I shook my head. “No, not at first. He’ll just clam up and ask for a lawyer and I need to find out who the mole is. I think he killed my father, but I also think he knows who his copycat is.”
“How will you find him? Do you have his address?”
“No, he’s gone off the map. But he was waiting for Robbie at her hotel yesterday. My guess is that he hasn’t left the area yet, so I’ll hit every bar and dive until I find him.”
“And how do you propose to drive across town without a car?” he asked with a grin.
Damn. I looked around, wondering the same thing. “I’ll take Mom’s car. I doubt there was any damage to the engine, and where I’m going, the cracked windshield will fit right in.”
“All right, but don’t take any chances and report in when you find him.”
“Roger that. And call me when Robbie gets back. She’s going to be pissed when she finds out that I didn’t wait for her.”
“Well, then. I’ll make sure she takes it out on you,” Uncle Joe teased.
“That’s why I asked that you call me.”
“Is that the only reason?”
I shrugged. “What other reason would there be?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s the way you look at her now, like a puppy dog, wagging its tail for its master.”
“Where do you get that shit from, Uncle Joe?” He wasn’t wrong, but I was never willing to talk with him about my love life. It’s just not that kind of relationship.
“It’s plain as the nose on your face, hon.”
“Yeah, well, after that bastard almost killed my mother, I’m unleashing my junkyard dog. It’s going to be either him or me.”
“Jordy, you can’t think like that.”
“At this point, Uncle Joe, I can’t think any other way.”
*
The seedier part of Memphis was not someplace I frequented often, even in my wilder teenage years. I rested my hand on my pistol, just to know it was there. I left the car at the hotel and began walking the six blocks to the first bar with a reputation for looking the other way about everything; drugs, sex, and drunks.
Entering the bar, I immediately begin showing Patrick’s photo to the bartender and a few of the barflies still sober enough to complete a sentence. Patrick had been in there the day before, so at least I knew he was still hanging around. I had better luck at the second bar two blocks further down. Patrick had just left and they “thought” he went across the street to another bar. The third bar was the worst of the three. I had to step over a drunk to get in.
I spotted him right away. Sitting in a corner of the bar, a beer in his hand. He was by himself, as if no one wanted to come near him. I had to admit, I was surprised he was only drinking a beer, but then, maybe he couldn’t afford more.
“Remember me?” I asked as I pulled up a chair and sat down, turning my hip so I could easily grab my gun.
“What do you want? I ain’t done nothing wrong.”
“Hmm. I notice it didn’t take long for your accent to return. I guess you can take the man out of the South for twelve years, but you can’t take the South out of the man.”
“So, you know about my background, I’m impressed,” he said, scooting his chair to the right.
“Now it’s your turn to impress me,” I challenged. “Why did you come back here and how did you really find Robbie?”
He looked down at his empty beer glass and tapped his fingers on the table. “Buy me another round, and I’ll tell you my whole damn life’s story,” he finally replied.
It wasn’t the type of bar with a waitress, so I simply stood up and hollered at the bartender, “Can I get two pints over here?” The bartender grumbled something I couldn’t understand and pulled two glasses from the back wall. I had serious doubts whether the glasses would be clean, but I didn’t intend to drink from them, so it didn’t matter.
“All right, your beer is on the way, now talk,” I demanded, as I sat down again. Patrick frowned as if he didn’t know where to begin so I started for him. “I ran your picture, and I know you are Patrick Sanders. What I want to know, is how did you find Robbie?”
“She came to Vegas on a book signing tour.”
“And how did you know that?” I asked.
“Her schedule was on the Internet. I was surprised at some of the shitty places they were sending her to sign books.”
Shit! That explained how he seemed to know her every move. Wait, he uses the Internet? “How can a junkie like you afford the Internet?”
“I haven’t been using in six months,” he asserted. “And everyone has used the Internet before, dumb ass.”
“So, you… what, bought a book and stood in line to get her autograph?” I asked sarcastically.
“Sure, I buy books all the time,” he retorted.
The bartender sloshed the two pints of beer down on the table and grunted, “Ten bucks.” I took out my wallet and handed him a ten, and he left.
Patrick sighed annoyingly and picked up his beer.
Answer the damn question, you mother fucking murderer!
He gulped half a pint before he set the glass back on the table. “My daughter…”
My heart was screaming, she’s not your daughter, you son of a bitch! But my brain was screaming louder, play along and get the information first.
“…was signing books in a small, rinky-dink bookstore just off the strip near a bar that uh, I drink at sometimes.”
Translation, that’s where he gets his drugs. “You haven’t seen her in twelve years; how did you know it was her? I mean, you couldn’t even remember how old she was when you left her.”
“I know that she was named for me,” he stated boldly. “Her middle name is Mason, just like mine.”
“How did you know it was her?” I repeated the question. I don’t think he was intentionally avoiding the question, I think he was easily distracted. I also had the feeling he was waiting on someone, by the way he kept checking the front door. He had probably picked this table because it had a clear view. That is, until I sat down and blocked it.
He sneered at me and finished off his beer. “Fine,” he said, slapping the empty glass on the table and belching dramatically. “She was prattling on to a cop about how her stepdad was a firefighter.”
“So, you made it into the store. Did you talk to her?”
“I just told you, there were cops all over the place. I didn’t stick around.”
“Then you followed her here to Memphis. Who helped you get here?”
“I ain’t telling you. Now go away and leave me alone.”
You have an accomplice and by God, you are going to tell me. “Okay, here’s what I think,” I said as I repositioned my chair to block his view again and set my beer in front of him. “Jerry paid you five hundred dollars so he could adopt Robbie, but you used it all on drugs and came back to extort more money.”
He picked up the mug and guzzled half the glass before he said, “Yeah, so?”
He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t argue or lie about it. He admitted straight out that he had come back for more money. “Like I said before, if I see you anywhere near her, I’ll arrest you and throw away the key.”
“She’s my daughter; you can’t keep me away from her,” he declared.
“The hell I can’t. Why are you stalking her? What do you really want?”
“Stalking her? That’s interesting, coming from you. Who are you to dominate my daughter’s every move?”
“She’s not your daughter,” I pointed out. “You sold that right for five hundred bucks, remember?”
“She is my daughter. My blood flows through hers, as it does in all my children.”
“Son of a bitch. You produced other children? How much did you get for them?”
“Fuck you, bitch. Of course, I have children. Smart children who love me. That’s why I’m back. To make amends with Roberta. To be her father, again.”
“Bullshit. You’re back because you know she’s got money and you wa
nt it.”
He wasn’t listening to me. He was leaning around me and shaking his head. I jumped up and pulled my pistol, shouting, “MFD, stop!” I gave chase as the person dressed like a firefighter, darted out the door. I caught a glimpse of his back as he cut the corner and disappeared into the streets of Memphis. “Damn it!” Holstering my gun, I pulled out my cell phone and called Uncle Joe, as I walked back to the bar.
“I found Patrick and he was meeting with someone but I couldn’t catch him. It was a firefighter.”
Uncle Joe cursed several times before he said, “Who was it?”
“I didn’t see his face, but he had on bunker pants and suspenders, I couldn’t tell who he was or even if it was a man or a woman.”
“Damn. What about Patrick? Did he tell you anything?”
“No, he was just milking me for beer while he waited on that guy. I’m going to arrest him and hold him for as long as I can. Maybe being back in jail will convince him to talk. Is Robbie okay?”
“She hasn’t returned yet.”
“Good, maybe she changed her mind and decided to stay with her mother tonight.” Even as I said it, I didn’t believe it. Robbie was far too inquisitive to turn down a chance to be in the thick of things. No. Something was wrong. “I need to get back to Patrick. Would you call my mom and make sure Robbie is with them, and then let me know?”
“Roger that. Keep me informed,” he said and ended the call.
My cell phone rang just as I was just about to walk back into the bar and the caller ID said it was Rosa. “Hey, what’s up?”
“I’ve been running the background checks and still have fifteen to go, but one of them came back with a flag.”
I’m glad she couldn’t see my mouth gaping open. I really didn’t think she’d find anything. “Who?”
“Kandyce Morgan.”
“Seriously?” My jaw hit the ground. Kandyce was a good firefighter, always willing to help out. Uncle Joe told me that she worked the Christmas shift to give a coworker with kids the night off. Uncle Joe liked to point out things like that over a beer after work. I always knew who he was proud to mentor, and who needed to have an attitude adjustment. He knew he had my confidence, especially when he’d had too much to drink and lost control of his reservations, although that was rare.
“I cross-checked her against Patrick Sanders prison record, and it turns out, he was her stepfather.”
“Son of a bitch. Are you serious?”
I heard Rosa laughing. “If you’re going to keep asking me that, I’m not going to tell you the rest.”
“Okay, sorry,” I groveled, swallowing back my shock. “Let’s have it.”
“Her mother was married to him for two years and three months.”
“How old was Kandyce at the time?”
“Ten when her mother married him.”
“And how old is she now?”
“Twenty-one. Jordy, her mother was killed by Patrick. He served ten years for involuntary manslaughter.”
“Shit. That poor kid. Wait. That could explain the gap in serial arsonist’s fires.”
“Yeah, it could. Or it could mean that she helped him. A young kid like that would have been very impressionable. Her juvenile records are sealed so I don’t know what happened to her after that. He may have come back for her.”
“So, you think she’s helping him get his revenge?
“It wouldn’t be the first time a child was brainwashed into being a killing machine.”
“In Afghanistan maybe, but not here in America.”
“It happens more than we know,” she replied.
“Sadly, I think you’re probably right. Listen, keep that info on Kandyce classified until I can talk with her. I don’t want to tip my hat too soon.”
“Roger that.”
“And can you find out the names of Patrick’s children and stepchildren? His DNA should be on his prison record. It sounds like he propagated all over the place. Oh, and Rosie, excellent detective work, as always.”
I wasn’t surprised when I finally walked back into the bar and saw that Patrick was gone. Walking back to the hotel to pick up my mother’s car, I called Uncle Joe to give him the bad news. “Hey, it’s Jordy.”
“Jordy, we found your car parked out front, but Robbie wasn’t in it.”
“She has to be there somewhere. She’s the only one with a key to my car.”
“The keys were in the front seat, along with a note for you,” Uncle Joe explained.
“A note? What did it say?” My hands were sweating and I nearly dropped the phone.
“That she’s going back to New York.”
If he said anything else, I couldn’t hear him over the sound of my heart breaking.
Chapter Twenty
Roberta Witherspoon
“Oh, my head.” My eyes were closed but I was seeing fireworks, like shards of electricity pulsating from the back of my head to my eyes. Throbbing. Oh, God, the throbbing. I reached back and gingerly felt a large welt that was hot to the touch. I raised my eyelids just as cautiously and closed them again, quickly. Not because of the light in the room; there wasn’t any. A wave of nausea washed over me, and I was afraid of losing my stomach. I breathed slowly and deeply until my stomach settled, and then I tried again.
It was completely dark, but there was a peculiar smell, musk mixed with gasoline. Where am I? I pushed myself up to a sitting position and waited a moment for the throbbing to subside. But as it calmed down, my heart began to race and the hairs on my arms stood up. Beads of sweat broke out across my forehead as prickly ice ran down my spine. I have to get out of here! I tried to stand up, but something was scraping my ankles. I leaned over and ran my hands down the length of one leg until my fingers touched metal. Metal cuffs on both legs with chains attached. Panicking, I yanked on the chain and felt a sharp pain in my foot as something heavy hit it. Using my hands, I felt around until I found what was at the end of the chain. A concrete block; rectangular in shape with two square holes. Both ankles were chained to concrete blocks, two on each ankle. Oh, my God! With unsteady hands, I tried to open the cuffs but they were like handcuffs with chains and I didn’t have anything to pick the lock. I frantically pulled on the cuff, yanked hard on it, screamed at it, but it wouldn’t open.
Suddenly, the sound of a metal door opening was followed by a light popping on, and I yelped when I saw a dark form silhouetted by the light. He came down the steps and my eyes welled up when I saw that it was a firefighter. He’s here to rescue me!
“Ah, there you are, Sis. I was beginning to wonder if I had hit you too hard.”
Sis? Hit me too hard? He wasn’t here to rescue me. My heart began to thump against my chest, as if it were trying to escape, also. Calm down. I breathed in slowly, deliberately and then exhaled. My heart grew quiet as my mind kept repeating, calm down and concentrate.
He walked in carrying a lawn chair and a grocery bag. I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman because his or her voice was mechanical sounding, and I couldn’t see their eyes. The face shield was black, like it had been tinted. The turnout gear the person was wearing, including gloves, helmet, and rubber boots, made it impossible to see their gender.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up, but I had a meeting I couldn’t get out of.”
He… or she, sounded normal, as if this were an everyday thing for them. Shivers ran down my arms at the surrealism. Rubbing the goosebumps away, I looked around the small room for something, anything that I could use against him. The walls were grouted concrete, probably made from the same blocks used on my ankles, as was the ceiling. The floor was a cold, gray concrete slab and the steps leading out were also made of concrete blocks. The door was metal and slanted over the steps leading in. That’s it. That’s all that was in the room. I’m in a storm shelter in someone’s backyard.
The firefighter, if that’s truly what he or she was, took a step closer and I panicked. “No, get away! Help! Help me!”
�
�Now, don’t be that way, Sis. I’m not going to hurt you.” He set the bag on the floor and then unfolded the plastic chair and placed it in front of me, next to the bag. “Besides, no one can hear you down here. Why do you think you’re not gagged?”
I glanced at the air vent in the corner and he laughed.
“You’re not dealing with an amateur, Sis. I closed off that vent. I hope you can hold your breath when the time comes. Not that it’ll do you any good.”
I stood up and tried to pick up the blocks. I could lift two, but not four, and I realized that I wouldn’t be able to run, even if I could.
The bastard sat down in the lawn chair and watched my futile attempts to escape as if he were watching television.
“Who are you?” I snapped, dropping the block on the floor. It didn’t even bounce. “Why did you hit me? What do you want?”
“So many questions, Sis. Take a breath before you pass out again,” he or she replied, pulling off his gloves and pulling his cell phone from his pocket. Even his hands were unremarkable and could pass for either gender.
“I didn’t pass out. You hit me, and why do you keep calling me sis?”
“Because, you are my sister, silly,” he said, scrolling through his apps until he found what he was looking for and tapped on it. Then he put his gloves back on and pointed his cell phone at me. He was filming me.
“Oh. My. God. You’re crazy.” I knew the second I said it. Never tell a crazy person holding you hostage that he’s crazy. I tried to prepare for it, but he was too fast. He bitch slapped me. His palm struck me across the cheek and I fell to the floor. It stung like hell, but didn’t loosen any teeth that I could feel. I still couldn’t tell if he was a man or a woman based on that slap because of the glove.
“Now, as I was saying,” he retorted, as he sat back down, switching the phone back to his other hand. “You are my sister.”
“No, you’re wrong. I know for a fact that I am my mother’s only child,” I muttered, rubbing my cheek.
“Yeah, Daddy said that you would say that.”
Okay, just play along. Keep him talking. “And Momma said there’d be days like this.” He raised his hand as if he were going to hit me again, and I covered my head with my hands. “No, don’t, please.”
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