Whoever these people were, it sounded like they were organized and had planned for her discoveries well in advance of hiring her. I doubt they had targeted her specifically, but she fit a certain profile: a single mother who desperately needed a good job and could be easily intimidated into keeping her mouth shut. The whole situation pissed me off.
Then Brenda told me about the properties the company owned. They had their fingers on industrial lots scattered around the city, but one in particular seemed to fit the bill: a small warehouse in West Town near the office that, by all accounts, should have been listed and sold or leased long ago, because it would have turned a very hefty profit. And yet it sat vacant. To her knowledge, they didn’t use it for anything, but she’d never been inside. It sounded like the perfect place to hold kidnapping victims until they could be transported elsewhere. I had to check it out.
“All right,” I said when she seemed talked out. “Let me make a phone call and see what I can work out.”
I thumbed my phone on and saw that I had a new email on the account I’d set up earlier. I’d check that later. Then I called Mac. After a brief chat, I had enough information to advise Brenda on her next move.
“Okay, Brenda, here’s what I want you to do. Go to work tomorrow like normal. You’ll get an email sometime in the morning with ‘graystone three-bedroom’ in the subject line. It will contain several .jpeg files as attachments. Open them all. They’ll be encoded with a Trojan horse that will give my friend remote access to your system so that he can image the hard drive. That way, we can get copies of all the incriminating files without putting you at risk of discovery. Even if your bosses wipe the system, we’ll still have everything. Tomorrow night, I’ll send someone to take you and your son someplace safe. His name is Frank. Think you can handle that?”
“Yes,” she replied. “Thank you so much.”
“No problem.” I checked my watch: it was almost seven. I was going to be late for dinner. “Now, I need to get back to another project. Is there a back exit I can use?”
She showed me out and directed me to a back door.
***
While I waited for a cab, I checked my email. Sure enough, I had a reply to my Craigslist post. Red Dreadlocks? was all it said. I wrote a reply: Yeah, that’s right. There’s an alley behind the Subway at Kedzie and Diversey. You can only get there from Sawyer Ave. Appointment at 10pm. $50. Cash only. If Frank could give me a lift after dinner, I should have plenty of time to get there.
Frank and his family lived in Roscoe Village, a nice residential neighborhood on the Northside, on a cozy, tree-lined street. It wasn’t the fanciest house, but it suited them well. It was what I’d call quaint and felt like home.
Maggie, one of their two girls, was peering out the window when I arrived. Her face disappeared as soon as she saw me, and the door swung open, revealing her small body silhouetted in the doorway with hands on her hips. Even for eight years old, she was petite.
“You’re late,” she said with a scowl as I climbed up to the porch.
“I know,” I replied. “Something came up.”
The scowl evaporated, and her face split into a wide grin. “Oh well, you’re here now.” She whipped around and pranced into the foyer. “Mom’s not happy, though.”
I followed her down the hallway into the dining room. Frank sat at the end of the table, facing me and staring at the empty plate in front of him hungrily.
As I entered, he looked up and said, “It’s about damn time, Gray. Nancy! He’s here!”
Nancy bustled in from the kitchen, a covered dish in hand. She set it on the table, gave me the once-over, and clucked her tongue.
“Girls! Help me get dinner on the table,” she called. Then to me, she added, “Have a seat. You can help clear the dishes when we’re through.”
Frank’s other daughter came downstairs, removing a pair of earbuds. Alice was thirteen and into all the things a typical thirteen-year-old girl is into. I don’t know many of them, but she seemed normal and had friends, so that was my assumption. She’s a sweet girl, and had never exhibited her little sister’s attitude, but she was also a teenager and had started to distance herself from us stodgy old farts. Dinner was soon on the table, and we all dug in.
Nancy is an amazing cook. She had made meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and creamed peas, all from scratch. I know what you’re thinking: Creamed peas? Yeah, creamed peas. They were delicious, just like my grandma used to make. It’s no wonder Frank kept putting on weight. I would too if I came home to meals like that every night.
We stuck to idle chatter while the girls were at the table, ignoring the weightier issues. Soon, however, they finished eating and scampered off to watch TV or play on the Internet, and we were left alone.
“You’ve been busy,” Frank finally said.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
“Learn anything important?”
“Maybe.” After the last several days, part of me felt like I was going crazy. I needed to talk to somebody, to get it off my chest. “I know what I’m about to tell you is going to sound ridiculous, but I need a sounding board.”
“Gray, half the things you say sound nuts. We’ve never judged you before,” Frank said. He chortled at his own joke.
“After you left the hospital, I had another visitor,” I began, then told them about Harrison and the strange things he’d said. I moved onto my conversation with McManus and his theory that the things that go bump in the night are based on reality. I told them about the dreams I’d had, the red and blue lights, and how quickly my injuries were healing. Nancy, who had been a nurse before the girls were born, asked to see them, so I obliged. She agreed that my wounds looked far better than they should.
“That’s crazy, right?” I said. “Dreams can’t make you heal faster.”
They looked at each other but didn’t say anything.
“I’m not sure what to believe anymore,” I confessed.
Frank stared hard at me for a long time, then said, “Bah, you’re not crazy.”
“So you believe in this vampire stuff?” I asked incredulously.
“No,” he admitted, “But a whole lot of people don’t believe in God, either, and I know they’re wrong.” He pushed his chair back, picked up his plate, and stood. “Trust your gut, Gray, just like you’ve always done.”
Trust my gut. I knew how to do that.
I gathered my own dishes and followed him into the kitchen.
“There’s one other thing I need you to help me with,” I continued. I told him about Brenda and her son. Frank agreed to pick them up the next evening and deliver them to the hotel where I’d been staying. I’d crash at the office, or maybe back at my place. I was tired of being displaced.
We finished clearing the table, and I asked for a lift to Logan Square.
“I have another appointment,” I informed him.
He rolled his eyes, but grabbed his car keys and said, “Come on, then.”
19
I had Frank drop me off at the Walgreens in Logan Square so I could pick up a couple of things. I wasn’t sure who’d show up tonight, but I had some questions that needed answering, and a roll of duct tape and a pack of zip ties could help make sure I had time to do things right. Frank offered to help, but I told him that he was absolutely not to get involved in any of this. He reluctantly agreed and drove home.
After that, I made my way to the alley where I planned to make my ambush. I’d chosen this location for a reason. Most alleys in the city are small cut-throughs between bigger streets to allow access to garages and for sanitation purposes. This one, however, didn’t have an outlet. It ran from a small residential street toward Kedzie, but dead-ended behind a commercial building. There was only one way in and one way out.
Here I could situate myself so that I could see anyone going into the alley and cut them off before they left. Also, I knew there would be no through traffic, and prying eyes would be at a minimum. And what’s more, one of the buildings the
alley ran by was an old bar under renovation. If it came to it, I could always take the interrogation inside.
Across from the mouth of the alley was a porch stoop with several strategically placed bushes that would provide adequate concealment, but still allow me to watch the street. I hunkered down behind the bushes and leaned against the wall, then silenced my phone and checked the time: 9:36. Looked like I might be here a while.
***
Once more I was gliding above the city. The red and blue cords undulated below. I remembered how the blue energy had responded the last time, so I decided to try the red. I extended my arm and, instead of poking tentatively, plunged my entire hand into the center of a red ribbon.
At first, the light recoiled from my presence as though startled, as if it were somehow sentient, but then it attempted to resume its course. As soon as it touched my flesh, it flared brilliantly, imparting an intense heat. It rushed into my fingers and up the back of my hand.
I watched as the writhing streams of light swirled through my flesh, coalescing into an image: a picture of Brenda. A stab of anger hit my chest as I thought about her plight. The lights swirled again, this time taking on her son’s youthful face. The threats against him flashed like neon signs, and my righteous anger grew, filling me completely. I clenched my fist, removing it from the stream, and let out a savage yell as the anger poured forth.
***
My eyes snapped open, and my chest heaved as I caught my breath. I was pissed as hell and struggled to rein it in. Across the darkened street, I caught a glimpse of movement entering the alley.
I clamped down on my rage and let it seethe just below the surface. Eyes scanning the shadows, I sprang to my feet from the hiding spot and strode across the street into the alley. I made out the outline of a person ahead. As I got closer, I saw he was wearing an army surplus jacket with his hands stuffed in the pockets. He was about four inches shorter than me and kind of scrawny, but a gun could level the playing field pretty quick, so I picked up the pace to close the distance.
I crunched some loose gravel. The guy looked over his shoulder and turned to face me.
He stuck out his chin and said, “You the dreadlock guy?”
That was all the evidence I needed.
I surged forward, covering the last few yards between us before he could react. I extended my arms and grabbed the front of his jacket, then stepped past him using that forward momentum—twisting my hips, pulling with my arms, pivoting on my right foot—and heaved for all I was worth.
The result was beautiful.
His feet left the ground, and we spun in a broad arc like two ballroom dancers. He let out a loud “oomph” as his back slammed into the brick wall. His eyes lost focus, going glassy for a second, and then he sucked in a deep breath and sputtered.
“You have one chance to answer my questions,” I growled.
“Yeah, man, whatever. I know stuff, but it wasn’t me. I swear.” The guy had broken out in a sweat. His pupils were dilated, and I thought I smelled a hint of urine. Did I just make this guy piss himself? Part of my brain wanted to laugh, but that part was currently buried under a much bigger and louder part that was screaming for me to rip his head off.
“Tell me what you know,” I hissed through clenched teeth.
“It was Gerald’s idea. I told him it was no good. I had nothing to do with it, I swear.”
I had no idea what he was talking about, but I decided to roll with it.
“How do you know?”
“He came to me and said he had an idea. Said we could pocket some of the cash, and nobody would be the wiser. Said the way you guys paid us, under the table and all, there weren’t no records being kept. Nobody’d ever find out. I told him it was crap and wasn’t gonna do it. I want to join one day, and I wasn’t going to risk it.”
This rat wanted to join these kidnappers? The anger surged through me again, and my jaw clenched.
“Join,” I barked. “Why would you want to join?”
“Because,” the man stuttered. “Look at you. Look how strong you are.” He cut his eyes toward the ground. “I want that. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Only then did I glance down. The guy’s feet were a good eighteen inches off the ground; I was holding him pinned against the wall like it was nothing. Small as he was, he had to weigh at least one-eighty, but it didn’t feel like it. I could have been holding a teddy bear against the wall. How the hell was I doing that? Adrenaline?
The realization hit me like a smack in the face. I dropped him as my anger faded into confusion.
“Where do you take them?” I asked.
“What?” His eyes narrowed, and his expression turned sour. “Who are you?”
“A bigger threat than anyone else at the moment,” I replied.
Senses heightened, I felt, more than saw, him pull something from his right pocket. I didn’t know what it was, but I wasn’t taking any chances. Still holding the front of his jacket, I was too close to step away and draw my own weapon so I rammed my forehead into his face.
Blood exploded from his nose, and he fumbled whatever he held in his hand.
I took half a step back, seized his right wrist with my right hand, and pulled it across his body, half turning him in his momentary daze. I grabbed the back of his shoulder with my other hand and forced him the rest of the way around, then I yanked his arm up behind his back in the old “say uncle” pose.
He was still desperately trying to hang onto some funny looking syringe.
“What’s this?” I asked.
He moaned.
I plucked the syringe from his hand, then leaned into his back so he couldn’t move.
“Let me guess: this is some pharmaceutical cocktail that makes a would-be kidnapping victim easy to deal with. Probably a combo of some benzodiazepine and Ketamine. It doesn’t knock them out completely, right? Because then you’d have to carry them wherever, and you don’t have a vehicle nearby. But once it kicks in, you can herd ‘em anywhere you want.” The anger had returned, but this time it was a white, cold, calculating anger instead of the red-hot rage from before. “Sounds like a good time. Want to try?”
He squirmed, but I had him pinned good. He wasn’t going anywhere. I torqued on his arm a little, and he relaxed enough that I could jab the needle into the meaty part where the neck joins the shoulder.
After a few minutes, he sagged, all the fight washed away. I released my hold, and he stood there, staring at the wall.
“Hey,” I said. “What’s your name?”
“Louis,” he answered calmly. “People call me Jonesy, though.”
“All right, Jonesy, turn around.” He did. “Come with me.”
I led him down the alley to the back entrance of the pub that was being remodeled. I had him wait by the door, which he did without complaint. Whatever drugs those were sure did the job. I picked the lock in less than a minute and took him inside.
The interior was covered with bits of plaster and sawdust. Chairs had been stacked on tables and covered with plastic. I pulled a chair down, placed it in front of an exposed stud where they hadn’t hung sheet rock yet, and sat him down. I zip tied his arms around the two-by-four, then secured his ankles. He might not want to go anywhere at the moment, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
“What’s going on, man?” he asked.
“We’re just going to have a little conversation. Is that okay?”
“Sure.” He was high as a kite.
I grabbed another chair and put it in front of him, then I straddled it. “Tell me about your job.”
“It’s crap, man. $8 an hour to wax down cars. No benefits...”
“That’s not the job I’m talking about. Tell me about the red dreadlocks.”
He stared off into space for minute. “I’m not supposed to talk about that.”
“I know. But you can talk to me about it,” I assured him.
“Yeah, okay. I get a text with an address or an intersection. I show up and fin
d a homeless person. I give them the shot, then take them to the drop-off point. They give me $50.”
“Where’s the drop off point?” I asked.
“Menards parking lot.” That had promise.
“How do you find them?”
“I text them when I’ve got the package. When I show up, there’s a gray van parked in the back of the lot.”
“Who’s ‘they’? Who are you working for?”
He stared for another minute. “They call themselves Red Dread.” His expression turned dreamy.
“You said earlier that they were really strong. Tell me about that.”
“Super strong—like mutant superhero kind of strong. And fast. Like you. It must be totally awesome to have that kind of power.”
This just kept getting better and better. My skeptical nature dug in its claws, not wanting to be dragged down the rabbit hole, but it was a lost cause. I’d seen too much, and after my encounter with Harrison, I’d had a feeling I’d end up here anyway. It was time to take the red pill and see how deep this hole went.
“Are they vampires, Jonesy?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe. Could be.”
“How many of them are there?”
“I don’t know that either. I’ve only met two. But rumor has it there’s a lot more. And they’re looking for new members.”
I sat back and thought. I had a couple of options at this point.
First option: take Jonesy to Menards and hand him off as a “package,” then follow the van and see where it went. On the surface, it seemed like a decent plan. I could call them over with a text from Jonesy’s phone, and it would get me a lot closer to the real bad guys. But I didn’t like it. There were too many variables. I had no idea how long this sedative would last, and we’d been chatting for several minutes. What if it wore off before we got there? Plus, they might recognize Jonesy on the hand-off, and the whole thing would blow up in my face.
Second option: I could bide my time and try to join up with this crew, since they were looking for new members. That was no good either. I didn’t have that kind of time if I wanted to find Ellie alive.
Missing: A Mason Gray Case Page 11