Skydive

by Susan O’Brien

  “No. Stay there.”

  He found it in the fridge, set it on my nightstand, and gave me a kiss. “All part of a complete breakfast,” he said with a wink.

  Yes, it was. My life had been incomplete for way too long.

  “Before you go, I want you to see something,” I told him when we were dressed and on the living room couch, me in a fresh outfit and him in day-old clothes. Kenna had texted that the kids would be back at eight, which meant Dean had to skedaddle soon.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  I opened my laptop and brought up the Department of Child and Family Services video about foster care. Dean leaned forward and rested his arms on his thighs.

  “I asked Kenna to watch this too,” I explained. “It helped me understand some things Kat might be dealing with. It’s not too long.”

  “Okay.”

  I pressed play and watched Dean’s expressions more than I watched the screen. He seemed touched, and when it was over, I waited for him to speak.

  “Until Kat,” he finally said, “I never really thought about this. It’s awful.”

  “Yeah,” I said quietly. I hadn’t expected him to be so moved.

  “What some kids go through…I thought I had it bad losing my mom, and I did, but these kids lose family, friends, pets, everything—sometimes over and over.”

  He ran his hands through his hair and then clasped them behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just thought it would help with the case and thinking about what Kat might do.”

  “It does.” He looked at me. “I’m going to be honest. I was always on board with this case, but it was mostly about you, not Kat or Corey.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, unoffended. I rested a hand on his knee. “I understand.”

  Modern life was strewn with horrible stories, and in Dean’s case, it had always been part of his work. Some level of numbness was unavoidable. At times, when I watched the news, my emotions turned off more than they fired up. I hoped that was more self-protective than selfish.

  “It’s tough for me to connect with cases these days,” he admitted. “That video made a difference.”

  I scooted closer and rested my head in the crook of his neck. He brought his arm down and draped it across my shoulders, the weight of his muscles pulling me in.

  “So that’s a good thing?” I asked.

  “It’s a great thing,” he said, turning to lock eyes.

  Phew. But that didn’t mean it would be easy.

  Tracy the tattoo artist emailed me after Dean left and before the kids’ boisterous energy overtook my world.

  Can you come by at 11:45? I’ll come in early to talk with you. Thanks.

  I replied immediately, agreeing to stop by and thanking her for going out of her way. I also printed new photos of Kat, including an enlarged one that showed her tattoo. Now that I knew it said “Property of,” I could make out those letters near the seam of her shoulder-baring shirt, but I still couldn’t tell what was written under it.

  The doorbell rang, and I steeled myself for transitioning between the morning’s intensity and the arrival of kids without a care in the world other than family, friends, food, fun, and homework. What a life.

  “Hi, guys,” I greeted Jack, Sophie, and Kenna, savoring the kids’ hugs with a purity of emotion I only felt with them. If there was heaven on earth, their affection and joy were it for me.

  “Mommy,” Sophie blurted. “Look what I made!”

  “You made that?” I asked, staring at an enormous cinnamon bun in plastic wrap.

  “Auntie Kenna taught me,” she said. “They’re so good. Jack already ate two.”

  Jack grinned. I guess they wouldn’t be hungry for Dean’s oatmeal.

  “It was fun,” Kenna said. “That one’s for you. Or you can save it for Dean.”

  She glanced around, clearly wondering if he was here.

  “He’ll be here for dinner,” I told everyone. “He’ll love this for dessert, Sophie. Thank you for making an extra. I might have to sneak in a taste before then though.”

  I gave her a playful tickle and asked her to put the bun in the fridge.

  “What are we doing today?” Jack asked.

  “Auntie Kenna and I have an appointment this morning.” I looked at her. “Are you free at eleven fifteen?”

  “Only if I can bring Sky. Andy’s got plans.”

  “Bring Sky. Please,” Jack said. The kids never had enough of their little friend, who was more like a cousin or a sister.

  “I’ll try, buddy,” Kenna said.

  “We need to talk with that artist, Tracy,” I told her. “She’s free at eleven forty-five.”

  “Bringing the kids kind of defeats the purpose of me going, doesn’t it? But I don’t want to be stuck at home either.”

  “One of us could stay in the van with them.” That could go well or be a nightmare, but I liked the idea of having her nearby in case we needed to discuss anything or follow up quickly. “If things get hectic, we can take them for a walk.”

  “We? You mean me. It’s okay though. You should be the one to talk with Tracy. Just bring your iPad. Please. I need the option of games and shows.”

  “Of course,” I said. “What kind of monster do you think I am?”

  “A mommy monster,” Jack growled, raising his hands like claws and threatening to chase me.

  Only on my worst days, I thought. Please don’t let this be one of them.

  I could argue that my van was the most happening place on Atlas Tattoos’ block. We had the kids’ dance music blasting, an iPad being passed around, and best friends in the front seat gabbing about a day of investigation and entertainment. Our emergency supplies included bubble stuff, a stuffed picnic basket, markers that only colored on “magic” paper, and a portable kid potty.

  “Okay. I’ve got this covered,” Kenna said. “Go in.”

  Miraculously, we’d arrived early. That was the beauty of having two moms on the case. It had to be a good omen.

  “Wish me luck,” I said to the adorable group behind us.

  Screams of “Good luck!” flew toward me. What a sendoff. Apparently everyone was listening for once.

  “Keep that sunroof closed,” I told Kenna. “We might get cited for disrupting the peace.”

  “Tracy?” I said as a tattooed woman with cropped blue hair approached me at the front desk. I recognized her from the shop’s website.

  “Nicki? Nice to meet you.” We shook hands and exchanged smiles. “Come on back.”

  I followed, noting that her outfit reminded me of how El Toro’s clerk had described Kat’s style: boots, jeans, and a t-shirt. All black. The only difference was that Kat had apparently worn a jacket.

  “We’ve got a private room where we can talk,” she said. “Sometimes people get tattoos and piercings in personal spots. You know? They don’t want to do it out here.”

  “Sure,” I said, mesmerized by the people and equipment we passed on the way.

  “Have a seat.”

  I settled into a vinyl chair and tried to get comfortable. “So, like I told you in the email, I’m a private investigator, and my partner and I came in last night with this photo.”

  I held out my ID and the enlarged photo of Kat and her tattoo. I also showed her a smaller version without the pixels blown up. “We need to find out what the tattoo means and if it can help us find her. First of all, do you recognize her at all?”

  “No. But let me see that tattoo.” She slipped on black-rimmed glasses and moved the photo back and forth until she got the best focus. Then she zeroed in on me. “I definitely know what that says.”

  “Thank goodness,” I said.

  “Can I see your ID again?” I handed it over, and she inspected it as
carefully as she had the photo. “Okay,” she said. “You should be worried about this girl. And if you’re involved with her, you should worry about yourself.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Her tattoo says ‘Property of Big Tim.’”

  I stared at the picture and saw that she was right.

  “Who is Big Tim?”

  “He’s one of the most violent pimps in this area. Women who’ve worked with him say he knows how to reel them in, get them hooked on drugs, and scare them into staying. They get dependent, and if they get out, they’re terrified, addicted, and scarred—emotionally and physically.”

  “Oh my God. Have you heard of another pimp named Daddy B, also known as Danny Braxton?”

  “They’re connected, but last I heard, Daddy B is lower level. Why?”

  “His name keeps coming up. I’ve been trying to track him down.”

  “Huh. Well, given what I see here, I’d focus on Big Tim. I don’t want you near him, obviously, but if you have to target someone to get to this girl, I’d track him. And watch your back.”

  I took a deep breath.

  “Speaking of that, do you hear much about prostitutes—or people posing as prostitutes—robbing their customers? It’s sort of related to this case.”

  “Wasn’t there just something in the news about that?”

  I nodded and was glad she didn’t make the connection to me. “Yeah. Do the prostitutes you meet ever mention that, especially in connection to Daddy B or Big Tim?”

  “I’ve heard it occasionally, but not often, and not in connection with those two. Nothing would surprise me though. These women are poor and desperate, and sometimes they’re craving drugs. I’m a recovering addict. I know.”

  She glanced at a wall clock, and I followed her gaze. We still had a few more minutes.

  “Do you know any former prostitutes, especially ones who have worked with Big Tim or Daddy B, who might be willing to talk with me?”

  “I don’t keep in touch with anyone.” She closed her eyes to think. “Actually, there is someone you could call. Maureen Strickland. She’s a former prostitute who runs a shelter for women getting out of the life. I don’t know who she knows, but she’s connected. She’s in DC though.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. DC, Maryland, and Virginia were often considered one area. They shared many of the same TV and radio stations, not to mention commuter routes and workplaces. It wasn’t unusual for someone from Virginia or Maryland to say they were from DC or the “DMV.”

  “I’d love to talk with her,” I said.

  “Okay. I can’t tell you exactly where to find her. The shelter address is secret, since it’s a safe house.”

  “I understand.”

  “But she has an 800 number.” She jotted it down. “Tell her I sent you, and mention Kat right away. Her heart is with these women, but she doesn’t have time for much else.”

  “Got it,” I said. “I can’t thank you enough.”

  “My heart’s with them too,” Tracy added. “Once you hear their stories, you can’t help but do something.”

  “That’s how I’m starting to feel.”

  “Just be careful. I wouldn’t send anyone into that world, especially now. From what I hear, heroin and prostitution are bigger problems than ever in King County.”

  “What part of the county do you think is worst?”

  “Crescent Heights. There’s so much money coming in from the wealthier areas nearby, and if the pimps abuse the prostitutes, their only ‘assets,’ imagine how they’ll treat someone who threatens their business.”

  Imagining was one thing. I definitely didn’t want to experience it.

  Fifteen

  “Every time I leave that place I feel emotional,” I admitted when I got in the van.

  Kenna was encouraging one of the kids’ favorite games: Make Sky laugh. The back rows were filled with silly noises, explosive laughter, and faces that would have made a great photo montage. It was the perfect contrast to my emotions, which were worried and contemplative.

  “What happened?” Kenna asked.

  I filled her in over the noise, glad the kids had no idea what we were discussing. If only they’d never have to face the world’s realities.

  “I’m not sure we should get more involved in this,” I said.

  “You sound like Andy. But if we don’t, who will?”

  “Maybe I can find someone,” I said, running through a mental Rolodex. Truthfully, I didn’t know anyone who would take it on, other than Dean, and I wasn’t asking him. “It’s just…” I glanced in the backseat.

  “We’re moms,” Kenna said. “I know, I know. And you’re a single mom. I admit that makes it more complicated for you. I want to keep going, but whatever you decide is okay with me.”

  “Really?” I was stunned. Kenna rarely admitted defeat.

  “Yes. Go with your gut.”

  I wanted to, but my gut was having trouble outscreaming everyone in the van.

  “I can’t think in here,” I said.

  “Me either. Let’s get going, and maybe everything will quiet down.”

  “I should call my mom,” I said as Kenna pulled away from the tattoo parlor. She was so eager to get moving that she didn’t even trade seats with me.

  “You’re calling Grandma?” Sophie said, her ears always perked for exciting news. Finally, there was silence around us.

  “Yes. I’m going to see if she can babysit for a couple days.”

  “Where?” Jack asked wisely. Our place was fun. Hers was breakable. On the other hand, her condo complex had an indoor pool with a lifeguard.

  “We’ll see,” I said. I preferred her place this time, but I didn’t want to break bad news before I confirmed it. “Does Andy have today off?” I asked Kenna.

  “Yes. And he works from home tomorrow. So don’t worry about Sky.”

  “What about you?”

  “I teach five o’clock pole tonight, and you’re coming, kids or no kids.” So she was holding me to that exercise thing. “And I teach at nine tomorrow morning, but you don’t have to be there.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  Mom picked up, and after listening to her describe her latest shopping spree and promising that Dean and I were doing fine, I ventured into babysitting territory.

  “I’d love to help, sweetheart,” she said. “What kind of case are you working on?”

  That’s where it got dicey. She didn’t like unnecessary risks, and she disapproved of involving kids, which I’d accidentally done in my first case and learned an unforgettable lesson.

  “It’s a missing person case,” I said. “I need some time and freedom to do night work. But I want to make sure the kids are in the best possible place.”

  In truth, that was at Kenna’s house, but since that wasn’t possible, I was being honest.

  “Well, I hope you’re taking care of yourself,” she said.

  “I am, and Kenna and Dean are helping, so it’s all good.”

  “Okay. I can pick up the kids at eight. Can you be home after school for them on Monday?”

  “That’ll be the tentative plan if that’s okay,” I said.

  “I’m happy to have them over. I’ll get hot chocolate and popcorn. Just pack their stuff, have them in their PJs, and make sure they have a favorite DVD. And I’ll keep Monday afternoon free, just in case.”

  “Thank you so much, Mom,” I said. “I love you.”

  “Love you too. Say hi to Dean for me.”

  “Oh, you can say hi yourself. He’ll be there tonight.”

  “What a treat!”

  Dean was the type of hot that got attention from the most unlikely (and sometimes elderly) people. Kenna once joked that he was a walking cure for vaginal dryness.

  “I gotta go, Mom,” I said. “Than
ks again. See you soon.”

  “Any more stops?” Kenna asked.

  “There’s plenty we need to do,” I said. “But bringing the kids isn’t ideal.”

  “Like what?”

  We were interrupted by my phone, which I’d set on vibrate while talking with Tracy.

  “Dean?” I answered. “What’s up?”

  “You haven’t heard the news?” he asked.

  “What news?”

  “That guard you found. They arrested someone for his murder, and you won’t believe who it is.”

  “Who?”

  “It’s Daddy B. He’s being charged with drug-related crimes too.”

  “No,” I said, turning to Kenna, slack-jawed. “They arrested Daddy B,” I said. “For Jared Funk’s murder.”

  “Holy shiii…take mushrooms. Well, I guess we can stop looking for him. But what does that mean for us?”

  I had to think about it, so I updated Dean on our new mission: Find Big Tim.

  “You sure you want to stay on this?” Dean asked.

  “Yes and no,” I admitted. “What can you tell me about Daddy B?”

  “When I heard the news, I made some calls,” he said. “There’s physical evidence linking him to the scene, but that’s all I know. Sorry I don’t have more specifics.”

  “Thanks for asking around. I wonder if he has any evidence related to Big Tim or anything else that could get him a deal.”

  “I don’t know. I can keep looking into it, but people seem pretty tight-lipped about this one.”

  “Did you get any sense of how Jared Funk was linked to Daddy B? I wonder if Jared was into drugs.”

  “I don’t know, but corrections can be really stressful. Drugs could be tempting, just to cope. He had to know Daddy B somehow, but I’m sure the police are all over it, so don’t worry about it too much.”

  In part, I thought he was right, but I also thought he was biased due to wanting me safe. The police weren’t necessarily going to share what they learned, and what they learned might not match what I’d find.