by Jana DeLeon
* * *
Hustle exited the clinic, trying to walk normally. Walking with a limp would be automatically perceived as a weakness, and a good hunter would exploit it. The doctor said it was only a sprain and had wrapped it and given him some aspirin to take for pain. The wrap was tight and limited movement, making walking normally a challenge. The pain was slight compared to the night before, so he pocketed the aspirin. He didn’t need it now, but after a day of using his ankle, he might tonight.
Instead of skating to the docks, he chose to walk, thinking how lucky he was that Shaye knew someone with a hotel in Bywater. It was a good location for him—far enough from the docks that he could easily evade someone trying to follow him when he left, but close enough to walk there every day.
He almost wished he were with Shaye instead of going to the docks. She’d been evasive this morning when he’d asked about her plans. There was something she wasn’t telling him, but then, he didn’t have the right to know everything she did. For all he knew she had other clients she had to do work for as well. People who were actually paying her.
He shook his head. The money bothered him. Sure, Shaye had said she was loaded and he didn’t think she was lying. According to the Internet, her grandfather was one of the richest and most powerful people in the state. But that didn’t mean she should work for free. She wasn’t Batman. No one was. Although the thought of a masked hero bringing justice to New Orleans was a cool one.
When this was over, he’d figure out a way to pay her back, even if it meant a couple of dollars a week for the rest of his life. It would be worth it. Shaye was a good person who put herself at risk to help people. He’d never met anyone like her before. Until he did, he’d started to think most everyone only cared about themselves and getting ahead.
Several kids were skating at the dock when he arrived. He’d wondered if anyone would show, given that they’d agreed to change up their routines, but change was hard, especially when skating was usually the only positive interaction they had with other people. He headed for the bank, waving them over as he went. They all picked up their boards and formed a circle.
“What’s up?” Boots asked. “You heard something?”
“No,” Hustle said. “Someone tried to grab me last night.”
“What?”
“Fuck, man!”
“No shit?”
“Where?”
They all spoke at once, and Hustle could feel the heightened anxiety in the group surrounding him.
“I was headed to my spot last night and some dude came at me from an abandoned building.”
“You didn’t hear him?” Reaper asked.
Hustle shook his head. “Not until he was almost on me. He was wearing some sort of slippers made like boots. They didn’t make any sound. I turned at the last minute and held my hand up to block him. He had a needle in his hand.”
The kids started grumbling again and looked at one another, their fear apparent.
“I swung my board around,” Hustle continued, “and clocked him hard enough to get away, but I was lucky.”
“How are we supposed to be safe,” Shadow said, “when this guy can follow someone like Hustle and Jinx and Scratch, and they don’t even know they’re being followed?”
“He wasn’t following me,” Hustle said. “He was waiting for me. He already knew where I was going. My guess is it was the same for Jinx and Scratch.”
“That means he’s been watching us for a while,” Boots said. “Collecting data a little at a time so we wouldn’t notice, then putting it all together for an attack. That’s beyond fucked up. It’s like he’s…”
“Hunting us,” Hustle said. “That’s exactly what he’s doing.”
“Then he already knows everything about us?” Shadow’s voice rose several octaves. “What are we supposed to do? There’s nowhere safe.”
“Don’t panic,” Hustle said, although he didn’t blame the kid one bit. “We just need to do what Boots said yesterday—change everything up. That means even where we sleep.”
“What about our stuff?” Reaper asked. “I mean, ain’t no one got much but we all got a little something we don’t want to lose.”
“Get your stuff and find somewhere new,” Hustle said. “But do it during the day. I know it’s risky, but night is riskier. At night, there’s fewer people around and not enough light on the streets.”
“He’s right,” Boots said. “If this guy’s been watching us for a while then he probably knows where all of us stay. Hell, we’re screwing up now. We were supposed to change our routine and meet at the drugstore, but here we all are, skating at the docks like nothing’s changed.”
Hustle looked around at the construction crews working on a commercial building at the far end of the parking lot. “During the week, when the crew is working, we’re probably okay here. But after you change sleeping places, if you come here, you should switch up your route every day.”
“I thought he only took people at night?” Shadow asked.
“He tried to take me at night,” Hustle said, “and I think that’s when he got Jinx, but we don’t know for sure. Doesn’t matter anyway. I’ll bet he’s watching during the day, so no doing the same thing twice. Got it?”
They looked around at one another and nodded.
“We should all leave now and get our stuff…find new places to stay at night,” Boots said. “He can’t follow all of us, right?”
“That’s a good idea,” Reaper said.
Boots dropped his board. “Anyone that’s not coming to the docks for a while, meet tomorrow at the drugstore at noon. If anyone sees the others, fill them in.”
“I think Bugs is doing dishes at that café today,” Shadow said. “I usually meet up with him in the afternoon for lunch. They let him have the leftovers from the buffet.”
Boots nodded. “Tomorrow then. I don’t have to tell you all to watch your backs. We’re not going to let this guy win, okay?”
Boots stepped on his board and kicked away, the others following suit, except Reaper, who hung back with Hustle.
“Listen, man,” Reaper said, “I didn’t want to say anything in front of the others, in case I was wrong, but I saw a board that looked like Jinx’s in the window of that pawnshop in Arabi.”
“The one on Saint Claude?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
“You get a good look at it?”
Reaper nodded. “Black. A dragon with green eyes on the bottom. Red wheels.”
Hustle ran a hand over his head. “That sounds like hers. Why would it be in a pawnshop?”
“I don’t know, but I was thinking…maybe that dude didn’t get Jinx. Maybe she sold her board and cut out.”
A flicker of anger passed through Hustle. “She wouldn’t have left without telling me.”
Reaper raised one eyebrow. “Wouldn’t she? C’mon man, none of us really knows each other. We ran out on our families. I mean, I’m sure we all had good reasons, but still. We’re not what regular people consider stable.”
“To hell with regular people! I know Jinx, and she wouldn’t have cut out without saying good-bye.”
Reaper shrugged. “Maybe. Sure. I guess I was just thinking that it was better for her to have taken off and be safe than that guy to have gotten her, you know?” He clapped Hustle on the back. “I didn’t mean to piss you off, man.”
“You didn’t. Not really. And you’re right. It would be better if she left on her own. It’s just that something tells me she didn’t.”
“I hear you. I guess I’m gonna go collect my stuff. You risking it?”
“No. I don’t have anything but a couple blankets. It’s not worth it. I can get more before winter.”
Reaper nodded and held up his fist. “Stay safe.”
Hustle bumped Reaper’s fist with his own. “You too.”
Reaper dropped his board and skated away. Hustle dropped his board and set out, ignoring the twinge in his ankle. The pawnshop was a good distance
from the docks. He wanted to get there as fast as possible. When he stopped for a break, he’d send Shaye a text and let her know what he was doing.
Chapter Eleven
Jackson watched as Shaye pulled her SUV up to the curb two blocks away from Father Michael’s church. She pulled out binoculars and trained them on the front entrance. He shook his head and got out of his car, then headed down the sidewalk. Stubborn as they come, he thought. He’d tried to talk her out of this crazy plan the night before, but she refused to let the idea go. Shaye was smart and had the makings of a fine investigator, but following people committing insurance fraud and those who were cheating on their spouse was nothing like surveillance on a violent criminal.
When he got to her car, he leaned over and rapped on the window, causing her to jump. She looked out and lowered the window. “Damn it, Jackson. Are you trying to get yourself shot?”
“Are you?”
“I’m doing my job, just like we discussed last night.”
“Uh-huh.” He pulled open the door. “Out of the car.”
“No!”
“Seriously. Come with me. I have something you need to see.”
She glared at him for a couple seconds, then climbed out of her car and followed him down the street to an older model Corolla. He waved at the passenger door and she got in.
“I figured you for more of a V-8 sort of guy,” she said as he slid into the driver’s seat.
“I am. I have one of those loud trucks with big wheels back at my apartment. But this is the car I use when I’m working.”
“Why?”
“Because if you’re going to follow someone, you need to be in a vehicle that no one pays attention to, especially if you’re combing the less affluent areas of the city. Your SUV is too new, too shiny, and too expensive to go unnoticed by some people, but an older white economy car is practically invisible.”
She gave him a grudging nod. “Why aren’t you at work?”
“I called in sick. I figured I’d get more work done that way.”
“That makes sense. How sad is that?”
He reached into the backseat and grabbed a duffel bag. “Here’s something else that makes sense.” He reached inside and pulled out a blond wig. “Father Michael has seen you. Put it on.”
She looked at the wig and sighed, but lowered the sun visor and slid on the wig. She frowned at the mirror, then flipped the sun visor back up and looked over at him. “No disguise for you?”
“Father Michael’s never met me, but if it makes you feel better, I can wear the wig next time."
“If we’re working Bourbon Street no one will notice.”
He laughed. “Yeah, probably not.”
“So, Mr. Expert at Surveillance, what’s the plan?”
“Wait for Father Michael to leave and follow him.”
She shook her head. “Genius.”
He started the car and pulled down the street to get a clear view of the church. “Notice the tinted windows?” he said. “That’s why I picked this one. No one can see in.”
“I have tinted windows.”
“Which makes you look like the Secret Service or one of those rap stars.”
“Fine, you’ve made your point. I am going to consider purchasing a car strictly for following people.”
“I know a place that sells late-model white Corollas.”
“I bet you do.” She pointed at the church. “Front door’s opening.”
They both lifted binoculars.
“It’s Father Michael,” she said.
“He’s headed for his car. The blue Escort. I checked registration last night.”
They watched as Father Michael got into his car and pulled away. Jackson handed Shaye his binoculars and set off after the priest, careful not to get too close. Father Michael drove safely and within the speed limit and presented no trouble as far as following went.
When he turned onto Saint Roch Avenue, Shaye touched his arm. “Slow down. I think I know where he’s going.”
“Where?”
“To the cemetery.”
He nodded. Saint Roch cemetery was two blocks away. He slowed some, allowing a truck to pull out in front of him, but he could still see the blue Escort. It pulled to the curb in front of the entrance to the cemetery and stopped. Jackson moved to the curb a block away and parked, watching as Father Michael exited his car and went into the cemetery.
“Let’s go,” he said as soon as the priest was out of sight. He grabbed a camera from the back of the car and slung it over his neck as they headed down the sidewalk.
“You gonna ask him to pose?” Shaye asked.
“It’s the tourist look. Plus, you never know when you might need to get a shot of something. I’m surprised you don’t carry a camera.”
She sighed. “It’s in the backseat of my rap-mobile. You distracted me.”
“Sorry,” he said, trying not to smile. It was nice to know he flustered her. It meant he’d gotten beyond the steel wall she had erected for everyone. That was important to him. He liked and respected Shaye and wanted to be a true friend to her.
And maybe more.
He chased those thoughts away. They had no place here and definitely not now. Shaye might have let him past one layer of defense, but that was hardly an open door. She was far more guarded than that.
“Do you want to split up?” she asked as they walked into the cemetery.
“Yeah, that’s the quickest way. The goal is to locate him before he sees us. Take out your phone. You can become absorbed in taking pictures if he spots you. Text with a location if you see him.”
Shaye nodded and headed off to the right. Jackson set off down a row to the left. At the end of the row, he peered around the corner down the north wall of vaults but saw no sign of Father Michael. He worked his way down the back wall of the cemetery, checking each row for the priest. When he got to the end of the row, he peered around the corner and spotted the priest kneeling in front of one of the wall vaults.
He pulled out his phone and sent Shaye a text.
Back wall. North side. Wall vaults.
A couple seconds later, she texted back.
At chapel. Will check from this angle.
Jackson lifted his camera and stepped around the corner, focusing on the display in the back corner. He glanced sideways at Father Michael as the priest made the sign of the cross and rose from the ground. He touched a wall vault in front of him and Jackson could see his lips moving, then he turned around without even looking Jackson’s direction and left. Jackson lowered the camera and pulled out his phone.
Coming your way.
He pressed Send.
On it.
Jackson hurried down the row and located the wall vault that Father Michael had prayed for.
Bradley Thompson
Born August 3, 2001
Died June 2, 2015
He took a picture of the vault, then set out after the priest. When he reached the main aisle that ran down the center of the cemetery, he spotted the priest halfway to the entrance. He waited until the priest was at the entrance, then half jogged down the center aisle. When he got to the front of the cemetery, Shaye was standing off to the side, next to a crypt. He slipped beside her and they watched as the blue Escort drove by. They headed out of the cemetery as the priest’s car turned the corner a block away.
“Hurry!” Jackson took off for his car, Shaye sprinting beside him.
They jumped in and he squealed away from the curb.
“There!” Shaye grabbed his arm and pointed down the street as they approached the intersection. “He’s going around the block.”
Jackson turned and headed toward the street where the Escort had crossed, turned again and caught sight of the priest as he stopped at an intersection. They followed him several more blocks without stopping and finally Shaye sighed.
“He’s going back to the church,” she said. “We didn’t get anything.”
“We might have.” Jackson drove a
round the corner to where Shaye’s SUV was and parked behind her. “Look at this.”
He pulled up the photo he’d taken of the wall vault and showed it to her.
Shaye’s eyes widened. “He was only thirteen”
“Died a month ago. It might be nothing, but it’s worth checking out.”
Shaye started to respond, and her cell phone signaled a text message. She looked at the display and yanked off the wig. “It’s Hustle. I’ve got to run.”
“Is everything all right? Do you want me to go with you?”
“He says he has information and we need to meet. He’s in enough trouble if people see him with me. He can’t afford to be seen with a cop, and the other kids would probably make you as quickly as Hustle did.”
He didn’t like it but he couldn’t argue with the reasoning. “If you need help, let me know. I’m going to stick around here for a bit. See if our friend Father Michael makes any more moves.”
“Thanks for the disguise and the car,” Shaye said.
“Any time.”
She jumped out of the car and hurried to her SUV. Jackson frowned as she pulled away. He hoped Hustle had found out something useful, but at the same time, he wished Shaye didn’t have to go down to the docks, which is where he assumed Hustle was. The likelihood of the kidnapper lurking somewhere in the vicinity was high, especially if he was itching for another shot at Hustle. He supposed if pressed, Shaye would pass off talking to Hustle as an extension of her mother’s social work, but she was right about Jackson. The street kids would disappear like vapor if they spotted him anywhere near them, and Hustle had already proven that they could easily spot a cop.
He brought up the picture again and pulled out his phone. At least while he was sitting here, he could do some Internet research. Anything deeper would have to wait until he was back at his computer. He typed in the boy’s name and hit Search.
A list of hits filled the tiny screen. School events mostly, and an obituary.
He clicked on the obit and read the facts. Two parents, one sister, much loved. Funeral service presided over by Father Michael. He frowned. No cause of death.