The Last Bodyguard

by Sean Black

  The problem with lying now was that he was bound to find out sooner or later. All she would be doing by confirming what he’d said would be to delay the inevitable.

  Was it better to punk out and deal with him later? Or was it wiser to be truthful and get it over with?

  In the end, as he circled slowly round her, inches from her face, his eyes never leaving her, fear won out.

  “Yeah, she took off.”

  His hand shot up. He grabbed her hair and snapped her neck back.

  “Well then you’d better go find her, hadn’t you?”

  “I tried,” she said. “I think she ran to the cops. There was like a cop car and she was heading over to them and I figured it was better to just split.”

  The words and the scenario behind them came to her in a rush. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? It was the perfect lie. It would put Hanger even more on edge. Maybe even enough that he’d back off.

  The only thing that held any sway over men like Hanger was the idea of spending years in prison on a trafficking charge. No amount of money or disappointing a special client was worth it.

  “That before or after you left Dixie’s?”

  Dixie’s was the name of the strip club next to the salon, but to Hanger the two were obviously interchangeable.

  “After. It was after,” Soothe blurted out.

  His expression shifted fractionally, and she knew she’d made a mistake. He was smiling the faintest of smiles. She’d seen it before. It was the smile that crept over his face when he knew for sure that a girl was lying to him, holding back money or telling him she’d spent all night on the track when she’d made her money early and went somewhere to rest up, get warm, or get high.

  “It was after?”

  She knew better than to back down. Pick a story and stick to it, come hell or high water.

  Hanger backed off. His hands dropped to his side. He walked over to the window, facing away from her, even though the shades were down, and he couldn’t look outside.

  “So, she had her hair all done and blonde and she got the full makeover and then she just took off?”

  Soothe didn’t like not being able to see his face when he asked a question. She hesitated, hoping he would turn back towards her and she’d be able to read him.

  He laughed, soft and low. “That’s one clever bitch. Let me spend my money and then she takes off. I almost admire that level of deception in a ho.”

  “Yeah, she’s clever,” said Soothe.

  Hanger still hadn’t turned around. All she could see was his back. He looked relaxed.

  “It’s okay. I’ll find her. I mean, I’m going to have to do something because you messed up. You understand that, right?”

  “Yeah, I understand.”

  “How’d she look with that new hair color?” he asked.

  “She looked good.”

  “Okay, so I find her and pass her over and there’s no real damage done.”

  When he said he almost seemed to be talking to himself somehow, offering his own mind some reassurance that this was a situation he could manage. Soothe started to relax. He’d likely slap her around a little for having messed up, but no more than that. As for finding Kristin, she’d be on a bus back to Los Angeles in a little over an hour.

  Turning away from the window, he looked over at her, his face relaxed, only his eyes showing a hint of anger.

  “Soothe, baby, go in the bedroom and get me a coat hanger. A wire one.”

  The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Her blood ran cold. She told herself that she had to stay calm. She couldn’t show the fear she felt because fear would suggest she’d been lying, and then her fate would be sealed.

  “You can’t use that on her, not when you’re going to move her on.”

  Slowly, he stepped over to her. He was back within inches of her.

  “Oh, don’t worry, she ain’t going to be seeing it.” He gave her the shark smile. “You are. You see, I called the salon. Just to make sure that everything was being done how I asked. Now go get me that coat hanger.”

  55

  Kristin’s hand came up to her hair. She couldn’t stop herself from touching it, or pausing to study herself every time she caught a glimpse of her reflection in a store window.

  On the walk to the bus station, she’d thought about what Soothe had told her, turning it over and over in her mind. Whatever it was had to be bad. There was no way Soothe would have done this otherwise.

  Was it as bad as death, she’d wondered? She wasn’t sure how much death scared her now.

  A disheveled man wandered past her, weaving his way across the sidewalk. He made a clucking noise with his tongue.

  “What about it, baby? How much?”

  She put her head down and hurried past him.

  Even with her new look was it still obvious what she was? No, she told herself. It was just how some men were.

  As she walked on, the idea that people could tell what she’d been doing continued to trouble her. Was there any going home? Any way of somehow turning back the clock to the time before she met Andre, and all this started. Could she even bring herself to go home? What would she say to her mom?

  Shame and embarrassment welled up in her. It threatened to overwhelm her. She thought about going back to school and it seemed impossible.

  Keep walking, she told herself, and she did. A sleek glass window threw back her reflection as she came up on it. She stopped.

  Maybe the haircut and the clothes had been as much of a gift as the money for the journey. Soothe had chosen to give her the opposite of what she was. Was that what she been telling her? That we are who we decide to be.

  She pulled the money out of her pocket and studied it. She shoved it back as two young guys walked past her, both of them checking her out for a moment before they continued on their way.

  She could see the bus station a few blocks ahead. She hurried along. The bus left in thirty minutes. Plenty of time to make it. Even more time when she was aboard to figure out what she’d do when she got back to LA.

  56

  Lock pulled up outside the apartment building. Ty made a final check of the address and the building on Google Maps.

  “This is it,” said Ty.

  Lock put the car back into Drive and eased out. “I’m going to park a little further down in case someone’s looking out the window.”

  “Roger that,” said Ty.

  Lock pulled in and they sat there for a moment, both men watching the entrance to the apartment block in the car’s mirrors.

  “We both going in?” asked Ty.

  “No, I’ll go in,” said Lock. “You stay out front in case anyone tries to make a run for it.”

  “You sure?”

  Lock shifted his jacket to reveal his SIG, neatly tucked into his shoulder holster. “I’m sure.”

  “Okay,” said Ty, sounding reluctant. “But if I don’t hear anything from you in five, I’m coming up.”

  Lock opened the car door and started to get out.

  “Ryan?”

  He glanced back to his Ty.

  “Yup?”

  “What if she doesn’t want to come with us? That could be a thing, right?”

  “Yeah, that could be a thing,” said Lock. If a person didn’t see themselves as a victim or in need of help, it was tough to rescue them, and that was the case with a lot of trafficked girls. They had been so broken down and traumatized that their pimp was seen as a protector rather than someone who was exploiting them.

  Lock gave it a moment’s more thought to the question. “If she won’t leave voluntarily, we call in local law enforcement. However you cut it, she’s still a minor. They can take her in until her mom gets here.”

  Ty appeared satisfied with that. He held out his arm, fist clenched. Lock reached back in and they bumped fists.

  “Let’s just hope she’s up there,” said Lock.

  Not wanting to alert anyone who might be on the lookout, Lock skirted around the
back of the apartment building by cutting down a service alleyway. He emerged at the rear of the property and began to look for a door. A set of steps led down to a basement door. It was a large, heavy door, and it was locked.

  He came back up the steps and skirted further down until he found a fire exit door. It was open. He went through it and followed the corridor down past what he assumed was the building superintendent’s office, which was empty. He ducked his head quickly inside, scanning the office for a set of keys.

  There was a desk. He tried the drawers. They were locked. Another quick search revealed nothing that would help him gain entry in the event that no one answered the door.

  He kept moving, up some steps and emerged in the lobby. Quickly finding the stairwell, he climbed two flights before coming out into a corridor and following the signs for the apartment number that Andre had given them.

  Rapping hard on the door, he stepped back, his hand on the butt of his SIG, ready to draw down if he saw Hanger.

  A few moments later a voice came from inside. It was male and sounded old, definitely not the voice of anyone he was looking for.

  Lock’s heart sank. Andre must have given them the wrong address. Lock would make him pay, but that wasn’t going to help him find Kristin Miller.

  The door opened, an elderly man with a shock of powdery white hair peeked out from behind the door chain, an elderly woman on his shoulder.

  “You’re not the cops,” said the man.

  It was a strange greeting. Lock went with it.

  “You called 911?” he asked the man, framing it as a question and careful not to say that he was law enforcement.

  “Is that the police?” his wife piped up from over his shoulder.

  The old man turned back to her. “Let me handle this, will ya?”

  He turned back to Lock. “I called 911 like forty minutes ago.”

  It was obviously the wrong apartment and likely the wrong building, but if Kristin wasn’t here, then Lock and Ty were back to square one. There was no harm in indulging the old guy for a few minutes. If and when the cops arrived, Ty was sure to see them. He would be able to give Lock the heads up so he could get out before they had the chance to ask him any awkward questions.

  “What’s the issue?” asked Lock.

  “What’s the issue?” the old guy said, apparently incredulous that Lock wasn’t already aware.

  Lock assumed that he must have given the details when he made the call.

  “Sir, if you could just give me a quick rundown,” said Lock, giving his best impression of an impatient cop who just wanted to see what was up and get the hell out of here That prompted a deep sigh, and a jabbed finger in the direction of the apartment to Lock’s left. “They’re back, that’s the issue.”

  “Who’s back?”

  Another sigh of exasperation. “The hookers. Or one of them anyway.”

  Lock’s focus suddenly sharpened.

  “Hookers?”

  “Yeah, they haven’t been here in a while, and I gotta tell you it’s been great. Y’know, the peace and quiet. You probably have no idea what it’s like to have people like that living just through the wall next to you.”

  “And you called someone because?” prompted Lock.

  “I called you guys because one of their Johns was trying to kill one of them. At least that was what it sounded like.” He turned back to his wife. “Didn’t it?”

  “The screaming,” said his wife, putting her hands to her ears. “Even with my hearing aids off, I could still hear her.”

  “It’s gone quiet now,” said the old guy.

  “And it was this apartment here?” said Lock.

  The old guy shot him another withering look. “What did I just say?”

  “I’ll go check it out.”

  The old couple stayed where they were. They didn’t move. The door was still open.

  “If you could go inside,” said Lock. “I’ll let you know if I need you.”

  With some reluctance, the old guy closed his apartment door and Lock stepped down the corridor. He knocked a couple of times at the door.

  There was no response from inside.

  Had Andre given them the correct building and the wrong apartment number? Right now, the question barely mattered. Lock needed to get inside the apartment, and fast. He couldn’t wait for the cops to show. Not if the neighbor was correct and something that sounded at best like a violent argument had just gone down.

  He knocked again. This time he pressed his ear to the door. He thought he could hear someone in the apartment, but whatever they were saying was muffled by the door.

  “Hello?” said Lock.

  The sound came again. As far as he could tell it wasn’t words, more of a low moan.

  He stepped back, ready to take a run at the door and see if he could force it open. That was when he saw the blood oozing in a slow trickle from under the door.

  57

  The apartment door gave way at Lock’s third kick. It didn’t fly open. The frame splintered, but the door barely moved. Now he could hear whoever was on the other side.

  “Help me,” said a woman’s voice.

  Putting his shoulder to the door, with his legs braced at an angle, he slowly, inch by inch, eased it open until he could squeeze through the gap.

  The woman on the other side must have crawled to the door, tried to open it so she could crawl out, and then collapsed with her back to it. She was young and African American and was sitting up in a pool of bloody gore.

  Lock crouched down, and she looked at him, eyes open but barely able to focus. The blood wasn’t from her face, where he would have expected it to be. It was coming from below her waistline. With the amount of blood, it looked like some kind of hemorrhage, although he couldn’t be sure. She wasn’t so much sitting in a pool of her own blood as swimming in it.

  He put his hand up to her neck, feeling for a pulse. It was faint, but it was there. Lock went into triage mode. Any thought of Kristin was pushed momentarily to one side.

  “Listen to me, you’re going to be okay. I’m going to get you an ambulance.”

  Yanking out his cell phone, he called Ty.

  “Ty, we need an ambulance up here right now. Once you’ve called for one, you can call me back and I’ll bring you up to speed.”

  He gave Ty the apartment number.

  “Roger that,” said Ty.

  Thankfully, there were no questions from Ty, only a response. It was one advantage of having a retired Marine for a partner. They could be trusted to do what was required.

  Lock turned his attention back to the young woman. She reached her hand out and he took it in his, moving his thumb inside her palm and giving it a soft squeeze of reassurance. He wasn’t a doctor, but he’d seen enough traumatic injuries to know that if medical help different arrive quickly, he was going to lose her. Even if help did arrive, the outcome might be the same.

  He needed to know if Kristin had been here, but he knew he couldn’t leave this woman, not for so much as a second. Whatever lay beyond the hallway would have to wait.

  “Ambulance is on its way, okay?”

  The most important thing he could do right now was keep her conscious and, if possible, talking. A lot of times in a situation like this survival came down to whether someone gave up and checked out or whether they somehow mustered the will to stay in the present for a fraction longer.

  She was looking up at him.

  “Stay with me, okay?”

  She managed to move her head.

  “What’s your name?”

  The words were a struggle. “Soothe.”

  Lock kept his face blank as she said it.

  “What happened here?”

  Her lips turned up in a bitter smile.

  “I fell,” she whispered.

  Lock smiled back. “That’s a pretty bad fall.”

  “Yeah,” she said, as if they were both enjoying the same joke. “I fell on to that.”

  She stared do
wn the hallway. He looked where she was looking. It took him a moment to figure out what the blood-coated object lying discarded in the hallway was. When he did, something cold ran right through his body in a sickening snap of recognition that told him not only what had happened but who had done this.

  He turned his attention away from the blood and gore slicked metal hanger and back to Soothe. Her eyelids fluttered. He pressed his thumbnail into her open palm.

  “Stay with me, okay? Just a little while longer.”

  Her eyes opened again.

  “That’s good. I’m not going to leave you. You understand me?”

  “Yeah,” she said, managing to squeeze out another wan smile.

  “Soothe, where’s Kristin?” asked Lock. “I know she’s been with you. I don’t care about any of that. I just need to find her and make sure she’s safe.”

  Her eyes scanned his face as if she was trying to work out some kind of puzzle.

  “Please,” said Lock. “Her family needs to know she’s okay. That’s all.”

  “It’s okay, she’s safe,” said Soothe, the words coming out slow and labored.

  “Where is she? Is she in there?” he asked, looking down the hall, trying and failing not to look at the bloodied tendril of wiry metal on the floor, bent out of shape and twisted into a hook.

  Soothe shook her head. Her eyelids closed. Lock jabbed his thumbnail into her palm again, a little more insistently this time.

  “I couldn’t let it happen,” she whispered.

  “Just tell me where I can find her.”

  “She’s going home.”

  “How? How is she going home?” asked Lock.

  Her gaze began to drift. He could hear sirens down on the street below. Here eyelids fluttered again. Lock bent down so he was right next to her.

  “How is she going home?” he asked again.

  She made a low gurgling sound and her body seemed to loosen another notch.