Crow’s Row

by Julie Hockley

  “I’m so sorry I brought you into this, Uncle Victor,” I sobbed. I was everybody’s bad-luck charm.

  Victor shushed me while I cried on his shoulder. But I didn’t have enough energy to cry more than a minute.

  “Did they hurt you?” he whispered and did a quick glance of the room.

  “I think I’m okay. They drugged me. You?”

  “I’m fine,” he said distractedly. Victor looked down at the tray on the floor. “Is this what they brought you to eat?” he asked with disdain. I nodded.

  He picked up the tray, stuck the straw in the juice box, and handed it over to me. “Here,” he said, “you need some liquids.” While I gluttonously slurped the juice, he investigated the sandwich, smelling it first and pulling it apart. Satisfied, he ripped the bread into pieces and handed them to me one by one, like I was a child or a bird.

  “Have you eaten?” I asked.

  “I’m fine. I don’t need to eat.”

  I glanced over his face. He did look fine. A lot better than me, I assumed.

  “Do you know where we are?” he wondered. I was just about to ask him that question. At least he had been outside the room.

  I shrugged. “No, but I have a good idea who’s behind this.”

  He searched my face. “Who?”

  I lowered my voice so that it was barely audible. “This guy named Shield. A sleaze-ball drug dealer.”

  “Drug dealer? How do you know this?” Victor’s voice was alarmed.

  I realized how much life had changed for me in the matter of a few months. The old Emily would have never known about drug dealers named Shield.

  “Cam … the people I was with told me.”

  “What else did they tell you?”

  I hesitated. Cameron had told me things in confidence—and definitely would not have wanted me to share any of these things with a police officer, even if he was my almost-uncle.

  Victor, sensing my uncertainty, leaned in. “Emily, I need to know everything if I’m going to get us out of here.”

  I knew he was right, but I decided to keep Cameron out of it. “Bill had gotten himself involved in drug trafficking. Shield thinks that Billy stole his business. He’s after me because he wants the money that Billy left behind when he died.”

  “You think all this is about money?”

  “I know this is about money.”

  Victor seemed interested by this. “Where’s the money?”

  I couldn’t see how I would tell Victor about the money without bringing Cameron into the picture. I had to improvise. “I don’t really know. I haven’t seen any.” This was technically the truth—numbers on a pendant were all I had seen.

  Victor looked a little disappointed but continued, “What about the people you were with?”

  “They had nothing to do with us being here.” I said this too quickly. Victor caught scent that something was not right.

  He raised an eyebrow. “How involved were you with these people, Emily?”

  The way he was blankly staring at me made me feel like I was in his interrogation room back at the police station. I could feel the bead of sweat building on my brow again.

  “Barely knew them,” I lied.

  From the look on Victor’s face, he didn’t buy it. “Were they involved in drugs?”

  “I don’t know. We never talked about that,” I lied again.

  Uncle Victor was getting angry. “Come on! You can do better than that!” He wasn’t whispering anymore. He was the interrogator. I was the criminal.

  “Uncle Victor, I don’t know what you’re asking me. You would know more than I would from talking with the DEA.” I could feel the tears surging.

  His face went pale. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Yes, you’re right. I do know what they’re capable of. I was just afraid of what they might have put you through. That’s all.”

  “They’re not bad people, Uncle Victor.”

  This made him angry. “How can you say that? They’re lowlifes. Thugs. Mere children.” His voice was harsh and loud. I was taken aback.

  He then recomposed and smiled. “These people have no class, Emily. Not like you and me. We’re from a different world.” He reached over and stroked my cheek with his thumb. “You look so much like Isabelle.”

  It was the way that, unlike me, his head did not have one hair out of place and his clothes looked freshly ironed. And it was how he looked right through me, as though he saw someone else, that made something flicker at the bottom of my gut.

  “How was my mother when you saw her?”

  He smiled dreamily. “She was very worried about you. She cried when she found out that those thugs had taken you.”

  This was my first hint. My mother wasn’t the crying type. It ruined her makeup. “How did you know I was missing?”

  “Your mother called me after she had been to your place. All your stuff was gone, and you weren’t there.”

  Second hint: my mom would never go to my place unless she was dragged kicking and screaming, and she would definitely have no idea where my stuff was, or what my belongings would even look like. “How long have you been looking for me?”

  “A few months now.”

  Nope, she was still in France then—and barely thinking about me. My dear Uncle Victor was lying through his yellowing teeth.

  Cameron had told me that Shield could not be killed because of his connections, because someone like him could not turn up dead or go missing without too many questions being asked—as would be the case with a police officer. I then understood that Shield was just a nickname for the police badge that he used to shield his crimes.

  I glared back at my uncle Victor, who had abused our family ties to lure me away from Cameron, and who I now understood was also called Shield.

  Tears were building up in my eyes. I cleared my throat in an effort to keep them at bay and not arouse his suspicion that the game was up.

  “How are we going to get out of here?” My croaking voice betrayed me.

  Shield’s eyes twinkled. His hand had moved to the top of my head and he was petting my hair, lovingly.

  “Did you know that I saw Isabelle first? Before Burt even knew that she existed?”

  I was shaking. He smiled.

  “We were all at the same party. One of those work parties that your father used to drag my sister to. Isabelle came through the door, and all eyes were on her. She was a stunning woman. Still is. But, out of all those people, she smiled at me first.” His face then turned grim. “Back then, your father had a lot more money than me. I was just a beat cop. I couldn’t compete. But things are different now.”

  He snapped out of his daydream and winked at me. A chill went down my spine. I yanked his hand away. The tears were rolling down my cheeks but my glare was unyielding.

  “You’re still a cop,” I reminded him spitefully.

  “Yes,” he said, like his treachery had been a major feat. “And you’ll make me rich again.”

  I knew the minute I admitted to the money, I was no longer going to be of use to him. “I don’t have my brother’s money.”

  His eyes were on fire. “That money was my money, not Bill’s. It should have been given back to me when he died,” he said harshly. “I taught Bill the business, treated him like my own son. Together, we were going to rule the underworld. Then that ungrateful bastard stole it all from me and joined forces with those motherless street kids. Bill owed me a lot more than the dollars he left behind.”

  And then he half-smiled. “But none of that matters now. With you here, I will get all that back, and more. We’ll do great things together.”

  “I’m not doing anything with you,” I spat back.

  This amused him. “I thought you had a penchant for drug dealers? No? Well, seems they like you a lot.” He laughed and shook his head in disbelief. “I couldn’t have planned this better myself. We can use this to our advantage. With the pull you have over that boy, we’ll control the leaders, the distributors,
the shipments, everything.” He added with a sickly smile, “Though I wish I would have stuck around to see you blossom into your mother before that boy ever got a chance to pull you in. We could have been much further along by now.”

  He reached over to stroke my cheek.

  The nausea was coming back, but it had nothing to do with the sedatives. I got up and, turning my back to him, glanced around the room looking for a way out or a weapon. Apart from a plastic tray and a juice box, I didn’t have much to work with. I walked to the wall and turned around, sliding my back down the cold surface and sitting on the floor with my knees curled into my chest. For the first time, I noticed that he had a gun tucked into the back of his pants. I felt like an idiot for having missed that earlier—but there was no time for beating myself up. Something that Victor had said had piqued my interest.

  “So, he’s alive then.” My voice was steady and uninterested, like I had heard Cameron do so often.

  “Who? That Cameron boy? Yes, he’s fine.” He searched my face. I was a statue, though my insides were churning at the sound of Cameron’s name being attached to the word fine.

  Victor’s eyes were smoldering. I needed to keep him talking … and away from me.

  “What do I need to do for our partnership to work?” I asked with a businesslike tone.

  He was excited. “Well, by now I’m sure the kid has figured out that I won and that I have you. We’ll let him think about that for a few days, then start the negotiations for sending you back. It’ll take a while to convince the leaders to let me take control again, so I’ll control the business behind Cameron until the change in management is made official.”

  “What if the bosses don’t agree to you taking over?”

  “You’ll make sure that Cameron does a good job at convincing them when I send you back to him.”

  My heart leapt at the thought of seeing Cameron again, but my face remained unchanged. “What’s in it for me?”

  He chuckled. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. I’m impressed, kiddo. I thought you’d gone soft on me. But your parents taught you well, I see. People like us have to stick together.”

  The fact that he was putting me in the same basket as him and my parents made me want to scream.

  Victor continued, “Once I gain full control again and get rid of the boy, you and I can live happily ever after together.”

  The partnership was starting to sound more like a one-sided business deal—he would get to lead the underworld, and I got to live and become his Isabelle-look-alike concubine. I undetectably shuddered and cheerfully responded, “Sounds great.”

  Victor strolled over to me and, pulling me up by the shoulders, made me stand in front of him. With his rough hands, he drew my face into his, whispered my mother’s name and forced his leathery lips against mine. But I couldn’t kiss him back. My lips automatically squeezed together, shutting him out. Victor pulled away and eyed me. He was slighted.

  “Kiss me,” he ordered as he tried to kiss me again. No luck—my lips were uncontrollably pursed again. I was quickly losing his trust and had to think of something before he caught on to my game and my complete and utter revulsion of him.

  “I need to use the washroom,” I said, and, leaning close to him, I whispered in his ear, “I threw up earlier. I would really like to rinse my mouth out before I kiss you.”

  He examined my face, and I gave him my sweetest smile, one that I had learned from my mother. I was relieved to see him return it.

  “Oh yes, of course,” he said. He elatedly walked to the door and knocked three times. The latch clicked as it was unlocked and the door opened. Soldier-man guardedly peered in.

  “Escort the young lady to the washroom,” Victor commanded.

  I batted my eyes at Victor. “I really don’t need an escort. I think I’m old enough now to find the washroom by myself.” My voice oozed like honey.

  Victor looked thrilled with my attention. “Yes, you’re certainly not a child anymore,” he said, and then added as he gently rubbed my arm, “But I want to keep you safe, so please humor me and let Mickey walk you to the washroom?”

  “All right,” I agreed softly.

  Mickey the soldier-man and I walked down a white hallway. Up ahead was a wide open space. We were in a warehouse, I realized. The cheap carpet came to an end and was replaced by concrete floor and concrete walls. The empty warehouse was dimly lit, with the light of day coming in from the dirty, frosted windowpanes up above. There were more armed guards standing by exits, and more were playing cards, with empty boxes as their game table. Our footsteps echoed as we made our way to the washroom. The picture on the door indicated that this was a men’s washroom. I glanced along the cement wall—no women’s washroom. Mickey confirmed my suspicion as he opened the door to the men’s washroom.

  “Get out,” he ordered a guard who was standing by the urinal. The guard quickly zipped up and rushed out.

  The washroom was everything I expected a men’s washroom to be—disgustingly dirty and smelling of urine, among other things. Mickey followed me in while I quickly fled into one of the stalls. There was no point in asking for time alone to think—this was all the privacy that I was going get. Up to that point, I’d had a faint hope that the bathroom would have had a window and that I would be able to ruse soldier-man away long enough to escape. That was what usually happened in the movies, right? But there were no windows—just yellowing, staggered subway tile and someone’s inscriptions as to who to call for a good time. If Victor had his way, my name would soon be added to the stall’s wall of fame.

  I was out of options, and I had to prepare myself for what I would have to do next. I let a few tears silently drop from my eyes as I prayed to the gods on the stained concrete ceiling. At soldier-man’s urging to hurry up, I wiped the tears, put a smile on, and bounced out.

  I couldn’t look at myself in the splattered mirror. I was too afraid of who I might find staring back—for the next while, I would have to be anybody else but me. I splashed water on my face and rinsed my mouth out, as I had pledged to do. When we walked out of the washroom, my teeth were tightly clenched into a smile, and I was breathing short shallow breaths—just enough to keep me standing. In my head I was signing a tune from The Sound of Music to keep myself from crying.

  Doe, a deer, a female deer. We walked past the staring card players.

  Ray, a drop of golden sun. We reached the threshold of ugly carpet.

  Me, a name, I call myself. We were back in the office that had been converted into my prison—where Victor was eagerly waiting. As he approached me, he ordered Mickey to close the door and give us some privacy. My only means of escape slammed behind me, taking the cheery show tune with it. There was nothing in my head now but inescapable fear. I wished that Victor would turn the lightbulb off. This, I thought, would make it easier for me to imagine that I was anywhere but here.

  Victor was smiling, benevolently. I was shaking uncontrollably.

  “You don’t have to be scared. I won’t hurt you,” he whispered as he wrapped his hand around my ponytail, pulling my head back, forcing me to look up at him. He looked like a much older wrinkly version of my brother. This thought only made things worse. I started crying. I knew that I wouldn’t be able, under any pretense of willingness or otherwise, to go through with it.

  His face was coming closer to mine.

  “Uncle Victor,” I pleaded, “I can’t …”

  This made him smile. “I’m not really your uncle. You know that, right? This would be wrong if we were actually related. But we’re not. So, it’s okay. Just relax.”

  He pressed his lips against mine, but I didn’t respond.

  His smile was fading.

  “Kiss me back,” he ordered coldly.

  I started sobbing. “Please don’t. I don’t want to do this. I’ll do whatever you want me to do, but not this.”

  He laughed chillingly and shook his head. “You’re just a tease, aren’t you? You think I’m
going to let you go back to that boy without some kind of assurance that you’ll do what I tell you to do? You’ll be mine before I send you back to finish the job.”

  He pushed me up to the wall and held his hand at my throat while trying to push his tongue into my mouth.

  “Open your mouth,” he commanded.

  I was paralyzed with fear. My lips remained sealed. He pressed his hand against my throat harder this time, until my mouth finally gasped open for air. He kissed me, and I continued to struggle. His free hand was everywhere—on my face, in my hair—but as it started inching down my neck and closer to my chest, I went into absolute panic. Instinctively, I kicked my knee up between his legs. The effect was immediate. He fell to the ground on his knees, grabbing hold of himself. But he was enraged and, within half a second, was back on his feet. He stomped back to me, pulling his fist back. I closed my eyes and waited for the blow.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight:

  Giving Up

  When I awoke, I was lying between the wall and the floor with my limbs flailed in all directions. I struggled into a seated position; my face was pulsating with pain. I brushed my fingers against it and felt the dried blood under my nose, and a hardening fist-sized sphere of heat took up most of my cheek. There was something salty, blood, against my teeth. I was otherwise intact—and immensely grateful for it. I had escaped Victor, but for how long? I crawled back into my defensive ball and rested my aching head on my knees, crying, sobbing.

  The tears hadn’t long dried up by the time Mickey slid my tray of food over to me with his foot. I didn’t look up, and he didn’t ask how I was. We had an unspoken understanding. He closed the door and left me alone again.

  This time my meal consisted of processed cheese slapped between two pieces of bread and two juice boxes. I had gone up in the world. I got to my feet and started pacing about the room, drinking my juice box. I stopped in front of the door; ridiculously hopeless, I tried the doorknob … because you never know.

  “Don’t even think about it, girl,” a cold voice from the other side answered my attempt. “The door is locked, and I’m right here waiting for you if it isn’t.”