. Make him beg Moretti not to hurt him anymore.
Did Collins really think the kid was worth all this grief?
The car still sat on the street, tilting to one side from the two flat tires. Moretti laughed. It was a bitch to have one flat, but two? What a pain in the ass that would be to fix. This time, he didn’t bother getting out of the car—he just pulled over across the street and parked. It still appeared like no one was home. Maybe the guy was out hunting for a new job. Maybe he was wherever he had hidden the kid.
Moretti waited another fifteen minutes, the whole time grinding his teeth and beating his fist on the steering wheel. He dug out his cell and flipped it open to check in with each of his men by group text.
Report.
Moretti’s fingers flew over the letters as he stared at the house, still hoping Collins would return while he was still there. You never knew.
One by one, his guys answered.
Nothing going, boss.
I got nothing. Not even a whiff of the fucker.
Sorry, boss. No one’s seen him.
He closed his phone with a final growl and a curse, then drove off. He’d swing back this afternoon. With a hard exhale, knowing what awaited him, he headed back to the penthouse to report in. As he drove he thought of Donovan’s ire and what form it might take. The bastard had better not try anything physical. Moretti didn’t care about yelling or cursing, he just blocked that shit out. But lay a hand on him?
No fucking way would he let that happen.
Donovan wasn’t going to like what Moretti had to report, but tough shit. It is what it is.
If he were in Donovan’s place he’d be pissed too. A half million was a shit ton of money to lose out on. And to tell the truth, Moretti would sorely miss his cut of the money.
At this point, Moretti knew it would be sheer luck if he found Sammi. What he didn’t know was if Sammi’s good luck would finally fail, or if his own luck would finally kick in.
* * * *
Mitchell had had it. His feet were aching and hot and he was drenched in sweat. Despite the cool weather, the humidity was up in the nineties. He wanted to beat his head against a wall, his fists against Moretti, or Donovan, and just scream, but he swallowed it down.
He’d been on the streets all day with only one sighting to show for it. He checked his phone. Nothing.
He hit Brian’s number. “Brian?”
“Yeah. Did you find him?”
“No. But I found someone who saw him last night.”
“Well, that’s better than nothing, right?” Always the optimist, his best friend Brian. Mitchell couldn’t help but smile.
“Yeah. Better than nothing.” Although, nothing was all he had right now.
“Look, I’m heading home. Be there in thirty.”
“Right. See you there.” Mitchell disconnected and shoved the phone back in his pocket. He straightened his shoulders and headed to Brian’s place.
Mitchell, dragging his feet, spotted Brian’s SUV in the drive. He’d have to fix his car, because he couldn’t do all this walking again tonight.
He knocked on the door and Brian let him in.
“Don’t look at it as a waste of time, man.” Brian eyed him, then slapped him on the shoulder. “Come in the kitchen before you drop.”
“Thanks.” Mitchell pulled out a chair at the table and slumped into it.
Brian opened his huge professional-grade refrigerator, pulled out two ice-cold beers and handed one to Mitchell. He twisted off the cap and tossed it in the garbage can.
Mitchell opened his beer and downed it in two long pulls. Brian watched him, that odd look on his face, as if he knew something about Mitchell, but was trying to decide whether to say something.
“What?” Mitchell tossed the bottle in the recycle bin next to the trash.
“Nothing.” Brian shrugged. “Are you ready to work on the tires?”
“Yeah, might as well. I need my car running so I can look for Sammi tonigh
t. I can’t walk another step.” Mitchell stretched out his legs and exhaled.
“Well, let’s go. We can stop by your house and you can change clothes. I figure we can jack up one wheel, take it off and put on the spare, then take off the other one and get both fixed at the same time.”
“Good idea. Do you think one of us should stay with the car?”
“No. I don’t think anyone will bother it.”
Brian’s cell rang as they headed to the door. He unclipped it from his belt and answered. “Yep. Great. I’ll meet you there later. I have an errand that’s going to take an hour or two. Thanks.”
“Who was that?”
Brian locked the door and they got in the SUV. “One of my buddies on the force. He’s got some info for me on Donovan.”
“Great. Maybe we can figure out who this guy is and why he wants Sammi so badly.”
“I was wondering about that.” Brian started the car and pulled out.
Mitchell leaned back in the seat. “Fuck. Brian, it’s gotten worse.”
“What are you talking about?”
“This morning I found out Donovan’s had several men out looking for Sammi. They have flyers, as if he were some lost kid.” Mitchell ran his hand over his face. “They’ve been all over Montrose, flashing it and asking about him.”
“Well, makes sense he’d have a picture. Sammi was with him for a long time. He’d have pictures of him.”
“It’s just weird. Like I’m in some sort of Twilight Zone episode. I’m searching for Sammi, but only because Donovan is, you know? I think if none of that shit had happened to me, if Sammi had just spent the night with me and left, I’m not sure I’d be looking for him right now.” It took a lot to admit it, but he knew Brian would understand.
“You’d just count it as love lost, right?” Brian nodded.
“Yeah, exactly.” He sighed and stared out of the window. “I should stop.” Had this gone far enough? How much more of his life would be destroyed? How much more could he take?
“Stop looking or blaming yourself?” Brian cocked an eyebrow.
“Both, I guess. It’s time I realized it’s a lost cause. If Sammi wanted me, he’d be with me.”
Brian glanced at Mitchell as they pulled up behind Mitchell’s car. “Maybe he does, but for some reason you don’t know about, he can’t.”
“Maybe.” Mitchell got out, opened the Jetta’s trunk and retrieved the spare and the jack. He leaned the spare against the bumper and put the jack on the ground near the rear tire.
“You’re still going out tonight to search for him, right?” Brian popped the hubcap off with the crowbar and placed it to the side of where Mitchell knelt.
“Yeah.” Mitchell gave a wry laugh. Brian knew him better than anyone in the entire world. Except for Mitchell’s mom. Nobody knows you like your mother.
Mitchell’s mom had known he was gay before he knew it.
They changed the tires, brought them to the tire shop, and waited for them to get fixed. Mitchell slipped the service guy a twenty to get them done A.S.A.P. They loaded them in the back of the SUV and headed back to Mitchell’s house.
Mitchell got the tires from the rear and leaned them against the Jetta. Together, they changed each tire. When the last one was on and the car was sitting on all fours, Mitchell felt a bit better.
He needed to change his clothes before doing anything else.
“Come up for a beer?”
Brian shook his head. “Can’t. I’ve got to make this meeting. Should take about an hour. I’ll see you at my place, okay? We’ll have an early dinner and you can get back to the search.” Brian climbed back into this car and leaned over to talk to Mitchell out of the far window.
“That would be great. It’s a date.” Mitchell gave him a wave as he drove off.
Mitchell went up the steps and into his house. The front door was still intact, thank God. If he’d found it broken again, he’d just sit down and cry.
Once inside, he headed to his bedroom, stripping off the sweaty clothes. He tossed them into the hamper and went into the bathroom. He turned on the shower, waited for the hot water, then climbed in.
Memories of him and Sammi assaulted him. Mitchell’s legs shook and he slid to the floor. The water beat on his back and head, washing away all the sweat and tears.
“Sammi, where are you?” Mitchell opened his mind again, like Sammi had taught him, but received no answer. How could Sammi just cut him off like this? He thought they’d meant a lot to each other, thought they were something special.
Sammi didn’t answer, but Mitchell couldn’t just give up. Something inside him knew Sammi was alive and needed him. He pushed up to his feet, did a quick wash and rinse, then got out of the shower.
He dressed and felt better in clean clothes. There was some time between now and meeting Brian and he didn’t want to let a minute go to waste. Mitchell grabbed his phone and his keys from the front hall table and headed out of the door.
He trotted down the steps, hopped in the car and fired it up. He half-expected the car not to start or to explode like in the movies, but it started. No explosion.
Mitchell pulled away and drove down to the park. He spent the rest of the afternoon cruising though Hermann Park, then back and forth on Montrose. At five, he went back to Brian’s to meet him.
When six o’clock rolled around and Brian hadn’t shown, Mitchell started the car. He flipped open his cell phone, hit Brian’s number and it rolled to the answering service. “Brian, it’s me. I’m at your place. It’s six. Sorry I missed you. See you later.” He hung up and drove off.
At some point, he knew he’d have to give up the hunt for Sammi, but it wasn’t going to be tonight.
* * * *
Brian pulled into an empty parking spot in the downtown police station garage. He got out and headed inside to meet his old friend Pete Schwartz, now a detective with Vice.
At the front desk, he gave the desk sergeant his name and Pete’s and waited until the man motioned him over. The door opened and Pete appeared.
“Brian! Come on in.” He stepped aside to let Brian pass. “Let’s to my desk. I think I’ve got some info for you.”
He sat in the chair to the side of Pete’s desk and leaned forward. “You got something on Donovan?”
“Hell, yeah.” Pete shook his head. “If you’re friend is mixed up with this dude, he’s in trouble, or will be.” Pete pulled out a folder and flipped it open.
Brian edged it closer so he could read it. “Fuck! Why isn’t this guy behind bars?”
“Well, the witnesses against him keep disappearing. And his people won’t roll over on him.” Pete shook his head. “He’s got the fear of God burned into them, I guess.”
“Prostitution, huh?” Brian hadn’t wanted to tell Mitchell he’d suspected it all along.
“Worse. Sex slaves. He branched out from good old regular prostitution a few years ago. Now, he’s high end. These are not the kind of sex slaves we find huddled in houses, chained to the floors, fucking johns on mattresses. No, sir. Donovan has upscale clientele. People with money who want specialty items.”
“Like?” Brian glanced up.
“Underage kids. Boys. Little girls. We know he throws private parties, but no one will talk about it. No one wants to get their names dragged through that particular gutter.” Pete shrugged. “What we need is evidence.”
“Like someone who’s been a slave?”
“Sure. If you got someone like that, you let me know. I’ll have a warrant signed faster than you can say ‘illegal sex slaves’.” Pete closed the file. “Let me make this perfectly clear, Brian. Do not, under any circumstances, try to take this bastard on alone. He’s fucking dangerous. He’s a sociopath and he won’t think twice about killing anyone who gets in his way.”
Brian stood. “I promise. If I find out anything, I’ll let you know. Then you bring the fire power and I’ll just stand back.” He grinned and stuck out his hand for Pete to shake.
; “Good man. I don’t want anyone hurt unless it’s Donovan and his men.” Pete shook hands and showed Brian back to the door of the detectives’ area.
Brian had suspected something like this, but hearing that the man Donovan was so ruthless and powerful made him sick. What the hell had Mitchell gotten into with Sammi?
But he could see Sammi as a sex slave. Sex and trouble.
But did trouble mean death for his best friend?
Not if he had anything to do with it.
* * * *
Fucking roaches.
The dance floor seethed with men. Moretti weaved through them to the bar. He’d been in this place twice in the last week, but there was still a chance he might hit pay dirt.
At the bar, he motioned to one of the bartenders he’d never seen before. Holding out the photo of Sammi, he asked, “Seen him?”
The man took the photo, stared at it, then shook his head. He handed it back to Moretti as if he were already bored. Turning around to face out into the club, Moretti steeled himself for another quick pass through the back tables, where couples sat holding hands, kissing and giggling as if they were a bunch of schoolgirls.
It made him sick.
He’d pay Rhonda a visit tonight and fuck her brains out. Of all the whores he knew, he liked Rhonda the best. She could take it rough and that’s how he liked it. Besides, it had been too long since he’d fucked and the time he spent around these fags just made him crave female companionship, if only for an hour. And with Rhonda, he didn’t need to make small talk or anything. Just wham, bam, thank you ma’am and leave his money on the dresser.
Rhonda could wait for a while longer. He needed to hit a few more bars before he called it a night. Donovan was running out of time and demanded more and more as the clock ran down.
If he didn’t find Sammi tonight, he didn’t hold out much hope for ever finding him.