Silent Crickets: A Shallow End Gals, Trilogy Book Three

by Troutman, Kimberly

  Roger said, “Core identified them as Manio men. I suspect we’re getting in their way.”

  Mass chuckled, “You think? I’m glad you’re here. I have to put together a package for the prosecutor on this sicko club. He says all we have on them is disposing of a body. I don’t know what you guys have proving they are pedophiles. He’s not sure we have legal grounds for the video stuff. Our CSI says those kennels in the barn are pristine. They could make bail on disposing of a body. Especially considering who they are.”

  Roger’s eyebrows went up. “I’m going to involve the Attorney General on this and ask for a special prosecutor. We have a retired Senator and a judge. These boys have deep ties here. I want them charged with everything. Pedophilia, murder, harboring an escaped felon, kidnapping, unlawful imprisonment, disposing of a body, everything. We have a lot more evidence than the videos. I’ll pull every thread I see hanging to unravel this bunch. We may even throw in trespassing for Dicky.”

  Roger walked away to find a private office for his calls, and Paul looked at Frank. “You really think they could get bail?”

  Mass watched Roger’s demeanor while on the phone in the far office. “Not if he has anything to say about it.” Mass started walking toward his office and motioned for Paul to follow. When they were seated, Mass said, “Our field offices are reporting forty-six of the one hundred and thirty two members of this club have died in less than two days. I’m being asked some rather pointed questions about who has Roger’s list.”

  Paul pushed his chin out in his nervous twitch, “I bet you are.”

  Roger walked into Mass’s office about ten minutes later. Roger sat down and said, “Let’s get everything we have and send it to the U.S. Attorney General’s office. The local prosecutor is being told he does not have this case. Our prisoners will be transported to Federal prison immediately following their arraignment later this morning. There will be no bail.”

  Mass said, “That was fast.”

  “Occasionally, things go our way. Frank, I would appreciate it if you could hold a press conference and provide the media with a very small taste of the charges we intend to prosecute.”

  Mass nodded, “Public trial first.”

  Roger smiled, “Absolutely.”

  William C. Thornton sat across from the Director waiting for an answer. He had asked what was new. He was hoping to find out about the drug raid the Coast Guard had made on Lanitol Oil last night. He also needed to get some kind of idea what Dance was up to.

  The Director finally just shrugged and said, “I have a ton of emails I haven’t read yet today. As far as I know, nothing’s new. The martial law period ends tonight. I think we have probably done all we can.”

  Thornton smiled, “What about Dance taking down the entire Zelez Cartel? We just let him say ‘oops’? Or is there some grand plan I haven’t heard about?” Thornton was wearing his arrogant sneer.

  The Director fought the urge to punch him. “Roger may have overstated what was achievable.”

  The Director’s intercom buzzed, he answered, and a voice said, “Turn on CNN.”

  The Director raised the remote to his TV, and he and Thornton turned to see Frank Mass in the middle of a press conference. The Director turned up the volume. Mass was detailing the arrest of four local prominent citizens who had been arrested for a yet undefined list of offenses. He gave the full credit of the arrest to the FBI and specifically the team of agents supervised by SSA Roger Dance.

  The Director clicked the TV off. “Well, now we know what Roger has been doing. Maybe now he can concentrate on Zelez.”

  Thornton asked, “What’s the plan for the weapons and drugs we have sitting at the Navy yard?”

  “What’s your idea?” Here it is, the Director thought.

  Thornton answered, “Seems Dance is out of his league if he steps outside of pedophiles. I better secure this contraband, or we could end up on the wrong side of a press conference.”

  The Director nodded. He wanted Thornton to believe he was giving the suggestion serious consideration. “I think it’s safe where it is until the martial law expires tonight. Come to me later today with a plan, and we’ll talk.”

  Thornton could hardly contain his glee. “I’ll get back to you before five.”

  Abram sat at a long table helping six guys bag up dope so it could be sold. Abram wanted these guys out of the building as soon as possible, so he and Jackson could leave.

  Abram told Jackson to send everything he could get from the computer to Roger. Jackson copied the entire file on the Flea Market and sent it to Roger’s email address. A surprising amount of detail about the operation was in the file. The accounting history went back four years and included many names and transactions. The file used some kind of code system only known to Manuel. Jackson hoped the FBI could figure it out. The computer at the gang house was an old desktop, with different files than the laptop Roger had copied the night before.

  Jackson found and forwarded the email Judge Williams had sent Abram listing the kids to be kidnapped. He knew that was important. He also found an email notifying Manuel that fourteen new people would be arriving today.

  Finally Jackson found the file he had hoped to find. He was sure it was the kidnapping lists for the Judge and Senator Kenny going back over several years. He sent that file to Roger too. Jackson was getting sick to his stomach again. That barn.

  Abram shouted for the guys in the building to leave. “Your shit be ready. Now get out of here. You supposed to be out selling this crap. You remember the price change, or it come from your pocket.” The door to the building slammed shut.

  Abram walked over to Jackson. “I’m thinking we got about an hour or two ‘fore people start figurin’ out we don’t know what we be doin’.”

  Jackson swallowed, “Probably not that long. Daryl plannin’ on shootin’ them people real soon.” Abram nodded, “You think we just go over an’ tell Daryl we decided we gonna do it and take ‘em?” Jackson said, “I got that big new van. After we get ‘em, we just call the cops.”

  Abram nodded his head, “Know what? I ain’t never even shot a gun on purpose. Shot my leg one time tryin’ to look all bad and shit. Can we look convincin’?”

  Jackson stood and dangled the van keys. “Guess we gonna find out.” Jackson pulled an amulet from under his shirt. “That Voodoo lady sold me this. Said it was protection.”

  Abram frowned, “We best stop by there real quick and get me one too.”

  Tourey placed a call to George Fetter at the Gallery. George answered, “Damn! Have you seen the news? The FBI arrested Theodore!”

  Tourey was smiling, “I called to thank you for your help, George.”

  George’s voice was barely a whisper, “I got you that video of the art contest. Am I going to have to testify or anything?”

  Tourey answered, “What video?” He could picture George’s relief that he wasn’t going to have to be involved.

  There was a brief silence. George asked, “What are you really? You sure as hell aren’t a retired inventor who’s going to write a book.”

  Tourey answered, “Oh, I’ll probably write a book someday, and I can be very inventive. Stay cool, George. Be seein’ ya around.”

  Tourey decided to hang around the docks this morning and catch some gossip. The raid on the Lanitol Oil docks last night would be big news.

  Roger and Paul were preparing to leave the field office, standing in the lobby, when Roger’s phone rang. It was Kim. Roger answered, “Hi. You okay?”

  Kim paused before answering, “I have a bruised ego, and I’m embarrassed.”

  “Are you going to get mad if I tell you I laughed my ass off after the cops called me?”

  Kim burst out laughing, “I’ve been laughing too! Thanks for helping.” Kim continued, “Ellen asked me to call and tell you Abram and Jackson sent you an important email.”

  Roger thanked her for the message, hung up, and told Paul.

  “I can pull it up for you o
n my phone.”

  “Thanks. How do you figure out these gadgets anyway?”

  Paul laughed, “Don’t worry about it. It’s just not your thing. Here you go. Just scroll down to read more.” He handed the phone to Roger.

  Roger squinted and frowned. “There are seventeen pages attached. Let me run back in Mass’s office and print it off.”

  Roger went back to Mass’s office. Mass leaned back in his chair and watched as Roger started flipping through the pages coming off the printer. Roger looked up and motioned for Paul and Mass to start reading.

  Roger finished the last page and asked Mass, “Can you mark this location for me on a map? Paul, can you do that computer thing where we have a live street view from the satellite? We should be able to tap naval satellites right now. We still have them.”

  Roger placed a call to the U.S. Attorney General, “How would you like an email from Judge Harold Williams to the kidnappers listing the kids’ names, where they were to be delivered, and the amount of payment to be made?” There was a brief silence and Roger said, “I’m not kidding. Yes, he was that stupid. Give me your email address and I’ll forward it right now.”

  Mass returned with a map, and Paul had the Navy on the phone honing in on the address. They would have live feed momentarily.

  Mass pointed on the map, “One of the worst areas in the city. I don’t think local PD goes in. Least not with only one car. Your basic kill zone. Simon and Nelson had that shootout in this neighborhood. The gangs know the people and cars that belong there. When that satellite comes up, check out the surrounding buildings. I bet you will see guards, open drugs, weapons, and not even a hint this was once a residential area.” Mass frowned at Roger, “I hope you don’t plan to go in this building.”

  Roger smiled.

  “Shit. I should have locked my door when you left my office earlier. I remember thinking to myself, huh, nothing happened.”

  Sasha looked at her watch for the tenth time. Yup, ten minutes had gone by now. She carefully pulled the red curtain back and peeked toward the corner where the table with the crystal ball sat. Spicey had her hands on the ball with her nose practically touching it. Balls of tissue lay on the table and floor, and Spicey’s new potion book was open.

  Spicey’s head stayed where it was, but her eyes rose to meet Sasha’s gaze. Spicey pulled her hands from the ball, sat up straight, and rubbed her amulet. She looked at Sasha and said, “I’m figuring this out. Spirits can talk to me normal through this ball. I just listened to this little boy’s story.”

  Spicey pushed her chair back and stood. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and gasped. “Lordy! What have I done to my hair?”

  Sasha nodded, “Gotta agree with ya girl. You ain’t lookin’ real fine right now.” Sasha said, “Let me fix your hair, and you tell me the little boy’s story.”

  Spicey and Sasha heard the bells tinkle announcing a customer in the store. Sasha ran out to the front and then poked her head back through the curtain. “You best come out here.”

  Spicey pulled the curtain back and saw Jackson and Abram standing at the counter. Abram said, “You gotta sell me an amulet like you did Jackson. We doin’ what you told Jackson he supposed to do. We be gettin’ ready to go save some people, and we need all the help we can get. We need to be fast!”

  Spicey looked at Sasha, “Shut off that sign, lock the door, make me some hot water! We be needin’ some kind of tea!” Spicey headed behind the curtain, “You two follow me. We need the Spirit’s blessin’ on this quick.”

  Abram and Jackson took seats at the little table with the crystal ball, as Spicey thumbed through an old tattered book, mumbling. Suddenly she looked up. “I be new to this part, so I be apologizin’ right now case I turn you into toads or somethin’.” She looked back down and kept thumbing through the book.

  Jackson and Abram looked at each other.

  Sasha came in the room with two cups of hot water. Spicey told her to find the toorue root and the black egg powder. Sasha returned in record time and asked, “Now what?”

  Spicey flipped to the back of the book and read slowly, “To protect from danger, pinch each, and slap down.”

  Sasha reached over and pinched both Jackson and Abram and then began slapping them. Spicey’s eyes flew open wide, “Girl! Stop it! It mean a pinch of each potion in the hot water. Slap it down means drink it! Lordy.”

  Jackson had raised his arms to protect himself from Sasha who was now laughing.

  “Oh, that be too funny.”

  Abram looked at his watch, “Hurry, Ms. Spicey.”

  Spicey put her hands on the ball and asked, “Spirits please help me protect Abram and Jackson on this dangerous mission to save these people.”

  The ball instantly clouded inside. Abram and Jackson watched as they slapped down their tea and made faces.

  Abram shook his head, “This here shit ain’t gonna catch on.”

  Spicey stared into the ball. The face of the Spirit in the white gown let Spicey know Abram and Jackson were protected now.

  Spicey looked at them both, “Spirit said you be okay now. Go save them people fast!”

  Abram asked, “What we owe ya?”

  Spicey answered, “Nothin’. I’m just glad you ain’t toads.”

  Dusty had trouble manipulating his easel, chair, pad, and box of pencils through the double doors of the French Quarter Bank. Finally, a man was leaving and held the door for him. Dusty looked around the lobby and didn’t like the looks of it at all. He was supposed to leave his money with these people? Look at all the fancy shit they spent somebody’s money on. What if they wouldn’t give him his money back?

  Dusty had just about decided to leave when a pretty girl sitting at a desk called over. “Anything I can help you with?” She had a great smile. Dusty saw a chair by her, so he walked over.

  Dusty said, “I was thinkin’ ‘bout openin’ a savings account.” He leaned his easel and chair against the wall. The pretty girl gestured for him to sit.

  “Well, my name is Amy, and that’s what I do here. Customer service. Have you had accounts with us in the past?”

  Dusty explained he hadn’t had a savings account since college. He kept thinking he knew her from somewhere. He was good at faces since that’s how he made his living. He suddenly remembered and whispered, “Are you one of the girls that was in the swamp?”

  Amy nodded yes.

  Dusty said, “I was pushing the boat that brought you back. You probably don’t ‘member. You were mighty tired.”

  Amy ran around the desk and gave Dusty a big hug. “You are one of the men that saved us! You’re a hero! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  Dusty smiled and looked around to see who might be watchin’ them. “I ain’t no hero. I didn’t want to be there. The FBI hired me is all.”

  Amy shook her head, “I don’t care why you were there. You’re a hero.” They talked about ten minutes. Then Amy opened an account for Dusty and explained to him how it all worked. When she was done, she thanked him again.

  Dusty offered, “You ever be in Jackson Park I’ll do your portrait for ya. You have nice face bones.”

  Amy smiled.

  Outdoors again, Dusty dragged his easel toward the park. Nice face bones? Who says that? Could’ve said a pretty face. Geesh. At least that would sound like he had a brain in his head. It’s no wonder he never had any dates.

  Dusty set up his easel under his favorite shade tree, arranged his pad and his box of pencils, and began to sketch Amy’s face from memory. He could feel the bank book in his back pocket. It felt kind of good. Proof he had some security in his life. Like he was a real adult or something. If he could do a few extra portraits every day, he could put a little more money in his account every week and see Amy. Dusty smiled. She seemed real nice, and she smiled at him a lot. Nice face bones.

  At the field office, Roger, Paul, and Mass watched the live satellite feed on the building identified in Jackson’s email. Mass was right. The
neighborhood was bad. An armed man leaned against the building by a back door. They watched a man walk up to him, give him some money, and walk in.

  Paul said, “There went a John.”

  Mass answered, “Yep.”

  Paul said, “We have split screen available and we can use the mouse to travel.” He glanced at Roger and just went ahead and changed the screen view.

  Roger smiled, “You looking to take Ray’s job?”

  Paul shook his head, “Only you would think that qualifies as geeky.”

  Paul manipulated the satellite camera to surround the building on two screen views and allow them to search the neighborhood with the other two. Mass wrote down descriptions of the people they were seeing at the building to try to get a count.

  A large white van pulled up in front of the building. Two men got out.

  Roger pointed, “That’s Jackson and Abram.” Roger dialed Abram, and he answered. Roger saw him hanging around the front of the van talking on his phone.

  “Abram, I have you on satellite. What are you doing there?”

  Abram looked to the sky and motioned for Jackson to come over. Roger heard Abram tell Jackson the FBI had a camera on them.

  Roger shouted into his phone, “Abram! Shut up!”

  Roger watched two men walk out of the building. “You have company walking over. What are you doing?”

  The two men were now standing next to Abram. It looked like he nodded at them.

  Abram answered, “Yes, sir, Mr. Manio. I be takin’ care of them people right now. We be expecting your new ones any time.” Abram disconnected the call, and Roger watched him bump fists with the guys from the building.

  Paul looked at Mass. “How long to get to that neighborhood?”

  Mass answered, “With sirens, twenty minutes in this traffic.”

  Roger shook his head, “Let’s see if these guys can pull this off. They stand a better chance getting these people out alive than we do.”