by Brian Shea
She set off in the direction the truck had been headed. Mouse did not know where she was, but she did know that anything was better than here. She looked back just once, as the other passengers in the truck clumsily started to climb out. What can I do to help them? The tentative looks they sent her way assured her she was making the right decision to carry on alone. God, save them.
2
“Move!” Rusty Harrison directed his frustration toward the man lagging behind him. “We’ve got to stay on his ass. That means you’ve got to keep up!”
“Jesus-I-can-barely-breathe.” The voice of the slow man labored as the two ran up a hill covered in shrubs and thickets.
“If you can talk, then you can breathe, buttercup!” Rusty called back with a laugh.
Rusty’s pace quickened and the two separated further. It was of no consequence. His real partner was relentlessly pushing on ahead of him.
Jasper’s head was down low, swiveling back and forth as he moved across the rugged terrain. He was sure-footed, anticipating any divots or obstacles. He was unrelenting in his pursuit. And, as a result, Rusty had to be too.
Jasper stopped in his tracks but only for a moment as they crested the rise. He broke right, tugging the leather strap of the leash, urging Rusty onward.
Rusty’s eyes strained to adjust as dawn began to break. Light filtered in slowly, and he could begin to make out the details of his surroundings. This was the first time he was able to do this since the track began, over three miles back. Longer than most dogs could hold a scent. But Jasper wasn’t most dogs.
Rusty could barely hear the labored breathing of Officer Fontaine as he worked in vain to keep up. Rusty was used to being separated and alone on a track. Fontaine wasn’t the first who couldn’t hang. And he wouldn’t be the last. Rusty’s frustration came because he now had to have his gun out while trying to navigate the uneven landscape and simultaneously manage his partner’s leash. Not the best shooting platform if the situation dictated. The other problem was that Rusty’s radio was set to the County channel and not the agency he was assisting. Essentially, Fontaine’s inability to keep up had isolated them in the Texas woodland with the enemy. A desperate and armed enemy.
Jasper stopped again. His head lifted and cocked to one side. The brown and black ear on the right side of his head flickered. Rusty had seen his partner make this gesture countless times and knew, with certainty, that this early morning track was about to come to an end.
Then Rusty heard it. The rustle of dry brush. It could have been an animal, but Jasper didn’t care about such things. At least not while on the hunt. His focus was unparalleled to other dogs Rusty had managed in the past.
Rusty released the leash’s clasp connected to the collar. Free from restraint, Jasper stilled his body. Waiting. Rusty slowed his breathing. Then he heard the distinct sound, the clink of a metal object on stone. A gun.
Before Rusty could give Jasper the command, Fontaine bounded down the hill. He crashed through the thick ground vegetation and shouted, “Jesus! You boys sure can move. I swear to God I’ve never run so fa–.”
The sentence was left unfinished as the shot rang out. Fontaine dove for the cover of a nearby tree. He hit the ground, flopping onto his protruding belly as he crawled for safety. Rusty stood ready and pointed his gun in the direction of where the shot originated but couldn’t find the target. Jasper had.
Jasper was gone. Full throttle through underbrush, snapping branches as he moved like a torpedo through water. The land shark on attack was a beautiful thing to witness. His legs moved effortlessly over the terrain. Rusty had given no command. Jasper reacted to the situation. Training played a part, but loyalty played a bigger one.
The man stood up from behind a clump of shrubs. He was rail thin. His bony frame was readily apparent through the sweat-drenched t-shirt that clung to his body. His hair was shaved short and his face gaunt. The visible scabbing on his forehead and cheeks bore the trademark of his drug habit. Crystal methamphetamine usage was common in this part of the country where open spaces lent to clandestine laboratories, or homegrown “cooks.” Meth-head tweakers were almost always unstable. Armed ones were the worst.
The gaunt man stumbled back as he saw Jasper closing the distance, looking for his escape. His limited brain capacity obviously struggled with the choices of running, fighting or giving up. Overwhelmed, he glanced down the hill and then back at Jasper. Eyes wide, the gaunt man raised the gun.
Jasper was airborne. As if shot from a cannon, he launched at the gaunt man. Rusty had often joked about getting his dog a red cape. He was in awe every time he saw his four-legged partner fly.
Bang! The sound was deafening in still morning air. The gun went off again as Jasper smashed headlong into the gaunt man. The two toppled over and rolled further down the hill in a blur of man and animal.
Rusty momentarily froze after the shots. Not out of any fear for his own safety but out of that for his best friend’s. He suppressed the sick wave of panic that rose up inside him. Rusty ran at the two who had stopped their roll after colliding with a large tree stump.
Rusty heard what he was looking for as he ran. Screams. That almost lyrical vaulted yell that people gave as Jasper found purchase with his teeth. Jasper’s jaw was stretched wide as he held onto the rear of the gaunt man’s upper right leg. The growling that accompanied the bite added to the man’s hysteria.
The gaunt man clawed at the ground, reaching frantically. Rusty instantly realized that this man was not only trying to escape the clasp but was also trying to find the gun. Rusty closed the last few feet quickly. The gaunt man’s fingertips were outstretched, nearing the brown handle of the revolver that peeked out from under a broken tree branch. Rusty delivered a solid kick to the meth head’s ribcage. The effect was immediate and had the desired reaction. The gaunt man’s hands retracted and Rusty positioned himself, stepping on the revolver as he pointed his Glock at the man’s head.
“Get him off of me!” the gaunt man shouted. “Help! Help me!”
“Hands! Let me see your damn hands!” Rusty said, allowing his controlled anger to be released.
The kick had brought the gaunt man’s hands in and away from the gun, but now they were no longer visible as he lay face down in agony. The sound of Jasper’s low growl as he continued to tug at the man brought a barely noticeable smile to Rusty’s face.
“He won’t stop until I tell him to. Hands!” Rusty said, with composure.
The gaunt man’s hands crept out between anguished screams. Empty. No weapon. Rusty held the gun steady as Fontaine clamored over, out of breath.
“Cuff him!” Rusty hissed.
Fontaine fumbled with his handcuffs. Rusty heard the click as the stainless-steel bracelets ratcheted down on the man’s bony wrists. Secured. Fontaine stood and nodded at Rusty.
“Foos!” Rusty commanded. With that one word, Jasper released his grip and sat next to Rusty.
Jasper licked the blood from his lips, never taking his dark eyes off the man on the ground. With the man in custody, Rusty immediately ran his hands anxiously over his partner. He searched both by touch and sight for any sign of a gunshot wound. Nothing. The only blood was that of the captured man’s. Rusty slumped next to his best friend and pulled him close. He let out a sigh of relief, rubbing him between the ears.
Rusty leaned close to Jasper and whispered, “Good boy, Jasper! Good boy!”
3
“I don’t understand. That’ll make it two times this week alone. We’ve got to figure this out,” Nick said, in a combination of frustration and defeat.
“Mr. Lawrence, this is actually quite typical of someone in her condition. She is in a new environment and your mother hasn’t adapted to it yet. This takes time. She will have moments of confusion and lapses in judgment as a result. Her inability to recognize a familiar face or her surroundings can be devastating. Violent outbursts are very common reactions and you shouldn’t be too alarmed,” the doctor said, speaking c
learly and slowly.
The tone of the physician’s response bordered on condescending, but Nick was too absorbed in his sense of guilt that he hadn’t picked up on it. She’s lashing out because she is lost. Nick felt the burden resting heavily on his shoulders. He’d brought her out here and put her in a place foreign to her. She’s surrounded by people she doesn’t know and now she was lashing out as a result. His sweet frail mother was attacking people.
“Is the nurse okay?” Nick asked, concerned for the nurse and the potential liability that might follow.
“She’s fine, Mr. Lawrence. Your mother scratched her arm, but the injury was superficial,” the doctor said.
“I’ll be by later today to visit with her. Are you sure you don’t need me right now? I’m stuck at work but can finagle my way out if you think this circumstance dictates.” Nick’s response did little to hide his annoyance.
“Later will be fine. Depending on what time you arrive, I may still be here. If so, please have me paged. We need to discuss some potential changes in your mother’s situation,” the doctor said.
Nick understood the implication of this last comment. He took a moment to compose himself and then replied, “Doc, you just said this was a normal reaction to her adaptation to the new environment. You told me it’s a minor incident and that the nurse was fine. What changes are you referring to?”
“We have protocols here at Pine Woods. Protocols that monitor any declines in behavior or mental state. Your mother is showing signs of both. And yes, I did say the injury to the nurse was minor, but that’s not to say the next one won’t be. Earlier this week your mother shoved another resident into a wall and now we have today’s incident, albeit a minor one. We have a wing here that may be more suited for her.”
“Another wing? What? Like a padded room? I didn’t place my mother at Pine Woods so she could live out her remaining years in a cage.”
The doctor took Nick’s words in stride, having heard similar sentiments before and much worse from some. He allowed a moment to pass before he continued, “I hear your frustration and I understand it. The wing I referred to has a higher staff-to-resident ratio and your mother would no longer have a roommate. Aside from that, the accommodations would be the same.”
“But I thought that was one of the benefits of your facility. I was told that having a roommate would help stimulate her and keep her more alert. Now you’re telling me she’ll be in isolation?” Nick quivered as he let the words trickle from his mouth.
“Not isolation, but more of a separation. The staff here is devoted to our residents and would make sure she is interacted with on an hourly basis.” The doctor paused, hesitating briefly before he continued. “You could try to come more often, Mr. Lawrence. I don’t mean to pressure you, but we discussed this seven months ago when you first came here with your mother. Your daily interaction with her is more critical to her sense of balance than you may realize. I know you have a demanding work schedule, but you haven’t been here in four days. To your mother, that’s an eternity.” The doctor let those last words hang in the air. They came to settle heavily on Nick’s conscience.
Nick sighed. The blow delivered by the truth of the doctor’s statement had landed a sucker-punch to his heart. Deflated, Nick had no steam left in his verbal repertoire to continue the conversation. He conceded. “Doc, sorry for my outburst. You and your staff have been amazing. I know I need to be there for her. I have no excuse worth giving. Hopefully, you and I can finish this later this evening when I get over there.”
“I look forward to it. You take care of yourself, Mr. Lawrence. And please know that your mother is in good hands here at Pine Woods.”
Nick hung the phone up and slumped forward. Pressing his hand against his head, Nick stared at the sticky note on his desk. Call Det. Jones at APD. He took a deep breath and blew out his personal frustrations, refocusing his attention to what he did best: helping those who could not help themselves. He thought selfishly that it was too bad he’d never managed to apply those skills to his own life.
4
“How many?” Nick asked, cradling his desk phone in the crux of his neck while he scribbled on a notepad.
“Seven,” Detective Kemper Jones said. His voice held a slight twang, but the sharper points of his West Texas drawl had been subdued during his post-graduate work.
“Damn! Ages?”
“Eleven to sixteen,” Jones spoke, matter-of-factly. It was a disconcerting aspect of the job when tragedy and trauma become commonplace.
“Do any of them speak English? Correction, are any of them speaking English?” Nick asked, knowing that Jones would understand the distinction.
Many of the people that the two investigators typically crossed paths with spoke English, but they often elected to revert to their native dialect of Spanish in the hopes that it would deter communication.
“One. Correction, one so far. The sixteen-year-old. But she’s refusing to cooperate. She’s been in too long,” Jones said, sounding slightly put-off by the teenager.
Nick and Jones had developed a rhythm. In the short time since he’d been back in Austin, Nick had crossed paths with the APD detective on several occasions. Each time the experience had been pleasurable, even if the circumstances of their encounters were not.
Each understood the other’s lingo. Nick quickly grasped that the sixteen-year-old had been involved in the sex ring too long for her to give up any information about the organization. There is a loyalty, more out of a brainwashing process, that blocks long-timers from opening up about their captors. Time and patience played a huge part in getting these victims to share. The downside is that, for every minute of waiting, another girl was being added to somebody’s roster.
Nick had worked several cases with Jones in the recent past and had come to respect him. His tenacity in an investigation was only rivaled by his passion for brisket. Judging by his ever-expanding midriff, Jones was amassing some serious cases lately.
“Next stop, St. David’s?” Nick asked, referring to St. David’s Children’s Hospital in north Austin.
“Yup. I’ll have two uniformed guys stay with them while we process things here,” Jones said.
“All right. Sounds like you’ve got things running smooth as always. I’ll hang with you if that’s okay?”
“Of course. I assumed we’d be teaming up again on this one. This has obvious ties to federal jurisdiction anyway,” Jones said, with no hint of sarcasm or resentment.
“I wonder if it’s the same crew we went after last time,” Nick said.
“That’d be nice. But you know how these things go. Each case seems to hit the reset button. The demand is so high, and everyone seems to be buying in.” Jones’s cynicism was evident after years of witnessing depravity at its root.
“Who’s the room rented under?” Nick asked.
“Jose Torres. That name should be easy to track down.” Jones laughed at his own joke. “Probably didn’t use his real name anyway.”
“True. How long were they here?” Nick knew most of this would do little to further the investigation, but it was the standard back-and-forth.
“A week. Well, five days to be exact. Patrol showed up to investigate a noise complaint. Management said they received several calls from patrons about the volume of the television coming from the room. The patrol guys said they could hear it through the door. When they knocked, they heard what sounded like a girl’s scream. They entered with management’s key and found the eleven-year-old tied to the bed. The other girls were locked in the bathroom.” Jones paused only long enough to wet his dry throat with a slurp from his morning’s Diet Coke before continuing. “The perp is already being booked. A real-estate broker from Pflugerville. The guy’s married with two girls about the same age. Sick bastard!”
“There’s a special place in hell for assholes like him.” Nick’s didn’t bother hiding the disdain on his face. “That guy is going to spend some serious time in the box with me on this. I’m
going to drain every last bit of information from him.”
Jones chuckled. “I would expect nothing less than your best Jedi mind tricks.”
“Did he have a cell?” Nick asked.
“Yup. Snatched it. Hopefully, we get something back from digital. Sanderson is already typing the search warrant for it.”
“Sounds good. I’m walking out of the building now and should be there within the next half hour or so,” Nick said, ending the call as he walked into the oppressive August heat.
The weatherman had said today’s temp would be tolerable because there was going to be low humidity. Tolerable my ass. One hundred and four degrees is hot no matter the dew point!
5
The white concrete parking lot of the Stagecoach Inn was ravaged by the late afternoon sun. The layers of hot air created shimmering tendril waves of light above its surface. Nick’s black Volkswagen Jetta, an asset forfeiture vehicle seized from some long-since-forgotten case, rolled to a stop behind a marked cruiser. Nick had driven the distance from his office with the windows down. He found it easier to adjust to the heat when he wasn’t shut inside an air-conditioned car. It was his way of acclimating from his temperature-controlled cubicle to the outside world.
A patrolman stood talking to a maid under the minimal shade provided by the second-floor walkway. He held his notepad at the ready and jotted information down as she spoke in broken English. Sweat poured profusely from the officer’s brow and he continuously swiped at it with his forearm. Nothing seemed to stop the flow. His dark uniform and twenty-plus pounds of gear did little to ease his struggle. Nick gave him a friendly nod as he passed. The patrolman returned the gesture and then quickly went back to his obligatory task of listening and sweating.