by E. A. Copen
“Yeah.”
I wandered forward into the room. Folded out, the camping cot would have taken up most of the rest of the room, leaving only a narrow space for walking. If Elias had been there when Leo was taken, there was no way Elias could have slept through it. “The night Leo was taken, was Elias home?”
Valentino rubbed the back of his head. “He went out for drinks and came home with that Maria chola. We had words about it, just like I told you. The chick left around two and Elias came in and slammed the door. I know Leo was here then because I heard him crying when the slam scared him.” He hesitated and rubbed at his throat. “Elias sang him back to sleep. He didn’t have no rock star voice but he wasn’t bad, neither.”
It was the first nice thing Valentino had ever said about his brother in my presence. I turned around and studied him. Behind those big sunglasses, it was difficult for me to guess at how upset he was before. Now that he was talking, I could hear the strain in his voice, the tightness when he spoke of Elias. On closer inspection, I could see blotchy patches of white and red on his cheeks. Valentino would never admit it, especially not to me, but he had been crying.
He cleared his throat. “Nina came in to check on Leo at six and that's when we realized he was gone. Elias was gone, too, so I thought...” He trailed off, sniffled and then rubbed his nose as if it were just allergies. “Elias didn't come back until almost dark and I told him if I ever saw him again, I'd kill him.”
I put my hands in my pockets and stared down at the life reduced to a box and a handful of bad memories. “He went to Sal's place after that,” I told Valentino. “Where he stayed up all night concocting a plan to save your son and win back your trust. According to Sal, Elias tore out of there just a few hours before I found him, determined to do just that.”
Valentino turned around and put his back to me. “Sal never told me that.”
“If I'm right then Elias wasn't the perpetrator but a witness. He knew his killer. His killer believed he was some kind of savior. Elias had a drug in his system that Doc Ramis believes was part of an experimental treatment plan to cure him of his werewolf affliction.”
“Dios mio, Elias. Why didn't I see it? Why didn't you come to me?”
“Sometimes, the people we're closest to can hide their darkest secrets from us the most effectively,” I said and thought of Alex. “Especially when they believe your love comes with conditions.”
Valentino put his hand over his mouth and stood there in silence for a moment. “Everything he had is in that box,” he told me at length. “I'm not going to stand here and watch you go through it 'cause I got better things to do but don't you go messing any of it up.” With that, he marched off and left me alone with the box.
Human beings are collectors by nature. We spend our entire lives building up a collection of junk, to the point where most of us have junk drawers in our houses and totes full of extra crap in our closets. A lot of Americans rent storage units to hold all the possessions they don't use on a regular basis and most of us have more clothes and shoes than we can wear in a standard week. Consumerism tells us this still isn't enough. We must have more. More will make us happy, make us rich, fill that empty void that is gnawing away out our insides. All those things ever do is make us more miserable. Some of the happiest people I've met have been those with the least to lose. Sitting there, going through Elias' box, I liked to think he must have died in a state of relative overall happiness.
The box contained a single spiral bound notebook full of song lyrics and shopping lists. I flipped through it and nothing jumped out at me so I sat it aside. There was a little ceramic cup with pens and pencils inside. Jingling around in the cup, I found twenty-two cents and three tabs off of beer cans. His wallet was a well-worn bit of leather with an ID, a prescription discount card and a receipt for two bottles of soda and a snack cake at the local gas station. Nothing useful. I sat it aside. At the bottom of the box, I found something that didn't match the rest of Elias' minimalist lifestyle: an expensive, top of the line model smart phone.
I picked up the phone and flipped it over, realizing it was the exact model Hunter had been begging for when his birthday rolled around in a few months. I'd priced it and quickly decided against it. There was no way I was going to drop seven hundred dollars on a phone for an eleven year old boy. Elias didn't hardly have two pennies to rub together, I thought, searching the box for a charger. He didn't even have a job. How did he afford this? I plugged in the phone and settled down against the wall to see what I could see only to curse when the stupid thing asked for a password. For nearly a half hour, I sat there, trying to guess Elias' password and came up empty.
“You find anything?” Valentino asked from the doorway.
“Just this phone,” I murmured and typed in yet another wrong password. “It's a pretty expensive model. Mind if I ask if you know where he got it?”
“Beats me. Elias didn't have much. Didn't even have his own bank account. He was always bumming fives off of me. Got to the point where I was letting him work off what he owed me by helping me fix up cars at the garage.”
“I don't suppose you know the password then either, huh?”
Valentino dug his own cell out of his pocket. “No, but I know someone who can crack it in five minutes flat.”
* * * * *
Ed walked in twenty minutes later. He didn't look like he'd slept, either, but he'd at least changed his clothes. He wore a wrinkled up, blue t-shirt that read TIME LORD IN TRAINING. I handed him the phone. He broke out a cable that connected it via USB to his laptop, sat down on the floor next to me and adjusted his glasses. “Give me ten minutes.”
“You're not doing anything illegal are you, Ed?” I asked leaning in closer.
Ed pursed his lips and shrugged. “I could do a hard reset but you'd lose all the info stored on his phone unless he's got it backed up through a third party site online. Then I'd have to try to get into his online accounts and answer a bunch of security questions using social media updates for source material. It's time consuming. This way is easier.”
“What exactly is this way?” I tried to lean around him to get a look at the computer screen but Ed shifted away from me.
“I don't roust you out of a level sixty-six dungeon raid the weekend before a major expansion release to tell you how to do your job, do I? Back off and let me work my magic.”
I still didn't know how the kidnappers had gotten access to the house so I stood and started pacing the room, thinking about it. There was a window but the house had central air so there was no reason it would have been left open overnight. Besides, it was a storm window with a screen and child-locks on it. That window wasn't even going to open easy from the inside, let alone from six feet off the ground, since Valentino's place sat on a slight hill. By all accounts, the front door had been locked. Maybe Elias let the kidnapper in, I reasoned. He did seem to know them. It took me about three seconds to decide against that. Even if that was the case here, Elias couldn't have let the kidnapper into the Greenlee or Summers house. There was something else at work, something that I wasn't seeing.
“Okay,” said Ed, disconnecting the phone from his laptop and holding it out to me. “I changed the lock code, too, in case it locks up on you again. It's two eight five nine.”
“Thanks, Ed,” I said taking the phone. “You're a life saver.”
For a loner, Elias had a lot of contacts in his phone. Some of them were suspiciously labeled only with two or three letter combinations. The only ones that were full names were members of the pack and people around town plus one more: Maria Castilla. “Bingo,” I said and tapped on the contact. A new screen came up displaying a picture, a phone number and a birth date. The number was obviously a fake unless Maria Castilla had the same phone number as Tommy Tutone's Jenny at eight six seven five three-oh-nine. It was the picture that mattered to me. “Holy hell,” I muttered.
“Something the matter?” Ed asked.
I ignored him and turned to Valentino. “Valentino, I need to-”
“Just take it,” he said cutting me off. “You do what you gotta do.”
I rushed out of the house, dialing my own phone as I hustled toward Sal's truck. Tindall picked up after the third ring. “Tindall.”
“Maria's last name is Castilla,” I told him and climbed into my car. “And that's not her real name. She is a he.”
“Eh?” said Tindall. I could hear the confusion in his voice. “What's that now?”
“That's why we couldn't find her. She was the last one before Sal to see Elias alive. She was who Elias was hanging out with. She's our missing link. Probably a witness, too.”
“Slow down, Judah,” Tindall urged. “Just tell me what I need to find this...person.”
“I'll text you a picture and you can put out an APB.”
I started to hang up but Tindall shouted for me to wait a goddamn minute. “What do you want me to do if I actually find this girl…guy…whatever?”
“You don't do anything without calling me first, you understand? You can't spook her.”
“Sure,” Tindall scoffed in a dismissive tone. “And what are you going to do while we do all the actual police work?”
“I'm going to go check out Aisling,” I told him and hung up.
I glanced back down at the smile in Maria's photo and thought, I've got you, you bastard. All I needed to do was go to Elias' favorite haunt and show his picture around. Someone there was bound to know his real name. Once I tracked down the elusive Maria, I could put together the rest of Elias' story. There was only one last little bit to figure out. For everything I knew I still didn't know how the bad guy was getting in and out of the houses without being detected or where he was holding the children. I couldn't move on him until I could be sure that things were in place to perform a proper rescue. If I was right, though, the answer was waiting for me at Aisling.
Chapter Eighteen
There were more cars in the parking lot than I expected considering how early on in the day it was. Night clubs usually don't pick up a lot of business until the middle of the day. Then again, it was a Saturday and, given the construction of the building, the people inside probably had no idea what time of day it was outside.
Aisling was nicer looking than I expected for a club. The outside was a pristine white washed building with gold leaf trim and plenty of neon that would have made the club impossible to miss in the dark. Big, Gothic style windows lined the front and side of the building. The fact that they were made of stained glass limited the light that would have filtered through. As if that wasn't enough, it looked like there were some thick curtains on the inside. A big sign on the roof advertised the place as a “ladies and gents” club while a winking Tinkerbell held her skirt down Marilyn Monroe style in a series of neon flashes. Classy, I thought and found myself a parking space.
I left my gun and badge in the truck. If Reed was right and this was the place to buy and sell anything, legal or not, then I didn't need to tip people off that I was a fed. That was, of course, assuming the people in charge hadn't pegged my mug the day I rolled into town and arranged for me to be watched. If the powers that be in Concho County were as scary as Reed seemed to infer they were then that's exactly what they might have done. If I was a bad guy, that's what I'd do, anyway.
Standing outside the main entrance to Aisling was a living, breathing cowboy fantasy. He was over six feet tall with abs that probably could have had their own starring role in a Zack Snyder film. He was wearing a tight pair of blue jeans and a red button down shirt with the arms ripped off, unbuttoned, of course. A cowboy hat and cowboy boots, complete with spurs, rounded out the ensemble. He smiled as I came closer. I tried not to make eye contact, not because he was difficult to look at or anything because he wasn't. Should half the men inside look as nice, I might just forget what I came there for. I avoided eye contact because I didn't know what he was. This was, after all, a club that thrived on the fact that it featured supernaturally good entertainers.
“Hey, darlin',” he drawled in a genuine Texas-style accent. I thought he was going to stop me and try to make conversation or something but all he did was smile and open the door for me. I stumbled over a thank you and went on inside.
I found myself standing in a lavish lobby with plush carpet and velvet drapery. Two good looking men in immaculate, expensive looking suits stood guard, one on either side of a pair of drawn white curtains with black lace over them. I could feel the slight vibration of bass in the floor, even though I couldn't hear it.
“Anything to check, miss?”
I turned my head to the left and found a guy in—I swear to God—a pinstripe suit that must've come out of an Al Capone reproduction catalog with the hair to match. My mouth fell open and I gave the guy a really stupid look as my brain tried to process what exactly I'd walked into. “I...uh...” Words. I forgot how to words.
He smiled. Damn him, he had one of those smiles that screamed confidence. “Can I see your membership card?”
Crap. “I...uh...didn't realize this was a members only...thing.”
“Only during certain hours and days of the week. I can go ahead and get an application to my manager if you're interested.”
I glanced back around the lobby, thinking maybe I should have brought my badge in. “I'd actually like to speak with your manager if that's possible.”
“I'm afraid it's not. He's busy tending to a VIP party but if you'd like to leave your name I'll be sure to tell him you stopped by.”
“Black,” I said without thinking. “Special Agent Judah Black.”
I looked back at him and expected to find him sweating or in some state of panic. Usually, when you play the fed card in a place that's doing illegal stuff, the help gets nervous. Instead, young Al Capone's eyes lit up and literally sparkled. “Oh, Miss Black. Of course. There's been a VIP packet waiting for you here for two days.” He sorted through something in the desk he stood behind and came up with a leather bound binder that he held out to me.
I took it from him, even more confused than I had been before. I'd only been in Paint Rock a few days. Hell, this case wasn't more than three days old. There was no way that someone could have predicted I would come out to this place, not unless I'd been directed here by design. That priest is in on this somehow, I realized and started flipping through the packet. Aside from a brochure with a bunch of welcome information, the binder included a VIP access card, a coupon for a free lap dance and an envelope with my name written on it. “I didn't pay for this,” I told young Al Capone.
“It's compliments of the owner, ma'am.”
“Jesus Christ,” I breathed when I opened the envelope and found a check for no less than twenty-five thousand dollars. It was signed by two names: Robbie G. Fellows and Kim Kelley. I pulled the check out and showed it to the coat man who seemed unimpressed. “What the hell is this?”
“Twenty-five thousand dollars,” he said with a smile.
“I can see that, but why?” He stumbled trying to come up with an answer and I leaned on the desk. “I don't care what he's doing. I need to see your manager right now. Tell him that he needs to either cooperate with my investigation or I'll get a warrant to search the premises for contraband.”
“Yes, ma'am.” Young Al Capone picked up the phone on the desk and pushed a singular button. “So sorry to disturb you Mr. Fellows, but...” The Mr. Fellows on the other end obviously cut him off because he stopped speaking. “Yes, sir. You did, sir. But you also asked to be notified if Miss Black came in to pick up her VIP packet.” He glanced up at me in silence for a moment.
“Tell him,” I mouthed.
“She said to tell you that, if you won't see her-”
“Immediately,” I added.
“If you won't see her immediately she'll get a warrant to search for contraband...Yes, sir. Right away, sir.” He hung up and turned his attention back to me, stepping around
the desk and gesturing toward the white curtain. “Right this way, Miss Black.”
The two suits on either side split the curtain in half and pulled both halves aside as if I were royalty. Synth-pop music poured through the open door in a slow, sensual beat that I hadn't expected to hear. Stepping through the curtains felt like I was stepping out onto a stage. I was momentarily blinded by a series of flashing lights in watered down blues and greens. It took a while for the green to clear out of my vision. When it finally did, I realized I was standing on a balcony with spiraling stairs on either side. Young Al was halfway down one stairway. I moved to follow, putting my hand on the railing.
Something curled around my fingers the moment I made contact and I jerked my hand away only to realize that, somehow, a vine bearing beautiful white flowers had wound its way around the banister. Magick, I realized, and it wasn't mine. Someone had gotten a kick out of scaring the shit out of me with a harmless little flower. I ripped the flower away from the vine and tossed it over the side. Halfway down, the petals popped like popcorn, sending a confetti of white rose petals down on a small crowd of patrons, a pretty young thing surrounded by four or five lumberjack types. The girl laughed with delight and spun in the rain of petals.
“Miss Black,” said Young Al from the bottom stair impatiently. “You did say immediately.”
I shook the startled cobwebs from my head and rushed down the stairs where a mostly empty dance floor waited, populated by over-sized tables, each one with an iridescent, water filled pole in the center. Lights somewhere in the bottom of the pole changed from blue to green to purple against the beat of the music. Despite the appearances in the parking lot, most of the tables were empty, though the ones that weren't empty were occupied by dark, apathetic looking people with pale skin. Vampires.
At the center of the small mass of occupied tables, there sat the most striking man I'd seen all day. He wasn't particularly beautiful, not like the dancers around him, but he had a presence that commanded the very air I breathed. Clean shaven, auburn haired and green eyed with a good, strong chiseled jaw, he sat at the center table completely alone but for the agile pair of dancers before him, one man and one woman, both working the pole with all the grace of a professional circus performer. He gave me a glance without turning his head, a defiant smirk on his face. I didn't know who he was or whether or not he was anyone of importance to me but I knew right then and there that I didn't like him.