Lance stood in front of me. "When was the last time we got something to eat? You should eat so you can take some pain killers. I saw you wince when you stopped chasing after Johnston," he said emphatically.
"You're right. Let's get some food, no meds though unless you want me to sleep for the rest of the day. I'll take some Ibuprofen. Will be okay. Even better once I find Rodney," I said, walking over to the passenger's side of the car.
"You mean when we find Rodney," he said hopefully. "And by the way, what is your next lead? I thought we were partners?" He asked, getting in the car.
"Partners? Trust me, you wouldn't want my job. With or without the gun. And my next lead is to call Jessica Garcia. She wasn't answering when I tried her earlier. If she doesn't this time around, I might have to go send someone to see her in Manhattan."
Chapter Twenty-Five
Lance drove us back to Oswego to get something to eat. We kept checking the news blotters, the missing person associations and with the volunteer search crews. Most of them went back home for some relief. I couldn't blame them, it was too cold and icy out.
We went to a small local diner that didn't have too many patrons there. It was better for us so we could talk more privately. I didn't have much of an appetite so I ordered fruit and coffee.
"Okay, so what do we have so far Nina?" Lance asked me, biting into his waffles.
I tried not to watch him eat. In some ways, he reminded me of Mateo. His eyes, hair, and smile were similar. The only thing missing was the slight accent. Oh well. Focus Nina. Focus.
"We have basically nothing. I could go and ask Davion what they were doing at the club, but his giant of a grandfather and take-no-mess grandmother will have his head. I know he is a good kid, they just do stupid things," I said convincingly.
Lance just nodded, motioning with his hand for me to finish.
"We have Bly who to me, is acting strange. Like why wouldn't he want to help us out here? Is he that crazy?"
"Um, yes, and no. He is one of those supercops. However, he only does the work that will suit the best interest of the city. In his eyes, Rodney is a runaway who will eventually turn up," Lance explained.
"Good. Thanks. We also have Johnston who although saw Rodney once according to him, got his own self locked up for being part of an organized crime ring," I finished.
"Yes so basically we have nothing. We need to get out of here and call Jessica Garcia again," Lance suggested. Finishing up his meal, he waved over the waitress, paid for our meals and we left out.
As Lance drove me back home, I called Jessica again and finally got through to her. Her mother actually answered the phone.
"Hello, may I please speak with Jessica Garcia, this is Nina Westbrook, I am the aunt to her friend, Rodney Perkins," I started.
"Yes, I know who you are. You're also a cop. I wanted to talk to you first before you spoke with my daughter as I am her mother, Ms. Flores Garcia. Listen, Jessica told me what was going on and I am sorry, but Jessica doesn't know what's going on. Please leave her alone because she is very stressed," Ms. Garcia said, almost rushing me off the phone.
But she didn't know me very well. I pointed at an exit three stops from mine for Lance to pull over. I directed him to park at a strip mall so we wouldn't lose connection as he drove.
"Thank you, Ms. Garcia. I understand Jessica is very stressed. But she is my last hope. I really need to ask her just a few questions and then I'll get off the phone. In fact, if you'd like, you can put her on speakerphone so you can hear what I ask her. Is that okay?"
Before she could answer, I heard a young lady's voice. "Mom? May I please speak with her? I want to know where Rodney is, too. You know he's a good kid." That must be Jessica.
I heard the speaker button press on as their voices got louder and echoed. Ms. Garcia was speaking in a rapid tone of Spanish. I could tell she was concerned. As Lance parked, he pulled out his recording device to record the call. I gave him a smile, thanking him. Focusing back on the call, I heard Jessica come to the phone.
"Hello? Mrs. Westbrook? Rodney's aunt?" Jessica asked in a rushed tone.
"Yes, this is she. How are you, Jessica?" I asked her calmly. I knew she was already stressed and didn't want to make it worse.
"Um, I'm okay. I just want to know if Rodney is okay, too. Is he? I heard about him on social media," she said softly.
"No, I'm afraid not. Nothing yet, but I am sure he will show up safely. For now, we need to backtrack his steps. When was the last time you heard from him?" I asked.
"It was around dinnertime when I last heard from him. He sent me a message letting me know he would hit me up later after dinner. I started cleaning up and helped my siblings with their homework and made them dinner. I kept checking my phone for his message, but he never did. He finally wrote me back and said he was going to bed early. I didn't know he wrote me that. I sent him a message just letting him know I was thinking about him and didn't hear from him. Figured he fell asleep. Please tell me he is not kidnapped. If Rodney was going to run away from Oswego, he would've sneaked out here. But he respects you too much to do that. So that's how I know he is in some sort of trouble!"
Jessica explained how she met Rodney online through Snapchat and that he told her his whole life story. Jessica seems a bit naive to have done this, until she tells me that Rodney told her about the situation with his mother.
"So I just listened to him. Once he was finished, he told me how much he adored you and that he didn't want to be a burden on. Guess that's why he sort of did his own thing and talked to me a bit," she said softly.
I looked over at Lance with tears in my eyes. Lance rubbed my arm and nodded at me, letting me know to go on.
"Thank you so much, Jessica. I truly appreciate you telling me that. I am happy to hear that Rodney respects me. We do have a close relationship but only to a certain extent. He has always lived in different areas from mine. But now that has changed. The one thing I didn't know was him coming to see you. Did you go to the hackathon with him when he last came out there?" I asked her, feeling hopeful.
I heard her sniffle. "Yes, actually I did. I brought my siblings, too. They had a section for children and Rodney paid for us to get inside. The tickets were expensive, around one-hundred dollars for me and him and forty apiece for them. Oh, I forgot to mention I have two younger siblings. So all in all, he spent about three-hundred dollars on us," Jessica said proudly.
This time I felt Lance looking at me surprised. I didn't meet his gaze as I thought about what to ask next. I just came out with it.
"That's sweet of him Jessica. I'm pretty sure everyone enjoyed themselves at the hackathon. It can be a promising career when used ethically. Jessica, not to change the subject, but have you ever seen Rodney doing drugs? Anything?"
There was dead silence. Not even her mother talking like she was minutes before. I was about to say something else when Jessica replied.
"Yes. He smokes weed. And yes I have done it with him. My mother actually caught us on the fire escape. She came home early one weekend and told us to not ever do it again. Rodney took full responsibility for his actions. And so did I. I'm sorry Mrs. Westbrook," Jessica whined.
"Tell her what else I caught you two doing," Ms. Garcia butted in.
I felt my cheeks flush red, not sure I wanted to know what that was. Jessica answered with an embarrassing sigh.
"We had some Molly. Just a couple, I swear. Nothing major," Jessica said, trying to brush it off.
"Do you know where the drugs came from?" I prodded.
"No, because Rodney had them when he came to the house. One thing I can say about Rodney. He always has a lot of money on him. I did ask him where he got it from and he said it was from winning hackathons. I didn't believe him, so I kept quiet," she whispered. "I did think that was strange considering he doesn't work and his dad is in the military," Jessica added.
I nodded my head in agreement with her. "Yes, you're right. Rodney doesn't work but he does
receive a weekly allowance from me and his dad. I am also aware of the hackathon in New York, but he was supposed to be staying with his male friends." I made sure to emphasize male.
"Oh no, Mrs. Westbrook. Rodney didn't stay here. He was with two guys. Said they were staying with a friend in the city somewhere. Never gave me that information. I don't know their real names though. One was younger, a Mexican guy around twenty, they called him Mo. The other one was White, they called him Cee. They wore backpacks, winter coats, and jeans. Surprisingly, they didn't come to the hackathon, but they met up with Rodney. We all passed an L together near my building while my siblings played video games in the house. They left together that night. I'm sorry, but that's all I know about that weekend," Jessica concluded.
"That's okay. You've been a huge help already. One more thing, how many times has Rodney been to your house?"
"Oh, about three times," she said hesitantly. I can tell her mother must have been glaring at her.
"Mrs. Westbrook, I allow Jessie to have friends, but she knows, no boys can stay over. In fact, Rodney is the only boy I allow to come over because he is very respectful and polite. He also loves to eat," she said chuckling.
"I pray that you do find him so we can give him a big hug and he can eat some of my yucca fries and baked chicken. Can you please find him? Jessica is lost without him. She has texted him over one-hundred times now. He is the only true friend she has who listens to her. Of course, they are too young to be in love, but I know they care for each other," Ms. Garcia said. Now this time she was sniffling.
Before hanging up, I thanked them both, promising to keep in touch and they did the same.
"Are you alright?" Lance asked me, cutting off his recorder.
I couldn't answer him because I was sniffling, too.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Later that night, Brennan was in the lab counting over the deposits that he and Numbers received in their accounts. He chuckled at the thought of Rodney begging for his life, promising to make them more money.
As if Brennan couldn't do this himself.
He really wanted to do away with Rodney and couldn't figure out why Numbers was holding onto him. True he could've had more copies of the recordings, but if Brennan killed him, how will anyone else find them?
"It makes no sense," Brennan said out loud. He went to check in with Numbers to tell him about the total amount of money they made.
Numbers was sitting at the kitchen island, a tray of white powder in front of him. Numbers had let his hair out, looking more frizzled than usual. Brennan stood at the doorway, his arms crossed, staring at Numbers.
"What do you want B? Can't you see I'm busy?" Numbers asked sarcastically.
Brennan cleared his throat, ignoring his jab. "I thought you'd like to know how much we made. We are raking in the dough man. We can leave this dreary place, go somewhere warm and-"
Numbers slammed his fists on the island, causing the tray to bounce up. Cocaine powder sprinkled all across the countertop. Numbers turned to scowl at Brennan, his eyes glassy, his pupils dilated.
He gritted his teeth before speaking. "Brennan, how long have we been working together? Huh?"
Brennan unfolded his arms and shrugged, staring up at the ceiling to guess. "I would say close to ten years."
"Ten years is right! And you know this time of day, I like to take my hits. I don't give a damn about money, women, killing or anything right now, except getting high. Do you understand that?" Numbers slurred.
"Yeah, but I wanted to also ask you about Rodney. Why are we still holding him? Why is he alive, unlike the others?" Brennan asked him.
Numbers was growing agitated. He frowned at Brennan and then started laughing this hissy hold-your-breath type of laugh that lasted about thirty seconds. He spun all the way around in his barstool to face Brennan.
"Brennan we have another problem. We need to stop hiring kids to do our hacks because it is becoming messy. We know it is cost-effective, but they are green in this game. They'd be better off selling pills at school or some shit like that," Numbers advised. He turned back around, bent his head and took a deep snort of the cocaine.
"Understood. So what do you suggest? Older guys? We'd need to still weed them out innit?" Brennan suggested.
Numbers wiped underneath his nose, nodding. "Yeah, you do that. Put an ad out in the Oswego newspaper and see how many calls we get, " Numbers said, adding a giggle. Brennan cringed. He didn't like it when Numbers laughed like that. It made him sound child-like and Brennan didn't want anything to remind him of childhood.
He was always against hiring teens to do the hacking, but they also knew the lingo and didn't mind lurking in the deep dark underworld of stealing personal information and selling it. As long as they didn't dive into trafficking, Brennan was alright with it. Numbers wanted to toy with the idea of doing it, but Brennan talked him out of it saying it would blow up their hacking scheme.
"Oh and another thing, B. Guess who got knocked? Sorry ass bastard," Numbers said, shaking his head in disgust.
"Who?" Brennan asked, coming inside the kitchen. He kept his eye on Numbers who seemed ultimately high, but still able to hold a conversation with updates.
"Johnston. I told his old stupid ass to keep surveillance at all times. This cocksucking bastard goes and opens the door up for the police. So we can't clean money through his club anymore. He's going down for that and some more shit," Numbers explained.
Brennan scoffed. "Damn."
"Damn is right. Oh and another thing. I'm sure his assets are going to be frozen or seized since it doesn't look like he's coming out anytime soon. I'm sure bail will be denied," Numbers said.
Brennan sighed, looking around the kitchen. It was still neat save for Numbers' drug fest at the island. Brennan hated drugs because of his parents. He wanted no parts of it, but if Numbers wanted to get high periodically, that was his prerogative.
"So what next then?" Brennan asked, going in the fridge to grab a bottle of fresh-squeezed orange juice.
"The next thing is to make sure our money is secure. Again, I don't care how much we made, just as long as it is all in our accounts," Numbers said, pointing his finger at Brennan.
"Understood. Well again, what about the kid? Do you need me to off him and start fresh with our scouts then? Ones I know who aren't snitches?" Brennan asked Numbers carefully.
Numbers pondered for a few seconds.
"No B. Again, Rodney is my main course and one day you will understand. As a matter of fact, it's all written in my manifesto. In case, well you know, just in case shit goes left, which I'm sure it won't. You still have our escape plan out of this place, right?"
Brennan nodded. "Of course I do. I think about it every single day." He opened up the juice and took a swig of it, watching Numbers' reaction.
"Good. We are still on the same page then. As always bro. When the time is right, you will join in on the fun. Oh and believe me, you'll love it," Numbers said with a deep chortle.
"Oh, I bet I will. You know having that type of fun is my specialty. Although I do wish you had let me get at Po just a little bit," Brennan said seriously.
Numbers waved his hand. "Don't worry. Your fun time to slice and dice a body is coming sooner than later. Believe that," Numbers said sinisterly. He took out a tablet from the island's drawer, powering it on. Swiping a few screens, he pulled up one he wanted to look at. His lips formed a thin line. Moving closer, Brennan watched as Numbers viewed someone on a screen. The area where the person was, was dark, making it hard for Brennan to put a name to the face. Whoever it was, has to be someone Numbers wants to get at with the look on his face.
If looks could kill, Brennan would've croaked right then and there with no chance of getting back up.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Then: Brennan
A year later, the streets of London called young Brennan to the bellows of the corner boy underworld. Selling crack and weed was his number one choice to be able to
eat. At just fourteen years old, a self-proclaimed man of the house tries his hardest to keep the household afloat by selling drugs on the streets of East London.
Ironically, his parents are both still addicted to drugs. As the children grew, so did their minds and observations. Their lives were not normal. This environment, as well as the forced prostitution, caused his now twelve-year-old sister to run away only to be picked up by child services.
"It's better than being home with our parents," Brennan told her on a sneak visit when she went to school. Brennan couldn't stop hugging his sister that day and when the school bell rang for her to go back inside, he promised to come to see her the next day. The next day came and he was met face-to-face with one of the vice principals of the school.
"She didn't come back and we'd like to keep it that way. She is nothing but trouble," the principal said with a nasty scoff. He looked Brennan up and down in disdain. "And so are you. Now get out of here, you filthy wretch!" Brennan clenched his fists inside of his jacket pocket. Not wanting to be picked up by child protective services, he jogged off. He ran into another girl who was friends with his sister. She was late for school but recognized Brennan.
Stopping in front of the girl, Brennan reached in his pocket and gave his sister's friend a letter to give to his sister. "Here, I know she didn't runoff. That old toad is lying," he said with a tight voice. The girl took the letter and nodded. "I'll make sure she gets this, don't worry. But try not to come around here so often, innit? They'll lock you up. She is fine, just need a few days to cool off. So should you." The girl gave him a worried look before walking off in a fast pace, leaving Brennan to wonder why their lives had to be so horrible. He took a look back at the school and was thankful he wasn't picked up by the authorities. For one, no one cared about the older kids and two, it is because he dropped out of school and was always in the streets with his drug-dealing friends. Maybe he was nothing but trouble.
One late night, he came home after making a few sales. Brennan was happy to finally get some food to put in their refrigerator. He sat down at the small dining room table with two chairs and opened up his carton of food. Fish and chips. The aroma wafted under Brennan's nostrils, making food his choice of drugs. Unlike his parents.
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