I finished my second glorious taco and tipped grandma an extra five. We piled in my pickup and drove to the house. It was a corner lot in a row of similar houses built in the late forties and early fifties after World War II. Some were falling down. Some were in a state of repair. Some were simply abandoned. Most of the yards were enclosed in hurricane fencing. The lights were on in the downstairs area. I parked across the street and studied the windows for any sign of movement. Rap music blared from inside the house. With any luck, the thugs had all passed out and left the music playing. The sound would mask our movements in the house.
“That’s the kind of noise that ruined rap,” Skeeter said, listening to the music.
“Whatever,” I said. I didn’t share his taste in music.
Skeeter checked the loads in his 12-gauge shotgun. It was a model 870 with a pistol grip. The pump action was a challenge to operate using his metal hook, but he had worked out a system that made it look easy and natural. He looked like a cyborg soldier sent from the future to kill John Connor.
“Give us two minutes to clear the top floor,” I said to Skeeter. “If you have any trouble, use that shotgun.” I checked my watch. Four twenty. With any luck, we would get Maya and be gone by four thirty.
The streetlight on the corner had long since been shot out, and the yard was dark except for the light bleeding through the windows. Several dogs barked from the neighbor’s yard, announcing our arrival. The full force of the north wind had not reached San Antonio. The trees were quiet and still, as if holding their breath waiting for the storm.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I followed Kelly to the stairs that led to the second story. Light poured through gaps in the rotten house boards, and nails protruded an inch higher than flush on the steps. I pulled my .45 and pointed out the flaws in the stairs to Kelly before leading the way. The wooden frame squawked and pulled away from the house several inches but held firm. The noise was covered by the loud rap music mixed with electronic blasts from video game gunshots. Whoever was inside wasn’t listening for intruders.
We stopped at the second-story landing. I signaled a thumbs-up to Skeeter in the front yard and watched him point the 870 toward the front door and climb the porch steps.
The back door to the second story was locked. The deadbolt above the knob was completely rusted, and the wooden doorframe suffered from years of neglect.
I stepped back and lifted my leg, preparing to give the lock a blast from my boot heel. The small three-by-three wooden landing wobbled like a two-legged chair.
Kelly stopped me with a hand on my shoulder and produced a Marine Corps issue Ka-Bar knife, known in the military’s distinct parlance as, Knife, Fighting Utility—a lethal weapon with a sturdy seven-inch fixed blade honed to a needle point. She slipped it between the door and the jamb near the deadbolt and gently popped the door open.
We found ourselves in a dark hallway that ran the distance of the second story. There were three doors on the right facing open windows. The stagnant air smelled like cheap perfume and marijuana and clung to my skin like a damp paper towel. At the end of the hall, a staircase descended to the first floor.
The downstairs music abruptly stopped. Skeeter’s baritone voice rumbled up the staircase, barking out orders.
Kelly and I flattened out on either side of the first door. I reached for the knob. Locked. Kelly reached for her Ka-Bar.
A female voice came from inside the room. “Stop it,” the voice insisted.
I brushed Kelly aside and kicked in the door.
A man in his late twenties with no shirt and a collection of random tattoos held a naked girl by her long dark hair, his shorts around his ankles. The girl was on her knees. It was too dark to see her facial features, but judging by her slight build, she couldn’t have been more than sixteen.
Random Tatts kept his hand on the girl and turned to me. “What the fuck, dude. I’m not finished.”
I hit him with the barrel of my .45. He dropped like a wet bath towel. “You are now.”
Kelly pulled the soiled sheet around the girl and sat down beside her.
I flipped on the lights. The room was bare except for the mattress and a powder-blue backpack that looked like it belonged to a third grader.
“It’s okay,” Kelly assured the terrified girl. “We’re here to help you.”
The blonde’s pupils were dilated, and her lids rested at half-mast. There was a discarded syringe on the floor. I produced Maya’s yearbook picture from my pocket and showed it to her.
“Have you seen this girl?” I asked.
She seemed to not understand.
The john came to with a red face and an angry attitude. “You fucking hit me,” he said. The guy was a genius. “I paid for that shit.” He pulled up his shorts and stood up.
I shoved my pistol under his chin and flipped open my private investigator license. “What do ya think’s goin’ on here, Ace? That girl’s underage. You know what that means?”
His eyes swiveled toward the girl. In the harsh glare of the single 100-watt bulb dangling from the broken ceiling fixture, she looked even younger. The heavy makeup around her eyes and dark red lipstick couldn’t mask her youth.
“I didn’t know, man,” he said.
“Bullshit.” I kept my pistol jammed under his chin while I yanked the chain on his belt that was attached to his black leather wallet. He had a stack of bills with a hundred on top. I didn’t count it.
“Here,” I said, handing the money to the girl. “Find some clothes and get out of here.”
“You can’t do that,” he protested.
“Just did. The only reason I don’t shoot you is I don’t wanna traumatize this girl any more than she already is by splattering your brains all over the wall.” I leaned close to his face. “Take a good look. If you ever see my face again, you better be running the other way. Understand?”
The man stumbled backward toward the door.
“Take the back stairs,” I yelled, then tuned back to Kelly. “Leave her. I’ll call the police. Let’s find Maya.”
Kelly’s look said she didn’t like it. “Help is on the way,” she told the girl.
The next door was open. I flipped on the light. Empty. It had the same drab layout. A dirty mattress on the floor, bare walls with mildew around the edges of the window. There was a worn carry-on suitcase with wheels and an extension handle. Whoever parked it there hadn’t been here long or was planning a trip.
The last room was locked. I paused to listen. I heard voices behind the door. The video game still played downstairs. Skeeter must have been keeping himself entertained. The neighborhood was quiet. No police on the way. The dogs next door had gotten bored and gone back to bed. I checked my watch. Four thirty. If Skeeter was right, one of those voices belonged to Maya.
I kicked in the door.
Two girls gasped when they saw me step into the room with my .45 held at the ready. One sat on the mattress. The other was on the floor leaning against the wall. Both had dark shoulder-length hair and wore shorts and T-shirts. The air was cool, but damp and sticky, and smelled like weed. I quickly stashed the weapon in my shoulder holster.
“It’s okay. I’m Nick Fischer.” The girl on the floor matched my picture of Maya. Her hair wasn’t combed, and she looked like she’d skipped a few meals, but it was definitely her. I knelt beside her, extremely relieved that I found her alive.
“Maya Chavez?” I asked.
She nodded. “What’d you want?” She was instantly on the defensive.
“You a cop?” the girl on the bed asked. “We ain’t done nothin’.”
“I’m not a cop. Maya’s grandpa hired me to find her and bring her home.”
Maya pushed herself up from the floor and sat down next to the girl on the bed.
“What if I don’t wanna go?” She took the other girl’s hand and waited for my response.
I didn’t know what to say. This wasn’t what
I expected.
“Do you understand what’s goin’ on here?” I asked.
“I’m not going back. Nobody in F-burg gives a fuck about me.” She sounded bitter.
“That’s not true. Your grandfather loves you,” Kelly said.
“Two people have died already. Your friend Lori, and Candy from the strip club. I think you better come with us, before that happens to you.”
“You’re lying. Russell wouldn’t do that. He—he wouldn’t do that to me.”
“You’re friends?”
“He loves me.”
A loud bang shook the old house. The noise came from downstairs. No more time for conversation. I threw Maya over my shoulder. She felt like a ten-year-old girl.
“You can’t do this,” Maya shouted.
Kelly grabbed a small backpack from the floor. “This yours?” she asked Maya.
Maya didn’t respond, but the girl on the bed nodded. Kelly tossed the bag over her shoulder and followed me down the stairs.
Maya pounded my back with her fists, but there was little strength behind the blows. Three thugs in their twenties wearing T-shirts and baggy shorts were lounging on a threadbare couch on the first floor. Two held video game controllers and were focused on the cartoon thugs being chased by the cops on a fifty-inch screen. The third had a glass bong in his hands and was in the middle of taking a huge hit.
Skeeter stood to the side of the screen with his 870 shotgun leveled toward the couch.
“That our girl?” Skeeter asked.
“Meet Maya Chavez,” I said.
“She don’t look too happy,” he said.
“Let me go!” Maya shouted.
I put her down and turned to Kelly. “Can you talk some sense into her?”
“Take it easy,” Kelly said, taking Maya’s hand. “We wanna help you.”
“I don’t need any fucking help.” Maya tried to jerk her hand away, but Kelly was too strong for her and had done this kind of thing before.
“Put her in the pickup. We’ll sort it out when we get her away from here,” I said.
Kelly led Maya out the front door.
I turned my attention back to the game on the big screen. “What is that,” I asked. “Grand Theft four or five?”
The thug on the right with a neck tatt acknowledged my presence. “One,” he said, putting down the controller and reaching under the couch cushion.
“Wow, that’s old-school.” I hit him in the temple with the barrel my .45, then caught his head and pushed it back against the armrest. I found a Glock 9mm under the cushion and stuck it behind my belt.
The thug in the middle made a move to stand.
“Sit tight,” I said, raising my pistol.
He sat back down.
“We don’t want any trouble,” I said. “We came for the girl. I’m taking her home.”
The thug who had the bong squirmed in his seat. He was older than the other two and had probably been left in charge.
“You fucked up, dude,” he said.
“I know, I know. You’re the baddest of the bad and you’re gonna kill me.”
“You know it, fucker. This house belongs to the Dragon, man. Maya’s his girl.” He said it like a threat.
“Now I’m shaking in my boots. I’ll bet he’s not on the property deed.” I reached for a cell phone that was plugged into a speaker. “This your phone?” I asked and unplugged it.
The thugs didn’t respond.
During my time in the sandbox, cell phones were a gold mine of intel. I tossed it to Skeeter. “This might come in handy.” The phone bounced off his chest and hit the floor. He picked it up with his prosthetic hook and shoved it in his back pocket.
“You can’t take that,” Neck Tatt said.
I pulled a handful of zip ties from my back pocket. “Show me your hands,” I said. “I don’t wanna get followed, and you better pray to god I don’t ever have to come back.”
Chapter Thirty
The neighborhood was as quiet as a city neighborhood ever gets. The dogs next door were barking again. A few houses down, an engine cranked and didn’t start. Cranked again. Somebody was going to be late for work. The mixture of oak and pecan trees that covered the street remained motionless, anticipating the cold front. I checked my watch. Four forty. We were only ten minutes behind schedule.
“No doubt, Mr. Dragon will be pissed off,” Skeeter said.
“He won’t miss one teenage girl,” I said, walking toward my pickup. The cab light was on, and Kelly was sitting in the back seat beside Maya.
“That punk said Maya was his girl.”
“I read somewhere that ownership was illegal,” I said.
“You think this is over, smart ass?” he said.
I opened my door. “We got what we came for.” I climbed in and started the engine.
Skeeter got in the passenger side and stared at my profile.
“What?” I asked.
“You’re turning into an optimist,” he said.
“We have a problem,” Kelly said.
“You’re kidnapping me!” Maya shouted from the back seat.
I put the pickup in gear, made a U-turn, and drove back toward Commerce Street. The first stop was going to be my house in King William. I figured we could all use some rest.
“Did you hear me?” Maya shouted again.
“Look, Maya, calm down,” I said.
“Don’t tell me to calm down! Let me out.” She reached for the door handle.
Kelly grabbed her wrist. “We’re trying to help you, Maya.”
“I don’t need help,” she protested.
I sped up to avoid a red light. “Just keep her in the truck till we get home,” I said to Kelly.
“I know my rights. I’m eighteen. I can do what I want.” Maya spat the words across the seat.
Rose was at her kitchen window when I pulled into the driveway. She waved to me. There would be plenty to gossip about today. I hoped she wouldn’t come over for breakfast.
Kelly helped Maya out of the back seat while Skeeter stood beside the door. Both expected her to bolt at any minute.
“You can’t do this,” Maya screamed defiantly.
“Take her in the house,” I said. That warm fuzzy feeling I had for finding her alive now felt more like I’d stepped off the trail and walked into a prickly pear cactus.
Kelly and Skeeter escorted Maya into the house and sat her down on the leather chair in my office. I went to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. None of this was making any sense. I was hoping a jolt of caffeine would help.
While the coffee brewed, I walked back to my front office, where Maya sat with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face. She was thinner than she appeared in the high school photo. Her hair wasn’t shiny or curled and covered her face. She made no attempt to brush it out of the way.
“Are you hungry?” I asked.
She didn’t speak.
I glanced at Kelly and Skeeter. They both shrugged.
“How about something to drink?”
She let out a breath of air like a three-year-old throwing a tantrum.
Kelly followed me into the kitchen and watched me pour two cups of coffee. I handed her one. We both took a sip.
“What do you think?” I asked her under my breath.
“We should all get some rest. She’s scared right now and probably still high. Maybe she’ll feel differently in the morning when she’s rested and sober.”
We walked back out to my office. Maya’s position hadn’t changed. She clenched her jaw, challenging me. Kelly sat down next to Skeeter on the couch. I knelt in front of Maya.
“Your granddad asked me to find you. He’s worried sick. We all were. Why don’t you want to go home?”
She blew steam out of her nose. Her eyes were red and starting to well up with tears. “That’s not my home.”
Kelly knelt beside me. Maya let her brush the air from her eyes.
“Tell us what happened.” She took Maya’s hand.
For the first time since we’d met her, Maya let go of her anger. Her shoulders relaxed. The tears began to flow. “He doesn’t want me,” she sobbed.
“Did you have an argument?” Kelly asked.
“Y-yes,” she stuttered.
I knew Helmut could be a little rough around the edges. He was a tough-as-boot-leather Central Texas rancher whose track record with young female family members wasn’t exactly stellar. His daughter had turned to drink in high school and had run off with her boyfriend as soon as she graduated.
“What about your mother? She’s worried about you too,” Kelly said.
“Have you met my mother? She don’t give a shit about me.”
“What about school?” I said. “Don’t you want to finish your senior year?”
“Not in Fredericksburg. The people suck. That town’s a joke.”
I thought about bringing up the two girls who died in the aftermath of her disappearance, but I didn’t want to argue with her or upset her even more. Her mind was made up. I wasn’t a counselor, and I got the feeling that the more I talked, the worse I made it. I checked my watch. Five o’clock in the morning. Not the best time for a therapy session.
“Let’s get some sleep,” I said. “I promised your granddad I’d find you and bring you home. That’s what I’m gonna do. What you do after that is your own business. I know Helmut. He’s a good man. Maybe you can work out your differences.”
Maya’s jaw was clenched.
“Maya, you can sleep in the spare bedroom upstairs,” I said. “Skeeter, you can have the couch.”
Kelly escorted Maya upstairs, and I followed. The spare room had a bed and a separate bathroom. I used it for storage, but the bed was made, and the sheets were clean. I let Kelly take Maya in and get her settled. Hopefully, she would go to sleep so that we could all get some rest. I thought about cuffing her to the bed, but there was only a small window that opened to a twenty-foot drop, and to get to the stairs, she had to walk past my open bedroom door.
When Kelly came into my room, she looked exhausted. “What do you think?” she said.
“I think Helmut has some explaining to do. He didn’t tell me about his argument with Maya.”
Second Chances Page 15